#which i KNOW he will if father keeps twisting the knife in him

[plutoswritingplanet]

It's A Special Death You Saved (Feyd Rautha x Female!Reader) pt.3

a/n: so i lied about this being the last chapter, there's one more, i know im sorry....... also shout out to my friends, who were unbelievably helpful with the smut part because oh, there's smut here

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content (yuuuh yuuuuuuh), Alcohol, like....a tiny bit of Humiliation.

Summary: The month-long courting comes to an end with a bang! As your engagement party commences, wine flows and darker feelings rise to the surface

Pt. 1, Pt.2 Pt.4 (finale)

In the darkness of the night, he still comes to you in your dreams, knife in hand, body taunt and ready to strike. Every single morning, you awake with a gasp, as visions of your tormentor plague you. In some, he slits your throat, reveling in the way red cascades down your nightgown. Other times, it's a quick and brutal stabbing, your insides twisting as you wake. 

But then, there are those rare nights where you rise from your bed, sweat clinging to your skin, as you fight with the pressure in your stomach, try to rid yourself of the images, before making yourself presentable for breakfast. 

Those dreams, nightmares, are the worst. 

White, elegant fingers, grabbing, pulling, pinching every surface of your exposed skin. Defined arms around you, squeezing your pliant body in an embrace that is as tender and romantic, as a snake suffocating its victim. Deceivingly soft lips, mapping a trail down your front, pulling back to reveal teeth, which make that same trail visible, hurting.

In those dreams, he paints you with black. Taints you, until you're molded into his perverse image, until there's no telling where he ends, and you begin. He makes you into a sculpture, in a way that an artist cuts away pieces of clay, slowly robbing you of all agency, until there's only what he wants to see. And you let him, with a trembling smile on your lips, hands twisted into the stained sheets of your bed. 

Ignoring him has become an art form as well.

Since your faithful tangle at the training barracks, you did everything in your power, to never appear in the same room as him, or at least, never alone. You became a shadow in your own home, a whisper of the person you used to be. Shame is a powerful thing, and you wore it like a wedding veil over your face. Paul would always help you, silently. Never asking outright what had happened between you and the Harkonnen, but somehow always knowing. Your brother, your salvation, breaks your heart everytime he grabs your hand, and leads you away from the predator in the room.

The date of your engagement party has been set a week into the future. The nervous bustling of the court only heightening your already wracked thoughts, as the inevitability of your situation begins to haul you to the ground. 

Your Mother took most of the preparations on her back, directing the servants, the kitchen, the musicians. She picked out a dress for you, some flowing abomination, which hung in your closet, reminding you every morning, that you will have to wear it with a smile. You hoped, there will be wine at the feast, hope that it will be sweet enough to dull your insides. 

As the date of the feast comes closer and closer, you begin to spend more time outside. 

The air is crisp and smells of seawater, and you can't help but inhale fully, every time. You want it seared into your brain, so whenever you're taken away from your home, you can run back to this memory, to the feel of grass under your fingers. 

- You'll catch a cold, if you keep sitting here.

Paul's voice brings you back from your dark thoughts, and you look up, from your spot in the grass. He stands a couple paces back, hands folded behind his back in a manner, that is reminding you of your Father more and more every day. 

- Do you want to join me? - you ask, your lips quirking up into a small smile - Or would you prefer to stand there like a pillar of salt?

Your brother shakes his head, before coming closer and plopping down next to you, his skinny legs stretched out in front of him. The both of you sit in silence for a while, enjoying the breeze ruffling your hair, the smell of ocean and the waves crashing into the cliffs. There are seagulls flying over your heads, and you feel the moisture from the grass seep into your clothing. 

A wistful sigh escapes you, before you can stop it, and you let yourself fall, laying flat on the hill. 

Paul looks down at you, undescribable sadness swimming in his eyes, and an instinct of sister awakes in you, a need to comfort, despite being a wreck yourself. So, you offer him a smile, a tired one, but a smile nonetheless. 

- Do you think we could take the horses for a ride today? - your brother asks with naive hope, his eyes turning to the sea.

- Mother won't allow me to go, she wants me to spend my pondering the proper behavior during the feast - try as you might, you can't hide the bitterness in your voice - Besides, I could fall off and hurt the merchandising. 

Paul's hand finds yours, and he squeezes your fingers tightly. It's hard not to break, in moments like these. When you're forced to remember, you'll most likely never see your family again. 

- If I could do something, anything... - you recognize that feverish note in your brother's voice, it's devoid of reason, impulsive, too much like you.

- But you can't, so you won't.

A frustrated sound escapes his mouth, and he turns back to the sea. You watch him through half-lidded eyes, eyelashes falling heavily on your cheeks. He looks like a Duke, you conclude, and that thought feels strangely comforting. No matter where you'll be shipped off, no matter what life has in store for you in the future, somehow, you know your brother will persevere. 

- Do you remember that time Gurney made us train on the beach? - you ask, a sudden wave of nostalgia washing over you, as the clouds float in the sky above you - Cause of the... The balance. We had to try to balance in the sand.

Paul twists his head towards you, surprised at the turn of the conversation, before cracking a smile. 

- Yes, he slipped on the rocks, nearly broke his backbone - he starts to wave his hands around in a wonderful reenactment of your mentor's fall, before collapsing next to you in the grass.

Your laughter mingles with the sounds of the sea, as the both of you, the future of House Atriedes, share memories, scenes from the life you've lived together. The good and the bad. The horse races through plains and hills of Caladan, the many, many food fights. It's hard to tell, how much time you spend together, laying in the grass, but when you finally fall into silence, the air has become considerably more chilly. A sign, it's time to return to reality, to your duties. 

- You should've been me, and I you - Paul whispers suddenly, and you close your eyes in a pained expression. 

Perhaps it's true. Perhaps Lady Jessica made a mistake, and gave a Daughter where she should've given a Son. Now, it's no longer important. Your roles have been set in place, all you could do, is fulfill them. Somewhere back, in the direction of the Palace you can hear a voice calling your names. A reminder, that the world outside this grassy sanctuary exists, and can't wait any longer. 

You move to stand, Paul gathering himself up closely behind. Your clothes stick to your body, and you're shivering from the cold, but if you could spend just one more moment exactly like that, you would've taken that chance without question. 

An arm snakes around your elbow, and you lean onto your brother's shoulder, as you start to walk back, steps swaying like a pair of drunkards. Then, Paul tugs you closer, you can feel him tense suddenly, as he leans with a sullen expression on his pale face.

- I hate the way he looks at you - he confesses, waves upon waves of righteous Atriedes fury crashing in his voice.

You don't know how to respond to that, so you stay silent, giving his arm a reassuring tug.

That was the last conversation you've had with your brother.

*** While the House Atriedes is characterized by a rather mellow temper, there was one thing they took extremely seriously. And those, unfortunately for you, were engagement rituals. 

So, that's why you sit posed like a porcelain doll in a deep chair, next to your soon-to-be husband, at the foot of a long table, surrounded by music, and dancing, and food. There are ribbons hung from the high ceilings, and flickering lights float around them like little fireflies. You watch, as they dance above you, the ridiculous headdress placed on your hair digs into your skul. Color surrounds you, your own dress flowing like a waterfall, elegant, yet delicate. The pools of fabric gather around your legs, a chiffon monstrosity, that you know, is supposed to make you beautiful. 

And perhaps you would've felt beautiful, if this was any other occasion. A birthday feast, perhaps. Dare you say, and engagement party with someone you actually loved. 

Speaking of which, your betrothed sits beside you, sticking out like a sore thumb. He looks utterly bored, eyes following the celebrating masses, hand playing with a steak knife. Not enough blood for his tastes, you suppose. He's dressed in traditional Harkonnen attire, which you think, doesn't really look that much different from all the other outfits you've seen him in. Black, sleek, efficient. You must be a curious pair, a mass of colorful materials and a black-stone pillar. 

The wine, thankfully, is sweet. It warms your face, and turns your insides into a pleasant mush. You should've eaten more, but then again, it was a celebration of your imprisonment, and if you wanted to get drunk, you would. And you did get drunk. Quickly. 

The dress moves with you, as you slowly slide down the chair, one leg resting up on the seat. A frightfully unbecoming sight, but you can't find it in yourself to care. Another, clumsy drink from your cup, and you sigh deeply, blinking a couple of times to rid yourself of sudden dizziness. 

Your betrothed gives you a look, whether it's of warning or amusement, you're not sure. And you don't care. Your nose scrunches in the general direction of his smooth head, and you take another sip, just to spite him.

- Shut up - you grumble, a slurr entering your words.

- I haven't said a word - he counters, and this time you can see him smile.

- You're thinking, it's annoying.

Feyd Rautha has an unpleasant laugh. 

Sharp and low, and very rough around the edges. It's like listening to an old spaceship try to take off, and you're sure you don't want to hear him laugh ever again. That's it, your goal in this, frankly, fucked up marriage, will be to never make your husband laugh. Although, it's best not to think about it so loudly, he might be a hidden mind reader, and would most likely laugh in your face every day, just to torture you. 

God. You were going to regret every sip come tomorrow morning.

- You're wrapped like a present - Feyd Rautha leans down with a smirk playing on his full lips, and you have to crane your neck to look him straight in the face - Shall I unwrap you here, while your family watches?

Despite the light tone, you shiver under his gaze. Something in the way his body seems relaxed yet tense at the same time tells you, this shameless man would do it in a heartbeat, if you as much as inclined your head. 

- Gross - you groan, hand untangling itself from the amassing of chiffon to push back at his face.

It's the first time, you've touched him out of your own volition, and even in your drunken daze, you note the sudden glint in his eyes. Fingers grab at your wrist, keeping you in place, as he leans further into your touch, turning his head slightly. Wine mixes with sudden embarrassment, as his lips brush against the meat of your palm. Then, black teeth shine and your heart jumps to your throat, as he bites down on your skin, hard enough to make you jump. Tongue darts out, licking a stripe up your thumb, before giving your fingertip a tiny nibble.

You tear your hand away from him, pressing it into your chest with an appalled expression. There are indents just below your thumb in the shape of his teeth, and the confounding feelings you've been trying to stoke for almost a month now, come crashing down upon you.

He looks satisfied with himself, returning back to his seat, and his steak knife. The utensil reflects the flowing lights, and despite yourself you swallow thickly, turning back to your cup, which is quickly becoming empty.

God, it was getting incessantly hot in this cursed dining hall. 

Whether it was the wine, or the sudden wave of knee-bending arousal washing through you, you couldn't tell. (It was both, you were fully aware it was both) And you're uncomfortable, terribly so. You fidget in your seat, almost painfully aware of the heat, which has now spread further down. The fabric of the dress slides against your body, skin becoming far too sensitive, too hungry for touch. You try to relieve some of your torment, legs squeezing and rubbing together. Treacherous tongues of self-awareness rear its ugly heads, and you look up, and...

Of course he noticed. 

Feyd Rautha places his chin in his hand, and he observes you with a knowing look, which turns dark and terrifying as soon as your eyes meet.

- Careful, lest the court starts talking - he warns you, his voice somehow becoming deeper than before, and you take a shuddering breath.

Dagnerous, this is dangerous.

 You're seated far away from your family, from any consolation, and even if they were close enough to intervene, the masses of dancing people, the sound of their laughter... Your heart stops, a snake curling itself around your insides. Truly, if that beast of a man wanted to, he could make do of his threat from earlier, and take you where you sit. Haunted by that thought, both terrifying and arousing, you down the rest of your wine. 

It doesn't taste as good anymore. Hell, it threatens to come back up, until you force it to sit in your stomach. 

Duncan, you need to find Duncan, or you'll do something incredibly stupid. You'll do something incredibly stupid either way, but at least the regret will be less biting. So, pulling yourself up on trembling arms, you shuffle out of your chair, your betrothed's heated gaze following you on your way through the hall. 

People don't even look at you, too enraptured with free food and drinks, and the music, which flows loudly through the air. Good, in any other case, the Duke's Daughter, stumbling drunk through corridors, would certainly lift some eyebrows. Your feet carry you towards the training barracks, a familiar route you've followed many times. Indulging in sex with your Father's most trusted advisor was not the healthiest form of regulating emotions, but you needed something, and God knows, you'd rather die than get it from anyone else. From Him especially.

The choice is made for you, however, as a strong hand wraps itself around your arm, just above your elbow, yanking you backwards, behind a stone column. The world spins in front of your eyes, and for a second you worry the company of wine warming your insides is about to abandon you along with breakfast. 

- Do you truly thought, you could sneak away from me?

Finally, your eyes focus on Fey Rautha's face, almost demonic in the low light of the corridor. Shadows play on his expression, falling heavily over his eyes, and you try to wrench yourself from his grasp.

- What I do is none of your business - you slurr out, wringing your arm every which way, his fingers digging painfully into your flesh - Let go of me.

The Harkonnen presses himself closer to you, trapping your body between the stone and himself. His nose nearly crushes itself into the juncture between your neck and your shoulder, taking a disturbing long whiff. You can feel his chest vibrate against your own, as he groans deep within his throat. It sobers you up in record speed, and you start to thrash in his hold. He subdues your outburst, as if he was made for it, before dragging his nose up, towards your hair. You snarl like a wild animal.

- Let me go. 

His body moves on its own accord, tearing itself away from you in an instant, legs tripping over themselves, to put distance between your bodies. He looks up at you, muscles tense and an expression of shock painted across his pale face. 

The ability to use the Voice was something you rarely took part in. Training sessions with your Mother went well, as expected of a woman, but you still had a lot of work ahead of you. You blink forcefully, steadying yourself against the wall behind you. Then, you notice the borderline murderous look on your soon-to-be husband's face.

- Witch - he spits out, baring his blackened teeth at you.

- I am the Daughter of Duke Atriedes - your voice carries a note of righteous pride, despite dread climbing up your spine - And you will treat me with respect, wedded or not.

He straightens himself with petrifying speed, and as he takes a step towards you, actions overtake reflection. Your hand winds back, and you bring a resounding slap across his sharp cheekbone. While your palm blooms with pain, he seems to barely react, closing the distance between the two of you after a tense beat. Before you have a chance to react again, his hands grab at your face, and his lips crash against yours in a punishing kiss.

Teeth clink together and the momentum of the kiss makes your head collide with the stone pillar behind you. He's fingers dig into your cheeks and your jaw, as he devours you completely, bringing down all your defences in one swoop. You kiss him back, almost immediately, opening your mouth to let him in, to meet his tongue halfway. It's almost grotesque, how much you hate and love this at the same time, the buzzing of the wine mixing with the sound of your racing heart, with the sound of his unabashed sounds of pleasure. 

Hands flail at your sides, as you grab all you can take, pulling him even closer by the thick fabric of his tunic. 

His hands however, know exactly what they want, and as he lets go of your face, they both sink down. Fingers hook into the neckline of your dress, and he tears it down, your entire body swaying with the force of his movement. Your breasts are freed for only just a moment, cold air hitting them in a way that would be uncomfortable, if they weren't immediately covered by your betrothed's large palm. He palms at your chest, as if he wants to crush it, and you bite back a whine, which threatens to spill from your abused lips. 

- Don't - he growls a warning, unoccupied hand tangling itself within your hair - Sing.

And you do. As his mouth descends upon your neglected breast, where he alternates between licks and bites that make your back fly off the wall. Once again you don't know what to do with your hands, finding them entirely useless in the Harkonnen's overpowering grasp. One, grabs at his shoulder, undecided on whether to push him off, or pull him in closer. The other one scratches four lines into his skull, as he sucks on the sensitive skin under your ribs. 

Finally, he detaches from you completely, standing straight and regarding you with a look so intensely ravenous, it shakes you to your core. Your exposed chest rises and falls in tandem with your heaving breaths, and you shiver, as cold air hits your skin. His gaze drinks in your dissheveled hair, the way your lips are puffy and red. A beautiful sight for his blackened eyes. 

- I know who you went looking for - he starts, stalking towards you once again - Can't have that, can I?

You debate feigning confusion, outrage at such accusation, which hasn't really been uttered yet. But, as Feyd Rautha stops just short of the bottom hem of your dress, you suddenly find yourself unable to speak. Instead, as a last ditched effort to rid yourself of him, your hand extends, a half-hazard attempt at liberation. He swats it away, as one would a mere fly, before sinking to his knees in front of you. 

- Lift up your dress, Viper - his voice is like thunder in your ears, and you bite your lips at the sight of his eyes, dark and surprisingly eager.

Hands move clumsily in an effort to gather all those translucent layers. You nearly trip over yourself, earning a rather nasty chuckle from below. As soon, as your legs are visible, he dives between the chiffon, his head dissapearing from sight. You can feel his lips, traveling up the expanse of your calf, giving a light bite under your knee. 

Anticipation siezes your gut, and you grab onto the wall, as if that would save you. His hands grab your leg, skin incredibly warm to the touch for someone who looks so cold, and then, with forceful tugs, he starts to manouver you. 

You let out an unbecoming squeak, as he yanks your leg over his shoulder. Strong hands keep you in place, and he reaches out around the upper part of your thigh to all but tear your undergarments off of your core. The force of this action makes you jump in place on your one available leg, just to hold your balance, and for a second you consider swatting at him. 

That thought leaves you almost immediately after it appears, as an onslaugh of kitten licks unleashes downward. A vague, head like shape moves under your dress, the chiffon floating from place to place like a hypnotizing river. The wine must've heightened your senses to an alarming degree, because as soon as Feyd Rautha begins his ministrations, you're a mess. 

It's honestly humiliating, the way you fight for any purchase on the wall behind you, as he begins to lick in earnes, parting your legs further with one hand, while the other wraps securely around your used leg. While there, he cops a feel of your behind, fingers biting into the soft flesh, and you lock your lower lip between your teeth so hard, you can taste blood on your tongue.

As if he's developed some new telepathic talents, his hand leaves your ass, in favor of winding up, and slapping it harshly. The action makes your jump in place once again, a sound stuck between outrage and glee fleeing your throat, before you have the chance to stop it. Right, "sing", you remind yourself, and immediately feel him change his tactics. 

Your bundle of nerves opens new possibilities of torment, and as his lips close around the bud, you can't help the whine, escaping through your lips. The music is loud, you remind yourself. They won't hear, no one will hear. His hand pushes your dangling leg further up your shoulder, and your back arches from the stone. You will be sore as all hell after this is done, but for now, it doesn't matter. Nothing really matters, except the way your betrothed eats you out, like a man who's been starved for decades.

- Oh shit - you curse, hands flailing uselessly - Oh fuck!

All of a sudden, everything stops, and your building peak subsides into a dissatisfactory simmer. Feyd Rautha's head emerges from under the fabric, a terrible, shit-eating grin on his wet lips.

- Such language? - he teases, tongue darting out to lap at your arousal - So unbecoming of a-...

- Fucking don't stop! - there's panic in your movements, as you grab the back of his head, and shove him right under your dress again.

The laughter should be unsettling for you, but he returns to his post with twice as much motivation, and however more strength, and before you know it, your orgasm sneaks upon you. A sudden tightness in your core is all the warning you get, before the coil snaps, and your entire body starts to spasm in pleasure. 

It's good. Incredibly so. You'd risk saying it's the most intense you've ever came, but never out loud, never to him. That shameful secret was between you and whatever God that was listening. Stars erupt behind your eyelids, your breathing stopping for just a moment. 

And then you go deliciously limp, legs giving out completely. 

To his credit, the Harkonnen catches you before you hit the floor, the arm curling around your leg proving to be an unmeasurable support. His head emerges from under the dress once again, and he lets you slide down the wall, until you're seated. He sways on the balls of his feet, still towering you, even as he crouches. 

You swallow, throat slightly raw from all the noise you've done moments ago, and he follows the movements of your neck muscles with greedy eyes. Still greedy, after taking so much. Truly, he was a Harkonnen. And before you can stop yourself, a thought materializes in your brain, a treacherous little information, which would shake you to the core, if your muscles weren't currently made of taffy.

He blushes pink. Your betrothed blushes pink, from the exercise of making you cum on his tongue alone. God, what a precious sight.

He must've noticed the serene smile playing upon your lips, and his nature to ruin comes to light. His hand reaches back, and you freeze in your spot, as you recognize that damned golden steak knife. The blade shines in the dimly lit corridor, making your breathing faster, questions swimming behind your eyes. You don't really want to fight him in this state, but you fucking will, if he tries anything. 

- An engagement present, for you, Viper. - he rasps, licking his reddened lips in an obscene display, which doesn't repulse you quite as much as it should. 

- I have nothing to give in return - your voice is stern, and your betrothed flashes you an evil grin.

Then, he presents you the tip of the knife, golden utensil hanging between his slender fingers, and you look up at him, not understanding what is expected of you. Placing one knee on the floor, Feyd Rautha lowers himself to your eye level, for the hundredth of times surprising you with the sheer grace in his movements. 

- Kiss - he whispers, into the space between the both of you.

Your eyes fall to the knife, then, to him and you take a long, deep breath. Pride, your biggest flaw, takes a deadly hit, as the man twists the knife in his fingers, looking at you expectedly. You hate him, truly and deeply, and it must be showing on your face, because he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, as soon as your eyes meet. 

Swallowing your pride, you keep his gaze, leaning towards the blade. Your lips press delicately against the cool metal and the Harkonnen flashes you a nasty, self-satisfied smirk, before slipping the knife up his sleeve and standing up. 

- I'll see you back at the feast - he gives you a small bow, and you press your lips tightly together.

- Fuck you.

- After the wedding, my Viper.

And with that, he turns around.

 You're left there, on the floor, your dignity in shambles, the exertion catching up to you all at once, as if his presence alone was the only thing keeping you from feeling pain. A stupid thought, you chastize yourself, before slowly pulling yourself from the cold tiles. 

It takes you a couple of shameful minutes, trying to put yourself back together again. The ridiculous headdress, which has slipped all the way down from your hair, will probably never look the same, as when your Mother has styled it, but you can't find it in yourself to care. 

The music still plays, as you enter the hall, and thankfully, no one notices your arrival. No one but your betrothed, who raises his drinking cup in your direction, as if nothing had happened. His face is annoying, you conclude, and turn away, your aching legs taking you towards the center of the room, where people danced and sang in celebration of your engagement. What a lovely sight, what a lovely couple. Opposites attract, right?

Bitter, aching and humiliated, you throw yourself into the crowd, let it sway you from place to place, as you dance away this whole wretched week. The whole month-long courting rituals, which were just a bullshit attempt at torture. 

