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thepenultimateword · 2 years

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Eyeteeth Part Four

I gotta say, this is probably one of my favorite stories I've written on tumblr. Thank you to the person who requested part one. When I first started writing, I wasn't sure I could fulfill the request, but soon enough I was completely in love with it.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

CW: Gore, death, killing, destruction

Civilian smashed spine-first into the barstools, toppling two down on top of them with a bruising clang that was immediately lost in the cacophony of screaming people and breaking stone. They coughed on the flakes of drywall raining down from the blasted wall, blinking white flecks from their lashes.

As they slowly lifted their head, the crumpled frame of their glasses slid askew down their nose, a cracked lense on the right and an entirely missing one on the left leaving them half-blind. Yet, even squinting, the mess of rubble and terror around them was crystal clear.

The little diner, a warm, bustling place only seconds ago, was no more. One wall was completely destroyed, covering the ground in broken brick and shattered glass. The force of the blast had split the U-shaped countertop into several pieces, only a single chunk left intact. They should be grateful one of those massive slabs hadn’t landed on top of them. The thought came dazedly as Civilian stared numbly at the limp and bleeding figure pinned in front of them.

“What a dismal little place,” croaked a masculine voice, deep and grating like the very mountains scraping together. "Is this where people go for respite these days?"

Civilian cranked their neck toward the sound, but one glimpse into those coal-black eyes, and they wished they hadn't. Invisible fire flooded their nervous system, burning their insides to hot, nauseating jelly and reducing them to a shuddering heap against the gritty tile.

Yet, as soon as the pain passed, they dared look again--they weren't getting out of this by cowering-- but this time more carefully.

The man--if he even could be called such looking so barely human--hovered a couple feet in the air, toes pointed downward, the blackened ends of his paper white feet just shy of brushing the destruction. He wore a tattered white robe that hung limp and oversized on his skeletal form. Somehow the ill fit came across more disturbing than ridiculous. Darkness spread through his veins, as if they were filled with tar instead of blood, and subsequently, the deep hollows of his cheeks were colored charcoal instead of pink. And those eyes...

Civilian was careful not to meet them directly this time, but they seemed almost crossed out, violent black slashes cutting through them and inking the irises dark before continuing upward and bleeding across his shorn scalp.

An ancient. And a corrupted one at that.

The amount of ancient sorcerers that still existed was in the hundreds, many of them stretched thin by infinite existence. They craved power like a parched man thirsted for water. A yearning to fill the empty parts of them that could never be satiated. At least that was what the books said. The rune bracelet had only been a precaution, a barrier to shield Hero's magery from bigger fish, but never in any of Civilian's dreams had they thought they might see one of those ancients face to face.

Wait. Hero. Where was hero?

Civilian's eyes skimmed the room rapidly until they spied the shock of red hair peeking out from the rubble a few feet away. They weren't moving.

Civilian crawled forward, the muscles in their limbs screaming at being used so soon after such a vicious attack. It didn't matter. Even if it left Civilian permanently damaged, it didn't matter. They needed to reach Hero.

They clawed at the floor, ignoring the glass chunks embedding in their palms as they dragged against the weight on their back. A couple more desperate pulls forward, and the barstools slowly shifted, landing on floor instead of flesh.

Civilian yearned to catch their breath, just that small effort had them winded and agonized, but stopping wasn't an option.

"Where are they?" the ancient said, almost a sort of raspy sing-song. "I can feel their presence. I can hear their blood. It sings to me."

Civilian reached Hero's arm, grasping the child's shoulder with one trembling hand.

"H-Hero."

Why was their voice so small? Was the growing terror in the chest blocking off their throat? Their chest shuddered a little as they summed up another attempt. "Hero."

They struggled into an upright position and pulled at them with as much force as their weak muscles would allow, cradling the top half of their body in their lap. No response.

Civilian's fingers slid numbly along their throat, searching for a pulse. When they steady, thud, thud, thud beat against their fingertips, they almost fell back in relief. Alright. Hero was alright. Now for the other panicked question: where was Villain?

"Oh, what providence. You found them."

Civilian's head shot up, barely dodging the ancient's direct gaze before they could recollapse into another helpless pile of pain. They fixed their eyes on an ugly black splotch in the middle of their forehead, like a rot spot in a piece of fruit. They clutched hero tighter, leaning over their body to shield them from view.

"You can't have them," Civilian croaked.

The ancient sucked in a long breath of air, nostrils flaring. "Hm. Mortal. What could you use them for? Their blood is little more than water for the likes of you."

"They're mine." Civilian wasn't sure what they were saying, but it slipped out anyway.

The ancient stiffened.

"How dare you," they whispered under the breath, as if taking a moment to taste the offense. Then louder, "How dare you! A mortal laying claim against ancient right?"

The light bulbs popped over head, a shower of sparks sprinkling the air for a matter of seconds before the entire diner was bathed in darkness. Those still conscious screamed again.

A cold chill, like a set of longer, icy fingers curling around their esophagus, clutched Civilian's throat, holding their next breath captive.

Civilian squeaked. Tears sprung to their eyes as they struggled to force the breath out their mouth but could not. What an idiot they were. They dreamed of adventure, of daring fights, and brilliant scholarship in the face of death. They thought they were so important and brilliant helping a real life hero, but when it came down to it they were simply a librarian. An insignificant mortal just like the ancient said. They felt better about their averageness by butting into matters that had nothing to do with them, but that didn't magically make them a hero.

They were going to die.