It's said, that when Death comes to take your soul, you're allowed one more dance before the eternal void. 

So you dance. 

#my writing #dune part 2 #dune x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha smut #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #tennis ball strikes again #i would also like to thank tiktok editing community for giving me material to daydream about #im seeing this movie again on thursday totally not because i want to write the most accurate smut in the next chapter

[beenbaanbuun]

meet me in the woods w/ Mingi

words - 3.5k

genre - fluff, friends to lovers, college!au

warnings - emo!mingi, drummer!mingi, pink!mingi, fangirl!reader, kissing, mentions of seasonal depression, mentions of a broken ankle, reader is down bad, so is mingi, they’re both idiots in love, kind of groping but not really sexual

————————————————

there’s still a chill in the air as the seasons flip from winter to spring. it shows in the way the air around you fogs up with every breath you exhale and the way the skin of your exposed thighs pricks up in little bumps. realistically you should’ve worn a pair of jeans rather than a skirt, but that would defeat the point of this whole thing you had going on. a sort of good-riddance-to-winter protest, in which you try to ignore the fact that winter was very much still in play.

although you have to admit you may have been a little too eager. you claim to have your reasons to pretend that winter is already over, but even those reasons seem a little obsolete as you sit on the picnic table awning, shivering every few seconds. perhaps your way of saying goodbye to your particularly bad bout of seasonal depression will have to be shoved to the back of your closet for a few more weeks. just until you're sure you won’t get frostbite.

you shuffle back a few inches, just enough to give yourself room to swing your legs back onto the awning. you have to go down the way you came up; that was a lesson you’d learned the hard way. a broken ankle and a particularly long lecture from your mother about making ‘sensible decisions’ was not something you care to repeat. she, of course, would blow a fuse if she knew you still frequent this spot years later, but what she doesn’t know can’t hurt her. besides, you’re well trained in how to get up and down from your favourite thinking spot, now.

you already have one leg up when you hear a creek coming from behind you. your neck twists in time to see a hand slam itself down on the wooden surface, fingers splayed as they work their hardest to pull the attached body higher up. you recognise the rings like the back of your hand and as you watch mingi struggle, you can’t help but sigh.

“how many times have i told you how to get up here?” you grumble, loud enough for him to hear over his own strained grunts. the single hand that you can see moves until you can see a middle finger pointed in your direction, and you have to laugh, “you seriously can’t remember? right hand on the roof, left foot on the fence, and push yourself up.”

even without seeing his face you can tell he’s rolling his eyes at you. he’s heard this lecture from you a bajillion times before, and yet he never learns. it’s always right hand, right foot and pull with him - almost the exact opposite of how you instruct him.

“have you considered that i’m, like, twice the size of you?” he says as he corrects his form and finally manages to raise himself up. he swings his right knee onto the platform and rolls his gangly form onto it. you’ve seen more grace from a new-born horse, but you keep that to yourself as you watch him sit himself up and shuffle closer.

“if anything that would make it easier for you, y’know, since you don’t have to jump to reach the roof.”

you turn your body back to how it was, dropping your legs again so you can swing them over the ledge. the platform looks out over nothing but forest, and you quickly find a particular branch to focus your eyes on as the giant sits in his spot next to you. your hands subconsciously brush over the pair of initials that have been scratched into the wood when you were both teenagers. a small, neat set done with a whittling knife stolen from your father, sitting just beneath a much larger, much messier SMG that mingi had done with the biggest kitchen knife he could find. his mother never did discover how her carving knife missing for a few hours only to return to the knife block covered in moss and dirt.

“yeah, yeah,” he mutters as he drops his legs down to swing them at the side of yours. your pink sneakers look a little out of place besides his platform doc martin’s that he always wears, despite not needing the extra height, but somehow the contrast feels natural to you, “i thought i’d find you up here. went to your dorm to search for you but your roommate said you were out.”

“and you assumed i was here?” he nods, not bothering to look at you. he too has found a distant branch to focus on.

“where else would you be?” he nudges you with an elbow, “god knows you don’t go to your lectures…”

he’s right about that. you’d given up on college very early into freshman year, and yet you’re somehow still passing. not well, you have to admit, but enough to get a degree at the end of the year.

“my classes suck, mingi,” you clarify as you rip your focus away from that one specific branch. looking at the same thing was getting kind of boring, you realise, so instead you lay down on the dirty wood and stare up at the canopy. the february sun only just pokes through the fir-canopy, dousing you in just enough light to make your skin a little warmer. there was that heat you were hoping for earlier, “why would i go to them when clearly i can pass without?”

“fair point.”

you close your eyes, basking in the light that bathes you. there’s still a slight breeze that makes the fir needles rustle above you, a few of them raining down whenever a particularly strong gust comes along. one lands on your thigh, but it’s quickly brushed off and replaced by mingi’s warm hand. he must’ve been keeping it in the pocket of his oversized korn hoodie, you think to yourself as he squeezes your thigh.

the hoodie is an old favourite of yours. you’d bought it for him a couple of years ago, and it had soon joined what you like to call ‘the elites’ - the small collection of about three hoodies that he had in permanent rotation. it fit him better now than when you first bought it for him. he’d bulked up a lot, after all.

you still couldn’t get the sweet image of him opening the gift with a wide grin on his face out of your head.

he kissed your cheek on that day.

you always seem to blush at the memory.

“why did you come searching for me, anyway?” you say after a few moments of silence. his hand remains firm on your thigh, fingers drumming a rhythm against your leg gently, “don’t you have cooler people to be hanging out with?”

he hums, “all the cool people i know are busy today,” you swing your foot to the side to kick his shin. he lets out a laugh at the little tap - he knows you can kick harder than that - before giving your thigh a gentle tap in return, “besides, maybe i want to hear about all your little kpop groups.”

you scoff at him.

“no, you don’t.”

“no,” mingi agrees, “i don’t. but i do want to spend time with my favourite little fangirl.”

you giggle at him, opening your eyes just in time to see him turn to you with a wonky grin on his face. it seems he’s bored of staring at his branch too since his gaze doesn’t go back to it after a few seconds. it remains on you, boba-pearl pupils staring into your own as the rays of sun make them glisten.

he looks cute like this, you think to yourself. his short pink hair rustles as the wind blows it about. for a man who made so much fuss about the colour when you first dyed it, it has taken him a long time for him to go back to the bleach blonde that he loves so much. part of you likes to think it’s so he can match your own pastel pink hair - that’s a normal thing for best friends to do, right? - but you also know that he’s fiercely protective over his hair and definitely wouldn’t keep it just for your sake.

it needs a trim, you think to yourself as you watch it brush against his eyebrows. you wonder if he’ll let you do it again. he hated it the last time, so you assume the answer will be no. then again, there’s no harm in asking, right? you make a mental note to do so later, wanting nothing more than to see the same cute pout he wore last time you butchered his hair. it’s an expression that he only ever wears around you, much like that sweet smile he’d had moments prior. it’s a softness that he keeps close to his chest, a far cry from the cool exterior he tries to keep when he’s around everyone else. not that you mind the tougher side of him - it’s hot… really hot - but the sweet giggles and adorable nose scrunches will always be your favourite things about him.

“you said everyone else was busy?” you mutter, not bothering to break eye contact to go back to sunbathing. he takes the hint, and brings his legs fully onto the platform so he can face you fully. it’s much better, you think, this way you can see him more clearly, “what are they doing?”

he shrugs.

“i don’t know,” he begins to rub your thigh up and down subconsciously. he does it a lot when he’s talking. if it’s not your thigh - which it usually always is - then it’s his own, or the arm of a chair. it’s just something to keep his hands busy, you suppose, “i think some of the guys wanted to go over melodies, which they don’t need me for. jongho was saying he thinks it’d be cool if there’s a section where his voice and san’s guitar are kind of in sync? i don’t know, it sounds cool in theory but i don’t know if san’s guitar style necessarily matches jongho’s vocal style well enough to do that.”

you watch as his face lights up, just like it always does when he talks about music, or his band. he could talk about their newest ideas for hours, and most of the time you let him. you like to listen to the way his voice rises an octave when he gets excited, and watching his facial expressions never gets old. you love the way he talks with one hand, all while keeping the other firmly on your thigh; or his, or the arm of a chair. it’s nice to see him still so passionate about all the same things he was as a teenager. sometimes you’re even sure you can feel his excitement for him.

it feels an awful lot like butterflies in your stomach.

“and i mean, i know i’m just the drummer but,” you quirk your eyebrow at him and he stops himself talking. a pink flush rises over his face as he realises his slip up, “i didn’t mean just the drummer, i just meant that as the drummer, i don’t know as much about the music theory side as the guitarists do… i hit things, y’know?”

“you hit things very well, though,” you tease, using a manicured finger to poke at his knee. he catches it with the hand that isn’t occupied by your thigh and just holds onto it. its another thing he does a lot; not quite holding your hand, but definitely toeing the line, “and that’s coming from me!”

he rolls his eyes at you, and you were sure that if both his hands weren’t occupied with some other part of your body, he’d make the effort to lean forwards and place a finger over your lips to shush you. again, touching your lips like that it’s just something he does with you, just like almost holding your hands, and playing with your thighs. it’s all completely normal best friend stuff…

except you weren’t this touchy with any other guy. the last time you let a man get this close to you was when wooyoung tried to teach you guitar by moving your fingers into the correct positions for you. there was barely any contact between the two of you, and yet mingi sulked for days. part of you wanted to call it strange, but when you spotted him giving a pretty emo girl his drumsticks after a show, you gave him much of the same attitude.

you wouldn’t call it jealousy, per se, although maybe there was a little bit. mingi was your best friend after all. you have something special with him. something different that you have with no one else and you feel a way that you feel with no one else and-

oh.

oh.

suddenly the hand on your thigh felt very heavy, and you noticed the way his fingertips gently dip under the hem. had they been doing that the whole time? and you couldn’t help but feel like the way his thumb rubbed against the tip of your finger so softly had some type of further meaning behind it. not to mention the neutral yet unbelievably gentle look that took over his features, making him look even more pretty than usual in the scattered rays of light.

his lips were parted every so slightly, revealing that single wonky tooth that you found oh-so adorable. for a second you wondered what they would feel like against your skin, but you soon shunned the thought away as you remembered, oh yeah, the korn sweater. you’d felt them before. you know just how soft and gentle they are. it’s something that often plays on your mind and every time it does, you feel that same burst of excitement built up in your stomach. the one you get when mingi speaks about his passions. the one that feels like butterflies.

it is butterflies. fuck, it’s the whole damn zoo! a stampede of elephants charging though your body each and every time he does something that you find even mildly endearing. it just so happens that you find damn near everything he does endearing. you’d think those elephants would be tired of running by now…

“mingi,” you sigh, breath coming out in a plume of mist. you’d forgotten how cold it was in his presence. being around him just seemed to warm you up, “mingi, come here.”

he furrows his brow, but shuffles a tad closer. you almost groan in disappointment as he takes his hand away from your thigh, the skin immediately growing cold at the lost contact.

“what’s up, sunshine?” you feel em your eyes go wide at the nickname. you don’t know why; he uses it for you all the time.

“mingi, i’m confused… and a little scared,” you admit, although you didn’t know whether it was necessarily the truth. it was probably the closest word to describe how you were feeling though. with the way your heart was threatening to beat through your chest, and the way your stomach churned with nerves and the way your stupid brain had only just managed to catch up with how you had felt all along. it hurt, and it was painful and confusing and yeah, scared was probably a pretty good description.

“scared?” his voice grows serious as his eyes scan you up and down. once he sees that you’re fine physically, they return to your face. he looks just as confused as you feel, “what are you scared about? are you okay? hurt?”

you shake your head, taking in a deep, shaky breath. you let it out in yet another cloud of fog and watch at it floats away into nothing. you wish your butterflies, elephants, would do the same. it would make this whole thing so much easier.

“i’m fine, mingi,” you say, “just scared.”

“can you tell me why?” you nod, although it takes everything in you to do so.

“i want to kiss you,” you admit.

“kiss… me?”

you nod again, feeling a familiar heat rise to your face. the same one you get whenever mingi compliments you, or touches you. you can't believe it’s taken this long to finally figure it all out. it all feels so obvious now.

“i mean… yeah?” he stutters, “kiss me, yeah… yeah that sounds okay- i mean good! it sounds good… kissing, that is.”

if you weren’t feeling completely and utterly out of your depth, you’d have giggled at him. cutie pie you think to yourself before the heat in your body immediately gets more intense, and the elephants not only increase in number but in size too.

it’s now or never. before you can talk yourself out of it, you need to kiss him. because talking yourself out of it could be so easy. you could hop off of the awning, run back to your car and drive back to your dorm. sure, it would hurt when you would inevitably have to lock yourself away in embarrassment and never see mingi again, but time heals all wounds, right? and by the time you’re 50, the pain and embarrassment will have definitely almost healed over…

“so?” he mutters, pulling you back from the fantasy your brain had created, “are you going to do it?”

“i, uh…”

“i mean, i can if you want me to,” he shrugs, trying his hardest to play it cool as if he hadn’t been stuttering seconds prior. as if his face wasn’t just as pink as the mop of hair that sat atop it.

there is nothing cool about this man, you think to yourself as you push yourself into a sitting position. maybe that’s why you’re so attracted to him. his nerdy tendencies had tugged you in, and he’d worked his dorky little ways on you until you were hook line and sinker for him.

down bad, as the kids say. down so horrifically bad…

“i can do it,” you whisper as you look up at him with wide eyes. your lips are mere inches from his own, and his hot breath fans across your cold face. his eyes are on yours just briefly before they flicker down to your lips. they rested there for a second before making their way back up to yours, “i can kiss you,” you whisper.

“you can,” he mutters back, bringing his own face close enough to yours that you’re not even sure a sheet of paper would slip between the two of you. his tongue darts out to wet his own lips, gently brushing against yours too. your breath hitches as your last sliver of resolve vanishes. that’s it, you tell yourself, you can’t hold back anymore.

the tiny gap is closed as you press forwards, slamming your lips against his. your fingers shoot up to lace themselves in the hair at the nape of his neck, and his find a home on your waist. his eyelashes flutter against your face as he shuts his eyes, and you follow his lead, doing the same. it’s nice, you realise, the darkness letting you focus on how his lips feel moving slowly against your own. they fit perfectly, like they were always meant to be there.

he deepens the kiss briefly, tilting his head ever so slightly to get a better angle. it’s a little rougher at this angle, but you can’t find it in you to mind as he takes control. the desperation you feel from him as he moves his lips harshly against your own was something you feel yourself, so you let him take what he needs, taking just as much in return.

and by the time he pulls away, you’re both panting. rapid and hard and together. his lips have barely left your own as he catches his breath, but you don’t pull back either.

“fuck,” he mumbles against your lips, “that was… nice?”

“yeah,” you agree. ‘nice’ seems the best way to describe it, although it was so much more than just that, “it was nice, wasn’t it?”

“so nice, sunshine,” he says. a few beats of a silence pass before he presses his lips against yours again, this time for a much shorter, much more innocent peck. you can’t help but giggle as he pulls away. there’s a grin on his face too, “wish we’d done it sooner, though.”

you nod, “yeah, me too.”

“but we have all the time in the world, right?”

he pecks you again. this one lasts a few milliseconds longer than the last, not that you’re counting. when he pulls away, you chase it. another peck, this time led by you, but equally as brief as the other two. it’s his turn to chuckle.

“cute,” he grins, “you’re so cute.”

you get shy under his words and pull back just a tad. the grip he has on your waist refuses to let you go too far from him. you don’t mind; not at all. the fact he wants you so close actually sends the elephants feral. you feel them reach up to your heart to work their magic on that too. it probably isn’t healthy for it to beat at the speed that it is, but you really can’t help it. the elephants seem to respond to mingi and mingi alone. you don’t mind that either.

not at all.

#ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez oneshot #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez fic #mingi fluff #mingi scenarios #mingi x reader #mingi fanfic

[charlieeenby]

let me show you how to kill a man

the bat won't kill, it's a line he won't cross. his birds, however, are a different story

warnings and tags: murder, violence, injury

title from how to kill a man by bloody civilian

What everyone knows, is that Batman doesn’t kill. He can’t, or won’t, cross that line, and he doesn’t think that killing is the answer.

But he knows that it’s necessary sometimes, and while he’ll never kill, he knows that his children don’t share the same sentiment.

So when it comes down to it, he lets them, and over the years, he’s gotten a little more lax with that rule, trusting his children’s judgement of a situation, and when they need to, he turns his back, doesn’t acknowledge it, and let’s them do what they have to.

But he’s managed to keep it a secret from most, only a select few surviving his the feral sides every one of his children hid from most of the world.

A group of four men stood with their backs facing each other, knives and fists up, ready, for a fight.

But they wouldn’t get one. Batman dropped down from the rafters, but he seemed focused on the kids the men had placed in cages.

Before any of them could react, Nightwing dropped on top of one of them, snapping his neck in one fluid motion. Then he lunged for a second. The other two tried to attack him, but he was able to fend them off, on taking a blow to the face from an escrima stick, the other, a kick to the knee.

Nightwing snapped the neck of the man under him, then stepped to the one who’s knee he’s kicked in. He reached down and snapped his neck. Then he moved over to the fourth man, who swung his knife at him. Nightwing grabbed it, twisting it out of his hand, then stabbed him in the throat, no screams able to escape.

He stood, made sure there was no blood on his suit, then made his way over to Batman and the kids, helping his father get all of them home safe.

Afterwards, Batman asked him if the goons had been handled.

“Of course. Quick and quiet. Hood’s gonna take care of the rest.”

“Good. Let’s go home.”

“Batman doesn’t kill, which means you can’t stop me!”

Gordon growled under his breath, wishing at that moment that Batman did kill, because if someone didn’t kill this weeks psycho, he’d end up leveling the city a few months down the line.

When he looked over to Batman, he was surprised to see that the man had straightened up, hands relaxed at his sides. He had an odd expression on his face, on Gordon couldn’t quite read.

Then he said, very calmly, “You’re right. I don’t kill. I can’t stop you.” Gordon watched him put a hand on his belt for a brief second before dropping it to his side.

The rouge started cackling, ranting and raving about how he was going to be the first to beat Batman, but when he looked down at Batman, and saw the smirk on his face, he stopped.

“Why are you smiling like that?” he yelled, panic clear in his voice.

“I don’t kill, but he does.” Batman said.

“Who -” he was cut off by a gunshot and a bullet piercing his skull. Gordon looked up and found the Red Hood with a rifle.

“He killed almost an entire army, Batman!” Ra’s screamed. “He blew them up because I upset him.”

Batman leveled him with a blank look, but said nothing.

“You don’t kill. Are you going to just let your son kill of thousands of people?”

For a beat, Batman stayed quiet. Then he said. “I don’t let Red Robin do anything. He does what he wants, and you tried to blackmail and kill him. You threatened him, his friends and his family. What he did to keep them safe is not in my control.

“I don’t kill, but if he found it necessary, then I trust his judgement. I’m sure you’ll recover, Ra’s.”

Ra’s stared at him, and Batman turned and guided Red Robin and his team out of Ra’s’ palace.

“Batman, control your hell spawn!” Black Mask screamed, though it was cut off with a gurgle. Robin drove his sword through the crime lord’s throat, and Batman turned away, working through the files on the computer.

Robin came over to his side, blood on his face and sword.

Batman glanced at him, then said, “You have blood on your face. Please clean it off before we talk to the Commissioner.”

“Yes, Father.” Robin did as asked, making sure his face was clear of blood, then followed his father out of the hotel and onto the street where Gordon and his men were waiting.

“Batman. Are we clear to enter?”

“Yes. Black Mask is dead.” Batman said, handing over a flash drive to Gordon. “I have a copy as well.”

Gordon nodded slowly. “Dead?”

“He attacked Robin. Robin defended himself.” Batman said simply. Then he used his grapple gun to launch himself to a roof, Robin following closely behind.

“Okay, then.” Gordon said to himself, not sure how to react to that, especially after he'd seen Red Hood shoot a man after it seemed like Batman had given him the go ahead. 

While Barbra was Batgirl, she was safety and a warm light for the victims they all saved together. She was inspiration for little girls. She was violence, sure, but she was comfort, too.

Tonight, she was all violence. She and Batman had arrived a moment too late, and she was angry. She wanted vengeance and she would have it. Not even Batman would stop her.

No one could stop her when she rose from that little girls body and stepped forward, pulling out the knife her father had given her for her birthday. No one could stop her when she lunged, blade plunging into the killer’s throat, tearing it open. Blood spirted, spraying across her face.

And no one stopped her.

When the man was dead, and she was the killer, she stepped back, and looked to Batman.

He had bundled up the dead girl, wrapped her in his cape and covered her face. And then he had waited for Batgirl to finish. He looked at her for a moment, then nodded once.

“Go back to the cave and clean up. I’ll handle this.” he spoke softly, and there was no anger in his tone.

“Okay,” she said, and that was that.

Cass, Steph, and Jason were thick as thieves, and these days, Bruce rarely sees one without the other, especially on patrol.

So it didn’t come as much of a surprise when Spoiler called in saying that she, Orphan, and Hood needed backup.

Batman responded to the call, Nightwing a minute behind. When he arrived, he could hear fighting in the alleyway, but no gunshots, which worried him. Hood was quick to fire his guns when his siblings were in danger, and of all the times for him to use them.

But the air didn’t echo, it was still, quiet.

Batman dropped into the alleyway in time to watch Spoiler yank a knife from Orphan’s shaking hand, spin on her heel, and plunge the blade into a man’s eye, grinning under her mask as he screamed.

Hood came up behind the man and pulled a batarang across his throat, blood spilling down his chest. Even though he couldn’t see Hood’s face, Batman had the distinct impression that he had a grin that matched Spoiler’s.

Not pausing to hesitate, Batman moved to Orphan’s side, making sure she saw him before pulling her into a firm embrace. It was then that he saw the half dozen other bodies in the alley, all dead.

He looked to Spoiler and Hood.

Spoiler spoke up. “They attacked Orphan. She couldn’t kill them, so we did.” there was no room for argument, not that he had one.

“Thank you.”

Looking down at Orphan, he realized she was still shaking. “Sweetheart, it’s over. You’re safe.” he tried to soothe, though he wasn’t entirely sure what was wrong.

A hand rose and signed, “I thought I’d have to kill them.”