A deep growl ripped the air, feral, guttural, and loud enough to make Civilian's ears pound. A flash of bottle green streaked across the dark, and all at once the breath burst out of Civilian's throat.

They gagged, coughing so violently they might actually puke. After several seconds, they wiped a string of saliva on their sleeve and squinted in the little bit of light streaming in from the streetlamps at the scene in front of them.

Villain clung to the ancients front, claws sunk into their shoulders and teeth sunk deep into their jugular. Tarry blood burbled from the wound, staining Villain's lips and gushing down the front of the ancient's white robes.

The ancient's mouth gaped, seemingly in pain, but then, in a moment, an explosion of power burst out of them, accented with a high pitched shriek similar to a kettle boiling over.

Civilian closed their eyes against the new wave of flying dust and rubble. When they opened them next, Villain was on the ground.

"You insignificant fleabag!" the ancient cried, choking and gurgling on blood.

Civilian almost cried out, but Villain was back on their feet quicker than they could form the sounds. Their eyes glowed strangely, as if in direct contrast to the shadowed curtain the ancient pulled over all of them.

The ancient stretched forth their hand, but Villain was already crouched to the floor before the invisible wave of destruction punched a smoking hole through the back wall. Then they were several feet in the air when the next blow, blasted the title to smithereens.

Premonitory ability, Civilian thought in awe.

Villain was on the ancient once again, claws raking down their belly,. They pulled them from the sky like a stubborn star, pinning them against the floor with a sharp crack of breaking floor.

"Their eyes!" Civilian heard themself shriek. "Take their eyes!"

Without hesitation, Villain clawed up the ancient's chest and, stretching their jaws wide, scraped those long fiamora eyeteeth across their face.

The ancient wailed with the same tone of the howling wind. But this time no explosion of power protected them. Ancient mages used to concentrate their power and life force into one part of their body, an efficient way to channel power if not a significant Achilles heel. The corruption around this particular ancient's eyes had given Civilian a pretty good guess as to what part of their body they preferred casting with. Not that it would hold them back permanently. They were still a magically blooded being.

"Now their head!" Civilian cried next. "They can't die unless you take their head."

Villain did more than that.

Civilian buried their head into Hero's body, wishing they could block out the wet tearing of flesh and the crunch of breaking bones.

A heavy silence drew thick over the building.

Civilian peered up, glasses barely hanging to the end of their nose by this point. A gory, clawed hand stretched out in front of them. They slowly raised their eyes to Villain's face. Their front was absolutely soaked in gore, and Hero's concealing enchantment had worn off, leaving the pair of menacing saberteeth jutting over the lip and glistening with blood.

Civlian swallowed the bout of nausea tossing their stomach and gathering hero closer against them, accepted the offered hand with trembling fingers.

Villain immediately pulled them close. Their tail wrapped tight around their thigh and their other clawed hand braced around the back of their neck, clasping both Civilian and Hero against them.

"I'm sorry," they said licking Civilian's grimy hair a couple times before pressing a careful kiss to their head, "I'm sorry. I had to let them see you. It was the only way I saw that ended with all of us alive."

Understanding slowly seeped through Civilian's skull. Villain had waited to attack. They waited until the ancient was distracted with something else. With Civilian.

Civilian body racked violently. They heard heavy sobbing, but they didn't realize it was their own until Villain's clawed finger wiped away the hot tears blurring their vision, leaving a long streak of chilly ancient blood along their cheekbone.

"I needed to keep you safe," Villain said, almost a plea. "Both of you."

They knew, didn't they? They knew exactly what Civilian felt toward them in this moment. And that knowledge was almost more painful than the ancient's attacks.

***

"All tucked in," Villain said.

They were waiting in the living room when Civilian came out of the bathroom, freshly showered and dressed in a clean university sweatshirt and pair of sweats. Their spare pair of glasses were a little too tight and pressed uncomfortably into their temples, but they were just glad they could see clearly again.

Civlian stared at Villain for several long moments, imprinting this clean, wet-haired version of them across the last gory memory. They had always known what fiamora could do; they'd written an extensive chapter on bloodshed, both hunting and territorial rights, in their thesis. But it was very different seeing it in person.

Those fangs did not have the potential to kill. They did kill.

Maybe they stared to long because Villain said quietly, "Civilian?"

Civilian jolted to attention. "Right. Thank you. Did they wake up at all?"

Villain shook their head, twisting the hem of their borrowed t-shirt and flinching when their claws made little holes. "No. But they will. If they weren't, I would feel it."

Civilian nodded.

It had not seemed a good idea to bring Hero home to their family unconscious and covered in building dust. It wouldn't have only exposed Hero's crime-stopping stint but could have also brought up a heap of troubling questions as to why Hero had been with Civilian in the first place. There was also Villain in the mix, making things even more complicated. In the end, they'd come to Civilian's apartment. Villain had cleaned up first, seeing as they were covered in blood, and Civlian had sat shuddering in the kitchen with Hero spread awkwardly across their tabletop. Once Villain returned, they'd quickly slipped off to the bathroom themself, hoping the hot water and some clean clothes would kick their nerves straight.

They still felt on the point of breaking down, but at least they could look Villain straight in the face again. They could recite to themselves all the things they loved about them. Bottle-green eyes, wild untamable hair, fluffy ears, gorgeous, sharp eyetee--

Civilian stopped short as they remembered those teeth taking out the ancient's eyes in one bite. Instead, they focused on Villain's outfit. Also sweats, but topped with an oversized t-shirt with a brightly colored bookshelf printed across the front and captioned LIBRARY SQUAD. A leftover from the book club Civilian had tried and failed to create at the school a couple years ago. Also, since there was no tailored opening in the pants, Villain had stuffed their tail down one leg, and it thrashed against the fabric every so often like an uncomfortable snake. Civilian couldn't help but smile a little. It was sort of funny seeing Villain dressed so casually, in Civilian's own clothes no less. It was intimate and warm, and Civilian probably would have liked it much better if it wasn't just following a near-death experience.

Villain smiled cautiously in return. "Um, I figured you'd want them somewhere comfortable, so I put them in your room. Is that alright?"

"In my room?" Civilian repeated numbly. Stupid. Of course. It wasn't like they owned another bed. "Ah. Yes. Of course. I'll sleep on the couch tonight."

If they could even sleep at all. They didn't know if they could get that ancient inhuman body and ghastly eyes out of their head. Just like fiamora, they knew these things existed, but...how did they go on knowing they could come in at any moment and kill them all in eyeblink?

Villain's claws brushed Civilian's elbow, green eyes flicking up to meet theirs. "Would you...like some company?"

Civilian's heart pounded faster. Villain was dangerous. They knew it more than ever. But...did that actually change how they felt about them?

They shoved the scent of blood and the sound of crunching bone to the back of their mind.

"Sure."

Villain nodded evenly, but the relief in their expression was almost palpable. "Do you have a first aid kit, I think we're both a little more beat up than planned."

"Heh." Civilian rubbed their sore palms together. "Just a moment."

They went off the kitchen to retrieve the little tin box under the sink, a tray of ice cubes, and a box of ziplock bags. When they returned, Villain was sitting crisis cross at the center of their couch, watching the door anxiously for Civilian's return.

"Come here," Civilian said, sitting across from them and shaking a few ice cubes into a ziplock bag. Villain leaned in a little, and Civilian held the bag gently to a large purple bruise forming across Villain's brow bone.

Keeping their head bent into Civilian's touch, Villain popped open the first aid tin and fished out an ointment tube and bandages. They dolloped a drop of syrup scented ointment across their fingers and gently massaged it into Civilian's free hand, careful not to nick them with the sharp points of their claws. When they finished off with some bandages, Civilian switched the hand holding the ice pack, and let them treat the other hand as well.

"You're very frightened of me now, aren't you?" Villain said, peeling back the wrapper on a bandaid and pressed the clean cotton middle to a particularly nasty slice on the heel of Civilian's hand.

Civilian felt sick.

"It was a frightening experience," they said slowly. "I...I don't think you did anything wrong... I'm just a little shaken."

It wasn't as if Villain was the only one with a part to play in this death either.

"I'm the one who told you what to do."

Maybe that was what bothered them most of all. Not the bloodshed itself, but that they had been capable of directing it. Wasn't it wrong to hurt someone? Was it wrong that they had known how to do it? Maybe they were studying the wrong things.

"Civilian," Villain said, maybe hearing the sickness in their tone. "You were only protecting yourself. Protecting everyone. Hero. Those people. Me."

Civilian swallowed hard on a lump of emotion forcing its way into the open.

Villain continued. "That thing was out for blood. You know more than I do about people like that. Tell me honestly, do you think we could have reasoned with him?"

"No." Their voice croaked pathetically. "He would have killed Hero no matter what. As well as anyone who got in his way."

"And you stood up to him anyway." Villain stroked their arm up and down soothingly.

"Only because Hero... They were going to..." They took a deep breath. "Villain, if that kid died, I don't know what I would do."

"And me?"

Those green eyes seemed to pin them to spot, making it hard for Civilian to breathe.

"I haven't known you that long," Civilian said quickly, ducking their head toward their lap.

"I know," Villain said. "I don't expect you to be as dedicated to me as you are Hero. But out of curiosity..."

Civilian thought about it a minute. Imagined how they'd feel tonight if Villain hadn't survived their fight with the ancient. If they weren't safe and sound across from now.

'"I would be very upset. For a very long time. In fact, I'm not sure if I'd ever get over it."

Silence.

Civilian flicked their gaze back up to Villain to see the fiamora staring at them, mouth parted, beautiful eyes wide.

"That deep?" they murmured.

Civilian flushed a little, shoving at their spectacles even though they were already firmly in place. "Apparently."

Villain was just a name a few months ago. A faceless fiamora to build tactics against, but now they were a person. Civilian's person. And they'd protected Civilian with their life.

Civilian leaned in closer, eyeing Villain's fangs carefully, mentally measuring a safe spot to aim for. Then they pressed a gentle kiss to Villain's lips.

They pulled back just a little to see Villain's expression, but no sooner did they catch the violent twitch of Villain's ears and the fiamora was tangling their claws in their hair and pulling them in a second time.

The flat of Villain's right fang skimmed their lips, sending a shiver down Civilian's spine, but Villain was very careful, never letting the points touch them. Of course, a creature with such deadly teeth would know how to maneuver them.

When the kiss ended, Civilian found themself somehow leaning against the arm of their couch, Villain sprawled comfortably on top of them. The ice pack lay forgotten and melting on the floor.

"Um." Villain shifted a little, resting their head against Civilian's chest. "Is this ok?"

Civilian nodded. They actually felt safer this way. If only their face wasn't so traitorously warm right now.

"W-why don't you tell me about these ancient things. I know about fiamora ancients, but I didn't know it was possible for a human to become one."

"Was that a stutter?" Civilian said.

"What? No. A catch in my throat."

"You're nervous too." Civilian had no idea why that was so satisfying.