The shaking made sense now. “No, sweetheart, you will never have to kill again. I swear. And even if you did, I would still love you. You’d still be my daughter. Nothing will change that.”

Orphan laid her head on his shoulder. “Thank, you, Dad.”

“Love you, kiddo.”

Batman stood on the rooftop, watching Spoiler go after her father, a flash of purple here and there the only sign of her.

Cluemaster was no match for the girl he claimed to be the father to. He’d only hurt her, sharpened the blade.

But Spoiler was who she was in spite of her father, not because of him.

She became the one to beat him so she could save people. And when Batman had found her, he’d helped her hone the skills she already had, helped her improve. And while he’d done that, he’d given her a home, a family, and most importantly, he’d given her love.

Now she was gutting her father, preventing him from causing anymore suffering.

And when she swung up to the roof Batman was on and saw him, she ran to him, ran into his arms, and clung to him.

“He’s gone, sweetheart. He can’t hurt you or anyone ever again. You’re safe.” he whispered, holding her gently. “I’ve got you.”

While the other’s killing had never surprised Batman, Signal came as a slight surprise. But only slight. He was a bright, warm light, often reminding his family of the sun.

But the sun was fire, and fire burns. So when Signal came face to face with the Joker only a few months after losing his parents, Batman wasn’t sure what to expect.

When Signal caught sight of Joker, he snarled, and tensed up, ready to fight. The Joker had cackled and started taunting Signal.

Red Hood was about to step in when Signal grabbed Hood’s gun and fired every round into the Joker’s head, until his face was obliterated and unidentifiable. Then he’d dropped the gun and fell to his knees.

Batman stepped up next to him and set a hand on the teen’s shoulder. “He’s dead, Signal. It’s over.” he said, voice as gruff as ever.

“I know.”

For a moment, they were all quiet, not sure what to do. Then Batman offered a hand to Signal and helped him up. “You good?” he asked, looking his son over.

Signal didn’t answer right away, but then he said, “I will be… thank you.”

Batman smiled. “Of course.”

Of all the times for his children to start killing people, now was the worst time. He couldn’t just ignore it because the Justice League was here. So Batman was not having a good time.

“Batman,” Flash started, voice shrill. “Nightwing just tore a man’s head off.”

To his left, Orphan snickered, not that anyone would know aside from him, but she did. Batman sighed.

“I saw that, Flash, thank you.” What was he supposed to do?

“Batman, almost all of your… children are actively killing people. Signal and Orphan are the only one’s who aren’t.” Superman said. “Why aren’t you reacting?”

Batman looked at him. He hesitated.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” Superman was an inch away, worry clear on his face.

On his right, Signal cleared his throat. “I feel like it’s a good time to point out that one, the people they’re killing are all of the rapists that have ever existed on earth, come back to life, and two, no one else is doing anything about it.”

Batman grinned. Well, the corner of his mouth ticked up, but it may as well have been a grin with the way Superman stared at him.

“Batman?” he asked incredulously.

“Hn?”

“Do something!”

Batman tilted his head, grunted, then walked over to the ledge they were all on. “Hey!” he yelled and the fighting stopped, all of his children stopping and staring at him. “Superman wants you to stop killing.”

For a good thirty seconds, no one moved or said anything. Then on the comms, Batman heard Hood snort.

“B, will you please tell Superman to, respectfully, get fucked?” Nightwing said in a sickeningly sweet voice.

Batman grunted, then turned to the League. “Superman, Nightwing told me to tell you to get fucked. Respectfully.” he said, deadpan. Then he walked back to where he was standing.

Bonus:

It had been twenty years since the Wayne’s brutal murder in that alley way, ten since Batman had started, and one since Dick had joined the family. Today, someone was breaking into the manor.

Alfred sighed as he loaded his shot gun. This would be messy to clean up, but he never missed and he didn’t share the same sentiment as his son.

So he after he finished loading it, he stepped into the hallway, moving silently towards the living room. Must be idiot intruders, thinking there’d be anything to take there.

When he stood in the doorway of the room, he raised his riffle, counted the men – there were three – then spoke.

“Hello.”

They all spun around staring wide eyed at the shot gun.

Alfred grinned. “Goodbye.” he fired three shots in quick succession, all three of them dead. Footsteps pounded down the stairs and Bruce flew around the corner, panic on his face.

“Nothing to fret over, Master Bruce.” Alfred said calmly. “I’ve handled it. The mess will be cleaned up before breakfast. Now go back to bed, dear boy.”

Bruce gave him an odd look, eyeing the shot gun, then nodded and went back to bed.

In the morning, when Bruce looked into the living room, it was spotless, nothing out of place. No one said anything about it. 

#batfam #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #barbra gordon #cassandra cain #stephanie brown #duke thomas #alfred pennyworth #tw murder #tw gun violence #tw stabbing #tw blood #tw violence #alfred pennyworth #justice league #my work

[thatbloodymuggle]

READY TO RUN (vii)

SEVEN - STACCATO

SUMMARY: in a world where everyone has a predetermined match, JJ Maybank and Y/N Montgomery want nothing to do with theirs. it has to be a cruel joke; the universe forcing two people to love each other when they don’t know how.

PAIRING: jj maybank x reader / soulmate au

WORD COUNT: 7.8k

SERIES MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: smut, mirror sex, choking, oral (m receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, choking, slight humiliation kink

✰✰✰

“What a great match, Georgie! That last cross-court shot was just picture perfect,” Clyde Montgomery praised his youngest daughter as he swirled the celery stick around his bloody mary. 

You feigned a smile beside your mother, resisting the urge to slump over in your seat and nod off. You hadn’t slept more than 4 hours the previous night, and Georgia’s post-tournament club dinner was the last place you wanted to be on the island. But you knew you had to uphold your end of the deal with your father, and that meant pretending to be invested in the 13-year-old brat’s success. Still, you struggled to keep your eyes open. You hadn’t been able to sleep for the past few nights; ever since JJ’s visit. 

Your gut twisted at the thought of that night, and despite the time passed over the past few days, the sensation hadn’t subsided. You had seen a side of JJ you never imagined existed. His vulnerability, and the ease with which you provided him comfort, terrified you. It scared you shitless, and each night since then, you found yourself restless thinking about it. His radio silence certainly contributed to your anxiety, as he had left before you woke up and hadn’t texted you since.

Needless to say, you were not in the mood to hear your family drone on and on about frivolous things. You found yourself subconsciously passing the time by watching the condensation drip down your glass of water and peering around the restaurant, a small part of you hoping to catch sight of his tousled blond hair. You knew he picked up shifts on Saturdays, and you hated that you knew that. 

“Y/N,” your father’s stern voice snapped you from your train of thought and you jolted in your seat. His eyebrow was raised expectantly and all eyes were trained on you.

“Yes, sir?," you stumbled.

He sighed, exasperated, and ran a hand down his face, “I asked what you’ll be having. You need to be more aware of your surroundings.”

You flushed and your eyes jumped to the menu which you had yet to look over, “Oh, um, I guess I’ll get a club sandwich.”

“Why don’t you get the fig salad?” Margaret Montgomery’s voice cut through the air like a knife, “The dress you picked out for Midsummers was a tight squeeze when you tried it on, and I’m not getting you another one.”

You flushed as your sisters snickered at your mother’s pointed insult. You pursed your lips and slumped in your seat with a nod, trying your best to swallow down the lump in your throat. It was at that moment that you caught sight of the dirty blond hair you’d been keeping an eye out for all day. His eyes shot to yours and you held his gaze for a fleeting moment before looking back down at the condensation on your water glass.

The sharp stabbing pain of embarrassment from your mother’s comment muddled with the influx of emotions his presence brought was overwhelming. Your hands were clammy, and your leg shook with anxiety. You jumped abruptly from your seat and barely excused yourself before walking as fast as you could to the nearest bathroom. Your heart pounded and you released a breath you didn’t know you were holding as you made it inside the single stall bathroom, slamming the door shut behind you. 

You turned on the faucet and ran your hands underneath the water. Your shoulders relaxed as you drank in the relaxing sensation and focused on the coolness of the water.

You leaned your elbows against the counter and shut off the flow of water after a minute or so. Your dripping hands lay limp over the sink as you stared at your reflection in the mirror. You frowned as you studied the bags under your eyes and the pimple erupting on your chin.

A sharp knock sounded on the door.

"Occupied," you called as you continued your self-scrutiny. 

The knock sounded again, and your brows furrowed in annoyance, "I said occupied!"

The sharp knock turned into a banging, shaking the door at its hinges. You gritted your teeth and clenched your fists against the counter. With a huff of frustration, you swung the door open, ready to give the nuisance a piece of your mind. Your glaring eyes narrowed as they met a familiar set of devilish blues. 

"What the hell are you doing?" you hissed. You stumbled back as you were met with a soft, but forceful shove inside.

JJ swung the door shut behind him and locked it in one swift motion. 

"Someone's gonna see you, you can't just--" he cut off your rambling by pulling you flush against him and crashing his lips onto yours.

You tensed in shock at his brazenness. He pushed your back against the wall, and you let your eyes flutter shut, melting into the kiss. His lips were rough against yours, and you found yourself drunk on the feeling as they moved in sync. Your eyes shot open as he abruptly pulled away and began trailing kisses down the side of your neck. You gasped as he pushed the strap of your tank top aside and sucked harshly on the junction of your collarbone. 

"We can't do this here," you squeaked.

He ignored you and wrapped his arms around your thighs, roughly picking you up and sitting you on the counter of the sink. He nudged his thigh between your knees, forcing them apart. 

"We're gonna get caught," you weakly protested.

JJ let out a groan of irritation against your skin. He dug his blunt nails into the soft skin of your inner thigh, and you jumped.

"Do you ever shut up?" his nose trailed up behind your ear, and the tickle of his voice made you shiver. Your breath hitched as he moved his hand underneath your skirt and toyed with the edge of your panties, "The only way we're getting caught is if you keep running your mouth."

You bristled at his condescending tone, but couldn't stop yourself from lurching forward and closing the gap between them, reconnecting your lips once more. He curled his fingers underneath the band of your panties and pulled it back before letting it snap back against your skin. You gasped at the stinging sensation, and he used the opportunity to slide his tongue inside your mouth, deepening the kiss. 

Desperate to take back control, you shoved at his chest, and JJ stumbled back in surprise. You swiftly flipped him so he was leaning against the counter as you reattached your lips to his. JJ groaned as you reached between down and unbuttoned his khaki shorts. He reached down to release his cock straining against his boxers, but you swatted his hands away. 

"You had your fun last time. It's my turn now," you mumbled against him before biting down on his bottom lip, eliciting a hiss from him. 

JJ relented and allowed you to take control, at least for the time being. 

You shoved his shorts down so they pooled around his ankles. You trailed kisses down his neck as you ran your fingers along the hem of his boxers teasingly. He groaned as you palmed him through the thin material.

"My patience is running thin, sweetheart," he grunted, sliding one hand underneath your skirt and groping the curve of your ass harshly.

Before he had a chance to flip you back around, you sank to your knees in front of him. JJ bit back a moan at the sight of your doe eyes staring up at him through your long lashes. He watched, jaw slack, as you slowly pulled down his boxers, releasing his throbbing length. He sucked in a breath as you dribbled spit on the head. You wrapped your hand around his cock and stroked up and down the shaft, twisting your wrist at the bottom. His eyes rolled back as you licked a slow strip from the base to the head before taking him into your mouth. 

"Fuck," JJ moaned as you moved at a steady pace, up and down his cock, using one hand to massage his balls. You rolled your tongue around his length as you moved, paying particular attention to the head of his cock each time you pulled back. He wrapped one hand in your hair, guiding your movements. He couldn't help himself from bucking his hips, groaning as you gagged around his length. Spit dribbled down your chin as he began fucking your mouth. You looked up at him through teary, hooded eyes, and he nearly came at the sight. JJ jerked you off of him in one swift movement, pulling you to your feet. 

"You had your fun," he roughly turned your body so you faced the mirror and he stood behind you, "Now it's my turn."

You gasped as he bunched your skirt up around your waist and shoved your panties to the side. He ran a finger through your folds and you flushed as he chuckled into your ear, "You're dripping, princess."

You tried to turn in JJ's hold, but his grip around your waist was firm, forcing you to face the mirror. Your eyes fluttered shut and you lulled your head back onto his shoulder as he sunk one finger into your heat. Your lips parted as he curled it inside you, hitting a spot you didn't even know existed.

Your eyes shot open as JJ wrapped his other hand around your neck and forced your head forward.

"Don't hide, baby. I want you to watch yourself, see how pretty you are," his rasp sent a shiver up your spine. He added another finger and you let out a strangled moan. Your cheeks burned and you tried to turn your head away, but his grip was firm, "You want me to stop?" his movements slowed. 

You whined and shook your head, "Uh uh."

"Then be a good girl and watch yourself fall apart on my fingers," he nipped at your skin.

His pace increased as he massaged your walls, curling his fingers in just the right spot. Your eyes watered as you watched yourself in the mirror. You were embarrassed by the vulgarity of the image, but even more so by how aroused it made you. You whimpered as JJ unwrapped his hand from your throat and moved it down to rub your clit. Your knees buckled at the doubled stimulation, and you grasped at JJ's biceps, desperate for something to stabilize yourself. You gnawed on your bottom lip, trying your best to suppress your cries of pleasure.

"JJ, I'm--" you blabbered, unable to think straight.

He curled his fingers even faster, creating an obscene squelching sound. You shuddered and your eyes rolled back as you felt yourself approaching your high. You cried out and nearly crumpled to the ground when he abruptly removed his fingers. Your lips parted in shock and tears pricked at your eyes at the cruel smirk on his face.

"Oh, sorry, princess. Were you close?" his mocking tone made your bottom lip wobble. 

"I hate you," your voice trembled.

JJ chuckled at this and flipped you around, lifting you onto the counter. He pressed his lips against yours and you melted into the sloppy kiss. "Well you sure have a funny way of showing it," he mumbled against your mouth.

Before you had a chance to retaliate, JJ yanked your panties down your legs, tossing them aside carelessly. He pulled you forward so you sat on the very edge of the sink. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist. You snaked one arm around him and sunk your nails into the soft skin behind his neck, "Shut up and fuck me into tomorrow."

He didn't need to be told twice. JJ hastily lined up against your entrance, and pushed in slowly, his jaw slack as he watched his cock disappear into your body. You stifled a moan as he bottomed out, drunk on the feeling of him buried so deep inside of you. He pulled his hips back slowly until just the tip of him remained inside you. You whined at the loss and clawed at his back. JJ rested his forehead against yours before swiftly crashing his lips against yours and snapping his hips, plunging back inside of you. 

You yelped against his mouth as he set a punishing pace pounding into you. You felt stuffed to the brim and held onto him for dear life, sinking your teeth into his collarbone to muffle your cries. The sound of smacking flesh filled the marbled bathroom. 

"Touch yourself for me," he grunted against your ear.

You reached a shaky hand in-between your bodies and rubbed your clit as he rutted into you. The added pleasure made your toes curl.

JJ pressed his lips against your neck, "You're taking me so well, baby. Can't get enough of this tight little cunt."

You fluttered against him at his sinful words. His unrelenting tempo made your gut tighten, and you couldn't tell if it was his or your own high rapidly approaching.

"I'm so close, J," you mewled, trying your best to keep quiet.

His hips stuttered at the sound of your desperate plea, "I know, baby. Let go."

Your vision blurred and your jaw dropped as shockwaves gripped your body. JJ released a guttural groan as your climax sent him over the edge. He rolled his hips against yours as he spilled himself inside of you, your fluttering walls milking every last drop of his seed.

Dazed from the euphoria of their climaxes, you slumped against each other trying to catch your breaths. JJ inched out of you slowly, and your breath hitched at the loss. You flushed as you became abruptly aware of the mess between your thighs.

"Can you--" you started but were cut off by JJ handing you a roll of toilet paper, as if he had read your mind.

An awkward silence enveloped the two of you as you cleaned yourselves and tried your best to hide any evidence of the fleeting interaction.

Your eyes widened at the sight of your reflection in the mirror. Your hair was a mess and your mascara had smeared, not to mention the blush which just wouldn't budge from your cheeks. JJ watched you from the corner of his eye as he pulled on his boxers.

"You know," you rasped, breaking the tension-filled air, "I was thinking about your situation."

JJ paused his movements and you noticed his whole body tense, but opted to continue as he hadn't stopped you.

"I could help you with reporting him, getting out of that house. I can only imagine how impossible it must feel without the right resources and support, so if you--"

"And then what?" JJ snapped. His cold tone made the hair on your arms prickle.

"What do you mean?" your brows furrowed.

He scoffed, "What happens when I turn him in? CPS comes in and uproots my life, throws me in the system. Maybe even throws me into a worse situation?"

"That's not necessarily true, they could actually help more than you think--"

JJ whipped around to face you with menacing eyes, "He might be a piece of shit, but that's my dad. He's the only family I've got," you shrunk in on yourself at his tone, "You don't get it, Montgomery, and you never will..”

You frowned. You gently rested a hand on his back while he bucked his belt, “I know it’s not my place," you spoke softly, “But I just can’t stand to see you suffering–”

“You’re right, it’s not your place,” he threw your hand off, “You've got a silver spoon shoved so far down your throat you can’t see straight. You’re so fucking sheltered from hardship. When will you get it through your thick skull that I don’t wanna be part of your perfect little family in your perfect little house?”

JJ’s words cut you deep. Your voice trembled as you spoke, “I know hardship. Maybe not in the way you do, but just because my pain is invisible doesn’t mean it's any less real.”

“Invisible pain,” he scoffed, “What? Like Daddy didn’t buy you the Prada shoes you wanted?”

Tears of frustration welled in your eyes, which only egged him on.

“I don’t want your help, and I sure as hell don’t want your pity. But most of all, I don’t want you, Montgomery. We made an agreement that this,” he gestured between you, “Is purely physical. Don’t delude yourself into thinking it’s anything more.”

Your bottom lip wobbled as a tear trailed down your face. His words were vicious. You sucked in a deep breath, trying to collect yourself. You looked into his eyes, the once bright blue now a stormy gray; a deathless shield. 

“You’re right," you spoke quietly in an effort to keep your voice even, “It’s nothing more. I should get back to my perfect little family.”

You didn’t spare him a second glance as you turned on your heel and fled the suffocating bathroom. You didn’t care that tears were now rolling freely down your hot cheeks. You didn’t care that he could feel your nails digging into your palms, or that your mascara was probably ruined. You didn’t care, because no one else did; no one cared for you, so why should you?

As you approached the table to rejoin your family, you wiped your eyes and straightened your skirt. You covered the mark on your neck with your hair, and put on your best plastic smile. You sat back down next to your mother, your back straight and your hands resting in your lap, ready to smile politely and say nothing. No one spared you a second glance. But this time, you hadn’t deluded yourself into thinking they would. They hadn’t noticed you'd been missing for the better part of an hour, let alone that your eyes were swollen red. Because they didn’t care. 

So, with a heavy heart and a hollowness inside, you stared down at the fig salad, which looked back up at you mockingly. You clenched your fist around your fork and shoved the food fit for a rabbit around the plate. You glared down at the bits of pecan and crumbled goat cheese, which seemed to symbolize every bit of rage you felt towards your mother. Your jaw clenched as you fumed quietly. Why were you so spineless? Why were you so concerned with maintaining your fragile reputation as a perfect little Montgomery child, when your parents cared so little for you? Why couldn't you, just once in your life, stand up for yourself? And why the fuck were you letting JJ Maybank’s words dictate your entire being?

The sight of his ruffled blond hair bussing the table across from your family was the trigger–you had had enough.

“You know, I met my soulmate the other day,” your uncharacteristically cold voice sliced through the air. The whole Montgomery family paused their conversation and stared at you in shock. Margaret dropped her fork, Clyde choked on his drink, and Dixie and Georgia’s jaws fell slack.

You stared at your mother, and at the boy who had sent your life into upheaval behind her. JJ had his back turned away from your table, but you could see he had stopped his movements, frozen in place. Good, you thought to yourself.

“Yeah," you sighed. Your next words were calculated and you spoke in a sickly sweet tone, molasses dripping from your lips, “Your biggest fear came true, Mother: he’s a Pogue. The Montgomery family name has a big, fat stain on it now! Wonder how you’re gonna cover that one up.”

You could hear a pin drop a mile away.

Margaret shook with rage, whereas Clyde’s face had turned the shade of a tomato. You looked just past your mother to see that JJ had turned around, his eyes wide with shock at the scene unfolding before him. A smug grin took over your face at the chaos you had created.

“You..,” your mother seethed, “you ungrateful little brat. You’re a miserable excuse for a daughter, and if you think for one minute that I’m about to let you ruin–”

“Get out,” Clyde’s eerily deep and even tone cut off his wife. His menacing eyes bore into yours. “Get the hell out of here. Now.”

You gulped in fear, but maintained your stone cold mask, determined not to show weakness.

“Gladly," you bit back, throwing your napkin on top of the fig salad before not so quietly storming away, effectively capturing the attention of bystanders.

You could hear your parents bickering behind you as you made your exit, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t care less about the impending consequences of your outburst. All you cared about was getting as far away from there as possible.

You trembled with pent up anger as you finally escaped the suffocating air of the country club. Your nails dug into your palms as you stomped down the road, desperately searching for an outlet. You felt like screaming until your throat hurt, or punching something until your knuckles bled.

A shiver crept up your spine at the feeling of a feather-light touch stroking your forearm. Your blood boiled at JJ’s pathetic attempt to comfort you. This was all his fault. If it hadn’t been for him, you wouldn’t have been in this mess in the first place.

“Fuck!”

You cried out as you felt the bark of the nearby tree splinter underneath your knuckles. You cradled your fist in your arms and squinted your eyes shut, as if doing so would block out the pain. 

At least he got the message, you thought to yourself as the feeling of his touch on your arm abruptly left. 

You fumbled through your bag in search of your phone. You blinked back tears as you pulled it out and stared blankly at your home screen. The picture of you grinning alongside Anna only sent you deeper into your hurricane of emotions. 

You frantically searched for Topper’s phone number, but paused as a text notification populated your screen.

8:06 PM Sarah: what are u up to tonight? i heard there’s gonna be a kegger on the cut

Your fingers moved to respond before your mind could catch up.

to Sarah:

i’m in delivered 8:07 PM

✰✰✰

The pungent smell of weed and stale beer invaded your senses the second you stepped out of John B’s van.

The nearby beach was flooded with Tourons and Pouges alike, chattering over the blasting bass of some rock song. In the center of it all was a blazing fire pit, complete with beer pong tables and spike ball nets. 

“I know it’s not your typical party scene,” John B hopped out of the van, “But I think you’ll find that Pogues do it better.”

You laughed, “This is perfect. Thanks for inviting me guys.”

Kie grinned at you and looped an arm through yours, “Welcome to the dark side. We don’t have any cookies, but we got a lot of beer.”

You giggled as the two of you set off towards the crowded beach, followed closely by John B and Sarah. 

While this technically wasn’t the first time you had made an appearance at a kegger, it was certainly the first time you’d shown up with a group of Pogues. A small part of you felt bad for leaving Topper and Kate in the dark, but the thought of entering a mansion, let alone attending a Kook party, made your stomach churn. This was the perfect escape from your suffocating life on the Figure Eight; even if just for a night.

“Soo, I was promised beer," you teased Kie with a nudge as you arrived at the center of the crowd.

“Coming right up, m’lady!” John B grinned as he filled a red solo cup to the brim with alcohol.

You smiled as you took the plastic cup from him with a courtesy, “Thank you, kind sir.”

“Who the fuck invited her?” a familiar voice sent a shiver up your spine.

You whipped around and swallowed down a gasp as you came face to face with the boy who had sent your life into complete upheaval. The sight of him was an acrid reminder of events earlier in the evening. You trembled as you were reminded of the touch of his skin against yours. Your face fell as you remembered the seething look on your father's face after your outburst at the dinner table.

Despite the fiery rage bubbling in the pit of your stomach at the sight of JJ, you couldn't help but swoon at the sight of his windswept hair dusted with sand. You studied the slight downward curve of his lips, and the cinch between his brows. Pope lingered behind him with an awkward grin which looked more like a grimace.

JJ’s jaw ticked with irritation, and you only narrowed your eyes in response. You threw your head back as you chugged the contents of your cup, ignoring the burning sensation of stale beer down your throat. 

“Oooh, Kook can drink!” Pope cheered you on.

You resisted the urge to gag as you crumpled up the empty plastic cup in your hand, beer dribbling down your chin. You burped loudly, sending Kie into a fit of giggles.

“Last I checked you don’t own this beach, Pogue," you quipped.

JJ grinded his teeth with a snarl.

“Cool it, JJ. And Y/N, if you’re gonna hang out with us then no derogatory usage of ‘Pogue’,” Kie intervened before a fight could erupt.

“Force of habit. I digress,” you averted your gaze from JJ and turned to the others with a smile, “So am I the only one drinking?”

Pope and Sarah grinned before raising their cups in unison, following your lead and chugging their drinks. 

“Refill?” John B nudged you.

“Please," you laughed as he filled another cup to the brim.

You didn’t need to look at JJ to know he was seething; but frankly, you didn’t care.

“Who wants to play pong?” Kie shouted with a grin.

“You’re so on!” you snatched Sarah’s hand and dragged her to the nearby table before the Cameron girl had a chance to respond. Kie and Pope swiftly followed, taking position at the other end of the wooden table.

“I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into, Kie. I have a long standing winning streak," you teased from across the table as the teenagers arranged plastic cups on either end.

Kie snorted, “Well good luck ‘cause Sarah’s a notoriously awful shot.”

“Hey,” Sarah shouted back with a frown, “Don’t forget I won last time!”

“Only ‘cause I was on your team,” the sound of JJ’s gravelly voice right behind you made you tense. Nevertheless, you ignored him and continued setting up the game, pouring a liberal amount of beer into each cup. 

“How about losers have to do a keg stand?” Pope called out as he tossed you a ping pong ball.

A devilish grin crept onto your face, “You’re so on.”

The teenagers set to work playing the game. You could feel JJ’s eyes burning through you, but you avoided his gaze and instead focused on shooting the plastic ball into the beer-filled cups, tipping back drinks all the while. 

“Looks like Little Miss Montgomery is about to lose that winning streak,” Pope teased from across the table as they prepared to throw the balls yet again. You frowned at the sight of a single cup on your end of the table in comparison to the three remaining cups on the other end. 

“Don’t get cocky now, you still have to make the shot," you slurred, the alcohol catching up to you.

Your words were almost instantly drowned out by Pope and Kie’s cheering as he sank the ping pong ball into their final cup, effectively ending your long-standing winning streak.

You groaned as Sarah pulled the ball out of the cup and chugged the beer inside. 

“They were right. You really do suck at pong," you grumbled as Sarah threw down the cup and wiped her mouth.

“Hey!” she pouted, “It’s not all about winning.”

“Uh, yeah it is,” Kie snorted, “And I’m pretty sure there’s a keg stand waiting for you two, if I remember correctly.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. You threw your hands up and relented, “Okay, okay. But Sarah’s going first since I carried that game.”

Sarah huffed but marched towards the keg. John B followed closely behind, and held her legs up as she positioned herself in a handstand on top of the large container of beer. A small crowd gathered, cheering as she took the tap head into her mouth and began chugging. You whooped alongside them as your friend chugged until she couldn’t take anymore. Sarah came down from the keg with a loud belch, sending the group of Pogues into a fit of laughter.

“Alright, Montgomery, your turn!” Pope nudged you towards the keg.

You stumbled towards the silver container, already feeling dazed from the alcohol. Still, you braced your arms on either end of the keg and kicked your legs up. Pope helped stabilize you as you took the tap head and followed Sarah’s lead, letting the bitter taste flood your mouth. Your head pounded from your upside down position and you were vaguely aware of the cheering crowd as you chugged. You continued until you felt your arms begin to wobble and the urge to vomit. Finally, Pope released his hold and you flipped back onto the ground, stumbling as you regained your footing.

You laughed and gave a dramatic bow to the onlooking crowd, ignoring JJ’s hawk eyes on you. 

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you clumsily dug it out. 

11:56 PM Topper: why the fuck is your find my at the Cut?

You squinted through blurred vision as you sloppily typed out a reply.

to Topper:

kgr on th cut!!! come or ur a bitchff delivered 11:58 PM

“Hey Y/N! What are the odds you skinny dip in the ocean right now?” Sarah’s shrill voice pulled you from your phone. 

You glanced up at your drunk friend through hooded eyes. Sarah’s infectious smile made your own lips curve upwards.

“1 in 10, but only if you do it with me," you giggled.

Sarah’s eyes widened as she doubled over in laughter, “Okay, who’s counting?”

John B frowned and grabbed Sarah’s hand, but she slipped away and wrapped her arms around you instead.

“I’ll do it,” Pope raised his hand before burping loudly, sending you into another fit of laughter.

“Hold on–” John B tried to interject, but was drowned out by Pope’s dramatic countdown.

“1…2…3!”

“7!”

You and Sarah shrieked as you shouted the same number in unison.

“Look what you’ve done!” you cried and gave Sarah a playful shove.

Tears streamed down Sarah’s face as she doubled over in laughter, “Well rules are rules, come on!”

“Come on, Sarah, don’t be dumb,” John B interjected with a sour face. 

Sarah ignored her soulmate’s protests as she grabbed your hand and dragged you towards the ocean. You avoided JJ’s burning gaze and followed your friend.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, John B! I’ll keep mine on,” Sarah shouted over her shoulder as you sprinted together towards the crashing waves. 

You and Sarah ignored John B’s protests as you clumsily got rid of your clothes. You giggled as you tripped while stepping out of your jean shorts, nearly falling down onto the sand below. Sarah peeled off her top and yelped at the feeling of the cool breeze, wrapping her arms around her chest. You continued until you left only in your underwear. You ignored the wolf whistles erupting from the crowd of Pogues and Tourons that had gathered around. 

You felt a rush of hot anger which wasn’t your own bubbling in the pit of your stomach. You glanced over your shoulder and caught sight of JJ and John B standing side by side, arms crossed and jaws taut with irritation. You were too far away, and frankly too drunk, to decipher the look in his eyes; but his rage coursing through your veins spoke louder than words, and it only egged you on.

A devious smirk crept onto your beer-stained lips. You grabbed Sarah’s hand and set off into a clumsy run towards the water. You shrieked with laughter as you crashed into the waves. Goosebumps erupted along your body, but the numbing effect of alcohol fueled you on.

“Oh my god it’s fucking freezing!” Sarah’s shrill cry brought you back to reality.

“It feels so good," you laughed as a wave came over your shivering friend

You bobbed up and down in the water, reveling in the cheers of the crowd from the beach. You threw your head back into the ocean, letting the eerie sound fill your ears. You fluttered your eyes shut and grinned blindly up at the winking moon. The combination of alcohol and the freezing cold of the ocean flooded your brain, and for once you felt completely and utterly free.

You abruptly pulled your head back with a gasp as a splash of water came over you. You didn’t hesitate to retaliate, splashing Sarah back with all of the strength you could muster. You went back and forth splashing each other for what felt like hours, but was in reality mere minutes.

“Come on, Sarah, that’s enough,” John B’s muffled shout sounded from the beach. 

Sarah rolled her eyes but relented, “We better get back before he actually loses his mind.”

“Nah, I’m not done yet. And I don’t answer to men,” you quipped as you spun in the water.

Sarah grabbed your hand, “Come on, Y/N. I’m actually freezing now and I’m not leaving you behind.”

You refused to budge and pulled your arm back with a drunken grin, “You can go ahead. I’ll be fine.”

Sarah frowned and glanced between the intoxicated Montgomery girl and her angry boyfriend in the distance.

“Seriously, Sarah, go ahead. I promise I’m right behind you. Just a few more minutes.”

Sarah sighed, but with alcohol clouding her judgment, she relented, “Okay. But no more than 5 minutes or I’m sending John B to get you.”

You mockingly saluted your fellow Kook, “Yes ma’am!”

You watched as Sarah swam back to shore and hastily ran over to her clothes discarded on the sand. You could see John B approach from the distance, blocking the dissipating crowd’s view of his girlfriend’s nearly naked body. You could see him chewing Sarah out as she got dressed, and you rolled your eyes. 

“Come on, Y/N, you’re way too drunk for this,” Kie’s concerned voice shouted from a distance.

“I’m so sober right now," you shouted back, lying through your teeth, “I bet I could hold my breath for a minute!”

“Don’t–”

You didn’t hear the rest of Kie’s protests as you sucked in a deep breath before submerging yourself completely in the cold, dark abyss. Your head spun as the iciness engulfed you. You squinted your eyes shut and embraced the feeling as a welcome escape. As you counted down the seconds, you reveled in the sanctuary of silence. Through the pounding in your head and the burning in your lungs, your mind was completely void; no stuck-up parents, no fake friends, and most importantly, no JJ.

You remained underneath the water until you felt faint and you were forced to resurface, gasping for air. You panted as you wiped your eyes and turned to the group of Pogues on the beach.

“How long was it?” you shouted.

But you only heard a scream before a wave crashed over you. 

The brutal force swept your body back under water as a sharp pain erupted on the back of your head. You flailed your arms, desperately trying to make your way back up to the surface, but to no avail. Your chest burned from the lack of oxygen as panic and fatigue simultaneously set in. The once peaceful escape was now a vicious cage, and the adrenaline fueling you slipped away. You let your eyes flutter shut.

Just as your tired limbs started to slow, you felt the electrifying touch of an arm wrap around your waist.

Your eyes shot open as you were pulled back to the surface.

You coughed violently and gasped for air. You subconsciously wrapped your arms around the shoulders of your savior as you fought to catch your breath. The once calming sensation of water against your skin was suddenly scorching, and you wanted nothing more than to escape. Slowly, your blurred vision began to regain focus as you were dragged through the water. As the shore approached, an arm snaked underneath your legs and you were lifted from the water. Finally lucid, you averted your gaze to face your savior.

JJ’s stormy eyes stared down at you as he carried your shivering body to shore.

The look of panic on his face made you abruptly aware of the pain in the back of your head. And just as suddenly, you became aware of your tight grip around his neck, and the unwanted comfort his touch rained down over you. 

You fought every instinct to tighten your grip around him, and instead flailed your legs and pushed at his heaving chest. 

“Let me go, you fucker!”

You squirmed out of his grip and cried out in pain as your body hit the sand below. JJ scoffed and unceremoniously tossed your discarded clothes from the sand on top of you.

“Oh my god, Y/N, are you okay?” Sarah’s voice was frantic as she kneeled beside you.

“Can you breathe?” Kie followed suit, gripping your shoulders.

You winced and nudged Kie off of you, “I’m fine," you grumbled.

“What the fuck is going on here?” 

The pounding in your head amplified at the booming sound of a furious Topper.

“Y/N, what happened?” Kate arrived at the scene, kneeling between Kie and Sarah.

“I don’t–” you tried to respond but were drowned out by the sound of Topper and the Pogues bickering. 

You lazily tried to pull on your clothes, but Kate, Kie, and Sarah’s grabbing hands shooed your own away as they helped you get dressed. The touch of the three girls and the bickering of the boys was suffocating, and you felt yourself gasping for breath again as if another wave had crashed over you.

“Would everyone just leave me the fuck alone?” you cried.

You sucked in a breath as the grabbing hands and arguing voices subsided.

You weakly pulled your shirt over your head. You ignored the burning gaze of the Pogues and your friends as you slowly hauled yourself up from the ground, stumbling over your trembling legs. They waited with bated breath as you dusted the sand from your body and turned to face them. 

“I’m fine," you rasped, your voice hoarse.

“Y/N, I really think we should take you to an urgent care or something. What if–”

“I said I’m fine, Kate. Would you drop it?” you snapped at your friend.

Kate frowned and glanced towards Topper, urging her boyfriend to step in.

“I’m getting another drink," you grumbled. You ignored the throbbing pain in your head and set off towards the keg, but were stopped in your tracks by Topper’s strong grip around your bicep.

“No the fuck you’re not. You’ve had enough,” he forcefully pulled you back, and you fought against his iron grip.

“Last I checked I have free will," you slurred, finally yanking your arm away, “And I plan on exercising it.”

“Please, Y/N, you’re not thinking straight. At least let us drive you home,” Kate pleaded, her eyes wide with concern.

You scoffed and let out a manic laugh at the suggestion. 

“I’d rather end up in a ditch then go back to that hell hole,” your voice cracked as you spoke.

You stomped away before Topper or Kate could stop you. You grabbed a plastic cup and filled it until the cheap beer sloshed over the edges. But just as you raised it to your lips, it was snatched away.

Your jaw fell slack and your body shook with rage as your eyes met JJ’s. The softness of the ocean water dripping from his blond hair was a stark contrast to the sharpness of his clenched jaw. You grabbed at the cup he had stolen, but he threw it aside before you could retrieve your drink. You stomped with frustration as the contents spilled onto the fine sand below.

“You trying to kill yourself or something?” he seethed.

You ignored the Pogue and reached for another cup, but he knocked your arm away. Your anger only intensified at this. 

“Would you stop trying to take care of me? I don’t need your help, and I sure as hell don’t need you," you hissed and shoved at his chest with all the strength you could muster.

His dry laugh made your skin crawl, “If I didn’t jump in and save your drunk ass you’d be at the bottom of the ocean right now. Cut the shit, Montgomery.”

“I’d rather be at the bottom of the ocean than anywhere near you," you spit.

You lunged forward towards the keg, but he wrapped his hands around your forearms. 

A tear of frustration slipped from the corner of your eye as you screamed profanities at him and fought against his grip, but to no avail. 

“You can’t just pick and choose when you give a shit about me, Maybank," you finally twisted out of his hold, “You made your feelings perfectly clear. Stop pretending to care,” your voice cracked as another tear escaped.

You made one last attempt towards the keg, but JJ wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your back flush against his bare chest.

“I’m not pretending,” he rasped into your ear.

The floodgate broke.

Tears rolled down your face as sobs wracked your body. You weakly flailed your arms but JJ only tightened his grip around you.

“Leave me alone," you sobbed, “just leave me alone.”

“No,” his voice was stern.

You weren't sure how long you struggled in his grip. But the pounding in your head began to take over, and you couldn’t see straight with tears clouding your vision. Finally you relented, crumpling against him. You fell limp as sobs continued to wrack your body. JJ eased you to the ground, all the while holding you flush against him, afraid to let go.

“I’m so tired of all of this," you cried as you wrapped your hands around his arms, finally giving into his hold, “I’m tired of crying. I’m tired of living my life for everyone but me. I’m tired of being perfect. I’m tired of my parents, and I’m tired of you.”

You couldn’t stop the stream of words and tears. You were vaguely aware of the crowd of your friends watching your breakdown, but you couldn’t stop it; no matter how hard you tried. You gasped for breath through your sobs, and JJ buried his face into the crook of your shoulder.

“Can you count to 10 for me?” his mouthed against your skin.

You shook your head violently.

“I’m just so tired,” your voice cracked as you cried.

“I know, baby, I know,” he whispered, “Can you feel my heartbeat?” he pulled you impossibly closer.

You shut your eyes tight and tried to focus on the pounding of his heart against your back. You nodded weakly.

“Focus on my heartbeat,” he whispered. He tapped his hand in rhythm against your forearm, “Can you tap with me?”

You trembled as you weakly tapped your hand against his. You put all your energy towards focusing on the heavy pounding of his heart. Your sobs slowly subsided.

“Good. Now can you breathe with me?” JJ’s raspy voice soothed you.

You nodded and mimicked his deep breaths, focusing on the feeling of his chest expanding and shrinking in over and over again.

Your chest heaved as the tears finally stopped rushing down your face. Your whole body ached and your head felt like it could explode. But the feeling of JJ’s bated breath against your skin and his arms wrapped around you was a safe haven you had never felt before.

“How’s your head?” he mumbled against you, rocking your body in a soothing manner.

“Hurts," you whispered back.

“I know,” he sighed.

Guilt tugged at your heartstrings. You had momentarily forgotten that JJ could feel every bit of physical and emotional pain you were in.

“Please let me get you out here, Y/N. We can go back to my house,” Kate’s soft tone snapped you back to reality. 

Your puffy eyes fluttered open to meet your friend’s concerned gaze. Kate was knelt beside you and JJ on the sand, cautious not to get too close in fear of upsetting you again. Topper stood behind her, his lips pulled taut at the scene before him.

You averted your gaze to the ground and you subconsciously gnawed on your bottom lip. Your predicament with JJ was painfully obvious, and you knew you had a lot of explaining to do. But that would have to wait for another day.

“Y/N?” Kate questioned softly.

You gave your friend a weak nod.

JJ moved to unwrap his arms from you, but you tightened your grip, unwilling to lose his touch just yet. He sighed and looked up at the two Kooks. His gaze hardened at the sight of Topper, but he knew it wasn’t the time or place to pick a fight.

“I’ll carry her to your car,” JJ’s voice was gruff.

Kate and Topper shared a look, but nodded. 

You wrapped your arms around JJ’s neck as he released one arm from your tight grip to slide underneath your legs, carefully lifting you from the ground. You closed your tired eyes to avoid the watchful glances of the rest of the Pogues. You rested your head against his chest as he carried you through the sand away from the crowd of the party.

“I’m sorry," you whispered so quietly you were surprised JJ heard you.

His grip tightened slightly, “I’m sorry.”

His shaky voice made you shrink further into his hold.

You reluctantly peeled your eyes open as he approached Topper’s Range Rover. Kate swung the backseat door open and JJ carefully lowered you inside the vehicle. You flinched at the feeling of the cool leather seat against your skin. Your watery eyes met JJ’s, which were swimming with an emotion you couldn’t quite decipher. He reluctantly unwrapped his arms from around you, and you fought the urge to pull him back.

“Get back safe, okay?” he whispered.

You nodded, and your heart dropped as he moved away. You watched longingly as he averted his gaze to the ground. You sucked in a breath as he shut the door, and your vision was flooded with the darkness of the tinted window. As Topper started the engine and pulled the car out of the parking lot, you could feel the distance between you and JJ grow with each passing second. 

The urge to jump out and run after him was strong. But your fatigue was even stronger. You fluttered your eyes shut and relented to your tired body, letting yourself slip from consciousness.

#jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jj maybank smut #outer banks #jj maybank imagine #jj x reader #jj maybank fanfiction #outer banks fanfiction

[five-and-dimes]

Sloom

AO3

In many ways, Dream feels inferior to the rest of his family. Which means he struggles when Hob asks to meet them.

Well this took a million years longer to finish than I expected and as usual I struggled with the ending but we gotta call it done at some point, lads, so here we are.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dream tries not to think about it too much, because it makes something in his heart ache when he does.

How he was made wrong.

He doesn't understand it- he was born the same way as his siblings, and yet somehow he is the only one… lacking. Everyone else understands humanity, everyone else understands themselves, everyone else doesn't struggle to connect, to speak, to share, to exist in a way that doesn't hurt.

Even Desire, whom he despises so much for all the games they play to torment him…

But then, Desire is only so cruel to him. Maybe that, too, is his fault.

He had thought it was enough to do his job well - to protect the dreamers and his realm and all the power it contains. He can withstand being a bad sibling, a bad friend, a bad husband, father, lover, person (he can withstand it, he can) as long as he is good at his job. He doesn't play games, he doesn't let himself get distracted, he fulfills his purpose, he is good at his job, and that is enough. It has to be.

(And then he fails at that, too.)

(He had made himself good for one thing. Now he is good for nothing.)

He walks with Death, and his elder sister lovingly twists the knife. She reminds him of all the ways he got it wrong, got all of it wrong, and he wonders if she would have bothered to come if he had called at Fawny Rig.

(He wonders if she would have come if one of their other siblings had been captured.)

(He wonders if they all aid each other when he's not looking.)

(He doesn't look.)

She tells him to visit Hob Gadling and it feels like an execution. He feels like he’s bleeding, like he’s being sentenced to a slow death, like all of his wounds are on display for anyone to dig their fingers into.

He feels like he deserves it.

And so he drags his feet, first to the hollowed out husk of the White Horse, and then following a bright line to someplace new, someplace glowing with life and possibility and when he crosses the threshold he feels like a weed. He is too dark for this place, too cold, and when he sees Hob he expects to be kicked out like a stray dog.

Hob smiles at him. Smiles, and Dream feels a little less cold.

“You’re late.”

No condemnation. No cruelty. No accusation or malice or brutality.

Dream is breathless with it.

“It seems I owe you an apology. I’ve always heard it impolite to keep one’s friends waiting.”