"Of course I am, you're so close. N-now tell me the lore."

Civilian grinned. "It's thought that every mage has the potential to reach immortality through a natural increase of their power over time. Unlike fiamora, human mages are naturally inclined to a shorter lifespan, so they have to reach a level of power where their magic is strong enough to keep their body from declining. It's like they flip a switch in their natural make up that turns everything more permanent. Usually, this would be a sign of purity, the hard work taken to naturally develop one's magic, but many corrupted ancients received immortality by forcefully consuming the power of other mages. However, once they consume another mage's power, they must keep consuming it. Another's magic is like a drug, and they become addicted. Back in the day, there were sacrificial rituals of young mages to corrupt ones. In fact, there was one city that was so culturally influenced that--"

They stopped short with a loud gasp.

"What?" Villain said, cupping their longer eyetooth and raising their head a little to look Civilian's chest up and down, as if worried they might have knicked them with a fang point.

"My book." Civilian threw their head back against the arm rest with a long groan. "I left it in the diner. Do you think it's alright?"

Villain sighed in relief and snuggled back in. "Is that all?"

"'Is that all?'" Civilian repeated furiously. "Do you know how valuable--"

"Shhh," Villain said, wrapping their arms tightly around Civilian's waist. "I know. I'll go look for it in the morning. But for now, keep talking."

Civilian pouted a moment, but eventually, they fell back into their explanation. They stopped every once in a while, thinking that Villain might have been bored to sleep, but then the fiamora would pipe in with a question or a simple, "What else?"

Each time, Civilian warmed inside and went on, talking and talking until their eyes were too heavy to keep open and words felt like sludge in their mouth.

The night's bad images faded to the fringes of their mind, and they drifted softly into sleep.

Master Taglist:

@moss-tombstone @crazytwentythrees @just-1-lonely-person @the-vagabond-nun @willow-trees-are-beautiful @cocoasprite @insanedreamer7905 @valiantlytransparentwhispers @whovian378 @watercolorfreckles @thebluepolarbear @yulanlavender @kitsunesakii @deflated-bouncingball @lem-hhn @office-plant-in-a-trenchcoat @last-ditch-entry @ghostfacepepper @pigeonwhumps @demonictumble @inkbirdie @vuvulia @bouncyartist @lunatic-moss-studio @breilobrealdi @freefallingup13 @i-am-a-story-goblin @ryunniez @rainy-knights-of-villany

#civilian x villain #villain x civilian #heroes and villains #writing snippet #hero x villain #creative writing #villain #heroes and villains community #human x monster #superheroes and villains #monster x protagonist

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psychewithwings · 3 years

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Pt. 1 A Visitor... Once Again Kirishima x Goddess!reader

hello hello, this is my contribution to this months bnharem collab! The theme was ‘mythology and lore’ and hit very close to my ancient greek loving soul. We have so many wonderful writers and artists that have worked hard so pls check out the rest of the collab here!!!

I’ve been rather ill and so I’ll be breaking it up into parts, part 2 will be out as soon as I am feeling more myself (which will hopefully be next week). Please enjoy a story about 2 of my favourite characters. Kirishima Eijirou, as his hero self (tho with a demi-god twist) and reader! as Kalypso, the goddess, daughter of Atlas, the titan who holds up the sky. Her curse is that she is forced to live alone on an island and fall in love with any visitor who falls to her shores. Once she falls for them, she is forced to ask if they would like to stay and she may grant them immortality if they say yes, and if not? They may leave. They have no way of leaving the island until she falls in love. She is a kind and wonderful character and I have a lot of love for her, (perhaps I relate to her a bit too much) so it is an honor to tell a new version of her story.

This is set in present day even tho Kalypso is an ancient greek figure, Kirishima is about 25-28 here? Pro hero Kiri!

TW: a small sex scene in the beginning, little bit of dirty talk, penetration

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“Fuck, thats it baby, feel it going all the way inside? Feels good right?” You moan into his neck, “s-so good.” He starts to thrust in and out slowly. Your nails dig into the muscles of his back… his… names and faces are unimportant blurs as he continues to thrust inside. Each drag of his cock hits each sweet spot and taps against your cervix. “Fuck~ you feel so fucking good darling, so-fucking-good, perfect, fucking perfect… yeah that's it clamp down on my cock, massage it with that perfect pussy.” His hand slips between your sweat soaked bodies and rubs quick circles over your clit. “Gonna cum for me baby? I can feel it, you’re about to gush~” You cry into his neck, soft tears of ecstasy hitting his skin. You’re close, so very close-

“Hello? Hey!!! Is anyone home?? Hello?”

You open your eyes and the man above you, the cock inside you, all falls away. It had all been a dream… a delicious, wonderful dream. A dream that had been ruined by an incurable racket. You stare groggily at the ceiling. The ache in your core of having been so close to cumming now boils into a rage. “Hello?!?! Is someone here? Hello??” Your brow crinkled in confusion as to who the rasping voice belonged to. You check to see if you had somehow managed to flip the tv on but the screen was dark. “Does anyone live here?” It dawned on you then… It’s a visitor.