Somehow, Hob’s smile brightens. When Dream sits across from him, he feels, for the first time since 1916- no, since long, long before then- that he is welcome and wanted.

When he came here Dream had braced himself for punishment. Instead, they sit and talk long into the evening. Soft and hesitant, Dream gives Hob his name, and Hob glows like he’s been given the answers to the universe. Bright and enthusiastic, Hob speaks of all he has done in the past century, and Dream listens and lets himself sink comfortably into the warmth of companionship.

Eventually, Dream knows he must return to his responsibilities. It aches to think of leaving this soothing place, but he feels as though a balm has been spread on his wounds. Still hurting and aching, but less so than before.

Before he stands to depart, Hob places a hesitant hand on his wrist.

“Feel free to drop by before 2089, yeah? Anytime.”

There is a long pause while Dream considers that. Despite how kind he had been, it feels inconceivable that Hob would want to see Dream more than he has to. But he cannot deny the way his chest clenches with hope at the idea of feeling this warmth again so soon.

Perhaps it is selfish.

But Dream agrees.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first time it comes up is on their third meeting in as many weeks.

They are sitting together on a comfortably worn couch in Hob’s flat above the New Inn, next to each other but still with a respectable distance between them. Dream is trying very, very hard not to misstep in his friendship with Hob. And a part of that, he understands, means sharing the information Hob has asked for for so long.

It is a deeply uncomfortable experience for Dream. A part of him (the part that is still, in some way, shivering deep in the Burgess basement) cries that his secrecy is all that has protected him. That Hob, in his human greed and longing, will turn into Roderick the moment he realizes what Dream is, what he could get from him, what he could take from him.

(That same part of him, curled up the cold glass orb of his heart, cries that it’s better to just give it to him.)

And yet, in all that Dream tells him, Hob never turns cruel. He explains his function, his creation and rule over dreams and nightmares, and Hob’s eyes alight with wonder. He describes his realm, his subjects and landscapes and the Sea of Dreams, and Hob leans forward like an excited child.

And, when he stiltedly explains the nature of the Endless, Hob laughs fondly.

“You know, that actually explains so much.”

Dream tilted his head in confusion, “How do you mean?”

Hob waved his hand vaguely, leaning back in his seat, “Well, all your cute little quirks,” Dream resolutely ignores the warmth in his face from being called cute, “how formally you speak, and all the human things that seem to go over your head. Of course human social niceties aren’t natural to you, not only are you not human, you’re as old as the universe.”

Frowning, Dream looks down at his hands in his lap. He thinks, as he often does, of Death. Of her easy mingling with humans, her casual conversation, the way people smile at her. He thinks of his own shy smile and how all it does is make people walk away faster.

He doesn’t think being Endless explains anything about him, actually.

(It occurs to him, suddenly, that maybe it is not that he wishes to be unmade. He simply wishes he had been made right.)

(Or, perhaps, never made at all.)

“Hey.”

A warm hand covers his, and he looks up to find Hob leaning into his space, shooting him a small smile despite the concern in his eyes, “I’m not criticizing. It’s endearing,” he laces their fingers together, soft and gentle, “I like your quirks.”

That word again. Dream swallows, feels the words build at the base of his throat, they are flaws, they are faults, do not be fooled, do not show me mercy I do not deserve.

But before he gets a chance to explain, to warn him, Hob leans in closer, “I like you.”

The kiss is hesitant, he can taste the anxiety on Hob’s lips, the way he clutches his hand a little harder as though bracing to be pushed away. Dream does not have the strength to push him away. It takes every ounce of effort he has just to keep his tears from falling as he melts against Hob, pressing closer and drinking in Hob’s sigh of relief.

Dream stays long into the night, until Hob drifts to sleep in the circle of his arms. He never corrects Hob’s assumption on his nature, the words still stuck in his throat. Choking him.

But not enough to open his mouth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"So," Hob drawled, putting his arm around Dream's shoulders in a way that was clearly trying to be casual and not succeeding even a little, "When do I get to meet your family?"

Several months have passed (several months of opportunities to tell the truth, to be honest, to crack his ribs open and show Hob everything wrong with him-) and their relationship has grown like a blooming flower. Dream feels warm with Hob, and Hob smiles easily whenever he visits.

Dream does not want it to end.

He hums in consideration, even as his entire body tenses against his will. He has told Hob about his family, though not extensively. He has told him their names, and the order of their birth, but not the intricacies of his relationships with them.

(He has not, even once, mentioned his parents. Hob hasn’t asked.)

(One of the first nightmares he ever crafted was that of a child crying for a parent who refuses to turn around.)

Beside him, Hob shifts a little uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck as he rambles, “I know it’s one of those silly human things, the whole ‘meet the fam’ part of a relationship, but well, y’know me, always curious about your life.”

Hob does that fairly frequently, explaining “human mysteries” or sometimes laughing fondly as he guides his “silly Endless” through whatever social mishap he’s found himself in. Always explaining away Dream’s stumbles with his inhumanity.

And now, he wants to meet his family, and Dream’s chest tightens at the thought of Hob expecting to meet more cold and aloof entities who don’t know where to put their hands and instead being met with Endless who are so much better.

“I… understand,” His speech is as faltering as the rest of him. “If you would like. To meet one of them. I can arrange a meeting.”

Pulling him closer against his side, Hob’s eyes brighten with excitement, even as he checks, “Are you sure?”

Dream nods, barely feeling the kiss on his cheek as he thinks of each of his siblings in relation to Hob.

Delirium and Hob would likely find each other a delight (an irony which does not escape him), both so vivid and full of life, always looking at things in new ways. They are both so bright, so colorful in their own ways. So jarring next to Dream's darkness.

(He pictures Delirium questioning why someone as nice as Hob is with her mean older brother.)

(He pictures Hob realizing he doesn't have an answer.)

He does not think he could bring himself to call Destruction, if he would even answer, but he thinks he and Hob would make fine friends- both turning away from the violence of their pasts, searching instead for ways to grow and nurture.

(Dream had to be punished into changing. Had to be tortured in order to grow.)

(He thinks he grew like a weed. Or perhaps an infection. Just because he is more does not mean he is good.)

If he's honest with himself, he thinks Hob and Desire would get along as well. Hob would probably be good for his sibling in a similar way that he was for Dream, able to understand the soft parts that Desire hides, and them able to share in the joys that life has to offer in a way Dream struggles to, so accustomed to denying his own wants.

(Desire hurt him. Desire hurt him.)

(He has been told that he is worse.)

Thinking about it, he thinks Despair would like Hob. He had the unique ability to truly appreciate despair and understand its value, and Despair had an appreciation for life that Hob could relate to.

(What does it say about him, he wonders, that Despair wants to live more than Dream does?)

Destiny would almost certainly decline any offer to meet, and Dream doesn’t know that he and Hob would be friends, per say, but…

(He imagines Destiny standing before the immortal, forgoing any small talk and telling Hob bluntly that he is destined for things far greater than his broken little brother.)

But, in the end, he knows there was always one person Dream wanted Hob to meet, even if it makes him lose him. So he steels himself and forces the words out.

"Hob, would you like to meet my elder sister, the one who gave you your immortality?"

“Death?” Hob goes a little wide eyed, “Is that- I mean, I can meet her without, y’know…” he makes a crude slashing motion across his throat.

“Of course,” Dream answers steadily, “She can be present among mortals without bestowing her gift upon them. She will not take you. Unless. You ask.”

“No, no, not planning that anytime soon,” Hob is quick to reassure, “Or ever, really,” he tacks on with a smirk and a wink.

Nodding, Dream allows himself to reach out and take Hob’s hand. He will miss this warmth. “I will speak with her, then. And arrange a meeting.”

Hob’s grin is wide and bright, and Dream can feel it as Hob presses a kiss to the sharp edge of his cheek bone, “Excellent! This will be fun, Love! I’ll pick up some of that wine that you liked enough to actually drink- or, would you rather we meet in the Dreaming?”

Dream only barely manages to suppress a cringe, but even so he bows his head, as if he could somehow hide within his own curled spine.

“I would. Prefer to let you meet on your own.”

Hob's smile falters, "What? Why?"

Because I do not want you to see us side by side. Because I do not want to make my lacking more obvious than it already will be. Because I won't survive seeing the moment your eyes turn cold. Because I'm scared.

"I merely wish you to get to know each other without my influence."

He can see so clearly in his mind’s eye, Hob glancing back and forth between the two siblings, one so charming and kind and good, and the other… lesser. Lacking. Dream does not wish to be present for that realization.

Recovering his grin, Hob laughed lightly, "Ballsy of you. Most folks I know wouldn't have the guts to leave their siblings and their partners alone together," he leans forward to play with Dream's hair teasingly, "What if we exchange secrets, eh?"

I'm a liar, I lied to you, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-

“That is within your right.”

Hob laughs, startled, and pulls Dream flush against his side, “What a fair ruler you are,” he says jokingly, “Well, I can’t wait. It’ll be endlessly fun,” he winks, trying to get a rise out of Dream.

Dream smiles back. But it’s a little weaker than usual.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dream stares at the ankh for a long time before he picks it up. A childish part of him wants to leave the gallery and feed Hob lies and excuses. Death is very busy, she could not make the time, I called and she didn’t answer, she didn’t answer, it has happened before-

But. What would that accomplish besides delaying the inevitable?

He cradles the ankh in his hands, “Death. I stand in my gallery and I hold your sigil.”

“Dream!” He can hear the smile in Death’s voice, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I wish to discuss. A personal matter. Would you care to join me?”

Death steps beside him almost before he can finish speaking, "Of course! What can I do for you?"

She's so casual and easygoing, but a part of Dream can't help but search for any lingering anger or resentment from their last talk. He wonders if she's forgiven him.

(He wonders if he's worth forgiving.)

Straightening, he explains flatly, "Hob Gadling wishes to meet you," he pauses before adding, "In a nonprofessional manner."

Snorting, Death replied, "Well, I could have guessed that," she grinned, "But you're finally letting me meet your little project?"

"He has become. Far more than a project."

"I know, I'm teasing, silly," she shoved his shoulder playfully, "I'd love to meet him! Just tell me when and where and I'll make some time."

Nodding, he considers his options. He is torn between stretching out his time with Hob and simply getting it over with. In the end, he chooses what he feels is a polite and reasonable timeframe.

“One week from tomorrow, in the afternoon. At the New Inn.”

“I’ll be there,” grinning, Death linked their arms together, “I can’t wait, I bet you two are sickeningly adorable together.”

A bitter part of him thinks Death would just be sad to see someone like Hob shackled to Dream.

“I will not be present. This meeting is for you and Hob.”

Death pulls back to look at Dream’s face, frowning in confusion. For a moment she seems to consider her words, before settling on a question, “What’s going on in that head of yours, little brother?”

Dream meets her gaze and answers flatly, “Nothing of importance.”

There is exasperation in her voice as she huffs, “I hate that you really believe that.”

He loves his sister so very much. And he does not have the strength to be yelled at right now.

So he straightens his spine and keeps his voice even, “I will let Hob know of the time of your appointment,” he allows himself to soften, just slightly, “He is looking forward to meeting you.”

“I look forward to meeting him, as well.” Death knows she has been dismissed, and so she gives Dream one final squeeze on his arm before departing back to her duties, a gentle rustle of feathers echoing through the gallery.

For a long moment, Dream stands in his gallery alone, gazing at the sigils of his siblings.

He will go and tell Hob of his upcoming meeting with Dream’s sister. And if he stays longer than strictly necessary, if he presses a little closer than he usually does, he if stares too long at Hob’s face in an attempt to commit his smile to memory, Hob is nice enough not to comment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It is not raining in the Dreaming.

Dream does not feel that kind of sadness. There is grief, for certain but… it is a grief he believes he has no right to feel. This is not sorrow, it is justice, a loss of something that was never his to have. He cannot cry, he cannot mourn, he can't, he can't, he just-

The Dreaming is covered in a thick layer of fog.

A white mist, so thick it feels like you could move it with your hands, wade through it, drown in it. Dream is in one of the gardens surrounding the palace, grinding his teeth and trying desperately to make it go away. He had hoped that going outside would at least help clear the fog that had permeated the palace halls. Matthew had flown into a wall twice before resigning himself to perching on Lucienne’s shoulder until the hallways were visible again, and Dream does not think he could survive if another raven was injured due to his weakness.

The week had passed too quickly for his liking, time showing him no mercy. He had visited Hob each day, an unusual occurrence that Hob had raised an eyebrow at but otherwise not commented on. And in all that time, Dream had still not told him the truth. He did not explain that the Endless he was to meet would be nothing like Dream because Dream was nothing like the other Endless, did not confess to having cheated more time with Hob by misleading him about his nature. And now, it was too late. Hob would leave, and Dream would always be a liar.

Sighing, he leans against the tree behind him, looking up and frowning as the fog hides even the leaves above him. Sometimes he wishes he had more control over his connection to the Dreaming. More control over himself. He wonders if this is how humans feel when they wish mastery over their own bodies, their organs, their blood.

The fog is getting thicker.

Growling deep in his throat, Dream presses the tips of his fingers against his temples. There is no reason for him to feel so… lost. He has existed and survived before Hob, and he will continue to do so after. Happiness is not necessary. And besides, he has wanted to be a better person, and would a better person not prioritize their loved one’s happiness over their own? It is an irrefutable fact that Hob deserves better than Dream is capable of, so it is the least Dream can do to not stand in his way.

Pulling his knees to his chest, he wraps his arms loosely around them, feeling as bare and exposed as he had in Fawney Rig, suddenly thankful for the cover of fog. Perhaps, he could allow himself this respite. A moment of selfishness, and then he would pull himself together. Just one night to grieve where no one could see him. Just one night to hide-

“There you are!”

Dream’s head snaps up, eyes wide with a shock he could not hope to conceal.

Because Hob is here.

The immortal is smiling, like he has every other time he’s seen Dream, stumbling slightly through the fog before plopping himself down to sit pressed against Dream’s side. This close, he can see the spark of concern in his eyes even as he throws an arm around his shoulders to pull him closer.

“Well this is a bit different. You know I saw Merv actually sweeping the fog? What’s crazier is it was working, swept it into a big pile and then pushed it out the front door. I know anything is possible here, but I will admit I did spend a few minutes just staring at that spectacle.”

Throughout his rambling, Dream is aware that he is staring. A quick assessment of his own body alerts him to the fact that his mouth is parted, and he is literally gaping at Hob. How unbecoming.

When he fails to respond to his story, Hob’s smile dims, and the concern in his eyes amplifies, “Hey… is everything alright?”

No. Nothing makes sense. He feels more lost than before. He thinks the fog is getting thicker, heavier, colder.

“You…” He clears his throat, trying to compose himself even a little, “You were. Supposed to meet Death today. Did. Did that. Not happen?” That is the only logical explanation.

But Hob shakes his head, “No, we did, got back a couple hours ago, just took me a bit to fall asleep,” he chuckles a bit to himself, “She’s a riot, honestly, nothing at all like all the skull and crossbones nonsense.” He gives Dream a warm smile, “I can see why you two get along so well.”

Dream is. Dream is-

He opens his mouth, and all that comes out is fog.

“Woah, okay,” Hob jumps a little, but doesn’t pull away. If anything, his grip around Dream’s shoulders tightens.

Fog is drifting from the corners of Dream’s eyes.

He can’t see. He can’t breathe. He feels so lost-

“Alright, hey, hey,” Hob pulls him closer, wrapping him in a firm embrace, “Love, I think we should go to the Waking, okay? Is that alright?”

Dream forces himself to nod against Hob’s chest. His body is no more bound in the Waking than it is in the Dreaming, but sometimes the distance makes it… easier, if only a little, to keep his shape. As opposed to here, where the edges of Dream and the Dreaming often blur together. Like now.

Hob kisses the crown of his head, and Dream can feel him pulling away, waking up, and Dream follows the pull. In the space between realms, he forces his form together, like holding a door shut, like clenching a fist. When he arrives, he is laying on top of Hob, who is splayed out on his couch. Some hysterical part of him wants to scold Hob for not settling in his bed to sleep.

As Hob fully awakens, his arms reach up to embrace Dream, and Dream can’t help but curl his hands in Hob’s shirt. Slow and gentle, Hob maneuvers them to sit up, and when he pulls back, Dream cannot look him in the eye.

“Hey…” Hob cups his face with both hands, rubbing his thumbs in gentle circles on the hinge of Dream’s jaw, and Dream realizes for the first time that he is clenching his teeth together hard enough to crack human bone. He fears what will come out if he opens his mouth.

“You’re alright, dove,” Hob whispers, still trying to coax Dream into relaxing his jaw, “Everything is alright, I’m right here, sweetheart, I’ve got you my love.”

It takes a few minutes, just Hob whispering softly and soothing his fingers over Dream’s skin, but eventually Dream musters the courage to let his teeth separate, parting his lips just slightly. He sags with relief when all that escapes him is a shaky breath.

“There you are,” Hob presses a kiss to Dream’s forehead before tucking his head beneath his chin and pulling him into a hug, rubbing a hand up and down his back.

Ever patient, he waits until Dream is breathing evenly to question him, “What’s going on, dearheart?” He rocks them back and forth as he speaks, “You’ve been off all week. I should have said something sooner, but I thought you were just nervous about me meeting your sister.”

Swallowing thickly, Dream forces himself to answer, “I was.”

Hob pulled back, brows furrowed in confusion, “Okay, but everything went fine? I told you, we got along great.”

“But…”

“Did you think we wouldn’t?”

Dream feels as lost now as he did in the Dreaming. How does he explain this to Hob? How does he explain it without drawing Hob’s attention to that which he somehow missed? He should be grateful that Hob is still here, how is he supposed to tell him this truth without making him leave?

Is he destined to make him leave no matter what?

Belatedly, he realizes he is still clutching Hob’s shirt.

He lets him go.

“I did believe. That you would enjoy each others’ company,” he explains resignedly, “And I assumed that in your meeting, I would. Lose your favor.”

Had he been looking, he would have seen Hob’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, “You thought I would like her more than you?” His voice is heavy with disbelief.

“In a sense…” He had not considered Hob finding romantic interest in Death, as Hob seems to think, “I merely thought that. In meeting her, you would realize…”

(Death never struggled with her words the way Dream, the Prince of Stories, always seemed to.)

Taking a deep breath, he tries again, “We are both Endless. And yet. She is…”

“Different?”

“Better.”

Hob sucks in a breath as though he’s been slapped, “Dream-”

“You think that all the things wrong with me are due to my nature as an Endless,” Dream interrupts, the dam broken as he spills out everything he has been holding back for months, “and I let you believe that. But the truth is, my siblings are not like me. They do not struggle with humanity as I do, nor do they share my penchant for arrogance and cruelty. Death is older than I, and yet you saw her- she is kind, and she speaks normally, and she understands-” His voice cracks, and he has to pause, closing his eyes and forcing his molecules to stay solid. To stay here.

“The problem is not that I am Endless,” he confesses in a whisper, “The problem is that I am… me.”

Dream keeps his eyes downcast, fixated on the texture of the couch in the space between them. He wonders if Hob will chastise him for his deceit or simply tell him to leave, wonders if he will demand punishment or repayment.

One hand laces their fingers together, as the other gently cups Dream’s cheek. Hob does not try to tilt Dream’s face or make him meet his eyes. He just holds him.

“I happen to like ‘you’ very much, actually.”

Hob’s voice is soft as a breath, quiet despite the devastation and sorrow painting each word. Dream closes his eyes as Hob leans forward to brush their foreheads together.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he states firmly, confidently, “You’re not perfect, I know that, the same way you know that I’m not either. But there’s nothing wrong with you.”

The conviction in his voice gives Dream just enough courage to open his eyes. Hob’s eyes are filled with tears and shining with so much love it takes Dream’s breath away. When their eyes meet, Hob gives him a sad smile and brushes his thumb along his cheekbone.

“I’m sorry. For ever making you think you needed to explain away parts of yourself,” He brings Dream’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to his trembling knuckles, “I don’t love you in spite of anything. I just love you.”

Dream wants to argue. He wants to give every example from his long, long life that he is wrong, that Dream is defective and unworthy and unlovable.

But when Hob kisses him, whispers “I love you” against his lips, he finds himself… hoping. That maybe Hob is right. That maybe this is another bet he would lose to the strength that is Hob Gadling’s love.

Later, after Hob has held him long enough that he does not feel like he may fall apart, he will give his arguments. Later he will state his case and Hob will not hesitate in debating right back, punctuating his points with soft kisses and fond smiles. And it will not fix everything right away, as much as they both wish it would. But it will feel like a start, like adding support beams to a faulty foundation, like strengthening the parts of Dream that always felt a breeze away from buckling.

But for now, Hob holds him tight and whispers against his hair, “You want to hear a secret?”

When Dream hums questioningly against his neck, he presses a kiss to his temple, “Death isn’t perfect either.”

Dream lets out a barking laugh, and then another, and another, and then he is sobbing and holding Hob like he is the only thing keeping him together because he is, and maybe this outburst is just another flaw of his.

Regardless. Hob still holds him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A month later, Hob and Dream invite Death over for drinks. Three very different people sit in hob’s living room, and they drink wine, and laugh, and Hob occasionally scolds Death when he feels Dream stiffen at some of her teasing.

Before she leaves, Death pulls Dream into a hug, patting his back even as he stands stiffly in the circle of her arms, “I was right. Sickeningly adorable, both of you.”

Dream huffs, but feels no real offense or embarrassment at her words. It is still hard to trust that this is real, sometimes. But all night he had searched Hob’s eyes, and even when Death made him laugh or understood some human reference, he still turned to look at Dream with love and joy.

As hard as it is to believe, the truth is that Hob sat with both of them, and when he grew tired he asked Death to leave.

But he asked Dream to stay.