You check the clock that blinks 5:37AM. You groan into a pillow and kick your legs in an attempt to relieve the ache. Your bare thighs are covered in your arousal, which has turned into your frustration. You stay lying still in hopes that he will go away, leave you alone, never return. “HELLO????!?!” But he had to stop screaming and it didn’t seem like he was going to until he came into contact with someone… You knew the nature of the curse well enough at this point but you would try to rebel as long as you could…

You flip the covers off of your body and slowly walk to grab a robe to cover yourself with. You stare at your reflection in the full length mirror while you finish tying the robe. “We got this,” you point to yourself, “no falling in love this time, no falling in love no matter what, ever again, you hear me?” You nod back to yourself. “Pinkie swear.” You touch pinkies with the mirror and laugh coldly. “No more foolish love,” you sarcastically remark before opening the french doors and stepping onto the balcony.

You stare down at the man who had been shouting for so long and your heart drops. He’s beautiful, red hair hanging in his face, still wet with the sea. His body must have been designed by the muses and chiseled by delicate hands. It’s clear even through his clothes. Son of Ares? Or even Zeus perhaps? He is interesting, never had you seen a demigod with such clear physical strength and kind eyes. The combination was rare. He gives you a grin which then fades to surprise. “Oh- I am so sorry, my manners,” he laughs nervously before slowly kneeling on the ground. “Great Goddess, I humble myself now in front of your grace and all encapsulating beauty…” You roll your eyes hoping he will take the hint and shut up. It wasn’t any different from the men before him… It was the same shit as always, though you were disappointed, this one seemed different upon first glance. “...your magnificence is profound, you are both elegant and ethereal in your just standing there-” you cut him off before he can continue the asinine speech. “Ya done?” you ask bluntly.

His eyes grow wide and he softly utters a “what?” You roll your eyes and lean on the gold railing. “Dude, it’s 5am, you’re yelling and ranting, can ya just get to the point?” He remains on his knees in a bow. His pitch varies with confusion as he speaks. “My ship, uhh I crashed it on your shore, and I was hoping that you could umm, maybe assist me in getting home? I-” he hangs his head for a moment, perhaps in exhaustion before continuing. “I have no GPS, no compass, not even a map… if I could do it without bothering you, I would, nothing you for help isn’t very manly... but please Goddess, please help me get home.” You sigh, century after century of the same request has really weakened your patience, though he had asked nicer than most. “You’re stuck here for the foreseeable future,” you smile slightly. You wait for the look of annoyance, frustration, fear… but it never comes. In fact he gives a slight half smile as he stands. “Well, nothing we can do?” he asks. “‘Fraid not,” you sigh. He starts to say something else but he winces. “Are you okay?” you ask, genuine concern bleeding through the nonchalant tone you had been practicing the past milenia. He nods and grabs hold of his side. “I got a little beat up, but don’t worry goddess, ‘tis but a flesh wound,” he tips his head down. As he raises his head he looks deathly pale. “Hey sit down okay?” you call down to him, but it’s too late. His eyes roll back and he collapses. “Shit-” you mutter to yourself as you run down to him.

He lays there in a crumpled heap, his breathing shallow. “Wish you’d said you were hurt first dummy,” you grumble before assessing the situation. You need to get him to the herbs and the back porch. This wouldn't be easy, he’s big, huge really. But he collapsed on his side which makes things easier. You hook an arm around one of his and the other around a leg. It takes a lot and it's a staring but you manage to lift him on your shoulders. If your father can hold up the sky, you can surely carry this brick house of a man back to the bed on the porch.

You step into the house while fireman carrying him to the screened-in porch to lay him down on the daybed. You place him carefully in the soft, green covers and he whines softly. “You’re gonna be just fine,” you reassure gently. Your back porch was reserved for growing herbs, arts and crafts, summer sleep, and it occasionally became a makeshift infirmary when visitors came to you injured and in need of patching up. It happened once every few centuries…

You grabbed some fabric scissors and cut away his shirt to reveal what had been ailing him. You hoped for a broken rib, those were easy to heal with a careful dose of leaf from the widows bone flower and some angel root. But what lay beneath was worse than imagined. A deep gash in his side had tried to close over and heal but it’s irritated, angry. The wound is oozing a sickly yellow pus and iridescent ichor. The skin around it is red with infection. This is one of the worst you’d been brought with. You touch his head, it’s hot and sticky with sweat. This wasn’t good. “Wait here, okay?” You grab a clump of angel root and take it back inside to the kitchen, setting it in a pot of water to boil. You grab a cloth and wet it under the sink in cold water.

You place it on his forehead and sit on the bed beside him. His face was relaxed and he was even more beautiful now. You brush the hair from his eyes and smile down at him, there was something familiar about him… like you’d met before. Though no one could return to Ogygia.

You lean down to where you can speak over his heart in a language that cannot be written or replicated... But the meaning of the words would go something like:

You are healing

You are youthful and strong

Your heart knows how to heal because it is made of love

Pure love can heal anything

You are healing now

You repeat this chant until you hear his breath deepen and watch the cut sooth. It’s a small enchantment but it has done its job. Sure, you’re no Circe, or her brethren, but you’re an enchantress all the same.

You rush back inside and grab the angel root, that's now wet and flexible from being submerged in water. You lay it across his wound before wrapping it carefully. “There now, wait here and I’m going to get you some nectar to drink,” He doesn't respond but his face is relaxed, less anguished, less in pain. You sigh in relief, hopefully that will be enough to close the wound in a day or so, else he will need to be stitched up.

You return with a small bottle of nectar and a dropper to feed him with. You coax his jaw to relax with your hand before dropping the nectar slowly onto his tongue. “You heroes are an awful lot of trouble… you know that?” You continue to feed him slowly so he won’t choke. You sigh in relief as the colour returns back to his face. He’s so beautiful he’s almost glowing, you start to reach for him, to brush the hair from his eyes but you stop yourself and turn away. “No, no love this time, remember?” you say to your reflection in the glass of the windows.

His eyes flutter open with long slow blinks. You watch as they focus on you. He blinks again. “Elyssium,” he breathes and you can’t help but chuckle. “No, Ogygia,” you correct gently. “I’m Eijirou,” he smiles. You laugh again. “No no, this island, where you are is called Ogygia, you aren’t dead,” you assure. He blinks up at you still and you curse the gods for creating him to be so breathtaking. “And what are you called?” he asks. He attempts to sit up but finds it difficult. You place your hand on his head, it’s warm and you can feel his brow relax against your palm. “You’re much better now, but just take your time…” His hands touch his torso and then move to his head. “You healed me?” You nod, “I’ll have to sew this one the rest of the way, it was quite deep.” He circles his hand around your arm, his thumb stroking soft circles. “Thank you, goddess,” he murmurs. You pull away, his touch sending lightning down into your fingertips. You don't remember the last time you had a visitor on this island of yours… but none of the previous visitors seemed to matter anymore, even though each one had stolen your heart some way or another. But no- no love, not this time, not now, not again… It hurt, but you suppressed the feelings of desire and brushed your hands down the front of your robe. “It’s nothing, but for the love of the lethe, stop calling me goddess. Kalypso is fine, just Kalypso.”

He grabs your hand as you turn to leave, “thank you... Kalypso, thank you for saving my life.” In all the years you had been saddled with this curse, it was rare for the visitor to say your name... and none of them, had said your name quite like that.

You pull your hand from his grasp and make sure not to look back, even though you want to. “You’re welcome,” you answer simply, “I’ll uhh- get you some water.”

to be added to the taglist

#kirishima #bnha #kirishima eijirou #kirishima x reader #kirishima x y/n #kirishima x you #kiri #eijiro x reader #kirishima eijiro x reader #bnharem #bnharem collab #august collab

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contemplativepancakes · 3 years

Text

what I'm afraid to say

another train fic! (warning for canon typical violence)

five times geralt tries to tell jaskier he loves him, + one time he does

part one | next

Geralt drums his fingers on the inn table, thinking about the contract he pulled from the notice board earlier. He looks over the brim of his mug of ale at Jaskier crooning in the middle of the room, and he tries to ignore the funny things it's doing to his heart.

He wonders if he should get that looked at.

Geralt sighs as he drops his mental facade; at the very least, he always tries to be honest with himself. He thinks... he thinks he might love Jaskier, despite everything, or maybe because of it. So many people in his life are connected to him by fate, by something that's too big for Geralt to fathom and impossible to ignore, but Jaskier—isn't.

He's stuck around because he wanted to, for whatever godsforsaken reason, even when there's times Geralt wonders why he puts up with it.

Geralt thinks maybe....he ought to finally say something to Jaskier. Geralt's not sure what exactly Jaskier gets out of trailing after him, so maybe it's possible Jaskier feels the same way?

Geralt shakes his head. He's a mutant; no human is ever going to be deluded enough to love him.

Geralt downs the rest of his ale in a single gulp.

The next day, Geralt walks all over town, trying to flesh out whatever monster he's dealing with. Eventually, he decides it must be a cockatrice, and he heads back to the inn to tell Jaskier.

“Of course,” Jaskier sighs, tapping his fingernails on the table. “Leave me here while you deal with all the excitement.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt growls in warning. “I'm sure you can find someone else to pester for the evening.”

“A pest? Me?” Jaskier asks indignantly.

“Yes, you. I'll see you later, okay?”

Jaskier huffs before giving Geralt his most winning smile. “What if I go with you?”

“I mean it. Stay here,” Geralt says, trying not to think about the ways Jaskier might try to occupy himself without Geralt there.

“Come on, Geralt, who's going to protect me from the cuckolded husbands?”

Geralt sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Jaskier is bound to get in trouble if Geralt leaves him alone. “Fine. But you're staying with Roach.”

Jaskier hops up with a grin, clapping his hands together.

Geralt checks his potion inventory one last time before hefting his bag onto his shoulder. He makes his way out to Roach and pats a hand down her snout, letting his fingers linger over the velvety fur of her nose. She snuffs at him, searching for a treat, and Geralt quirks a grin before he opens up his saddle bags to retrieve a sugar cube.

Jaskier moves up from behind him to give Roach a pat down her flank. She tolerates the touch instead of nipping at him, so Geralt will take that as a good omen.

Geralt helps Jaskier into the saddle before swinging up behind him, trying not to think about the warmth of Jaskier's back pressed to his chest too hard. Geralt digs his heels into Roach's side, and she starts off at a steady trot. The motion makes Jaskier bump into him maddeningly often, and Geralt clenches his jaw in his attempt to not react.

Not soon enough, they arrive at what appears to be the cockatrice's territory, if the gouges in the tree bark is any indication.

Geralt scrambles down from Roach and gathers his supplies from her saddlebag, downing some Cat so he can see more easily in the rapidly fading light.

“Be safe,” Jaskier says, an odd expression on his face.

Geralt looks down at the back of his hand, and he sees the tinge of his veins already turning a little black, and he flushes with shame at what Jaskier must think of him.

“You be good,” Geralt counters gruffly, turning away before Jaskier's opinion of him sinks any lower.

He pulls his silver sword out of its sheath and follows the trail until he reaches a cave that looks like some place a cockatrice would settle. He looks up and sees a rocky outcrop on top of the hill the cave is nestled into.

He climbs up and hauls himself over the ledge and immediately sees a large nest. Fuck. A protective monster mother is never something he likes to deal with.