#the sandman #dreamling #dreamling fic #my writing #projecting on characters in the club tonight

[casasupernovas]

so many harry potter fans completely erase snape's past and write it over to make him a snobby rich kid who speaks like he's a 40 year old count and i think it is so interesting.

because it proves to me that the reality of snape being a kid living in a poverty stricken and abusive household on spinner's end makes you all uncomfortable.

i sure know it made me uncomfortable to re-read the books for the first time and see all the comments about his greasy hair and sallow skin with the new knowledge that these were markers of his poor upbringing. we've heard the saying how being poor never really goes away. snape keeping these two markers as an adult is the author's way of doing it. he's an adult with a better income now but he never quite shakes off spinner's end.

he also stays there as an adult as a way to punish himself, if the front room described as a 'padded cell" is any indicator. he can't move on and he won't allow himself to, and dumbledore won't allow it either. it is he who twists the knife with harry's eyes and tells him this is the only thing he can do to prove he truly loved lily. despite you know, dumbledore apparently not believing this due to his shock at snape's patronus 17 years later.

both times in snape's past when he butts heads with petunia is because she insults his background, something he cannot control. she calls him the 'snape boy' from spinner's end, a clearly 'turn up my nose' moment. harry goes through most books referring to snape as 'snape' because snape is a bully and therefore does not have harry's respect. many times adults correct him to say professor. and his first name isn't said often. so this puts a distance to him, almost others him to this 2D character. but 'snape' is an actual person, with feelings and a past, present and future. so severus snape doesn't take kindly to people insulting his family which is why he claps back at petunia.

we also know snape is a muggle name, his muggle father tobias' name. we only find out in book 6 that snape is a half blood. because what wizarding family do you know with the name 'snape'. and prince isn't part of the sacred 28 either. when harry breaks into snape's memories accidentally in occlumency, seeing those three quick snapshots of his life, it's the first time snape starts to become a real person to harry.

moreover, 8 year old snape is described as dirty, unwashed, wearing clothes that are so mismatched it looks deliberate. he hasn't got clothes of his own, wearing an adults jacket and a woman's smock. snape's family either cannot afford to properly clothe or wash their child or they simply don't care too. when petunia insults him again, this time instead of his father she goes for his mother, as she points out snape wearing his mother's blouse, we get another example of underage magic as he causes a tree branch to fall on her.

now despite this, we know it is likely snape really did want to cause her harm due to her insult. snape already is shown to have poor social skills and snaps rather quickly at any point of animosity, but he was also raised in an abusive household. his father whipped him, and shouted at his mother and god knows what else. makes sense that an 8 year old responds to tension with either insults or violence, mirroring his home. snape is also very reluctant to talk about his homelife at all, ending the conversation very pointedly with "he doesn't like anything much." so it's not surprising that a child raised in this kind of environment would respond violently. even worse, he does it without really realising what he has done considering he looked confused when petunia and lily ran away.

on platform 9 and 3/4, snape is eager to get out of his muggle clothes and when put next to james potter, the stark difference between someone who has been loved and adored and someone who hasn't is explicitly put in the books. and lastly when snape calls lily a mudblood after being yanked upside down exposing dirty underwear, lily points that out. her way of saying 'don't you dare say you are better than me - im filthy? how about you wash your clothes.'

all in all, i think the fans write over this backstory because people do not want to give snape any sympathy. he's not the right kind of sympathetic character. he's an unpleasant adult who made terrible decisions. therefore his tragedy doesn't count. it's much easier to hate him when in your head, snape is a rich, snobby supremacist, rather than a penniless, neglected and woefully misguided teenager.

odd that peope can understand the impact of certain characters childhoods like sirius, regulus, draco or harry and how it affected their actions as teens and later adults...

but not snape.

in fact, snape is probably the poorest character in the entire series apart from maybe voldemort, although the orphanage didn't seem underfunded or anything. fans characterise lupin as poor but there is little evidence for him being poor as a child, more as an adult. i've seen people say this was because of the fact that his father worked at the ministry and arthur weasley worked there and he is not rich but the weasley's are poor because there are 7 of them living on one income. and we can assume lupin's muggle mother worked. if anything, lupin's childhood was comfortable but became unstable due to them constantly moving after he was bitten.

and that's pretty much it, we don't know too much about anyone else. the dursleys are middle class as are hemrione's dentist parents and while the weasley's are poor, they are not poverty stricken - ron never goes hungry. snape also never really adresses his muggle past either. he doesnt bring it up ever. for all his 'life is unfair', he never speaks about that part of his life, choosing to solely reference the marauders. and the two main bullies, james and sirius both being rich kids bullying the poor boy is not lost on me. especially when they constantly reference his greasy hair all the time.

poverty greatly affects a person well into adulthood and we see with snape; it never really goes away. sure he's well spoken now, and doesn't wear mismatched muggle clothing but the remnants are still there. in fact, one of the reasons he hates harry intially is because he thinks the boy has been pampered. quite unlike his upbringing. so i think it's telling how many people refuse to acknowledge its very existence or the how it shaped snape as a person.

because i think it all makes you feel really uncomfortable. why else would you ignore or completely erase it?

#harry potter #severus snape #pro snape #snapedom

[am-i-interrupting]

Six Feet Under | Alastor & Child!Reader, Vox x Alastor’s Child Reader— OATSH

Summary: After the monthly graveyard visit with your father, you ask him some questions. Years later, you carry on his traditions.

It wasn’t a special day. There were no big plans or events on the horizon. In all definitions of things, it was a very simple day. At least for you. Simple days defined by other people didn’t include cooking actual human flesh with your father but that was their loss.

You were cutting some radishes when you let your thoughts wonder.

Today had been the monthly visit to the graveyard. Your father liked to keep his mother’s stone clear. Once a year you’d make the four hour trip to your mother’s gravestone to clean it. He liked things organized but your mother had family you’d only met a few times and they were far away.

Your hand slipped and so did your mouth. You felt a light smack to the back of your head and swiftly apologized.

“Sorry, daddy,” you said as you set down the knife and went to wash your hand.

“You are much too young and far too sophisticated for that talk,” Alastor said. “Where did you even learn that?”

When you gave him the name of a certain performer he sighed and shook his head.

You put a small dot of ointment on your finger and then wrapped your hand tight. You went back to cutting.

Your mind didn’t stop though and eventually you asked, “What was mama like?”

Alastor’s humming stopped. “She was a fine woman to know. What makes you ask?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. I just want to know, I suppose. You don’t talk about her a lot and I never got to know her so I’m just curious.”

“Hmm, well, there’s no harm in indulging you.” He waved his hand. “Go on, ask your questions.”

You stared at him for a moment but he didn’t look back. He continued his humming and cooking.

“How did you two meet?” you asked.

“It was 1918,” he began. “I was working at a The Sherry Diner with my mother. Our darling little swearer came in with your mother, chattering on about herself as she’s so prone to do. She introduced your mother to me. If I recall, she said my mother and I made the best food in all of New Orleans so she had to make sure your mother got a good idea of real food before it was spoiled by everything else.”

“She was right,” you said. “You make the best food, daddy.”

“A rare occurrence then,” he said and you both laughed at the tease. “What else?”

“When did you two start dating?” you asked.

“Ah, that is a bit more of a complicated answer,” he said. “We never planned on courting one another. We partially ended up doing so and getting married eventually because of you.”

“Why would you do that?”

“There are certain things people do to protect their public image and therefore themselves. Now, next question,” he said swiftly, with a face that spoke his discomfort without explicitly saying so.

You dropped the subject. “If you didn’t plan on datin’—“

“Dating,” he corrected.

“—dating, did you love her?”

“No, I did not,” he said bluntly. “I did my best to take care of her as much as she’d let me but I did not love her.”

There was something, like a twisting in your stomach, that washed over you at that. “Well, why’d you marry her?”

“Because of you.” He booped your nose. “Rest assured, I did do everything I could to keep her happy when she was alive regardless.”

“Did she love you?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” he said. “That is how we ended up where we are today.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I’ll explain it to you when you’re older.”

“Okay.”

“Any other questions?”

“No.”

The next morning you woke up to the smell of food cooking which was odd. Normally your father would wait for you to wake before he’d begin cooking or come to get you himself if you slept too late.

You sat up in bed and stretched with a yawn. You pulled off your blanket and rubbed your eyes. Your feet hit the floor that never really got cold in Louisiana.

Then you saw it. A chest.

“Daddy!” you yelled.

“Yes, my dear?”

“Why’s there a chest in my room?”

“There’s nothing in your room that’s not yours.”

You rolled your eyes and pried it open. Your eyes widened what was inside.

Carefully, you pulled out a blue pair of beach pajamas, a white flapper dress, a dark blue skirt and a light blue blouse, a parasol, and several nice pieces of jewelry. Then you saw the picture of your father and a woman in wedding clothes. You put everything back in the chest with as much care as you’d taken it out with.

You ran out of your room and nearly knocked your father over with the force of your hug.

Little did you know that in just a few years you’d add his clothes to that chest. Not many things, just his favorite shirt, tie and cologne.

You’d drag that chest with you; fiercely protect it from anyone who dared look at it the wrong way. It went from your home to a foster one to a different foster home to an orphanage from that orphanage to three more. Then it would go with you as you lived on the street then in a shitty beat down apartment and follow you into a slightly better beat down apartment where you lived with four different girls trying to live in a place with one bedroom. It would come to you to a place you’d thought would get you published and then back to those same girls but one was in jail and one was dead and a new one had joined. It’d stay there for several years before finally joining you back where you began.

A different show host entered the house as you’d said he could stay while he visited. You’d been gone all day instead of joining him like you normally did on the rare occasion he was in town.

He knew what today was though. He wasn’t so stupid as to forget the anniversary of the day your father was shot and killed. It’s why he came in the first place. After you’d drunkenly let slip that you dreaded this time every year, he couldn’t just leave you alone but you insisted.

For now though, he smiled to himself as he saw you curled up in an old but well taken care of men’s button up. He picked you up and put you to bed. Your hand caught his wrist and you dragged him in the bed with you, grave dirt beneath your fingernails.

#one author two show hosts #vox x reader #hazbin vox x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor x reader

[youaresimplylovely]

“Fast and Fabulous: A Driven Love” 

---- A love story between a Formula 1 Driver and a Supermodel

Chapter 2 (Prev. Chapter) Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5. Chapter 6

Pairing: Carlos Sainz!Formula 1 Driver x Famous Supermodel!Reader

Words: 727 words

Warnings: Fluff, major plot twist at the end hahaha, mentions of F1, timeline in the story starts at 2021, translated filipino :>

Proofread!!

Summary: An Evening with The Dela Cruz Family

Pots, pans, and utensils clatter around the kitchen of the Dela Cruz house. Your mother groaned, putting down the knife she used to chop the potatoes. You could see the anger in her eyes when your father came home to work as he entered the house. 

"Hi, honey."

 Your father grins nervously as he smiles at your mother. You and your brother turn your heads from the TV as you look at your father, holding your laughs. You could hear the nervousness from your father's voice.

“Ano ba yan Jean! Ilang beses na ah! No shoes diyos ko! (What is that Jean! How many times already! No shoes my God!)” 

Your mother loudly scoffed, approaching your father and glaring at him.

 "I know, mon amour, and I'm so sorry, and I am also sorry for being late."

 Your father chuckles nervously, approaching your mother. He hugs her, rubbing her back, trying to calm her down. 

"Now, mon amour, care to tell me why you're so mad? Other than me?.” Your father flashed a bright smile. 

"Pretty sure all you, Dad."

 Mark laughed, sitting up from the couch as he patted his father's shoulder. 

"Mark!" Your mother glared at him, making him laugh even more. 

"Ay, I'm sorry, ma.; here, let me help you cook." Mark smiled softly, heading to the kitchen to continue his mother's left-off cooking. 

"Sometimes I forget mama is half Filipino and half Spanish."

 Pao snickered, watching you and your Kuya James (older brother) play F1 21'. 

"Isa ka pa Paolo! (You are another one, Paolo!)."

Your mother pulled away from the hug with your father as she glared at Pao.

"AH! Ma! You are the most beautiful woman, and I love you very much."

Pao's eyes widened at his mother's yelling; he sat up, approached her, and hugged her.    Your mom snickered, wrapping his arms around Pao and hugging him. 

"You know I don't like you coming home late." Your mother pouted at your father, still hugging Pao. 

"I know, mon amour, and I'm sorry, we just had so many meetings." 

Your father apologized, kissing your mother's cheek and making your mother smile. 

"Oh hey there, honey." Your father smiled, seeing you, sitting next to you.

"Hi there, father." You giggle, smiling, putting the PS4 controller down. 

"Ah, playing F1 21'?" Your father smiled at you and James. 

"Our little girl is excited to finally attend her first F1 race." James chuckled, pinching your cheek.

"Well, it's good honey that the race we're attending is at Monza; I picked it out for you cause I know you're such a Ferrari fan."

 Your father smiled, opening his arms. Smiling happily, you bury your face in his chest, sighing contentedly. 

"Thank you, Dad." you smile, looking up at your father. 

You couldn't be happier; you've been an F1 fan for many years, yet you've never attended a race. The reason you always gave was that you were busy, especially as a supermodel, which is true, but you were scared. More than worried, you never knew why. This was how you always felt, but that didn't matter anymore; attending your first race is great, and now you're excited. Your brothers attended races except for Pao; it was both your first. 

The Dela Cruz family is a complete sports fan, except when picking teams to support, especially in Formula 1. Your father and three older brothers supported Mercedes. They always have and always will. While you were a Ferrari fan, solid, as in, and then Pao, who is the complete polar opposite of you. He was a Red Bull fan, which is crazy, and you keep saying that to him. 

Soon, Your thoughts were disturbed by a long, loud flush of the toilet coming from the bathroom, causing everyone to look at the door. Laughing as they saw your other older brother, Kuya Dan (older brother), come out of the bathroom, chuckling nervously. 

"What's up? Oh hey, dad,"  He laughs, noticing your father as he smiles, sitting beside him.  

“Tagal mo tumae boi (you took so long to poop boi)” 

“Aba sino ka dyan, tagal mo din mag cr (Ah who are you there, you take long in the cr too) Dan rolled his eyes, sticking his tongue out at Pao. 

“O sya tama na yan, let’s eat! (Oh that’s enough, let’s eat!) Your mother laughs.

#f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 blurb #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz x female reader #formula 1 au

[band--psycho]

Negan x Fem!Reader- Mr Protective

So I'm trying to get some of my dialogue prompt stories written - this one is with dialogue prompt 145!

I hope you all enjoy this! 💛

Warnings-Gun, gun violence, Negan being negan

“We’ll if it isn’t my favourite wife” 

Wife. 

The words cut through me like a knife.

I wasn’t his wife. And he certainly wasn’t my husband. The only reason we’re ‘married’ was because my father bargained me in trade for his own safety. 

My fathers now chained to the fence outside the front of the Sanctuary now, as a walker. 

Though that’s not why I wanted to kill Negan. 

No.

The community we were with were meant to remain safe; that was my only condition for marrying Negan, and he agreed, reluctantly so yes, but he agreed. 

Yesterday, whilst Negan was away, I overheard  a handful of Saviors discussing my old community, talking about how they’d killed the entire community on Negans order.  

Which is why, instead of greeting Negan with words; I simply raised my gun and aimed it at his head. 

“Y/n? What are you doing?” Negan asked, I could see the confusion flicker in his eyes before that signature cocky smile grew on his face. 

It was as though this was all some type of game to him. . 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” I snapped back; watching as the Saviors surrounding us pointed their guns at me.

Dying.

It should have scared me; anytime before this it would have. 

But now as I stood here, there wasn’t a flicker of fear inside me. 

“It looks to me like you’re pointing a damn gun at these good people,” laughter laced his face as he pointed Lucille at me before motioning to the crowd of people around us. 

Was he threatening me?

Was this another thing that was meant to scare me? To intimidate me into going back to being a well behaved ‘wife’?

I shook my head, keeping my hand steady,  “The only person I’m pointing a gun at is you.”

“Sir?” Simon questioned; his eyes locked on me. 

“Don’t,” Negan answered back; turning to look at Simon before meeting my eyes again. The harshness in his voice caught me off guard. 

I was one of his wives, he had five others, I wasn’t important, I was replaceable and yet here he was preventing his men from shooting me, knowing full well I could pull the trigger before anyone could have shot me.

The lightheartedness soon returned to Negans voice as he stepped closer to me,“It’s fine, Y/n here just has her big girl panties in a twist.”

His words made a chorus of low chuckle escape from the lips of people around us.   

“Gimme the gun, sweetheart,” 

It was an order. He was ordering me to give him the gun. And when I didn’t I swear I saw a hint of pride in his eyes as he pressed his forehead against the barrel of my gun. 

“You really gonna shoot me, baby girl?” His voice was quieter now; but still loud enough still so that everyone could hear him; his eyes once again met mine as if he was trying to read my mind, trying to guess my next move. 

“Yes,” I answered coldly with my finger on the trigger. 

I could shoot him now and it would be over, all of it would be over.

So why hadn’t I shot him yet?

Why was he still standing in front of me? 

“Y/n-” he didn’t get to finish his sentence before a gun shot was fired. 

For a brief second, I thought it was my gun, I thought I’d finally pulled the trigger. But Negans face remained intact.Though his eyes filled with some foreign emotion I’d never seen before but I knew that look from other people's eyes.

He was worried. 

I couldn't understand why.

That was until I felt a burning sensation in my side; a sensation that only grew. 

There was so much blood, it didn’t take long before it covered my entire hand.

I never believed it when people said that in the last moments of their life, they saw their life flash before their eyes. I still didn’t. Because when the pain from the shot became unbearable and I fell to my knees, I didn’t see my life flash before my eyes. 

I saw Negan, taking the gun from my hand. 

I thought he was going to shoot me….I think part of me hoped that he would. 

But he didn’t. 

He was aiming behind me. 

He was angry; I could tell that much by the redness of his face and rage in his eyes. He was saying something, I couldn’t make out what, everything I was hearing sounded distant. 

Everything except another gunshot which seemed to echo around me. 

Darkness was slowly encapsulating my vision; I could no longer see the Saviors around me.

That was until Negan knelt down in front of me; and wrapped his arms around me,  his mouth was moving but I had no idea what he was saying. 

His face was the last face I saw before the darkness finally consumed my vision.

Tagging:

@xacatalepsyx @impala1967dwinchester @thaliastregona @little-diable @book-dragon03 @munsinner @mrsnegan @jdmsgal @howlingmadlady @https-lorna @wheelerdixon @dilfsandtherapy @bestbitchsstuff @cherryheartssblog @darkdevasofdestruction @fangirlsfandomsss

#negan x reader #negan imagines #negan imagine #the walking dead x reader #negan twd #twd negan #the walking dead negan #the walking dead imagines #the walking dead imaigne

[beanghostprincess]

Trans buggy is my lifeblood and I am SO HAPPY YOU LOVE HER TOO and I'm feral I'm shaking the bars of my cage FUCK I LOVE WOMEN

Like. Yes. Absolutely, Shanks and Buggy have little bits and pieces of ALL their parents, specifically Ray and Roger but No Adult Was Safe From Their Assimilated Found Family, Alright?

Shanks does this one movement when he's showing off and being SILLY about it that he picked up from Oden. Buggy uses chopsticks more easily than forks and spoons, which is mind boggling to those who know her and how clutzy she is.

Crocus was the KING of unexpected and frankly terrifying threats, something Buggy learned like a damned religion. Shanks got his penchant for Gay Uncle On Holiday clothes and patterns from him.

A lot of Shanks' attacks and swordplay was taught to him by Roger and Rayleigh, so his style is a mix of their own with a TWIST that's all him. Buggy wasn't as interested in swordsmanship, but she certainly isn't a novice at it. The forms and katas to her are meditative, and she can't really sit still for normal meditation ((AuDHD Buggy my beloved)) so THIS is her way of grounding. Her knife fighting is also derived from Ray's style, with quick, devasting blow that focus more on backlash damage, Haki and agility.

Buggy and Shanks both have Roger's grin, and when Rayleigh sees them, grown and side by side and beaming and greeting him so warmly, part of him breaks and heals and splinters and oozes love. He of course will not show weakness and instead teases them, as is his love language.

Also consider Cross Guild adopting the Seraphims. Stuff's normal at first until they give the kids some children's books. Cue "what is a dad? What is a mom?" questions. The adults answer them, and the kids simply nod before wandering off again.

Then, a few hours later, Buggy feels a tiny hand tug-tug at her pants. It's two little dark haired tykes, big saffron and violet eyes staring up at her. She blinks. "What's up, munchkins?"

"Mother, we want a snack and fathers are busy."

"Oh. Yeah, sure thing, sweeties, let me ju- WAITWHAT-?!"

Shanks is frothing, seething, crying in the window like a Victorian woman betrayed when he gets word that Buggy and the other two have "sons". He then proposes they have a baby too, to be fair.

Then the kids call him uncle or father twice removed and he is suddenly living his best life wdym he's gonna be the BEST uncle ever, hey kids wanna go harass people-?

Buggy is BEYOND flustered but she's also.... really flattered? Shanks wants a baby? With HER?? Like a real, whole ass baby. Wow. And she already has two sons! Maybe. Her little Birdie seems a tad unphased by the concept of gender anyway, so she won't push. She has two kids. And Shanks wants a third. Wow. Wow~ ♡

And then Crocodile has to go and ruin it by suggesting the kids stay with "auntie Al" for the weekend, while the guys see if they can get that baby idea rolling~

Buggy proceeds to blush so hard she's STEAMING and promptly faints.

I FUCKING LOVE WOMEN TOO!!!!!!!!!!! SCREAMING THIS EVERYWHERE I GO!!!!!!!!!

Both of them having traits of all their parents and role models and keeping them with them forever,, When Rayleigh sees them again he's so fond of their little gestures and :(( He loves them so so much.

Also, the whole thing about Cross Guild adopting the Seraphims is just so so cute. And them calling Buggy 'mom'??????? Crying and sobbing, idk. Cute family that is not dysfunctional but pretty much not normal my beloved.

Honestly, Buggy as a mom just feels so right. But especially as an adoptive mom, you know? She just keeps seeing outcasts and understanding them so well and wanting to take care of them. Tbh, Shanks and Buggy should just,, Find a kid in a treasure chest and keep the baby.

#your asks are always so good #sorry short answer this time i am exhausted today but i wanted to respond to this aefkjbejkf #BUT IT'S SO GOOD I SWEAR I LOVE IT #one piece #buggy the clown #cross guild #shuggy

[neteyamsmainbitch]

PROTECTOR —

‘if you’re scared, i’m on my way.’

neteyam sully x omaticaya!reader.

— you can always count on neteyam to get you out of tricky situations.

warnings: slight violence, probably a couple uses of bad language idk, fluff.

authors note: i haven’t posted in two months lol, this was rushed but i didn’t feel like fixing it.