He looks around, but he doesn't see any signs of the cockatrice. He casts a quick look at Jaskier, tucked away into the treeline and leaning against Roach.

There's two tiny cockatrices in the nest and two more eggs. Geralt brings his sword back, but he hesitates. Even if they're monsters, they're too small to be the culprits of the farmer's woe who had hired him.

Geralt whirls around as he hears Jaskier cry out for him. He looks up and curses as he sees the mother speeding back to the nest. Sure enough, there's a cow clutched in her claws.

Geralt raises his sword, but the monster changes its path from Geralt to Jaskier, and Geralt's brain quits working for a second. Geralt shouts, trying to attract her attention back to him, but it doesn't work; the cockatrice drops the cow and flies towards Jaskier. Jaskier tries to run, but she scoops him up instead, digging her claws into his soft flesh. Geralt can see blood blooming on Jaskier’s white shirt, and he clenches his jaw helplessly. Jaskier stabs the cockatrice’s foot, making her screech and drop him to the ground. Jaskier moans faintly, crumpled in a heap as he brings his hands to press against his torso.

“Jaskier!” Geralt shouts, voice hoarse as he tries to be heard over the din of the cockatrice's wings beating.

Jaskier should have been nowhere near here; this was a terrible idea and all Geralt's fault. He never should have let Jaskier come, and at the very least he should have insisted he wait at least a mile away, but he didn't, and now—

Everything in him calls for him to go to Jaskier and make sure he's okay, but neither of them is going to make it out of here if he doesn't deal with the cockatrice first. She's rushing back at Geralt now that Jaskier is on the ground, and Geralt shifts his grip on the hilt of his sword.

A male appears over the tree line, and any remaining sympathy Geralt had for the little ones flees as cold dread takes its place.

He spares one last look at Jaskier and hefts his sword, charging at the female and rolling out of the way as she spits poison at him. He comes out of his dodge in a crouch, and he leaps out of the way as the cockatrice's pointed tail swings around at him. He dances around it, all too aware that each second he spends doing this is one more second that Jaskier could be bleeding out, could be dying for all he knows, until, finally, he manages to get behind the beast and skewer his sword through her spinal column. He pulls his blade out quickly, hardly registering the viscera splattering on him.

Geralt wants to take a moment to breathe, but the male is rapidly advancing on him. Geralt glances over at Jaskier, taking heart in the fact that he at least has had the presence of mind to put a hand over his side to try and quell the bleeding, but a pool of blood is growing much too quickly for Geralt's peace of mind.

In the moment he's distracted, the cockatrice lunges forward at him and scrapes a claw down his chest, slicing through the armor and grazing his skin. The wounds are shallow and knit themselves back together quickly, but Geralt feels the poison seeping into his system and slowing him down. He needs to end this sooner rather than later.

Geralt squeezes his eyes shut for a second before feinting to the left and then lunging to the right. The cockatrice takes the bait and leaves his right side unguarded, leaving an opening for Geralt to plunge his sword just under the monster's rib cage and angle it up to the heart.

The cockatrice lets out a terrible screech that makes Geralt want to clap his hands over his ears, and the monsters still in the nest start screeching back. The high pitched noise grating on his nerves, exacerbated by his potions increasing his sensitivity.

The cockatrice shudders again, and Geralt rips his sword out, hot blood gushing out after it. In the thrashing, the coackatrice's tail comes from behind Geralt and sweeps him off his feet, knocking him onto his ass with a huff of breath.

The cockatrice stills, and Geralt scrambles back to his feet. He directs a blast of igni at the nest, taking a moment to feel sorry as the babies scream and the smell of burning flesh fills his nostrils. It's enough to make him nauseous, to feel just as monstrous as what he just killed, but he has Jaskier to worry about; he has to go.

He scrambles down from the hill and sprints back to Jaskier, dropping to his knees by Jaskier's side as he tries to catch his breath. He pushes Jaskier's hands out of the way, assessing the damage and letting out a sigh of relief when it doesn't look like it's too deep.

Oxidized blood covers Jaskier's hands, and Geralt tries to calm his already churning stomach. “You're going to be fine,” he murmurs, cursing himself for not having any bandages.

He tears off Jaskier's damaged doublet and rips it in half, wishing Jaskier wasn't so out of it that he doesn't even chastise Geralt for ruining it. He wraps it tightly around Jaskier's side.

When he's finished, he looks down at the blood covering his hands, at what's wormed its way under his nails that he's going to have to scrub to clean.

Jaskier stirs then, stretching and looking up at Geralt.

Geralt thinks back to his thoughts from the day before, the way he had wanted to finally tell Jaskier he loved him. He looks back at Jaskier and the question on his face, but he can't help but notice how pale his skin is and the shaky breaths. This is what happens when Geralt gets close to someone.

He bites his tongue.

next part will be up tomorrow and linked here!

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier #5+1 fic #hurt/comfort #contemplative writing

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writerpeach · 3 years

Text

Expensive

Twice Mina x Male Reader

4179 words

Categories: smut, oral, anal, richgirl!mina

I wrote this in two sittings and spent zero time editing this.

“You'll do nicely."

"Excuse me?"

"I said you'll do nicely. Don't make me repeat myself again."

The words came abruptly from a stunning blonde woman approaching you, wine glass in hand and a blank expression on her soft features. She had on an elegant blue dress with a slit on one side that showed off her long legs. Each step she took her high heels echoed as she stepped closer on the hard wooden floor.