—

neteyam has been there for you more times than you can count, whether it was known to you or not.

it was no secret that neteyam inherited his fathers need to protect the people he loves, you specifically.

he was always protective of his family but he always had a drive to constantly make sure you were okay.

anytime you got so much as a scratch, the poor boy blames himself for letting his beloved mate endure an injury.

although he can be a little too protective at times, you adored how safe you felt around him, when you're in his arms, no harm could ever come your way. he would never allow it.

neteyam felt at peace knowing you were safe and sound in the warmth of his home.

except you weren't.

you were currently hiding among the bushes from the sky demons that invaded your beautiful planet. you thought you had it under control, but you couldn't slip away quiet enough.

"come on out, i won't hurt you" quaritch speaks with a sickening laugh, anger bubbled inside you as you remembered the horror stories spoken around the village, all origin from him.

he destroyed your life; he was the reason you were alone on this planet.

you gripped the knife in your hand, it happened to be the only weapon present. you were ready to pounce, to get your revenge but a shock ran through your body as a strong arm grabbed you by your neck, pulling you from your hiding spot.

you struggled in the RDA soldiers grip as he held a gun at your head, presenting you to his colonel, "aren't you a pretty thing" the colonel spoke through a disgusting smile.

you curse at him in na'vi language, to which he only chuckled at.

"where is your leader, jake sully?" his teeth were gritted against each other.

"it's embarrassing that you're still obsessed with him even after all these years" you spat back.

a scowl was evident on his face as he repressed his question, now with more aggression, "where. is. he."

you only hissed, you would die a thousand tortuous deaths before betraying the sully family.

"i like it when they're aggressive" his teasing made his face even more punch-able than before.

just then you heard a rustling through the bushes, all the soldiers looked around at their surroundings. you took this opportunity to contact neteyam via voice comms.

"old lab, hurry" was the only sentence that i could manage to get across, you prayed to eywa that he heard.

and he did, he didn't have time to tell anyone where he was going. blinded by his protective urge and rage that anyone would dare lay a hand on his beloved.

his heart pounded the entire ikran flight to his destination, thoughts invaded his mind. what if he couldn't get there in time?

what if you were already dead?

the thought of seeing his mate lay on the forest floor, lifeless eyes and a stiff body was a sickening sight to imagine, his stomach twisted in disgust at the mere thought.

he could only pray to the great mother that he would get there in time.

his ikran landed silently on the cliff side, his feet were quick yet stealthy as he navigated the forest, one goal on his mind.

get to you.

he hide behind trees, eyeing the situation. and there you were, still alive, a gun to your head as you backtalked the holder. neteyam internally face palmed at his fiesty mate, still can't help but get smart even as a bullet is threatening your life.

"you know, i could just take you back to headquarters and keep you as my pretty little na'vi." quaritch stroked your cheek which he earned another hiss in return.

this was neteyam's turning point.

he moved through the trees in silence, he had a good angle. he drew his bow back and shot his arrow right through the throat of the man who held you under his gun.

all the soldiers immediately went into action, guns up and frantically searching for the attacker. while neteyam kept moving, effectivly shooting every fake na'vi with his deadly arrow.

as quaritch got flashbacks from his fight with neytiri, he quickly fled, leaving the girl behind.

when everyone cleared out, neteyam went to you. falling to the ground together, he held you tightly against his chest before pulling away and examining you for any injuries.

"are you okay? what did they do to you?' a million questions ran out of neteyam's mouth at a unnatural pace.

you grasped his face between your hands, looking into his beautiful golden orbs, "i am okay ma'neteyam, thank you for saving me."

he kissed your forehead before resting his against yours, "don't thank me for this, you know that if you're scared, i'm on my way."

"i am never letting you leave my side again" neteyams arms crushed you as he now rubbed his face where your neck met your shoulder, "i thought i lost you, i was afraid i was too late."

neteyam was disappointed in himself for not being able to get there before you even had a gun to your head, he kissed your face all over, trying to erase the image of you struggling under the weapons of those demons out of his mind.

"i am okay now, neteyam," you reassure the boy who was on the verge of shaking, "now let us go home and rest, does that sound good?"

#avatar #avatar the way of water #fanfic #neteyam #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam imagine #neteyam sully #neteyam x reader #sully #neteyam fluff #avatar imagine

[youlikefanficdontyousquidward]

Snatanhi Akwey

Summary: Quaritch is defeated and alone. With no way to contact for support how will he survive on Pandora.

Na'vi in italics

Chapter one

No team, no weapons, no coms and worst of all no Spider. Miles Quaritch was left with not but the clothes on his back and his banshee. He now struggled to stay on its back as he flew towards the canopy, black spots accumulating in the corners of his vision. Had he not given the boy all he could? He'd been patient and listened and respected him far more than his father ever did for him. Maybe that's why he'd at least done him the kindness of not leaving him for dead. More than he'd have done for his own dad.

He bid the creature land as night began to fall. The dense forest provided plenty of places to hide and ol 'cupcake' would watch over him. He disconnected the neural whip falling off when his legs wouldn't take his weight.

Grumbling he half crawled half dragged himself to a hollowed tree root. His vision drew in and out of focus, tree swaying and doubling. The grass in the hollow was flattened and it seemed something had nested here before. It didn't matter now, he had no strength left in him and collapsed in a heap.

When he came to the sun light blinded him, streams of it cutting through in bands of brilliant yellows. There was someone in there with him. Hissing he twisted to them only to pull on his wounds causing him to cry out before collapsing back down. Perfect, just perfect! He was gonna die to some savage and he wouldn't even keep his dignity and go out fighting.

There was no movement however, no sharp blade or hands round his throat. He pealed his eyes back open. His would be killer was plastered to the back of the hollow, his own body between them and the exit. Their chest rose and fell quickly as their eyes stayed fixed on his. In their right hand they held his knife, pinned to the wall and in their left his dog tags dangled.

"Gimmie that!" He reached out, the na'vi squeaking at him and screwing their own eyes closed. He snatched the knife, pondering it a second before returning it to his holster. The motion sent more pain through his body, looking to the injury he was surprised. All his wounds seemed covered now, bandaged up or lightly smeared in some paste.

He looked to the stranger now, their 3 fingered hands clasped around his tags which they now held to their chest. They were tinged in the same colour as the paste. Their eyes passed between him and the tags before their hand shot out, offering them back. Miles took them, more gently now.

"This your work?" He gestured. Their face scrunched a moment.

"I'm sorry I don't understand?" They spoke, their accent a little different from the na'vi he'd heard before. Miles pulled his body up to sit, their gentle hands fluttering around his chest in protest as he did.

"Quit fussin'! I'm fine." He hoped Spider's lessons would have paid off. Their ears perked twitching towards him. Their stance seemed to relax, sinking down to sit on their feet next to him.

"Must have been quite the battle! You are a warrior?" Miles focused on their appearance now. Their skin a slightly purpler shade of blue, finer more intricate stripes, honey eyes. They wore sturdier leather like clothing, though still as scantily clad as the other clans. Most curiously was all the straps and belts. Lots hung from them, trinkets, tools and more. Oddly they only seemed to have one small blade as far as weapons went, strapped onto their thigh. He met their eyes again, realizing in that moment both how pretty they were and how long it'd been since they'd spoke.

"uh yeah" He fumbled. Their features broke into a brilliant smile as they bounced excitedly. Whoever this was they were not familiar enough with humans to know an avatar or recom when they saw them. Considering the state he'd gotten himself in a short lived ally would be good.

"I knew it! You're built for little else! and your ikran oh he is just beautiful and powerful looking wings, I've never flown before but I figure you guessed that..." They continued on, Quaritch finding it harder to keep up with what they were actually saying. Their hands waving and flapping as they spoke. He made to try get up when their hands met his chest again.

"oh please be still! You'll need another nights rest before you should be moving around. Please I can get you water, food..." They fretted hands moving to check the worst of his wounds.

"I've gotta..." Miles paused a moment. There was no way he could fly in his condition and no way help could find him here. His best bet oddly enough was to let this stranger help him.

"Okay I'll rest." They grinned at him, shifting carefully around him to the opening in the tree.

"Stay. I will return soon." They nodded to him before disappearing from view. Miles grumbled, this situation wasn't ideal. He had no idea the intentions of this stranger. What if their tribe was close and weren't so ignorant. He'd have to question them when they came back. He'd wished he'd gotten their name at least, maybe screaming it when their friends came to kill him might buy him a moment.

He rested a while. Sleeping lightly, waking at any rustle around him. The day stretched on. It'd been late morning, almost midday when he'd woke and the sun was dipping low now. He heard 'cupcake' shuffling around before taking flight. He must be sleeping higher up, maybe there was ground predators at night.

With little else to do Miles decided to take inventory. He'd still had his combat knife strapped to his thigh, now back in that holster. His coms were completely shot, water logged and cracked. He still had his tactical vest and belt. No pack, or previsions and an empty canteen. The pockets of his vest only yielded useless amo for a gun he no longer had and salt sodden bandages.

The light glinted off something on the far wall. He reached, tugging painfully as he did, and picked up a woven pack from the floor. It had a long strap and draw strings. The front was detailed in sewn on beetle shells and colourful rocks. The na'vi had left it there with him. The thought oddly touched him, that they were trusting him? Though he soured, he didn't seem like a threat obviously no need to protect their things from him.

He pulled it open. Little containers clinked together inside. Opening one revealed a foul smelling jellied substance. He gagged tightening the lid before rummaging some more. He opened another this time filled with small iridescent sea shells. Further into the bag there were some beaded jewellery items wrapped in cloths and clothing. He didn't know what he'd hoped to find and moved to return the bag to its position when something else caught his eye.

Taking it out it shone in the light. Cool in his palm was a chunk of metal, with a rounded smooth glass side. LEDs blinked to life in his hands and it beeped. He wasn't too sure what it was but it was human made for sure. Even had a little RDA logo printed onto it. Then it screamed.

"FUCK, shit shit!" He scrambled, turning the thing in his palms looking for some kind of switch or button. The alarm blared on, painfully loud. His ears pinned back as he lifted the thing into the air. Surely smashing it would shut it up.

"NO STOP! Off!" The sound ceased. His stranger had returned and stayed crouched at the entrance, head cocked to the side. Miles realized, eyeing them as they gently climbed over his legs to sit inside.

"You do speak English!" What ever this was it took a voice command as they'd clearly said 'off' in English. To his confusion they furrowed their brow. They swung another bag off their shoulder, pulling out a fabric pouch.

"No no, not much. Some things I say back it'll do things." They took the machine from his hands carefully, placing the pouch of liquid in his. "Look see" They cleared their throat, sitting up straight, and looking to him expectantly.

"Music." The box played a tone before a mechanical voice spoke back.

"What genre?" The na'vi clapped delighted then placed it on the ground, content. They looked to Quaritch now smiling proudly. Quaritch quirked a brow back to them.

"Country." He spoke. The box chimed again before a tinny version of a John Denvers song played. The stranger scrambled to his side, gripping his shoulder and jostling him a bit.

"OW quit it!" They stilled, realizing they'd hurt him.

"I'm sorry! How'd you do that? It's singing!" Quaritch guessed the last word, feeling a little smug at how impressed his companion was. Maybe keeping their favour til he was healed would be easy.

"It asked what you wanted to hear. I told it." Miles took the water skin to his mouth, taking a swig. The strangers eyes sparkled with wonder, hands clasped together as the song played on.

"Oh! I forget." They shifted to the bag, pulling out a variety of fruits. They placed them gently on Quiritch as he drank more. None looked familiar, though he'd eaten foraged from Spider before. Guessing he took a mango shaped on and brought it to his lips.

"Oh no! It's..." Their hand held his pulling the fruit away. He let them take it from him. They slid the blade from their leg, Miles hand readied at his own. But they just turned it up, hitting the side of the fruit with the hilt. It cracked, revealing it'd been a shell containing smaller shiny balls. They passed it back to him now, looking expectantly.

Quaritch held it now, suddenly unsure how to continue. Were these seeds? Or were they the fruit? Which part was he supposed to eat? Slender fingers slipped into the fruit, the stranger took a ball. They brought it to their lips placing it whole in their mouth before chewing and swallowing it.

"See! It's safe, friend" They smiled gently taking another of the fruits and nodding to him. Quaritch took one, following their guidance and closed his mouth around it. They looked back to their machine smiling at its song. He was glad they'd misunderstood, that they'd taken his pause as distrust. He didn't want to embarrass himself in front of his only life line.

He bit down, mouth suddenly full of liquid as the ball burst. He spluttered, some having found its way up his nose. Coughing and hacking, he groaned. Fresh pain coursed through him as his outburst pulled wounds. It passed, all the while his companion fretted, checking wounds and urging him to drink more water.

"Maybe just rest now, Off." They picked up the now silent machine, placing it back in their pack. Turning back they tucked strands of hair back behind their ears. Miles lent against the roots. Now was as good a time as any to get some intel on his new 'friend'.

"We never were introduced, I'm Miles." He stuck his hand out, deciding to leave out his last name just in case. There was a possibility his name might be know amongst the na'vi, he was responsible for the destruction of the locals ancestral home.

They paused, looking from his outstretched hand to his face. They swung their own arm up, holding it straight past his own. Hand stretched out mirroring him.

"Y/n!" They smiled. Quartich laughed, this whole situation was absurd. Everything in his life was flipped upside down and now he was stuck in a tree with this fool. He smiled down at them, their face scrunched in frustration, not understanding why he'd laughed.

He smiled more warmly, better to keep himself in his meal tickets good graces.

"Like this." He took their hand in his, giving them a firm handshake. They went ridged a moment, huge eyes staring back into his own. He worried a moment, they'd not seemed shy about touching him. Maybe it was a cultural line crossed? They flexed their four digited hand before reaching for his again.

Now it was his turn to be stunned. They'd taken his hand back tracing down each finger lost in some fascination. It clicked, they'd noticed his hands had one more finger than theirs. He prepared for a violent reaction, maybe some hissing, calls of demon, maybe they'd just run.

They didn't instead just looking into his eyes, still holding his pinky, fascination written across their face.

"Where'd you come from?" He took his hand out from theirs. The sky had darkened more now, twinkling stars appearing. Between the roots he spied a familiar constellation. Earth was barely a spec but the Milky Way was visible. He had no excuse for his difference and foolish or not they'd figure him out before he could fly again. So he had a new plan, charm.

"Right there." He pointed up, they leaned in to follow his arm up. Miles turned his face, they were almost flush against his side, their own face so close.

"Snatanhi Akwey" They whispered breathlessly. Shifting away but still sitting so near. Miles didn't know what they said but the awe in their face seemed a good sign.

The night continued this way. He'd kept a causal tone as best he could while asking Y/n his questions. They seemed confused sometimes by his accent or pronunciation but he'd gotten what he needed.

Y/n was part of a tribe of nomads. A group in constant migration around this area of Pandora. They were alone right now, completing the last trial before they were considered a full adult by their people. They were to wander alone for a time, Miles couldn't figure out how long as he didn't understand their units of measurement. It only mattered that for now they were alone, no tribe would appear to kill him.

It now seemed they wished to know more about him. Their form nudging closer in the already tight space, face alive with anticipation. Miles felt unsure what to say. What could he tell without giving away who he truly was.

"I was fighting a battle. My enemy was far stronger than I'd imagined, I lost everyone. I should have died but my son saved me but he left with my enemy. I must get back to my own people." He struggled through his explanation. Though his stress vanished when he caught y/n's face. Tears welling in their eyes at his story, it shocked him.

"I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have asked. I will help you back to your people Miles." They spoke quietly by his side, hand resting gently on his. He felt his heart in his throat, suddenly feeling bashful under their gaze. He shook his head freeing himself from those thoughts. It was all his plan, he'd charmed them and now they were going to hand deliver him back to base.

#miles quaritch #quaritch x you #quaritch x reader #miles quaritch x oc #avatar imagine #snatanhi akwey #my fics

[doobnnoob-tf2]

I had the idea for this a little bit ago and had the basic outline for it in my drafts. finally decided to sit down and finish it

sorry that it's not the best! it would work better as a much longer thing, but I write better with shorter ficlets so I had to make do c':

==============================================

Scout broke the silence, bruised and battered, looking around at the pure carnage laid out before him. All thanks to the only other living man in the room. He looked at Spy's back as he stood over the body of the man who's throat he just slit. He was angry, furious even. But he had to know.

"Did.. did you mean that? What you said just then?"

Spy paused and turned, looking back at him. His face paled, the anger once there sapped from it in an instant.

Miss Pauling had shown up with a mission. Which wasn't unusual, nor was it when she asked for Sniper and Spy to come to the briefing room. What was unusual was Scout was asked to join them. It wasn't often he was asked to go on missions, period. And he certainly never was asked to go on one of their missions, no one was.

The mission was simple, but hindsight can only go so far.

Sniper was to be stationed on a building where he would have a clear view through every window. He was to be lookout. Keep Scout and Spy informed of every movement going on inside that building. Which wasn't the most exciting job, but he was certain used to it.

Scout's job was to be a distraction. Not too much of one to cause alarm. But enough of one to keep attention away from the main job.

Which was Spy's. To get in, make his way through the building, and get up to the target's room to steal some important paperwork for Saxton.

That was the plan. And everything started off smoothly.

That was until someone caught wind of a potential sniper on the roof around the same time someone realized Scout was not who he was claiming to be. He couldn't lie his way out of a paper bag, and instead it landed him being dragged off to an interrogation room.

And with Sniper no longer answering his radio, Spy was left to find him.

By the time he got there, he was furious. He'd already killed two guards, and incapacitated several more people. He was mockingly told exactly where "that brat" was. What they were doing to him. And he saw red.

So the moment he kicked the door in and saw one of the men in the room punch Scout in the gut, he didn't even hear himself as he marched over to end them.

"Don't you fucking touch my son."

Scout stood there, staring at Spy as he stared back at him. "Spy, answer me. Did you?" He stared at his face, watching the panic, the fear, the sheer dread wash across him. Each battling to take over. It was an answer enough. He dropped his gaze to the floor to think.

He was angry. He was hurt. He was.. confused. But he remembered one thing. One thing his Ma always told him growing up, something he can't ever remember her saying to any of his brothers. Something she'd tell him after he'd have an outburst, blaming his absent father for everything. She'd pull him aside and sit him down. He never understood it then, it only made him angrier.

He looked back up at Spy, who more or less appeared to completely check out, staring off. Scout felt his eyes burn with tears as he rushed over to hug Spy tight. "Ma always said you'd come back.."

Spy stood there, frozen, before he dropped the knife in his hand and clung to him just as tight. It took a moment before he found his voice again. "I may have broken many promises in my days.. but not that one. Never that one."

They stood there like that, silent. It was long overdue.

...

..

.

..

...

After a moment, Sniper dragged himself across the wall to lean against the door frame. Just as battered as Scout. Clutching a wound on his side. Knife in one hand. Glasses completely twisted and broken on his face and one lens missing entirely. He stood there, watching quietly, before clearing his throat loudly. "Yeah, don't worry, I'm okay too. Just in case anyone might've been wonderin'."

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #tf2 scout #tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #dadspy #bootleg jerma #heart eyes #handsome rogue #dan writes tf2

[evilminji]

I recently read your DPxDC post comparing the Ghost Zone to Yggdrasil.

Ans I've been playing Elden Ring again lately, mostly because the Lore in it keeps dragging me back.

And I think you'd like the concept of Erdtree Burial. It even matches up with your post.

Imma try my best to explain the concept so Spoiler starts here:

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

Anyways, so Erdtree Burial means to take a recently dead body of someone who committed grand feats and/or is worthy of honor, and place them to rest amidst the roots of the Erdtree (which is basically Yggdrasil vut legally distinct).

The Tree itself will then take the soul and memory of the deceased and etch them upon itself, preserve their soul and remember them.

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

What if the Erdtree is that world's link to the World Between Worlds?

So, can you imagine all these Elden Ring Demigods, Honourable Dead and Great Fighters occasionally taking a leisurely stroll out of their Afterlife Home amidst the branches of the Erdtree to go visit the Ghosts that live in the Zone?

Random giant dude passes by, twin Greatswords at his back, and goes to grab a whole 20 barrels of ecto-ale to bring back to his friends.

Danny, coming back from visiting Clockwork, has to do a double take, and ask the bartender some questions.

"While was that guy? He looked a little too golden to be a Ghost"

"Ah, that's just Radahn. He says he's a General or something. That he once held back the stars all by himself. Apparently fought some wars, and they still needed like 20 great warriors fighting together to put him down after he went senile. Hogwash, if you ask me."

Danny hears that the guy used to throw hands with celestial bodies regularly, and knows exactly where he'll be for summer vacation.

If the Tarnished player character is already Elden Lord by then, I can definitely see Danny coming back wearing the Twinned Armor set.

(Especially if it's my Strength/Faith/Arcane character. She used the Butcher's Knife greataxe, with the Stormcaller Ash of War and a Bleed enchantment, plus Rot Dragon and Black Flame spells)

Hello yes! I DO enjoy this thought! You were ABSOLUTELY correct!

Haven't played the game? But? Now? I CAN NOT get the idea of the Zone itself being The Erdtree out of my head?

Great and endless. With roots and manifestations, that may or may not reach into the world it cradles, that will imprint upon itself souls of those buried close. That it may cherish them FOREVER.

Are we within in it? Held by it? Consumed? It is not for our mortal minds to know. Perhaps not even for gods to know.

But, oh. OH! What made Danny so DIFFERENT? No answer found in his world. No answer found anywhere near it. Yet? Here they know it. A simple answer, given freely. It feels almost unfair. Like he has been cheated of catharsis. As though he should have had to fight and scrape and FORCE them to speak.

They can not even begin to understand, what it is like. Being so alone.

Or maybe... maybe they can.

He's not sure which he wants more. Which he fears is true.

For what was the portal? If not sharp blade cut into the celestial earth? Plunging into starlight soil and primordial soup, to the tangled roots of something greater. A tree. THE tree. Dragging back that soil and nicking those tightly woven, buried things. A welling of ichor, golden and green and DIVINE.

A plunging of that blade into his heart.

His lifeblood with the tree's.

A pathway where none could ever have been.

Oh, what rituals we blindly perform. Our ignorance of their meaning does not give them less power, only leaves us unguarded. It does not have to be on ancient stages and with ancient things, to be a ritual. It can be a laboratory. A machine instead of a ritual blade.

Still a thing forged by Father's and Mother's hand, that killed the Son.

And then Again, through the twist of Time, by dear friends hand, first in ignorance now twice in knowing, killed again.

Twice Half Dead, Is A Corpse. And Thus, With The Tree.

Cradled and loved. Etched forever into itself. Perhaps even a bit more so, for the difficulties of his birth. For how rarely does the Erdtree bleed. How rarely the Zone spill its Divine blood. A little starlit snowflake, flitting along its many paths. Cradled in its heart. So clever and bright.

The problem, I imagine? Is that such a Divinity? Has a very distinct nature. You give unto them. They take. They cherish. They do not return.

And Danny is being a Trouble Child. Sneaking off into Worlds, mostly his own, and NOT staying in the Zone. The Tree's domain. Other Gods have power in those places! Child, cease! That is dangerous! It is like a mermaid deciding to go climb the alps. Even if she CAN make legs for herself, that is WAY to far from the safety of her God's domain! Are you mad, child!? Have you heard of acceptable Risk?!

Danny has. It made a whooshing noise as he tossed it out the window.

#dpxelden ring #dpxer #minji's writing #minji's ponderings

[littlegodzilla]

Hiii!! Here I am with another chapter! Our guys left the farm and now they need to find other place where they can be safe and Lori could have her baby. So... let's to see what's happen!

Thanks for reading, the comments and reblogs I'm really happy that you liked the story!

Enjoy this part too!

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Our Story.

Daryl Dixon x Wife/ Daryl Dixon x Reader.

Part 9.

Masterlist.

Warnings: TWD tense moments and violence. Fluff stuff.

Words: 3.400

Summary: You found the prison, you have a new home, but not everything is so easy.

≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈

Chapter 9. Prison.

You have lost count of how long you have been wandering without stopping for even two seconds to sleep. Lori is getting bigger and bigger, each time the urgency to find a safe place weighs on all of you like a burden. Time is running out on your account.

God, you would have even eaten from that can of dog food Carl found in the last house you unsuccessfully tried to shelter in. Daryl has managed to catch an owl, but it didn't have much meat on it either. You are now standing in your cars, some of them are still running, which is almost like a miracle, Lori is catching her breath, running and walking for a long time is already proving to be a hard task for her.

"I'm gonna see if I can find somethin' else to eat." Daryl says looking at Rick.

"I'm coming with you." He nods with his knife, following the archer.

The rest of you stay behind to secure the perimeter. Carl and Sophia are with Carol and Lori, they're hungry, but hanging on as best they can, as is everyone else. You sigh, picking up your arrows and counting them. You don't have many left, in a little while you should look for new branches and make more, in the last escape you left too many on the way. You grab your knife picking up several branches from the ground and start sharpening the tip of each one.

"I'm hungry..." Sophia murmurs.

"I know, honey, but you have to hang in there for a bit, Daryl and Rick have gone to get more food." Attempts to cheer up her and her mother.

"Can we practice?" she asks again, looking at you.

"Sure, let's aim for those trees over there." You point to some trees near the road.

You don't need to go very far, just a few yards, it's not much but it will keep the kids distracted, at least for the time Rick and Daryl are away. In those months they have improved a lot, both Sophia and Carl, even Carol is more skilled with her own bow, Carl is still more comfortable with the gun his father gave him, but he knows how to defend himself with both, Sophia for her part has perfected the technique and like you, carries a knife in her belt in case she runs out of arrows. They are still children, but they have learned fast and have taken on the role of being one more in the group, their childhood is being left behind, forced to grow up too fast.

"Uh, that was a close one." Sophia protests when her arrow falls a little short of yours.

"That wasn't bad at all." You smile flatteringly to keep her from getting discouraged. Suddenly your arrow flies through the air, you turn and see Daryl and Rick emerge from the trees. "You owe me an arrow." You reproach him and he twists his head, as if it doesn't go with him.

"We bring news." Rick says, gaining everyone's attention. "We've found a place..."

*****************

If at any other time in your life you had been told that the safest place to live was going to be inside a prison, you would have laughed, very hard too. But now, it's as rational as it gets. It won't be easy to get in, Rick explains the plan, how he wants to divide the group to enter and attack the dead. The main idea is to close the gates, occupy the entire garden, at least there with the watchtowers you would have a roof in case the weather in Georgia should change again. Maybe little by little you could try to get in.

You all know your place and your mission. Beth along with Maggie and Lori stand on one side of the fence drawing the attention of the dead. You make a hole so you can enter, Carl and Sophia along with Carol, Glenn, Rick, Daryl and you advance down the outside corridor heading towards the main gates where the front yard you want to occupy is.

"Ready?" Rick asks in a whisper.

You all nod as he opens one of the doors. The first shot is yours. From the position, along with Sophia, you clear the way for Carol and Daryl who run to one of the watchtowers to shoot from there, giving Rick a clear path as he runs to the other door to close it, preventing the Walkers from getting out. Leaving all that space for you.

It is immense, a free place, without danger, you have checked that none of the fences have any holes that you could regret. Nothing. Everything is yours. You are exhausted, but happy, you no longer need to keep running, you can set up camp there, rest at last.

You can't help it but as you enter the safe zone, you drop down on the growing grass, throwing your bow, spreading your legs and arms in a star shape, smiling broadly, laughing. Carl and Sophia mimic you by throwing themselves right next to you, you hear Carol get excited at the amount of space you have and your laughter grows louder. A figure blocks the sun in front of you, you open your eyes to discover Daryl looking down at you from above, head cocked to one side.

"Enjoyin' a sunny day, Majesty?" he jokes raising an eyebrow, stretching a hand toward you.

"You're not going to depress me, not today, Dixon." You joke with him, but accept his hand and let him lift you up. "It's a huge place."

"And it's all ours...come on, we still have to move the bodies out of the way."

You accept his orders, you're in too good a mood for some zombie bodies to dampen your spirits. Together you pile up the bodies, bring the cars and the rest of your supplies into the same place, manage to unlock the main doors so you can close the corridor and the door to the courtyard. Again you have that feeling of calm surrounding you. It is true that from afar you can still hear the panting and grunting of the rest of the Walkers in the place, but Rick already seems to be looking for a solution for that. 

"We'll take different shifts on watch tonight." Rick says as you leave the cars and everything ready to set up the small camp. 

"I'll take the first shift tonight." Daryl says. "The rest of ya can rest."

"You need rest too." Carol tells him in a soft tone and you watch their interaction curiously.

Daryl and Carol are forging a bond, you can feel it, something between them is starting to appear and you smile once again. You're glad, he told you he missed your sister, that it hurt, but you also think Daryl has a right to feel something for someone new. Not to hold on to a memory. If he's chosen Carol, you're happy for them, because you like the couple they make and Sophia, though respectfully, is curious about the archer.

"You look very happy." Beth comments and you smile again.

"Yeah, something tells me we're starting a new life, don't you think? Looks like things are finally going to change..." You shrug feeling your heart hammer hard in your rib cage.

"Uhm, yeah, I guess..." She smiles a little too.

"You'll see how things get better." You want to cheer her up again and you hug her.

Night falls, but you are no longer afraid, the group prepare a fire, with what you still have left and have found, you prepare everything, divide the rations, giving the biggest ration to Lori, for her baby. You all are enjoying a quiet night, when you see Carol walk away from the group to the bus where Daryl is standing guard. A new smile breaks out on your face as you see her carrying a bowl of food for him. It's cute and cuddly, from your distance you see them talking, they seem to be joking, Daryl massages her shoulder, she has used one of the rifles to stop several Walkers, she looks exhausted, but holds on. You look away to give them privacy returning your focus to the group, Beth breaks into song and it warms your heart, Rick returns from inspecting the fence once more, Daryl and Carol appear shortly after.

Daryl walks over to you, sits down next to you and hands you his poncho, you look at him confused, but he just shakes his shoulders, like so many other times and pulls it over your head and you settle under the thick, warm fabric, looking up at him gratefully as he closes his leather jacket to keep his own warmth in.

"It's still gonna be cold tonight, and the fire might not hold much. I dunno where ya left yer damn jacket..."

"I lost it on purpose so you'd give me this." You joke and he rolls his eyes.

"I figured as much." He squeezes your shoulder and leans you against him. "Try to sleep."

"I can't, my shift on watch starts now." You laugh and let go of him slowly, getting up. "But I'm taking this with me." You wink at him pressing the poncho against you and grab the bow before heading towards the bus.

The night is quiet, dark, you've never noticed how dense it could be without all the light pollution, you like it, it's beautiful in its own way and the sky is covered with stars, even the moon seems bigger.

"Have ya fallen asleep already?" Daryl's voice startles you for a moment and you see him climb onto the roof of the bus where you are.

"What are you doing here?" you ask with a frown. "Don't you know what sleep means?"

"Nope. Ya?"

"It's my turn, I don't need to sleep."

"We all need sleep... What do y'think of Rick's plan?"

"Risky, but if like he says we can get our hands on one of those blocks, with supplies, infirmary even some shower... that would be wonderful. Especially the shower thing." You hear Daryl snort in amusement.

"I've smelled worse, y'ain't that bad." He taunts you and you open your mouth wide, smacking him on the arm.

"I can't say the same for you! How do you do it? You rub dead squirrels all over yourself?"

"It's the special essence of the hunter."

You both laugh loudly as you wrinkle your nose in a gesture of complete disgust getting him to laugh louder, even for you it's impressive to hear him laugh like that.

"I've seen your... your thing with Carol."

"My thing with Carol? I dun have a thing with Carol, what are ya talkin' about?"

You smile, but shake your head without saying anything, leaving Daryl more confused if possible. He appreciates Carol, she's becoming a good friend, he feels safe talking to her, plus she also seems to be more confident talking to him than others in the group. But that doesn't mean they have something, maybe they do, since when did he feel so lost in this? Thinking back your sister was always the one who took the reins, since they were eight years old, but he thought he had learned to read how it all worked.

Maybe he's wrong.

He watches you silently, distracted, watching the sky with a small smile, always holding on to your bow, something that always gives you stability. Your knife and gun are in your belt, Daryl doesn't remember a single time you've used that gun, but you always carry it with you as plan C. He notices you've changed your hair, now you wear it loose, holding just a few strands at the back of your head, some strands moving in the soft night breeze, messing it up, crossing in front of your eyes. Daryl licks his lips and reaches over to tuck that unruly lock behind your ear. You don't pull away, it's not the first such gesture Daryl has had with you, he's always been a person who avoids contact except with people he feels confident with, you learned that many years ago. You look at him and smile, thankful that he is there with you, that you have talked things out and now things are moving at a good pace again. The months you've spent away, going back and forth has given you the time to talk and catch up on your lives and everything in general. You know it's not the same, but you feel that the tension that was between you at the first meeting, as if you were strangers, is gone.

"Seriously, what do ya mean with Carol?" 

"Never mind, come on, go get some sleep. You need it." You urge him, he doesn't seem to want to leave, but in the end he leaves you alone on the roof of the bus.

**********************

When the sun rises again, you all get going, grab the last of your leftovers and put Rick's plan into action. The kids with Carol, Lori, Beth and Hershel stay on one side of the fence to get the attention of the dead again, so you can get inside, you form a huddle, no one separates, backs together so you have all flanks covered. You stay a little behind, shoot some arrows, Daryl does the same when you have to reload, you cover his back, when he has to reload the crossbow. Without many, but between all of you you clean the courtyard fast, you are approaching the back where there is another group, but you can close the door and think about what to do with them later.

"Watch out!" You warn them as several Police Walkers appear, wearing special equipment.

Arrows are no good for them, they bounce off helmets and bulletproof vests, but Maggie manages to find a hole under one of the helmets and you all do the same.

It's an anxious few minutes, but you finally manage to clear the whole area you had planned according to Rick.

"We'll check that the block is secure and move on."

"If ya come with us ya'll have to use yer gun." Daryl tells you as you prepare to enter through the dark corridors.

"I can use my bow."

"It'll be darker, and there won't be as much room to reload, y'know that." 

"Then I'll use my knife."

"That's more dangerous..."

"Daryl..."

"We could use more people, now is not the time to argue about that, we need to secure as much of the perimeter as possible." Interferes Rick in your discussion.

"I'll use the knife." You insist and join the group.

"God, yer stubborn."

"We already have something in common." You joke putting yourself next to Maggie who also goes with you.

You use the knife, a lot to tell the truth, you have been caught in a mousetrap, the dead have started to appear everywhere, cornering you, forcing you to back up and look for an alternative way out until Hershel has been bitten in the leg, of course you don't leave him there, as you make your way you reach another wide room and close the doors at full speed. Rick shouts your name. You run up to him, holding Hershel while the sheriff cuts off his leg to prevent the infection from spreading. It's a drastic measure, more so in that situation, but neither of you want to lose the man. You take off your jacket and quickly cover the leg to stop the bleeding, Hershel is knocked unconscious from the pain, but that's not the worst of it. When you look up you discover that there are several prisoners locked up there, looking at you with surprise and confusion.

"Open the door!" shouts Rick, you go ahead, arranging one of the beds in the cell before they enter with Hershel in your arms.

"Lay him down here!" you shout also kneeling down to uncover the leg and take care of it. "We need to stop the bleeding, find something to burn the wound... we need bandages, alcohol... "You start to list.

"We haven't found the infirmary, now we have another problem outside."

"I'll try to clean him up as best I can, but we need to find it now. Carol, Lori, help me." You ask them and the three of you stay in the cell taking care of Hershel.

Things with the prisoners remain tense, they are not willing to leave the place, but you don't trust them to stay with you either. Rick tries to make a deal with them, half the rations for you and half for them, they will have to find another block to live in and not try to go to yours at any time. But you are busy, you have gone with Carl in search of the infirmary, you can't wait for them to decide what to do with the rest of the ward, Hershel needs immediate help.

"Stay close to me." You say to Carl, tightening your bow in search of any dangerous movement or noise. Carl moves to your side, walking slowly right behind you.

All the corridors are dark, in this part of the corridor there are isolation cells, luckily the doors are locked, if there is any threat, you won't be able to get out on your own. You advance down the corridor finding a small library and at the end of the same corridor, the infirmary. You sigh in relief, patting Carl's head.

"Let's grab everything we can and head back to the cell."

"Okay." He nods and tries to go in, but you stop him.

"Wait, I'll go in first, in case there's a threat." You warn him by opening the door to the infirmary and give a few knocks.

You hear gasps inside, something stirs on the gurney and from behind a bulkhead a nurse emerges in a consumed state. You quickly load the bow and shoot the woman in the head, Carl stirs behind you and peers over the gurney, shooting the guy lying there.

"Carl!" you whisper his name. "I told you to wait!" You scold him between whispers so as not to draw any more attention to yourself.

"He's on the stretcher strapped down, he can't do anything." He defends himself and you growl with a frown.

"I don't care, you came here without telling your mother, if anything happens to you..."

"I know how to defend myself, I'm not a child." He snorts angrily.

"Stop arguing; let's get everything we can and go back to the cell with Hershel. Come on."

Between the two of you you fill the bag with everything you need, some suturing tools and get back as fast as you can to the cell where Lori and Carol are still keeping an eye on Hershel who is still unconscious.

"We're here." You say opening the bag again to take out some bandages and the disinfectant.

"Where did you guys get all that stuff?" Lori looks at you in surprise.

"We went to the infirmary." Carl smiles proudly.

"You went to the infirmary?" Lori asks and then looks at you. "You took him with you without telling me?"

"I'm sorry, Lori, I didn't..."

"Are you not aware of what just happened to Hershel! How dare you put my son in danger?"

"She didn't put me in danger!" interjects Carl looking at his mother angrily. "I decided to go!"

"Carl, listen to me..." Lori tries to reason with him.

"Leave me alone! I'm not a kid anymore!" He yells again and storms out of the cell.

"You go with him, I'll stay with Carol taking care of Hershel." You tell Lori, she seems hesitant, but gets up and leaves you two alone.

"Are you okay?" Carol asks you as you continue to examine the leg of the man who is still unconscious.

"Yes, she's right, I should have told Carl to go back to the cells, I shouldn't have let him come with me. It's normal for her to be angry." You shrug, carefully stitching up some parts of the stump to make it easier for it to heal.

"Kids aren't kids anymore, we can't leave them out, they like being part of this."

"I know, but they are not my children, I can't make certain decisions." Carol rubs your back trying to give you some encouragement, but you're not down, just worried about Hershel coming out of this.

****************

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To be Continued...

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Hope you liked it!!

See you in the next chapters!

Taglist: @green-eyedladywrites @minervadashwood @livingdeadblondequeen @bringinsexybackk69

#my stuff #norman reedus #normanreedus #mine #daryl dixon #daryldixon #twd fanfiction #angst #fluff #eventual smut #drama #romance #daryl dixon x wife #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl x wife #daryl x reader #daryl x you #daryl x female reader

[scrawnytreedemon]

Fucking.

Ganzant.

I am so obsessed with this hellfire dynamic, I don't even know where to begin.

Like, yes, there's the delicious dynamic of a zealous prophet and an apathetic god who doesn't even really consider himself a god, but it's also so much more than that.

They're Jason and Medea. Except Ganondorf is more Heathcliff than Jason; he's more Zant than Zant himself is; he is him; they are both Demise. They both saw each other as escape, but when push came to shove Ganondorf cut the spider's thread and let Zant die, and it bit him in the ass when he tried to call upon the vestiges of their bond and Zant clawed him down to hell with him.

They're like Jesus and Maria in the Pieta but Mary is shrieking and swearing while bawling her eyes out and Jesus isn't so tender, meek and mild now, is he? But they're also Jesus and Peter, first Bishop and first Pope, the one who holds the keys to Heaven, but also Peter is Judas, the knife in his back, the kiss on his cheek, and the means by which he fulfills his holy death.

What are they to each other? What is a God if not a Father, Teacher, King, Lord, Brother, Lover, Master, Husband and Traitor? What is a Disciple, if not a Prophet, a Servant, a willing Slave, a Sister, a Student, a Wife, a Mother, a Dog, your Son?

What does it mean, to share the same body, even for a bit?

When does a lifeline become a noose? If you throw down the rope, how do you know you too won't be dragged down? Ganondorf cut the cord, and fell when the waves hit. He was the hand that fed, and when he stopped, the beast had grown large enough to devour him.

They're Adam and Eve; Eve formed from Adam's rib, from him, his side, and when she offered him fruit proved his demise.

Did Odin create his own doom by dividing Loki's children? By damning Hel to the underworld, Jormangundr to the sea, and Fenrir to ribbon-bound treachery?

Do Sigyn and Angrboda both spurn Loki for the way he twisted them? For the children lost, the annihilation at hand? And yet she holds the bowl anyway.

I think Zant loved him. I think it was selfish, and hungry, and childish, and greedy. And I think he meant it. He would have walked barefoot across the desert, danced with knives in his feet on a ballroom floor of shattered glass, crawled on his belly over hot coals and dove to the bottom of the sea for him. He would have swallowed him down to keep him safe, and rebuild him again, and again. and again, as many times as he needed to rise anew. He gave him life, life worth living; and he gave him life, a new body: rebirth.

I do not think Ganondorf knew how far it went. If and when he realises... what then? It's one thing to exploit hatred, greed, to justify your own backstabbing with the idea that he betrayed his own monarchy, his own people, for you,

What do you do, when faced with a love so big it would do anything you asked, at the price of having you?

Ganondorf is a fiercely independent sort of soul. He brought himself up by his bootstraps despite everything working against him, and fought tooth and nail for the right to even exist. He does not trust, cannot trust, and only brings in people with the knowledge he'll cut them off if they become a liability, and specifically seeks out other ambitious, morally-unhinged people for this. No man is an island, but he'll be damned if he's going down with the rest of the continental shelf.

What do you do when you're suddenly given a soulmate?

That has to be fucking terrifying.

You get everything you want, the way you want, at the cost of losing you.

After all, a God belongs to His people.

As do kings, and lords, and fathers, and sons.

What do you do when you seek a contract and find enmeshment instead?

The rope goes both ways: the lifeline is the umbilical cord, and severence means death in either case. Ganondorf overestimated his own viability, and died clawing himself from his "mother's" embrace.

When they go to Hell, do they see each other? Does Ganondorf escape it so he can escape her? Escape her sharp nails, her malformed fingers around his neck, the bitter hisses and saccharine kisses lain upon his ear? Does he loathe the softness of her thighs when she presses his head to his lap and miss them when he lies awake under an open sky?

Does she curse him when he's near and sob when he's far? Does her heart flutter when she sees the sun in his hair, as her mouth fills with bile vowing to drag him back down with her? Does she yearn to be Semele and Euryidice, wishing he would come fetch her and knowing bitterly it ends the same regardless?

Theseus and Ariadne, Dionysus both.

It's been often said that Zeus, Hades and Dionysus were all aspects of the same god.

In making that pact, are they, too?

What is marriage but a vow to merge 'til death do us part?

Do you want to become one with me?

Birth and Death are two sides of the same coin.

Do you want to become one with me?

In cheating it, have you cheated me?

Do you want to become one with me?

Hyrule's history tells of a King of Thieves,

Do

Did you mean to steal this, too?

you

All men are the same; you have no honour. Why must I suffer, for bearing you?

want

I love you; I love you so much; I want you even if it kills me.

to

And it does.

become

You're the moon to my water, the sun in my sky. There are 93 million miles between us, and yet we gain union via an eclipse.

one

I'm your little satellite, your angel, your Lucifer, your dutiful executioner and nightlight. I watch over your bed with fingers aching to dig themselves into your supple neck.

with

It's not fair! It's not fair! I have been nothing but honest with you. Why do you lie to me? Why do you feed me, then withdraw your hand when I try to lick it? Your taste is wonderful; I love you, I love you so much. If you asked me, I'd gobble you up. I have been nothing but good to you; why do you betray me?

m--

I could make your whole. I would give your my blood, my skin, my teeth and my bones. You could use me for spare parts and I'd thank you each time. Just cradle me on your lap; just offer me milk; offer me meat; offer me hair and offer me water.

You can have anything you've ever wanted,

If only you give yourself.

If you get anything, can I not have everything?

#ganzant #ganondorf #zant #twilight princess #scrawny rambles #this goes completly off the rails at the end #i think i got possessed by the Hat Man again #blanket content warning for unhinged enmeshment horror and violence #you know. the usual. #but yes this post has been on my mind for ages i've been itching to type it and now can thanks to my new laptop charger wire #thank you mother i hope you're happy your generosity has given birth to this 😂 #met new grandchild: the ganzant pseudo-poetry manifesto #lets hope tumblr doesn't eat this post