"I'm afraid I don't follow Miss-"

"Myoui. Myoui Mina, but you may refer to me as Mina."

She finished her glass of wine before she placed it on a nearby waiter’s tray before continuing her explanation. The place was packed enough that you felt the need to escape to a nearby corner. Mina seemed to have the same idea.

"Okay, Mina. What can I help you with exactly?"

"I'm looking for companionship."

You furrowed an eyebrow at her words. You had come along to this gathering as a favor to one of your friends who had spent months preparing it, only to not have seen them in the last hour.

"Certainly there's someone better to pick than me?"

Mina huffed.

"There's not, look around. Nothing but boring rich men that can't keep their eyes off me. I'd rather die than spend another minute with any of them and having to hear about their yachts."

"Well, I certainly don't have a yacht to bore you, with Miss Mina."

Mina smiled for the first time of the night since she approached you, giving off a hint of her gummy smile.

"Perfect. Then it's settled. You'll come home with me."

Bluntness was her game here. The more Mina spoke the more intimated you felt.

"I'm sorry? I barely know you, Mina."

"What's to know? I'm lonely, I'm rich, and I think you're attractive. Do you really need anything else?"

Mina didn’t seem like she was used to rejection given what little information you had been given about her.

"No, I guess not."

"Good, then come with me."

It hadn’t been much longer than ten minutes before she had abruptly introduced herself, and yet you found it hard to resist such an offer.

"My driver will be here in ten minutes. Follow me,” she said before you could even answer her, and at this point there was nothing that could compel you to deny the companionship of such a perfect woman.

Mina led you into a more quiet room away from the hustle of the crowd, positioning herself in between two white curtains.

“I don’t like to know anything about the men I’m about to sleep with, but you may ask me three things. No less, no more.”

Mina talking so casually about what was about to happen didn’t match her innocence face, but her confidence was still incredibly appealing.

“How old are you?”

Mina frowned. “You know better than to ask a woman her age, don’t you?”

You gritted your teeth and cursed yourself for being so dumb. Talking to women wasn’t your strong suit.

“Why are you looking for a companion? A woman like you should be able to get any partner she pleases.”

“I’m not looking for a partner. I’m looking for someone to have fun with. Now that’s one. You have two left.”

“Where are you from?”

Mina hesitated before answering, her flashing an expression of disappointment.

“This isn’t a job interview, make your questions count. I’m from America, but I’m Japanese.”

If Mina wanted a little spice well you were going to be sure to give her some as you knew exactly what to ask her.

“What’s your favorite position in bed?”

Mina smiled again and answered right away. “Doggystyle. I love being on my hands and knees bent over so a man can admire my ass while he’s fucking me,” she said as she grabbed the bottom of your tie and played with it before using it to pull you closer.

You felt her hot breath blowing in your ear before her voice turned into a whisper.

“One minute until my driver gets here. Touch me,” Mina said seductively as she looked into your eyes and you didn’t need to be told twice.

Your hands wrapped around her slender waist as she wrapped an arm around your neck and kissed you. She grabbed your wrist and placed your hand on her bare leg, leading you deeper into the slit of her dress as your lips found the crook of her neck and kissed it in several spots.

You savored Mina’s taste on your lips as your hand slipped further into the slit on her dress, stopping just before you reached her thigh which she didn’t approve of, giving a glaring look that urged you to continue. Your hand traveled towards her crotch, waiting to find the barrier of underwear but never finding any as you felt the soft flesh of her bare pussy, not feeling a single hair.

“Surprised? I never wear underwear, it just gets in the way,” Mina smirked. “Come on, he’s here.”

You followed Mina out of the venue and into an awaiting black sports car, heading into its comfy back seat as you closed the door behind you.

"Where to, Miss Myoui?"

"Take us home. Step on it."

"Right away. I see you've found a new plaything."

"Hey, don't scare him off."

The car sped off as Mina kept her gaze focused on you, her hand caressing your thigh.

"We're going to have a lot of fun tonight."

"Mina, this dress looks so good on you."

"It's going to look even better on the floor. Now no more talking," Mina said and you unexpectedly felt her small hand cupping your crotch as you sat in silence.

"You feel big. Can't wait to feel this inside me."

Mina left the car and led you towards her rather large house, multiple cars out from and a gated entrance surrounded by a beautiful garden.

As soon as you entered Mina pulled you against her small frame against your body, pinning you against the entrance door as her soft sultry lips crashed against your own.

"Bedroom. Now," Mina demanded as she broke the kiss and kicked her heels off, her wide hips swaying as she led the way to the bedroom.

"Undress me."

You ran a hand up Mina's back before finding the zipper of her expensive dress, dragging it down as far as it would go.

Mina did the rest, letting the blue dress fall from her shoulders and fall down onto the ground as it crumpled into a heap. She was right, it did look better on the floor.

You didn’t know much about Mina in the short time you had met her. She was beautiful and elegant and very well off but seeing her this way without a single layer of clothing, completely nude took your breath away.

Mina looked so damn good naked. She gave off a shy smile as your eyes roamed every inch of her, focusing first at her beautiful legs that went on for days and thick creamy thighs. She didn’t even know her name, and yet you wanted her so bad as you saw her incredibly toned abs and immaculate tits. Mina’s perky breasts weren’t huge, but they weren’t small either, they looked like they fit into your hands perfectly.

“Enough staring, strip and get up here. A woman should always be pleasured first, ” Mina said as she climbed the bed, keeping her stoic gaze on you and couldn’t agree anymore. You quickly matched Mina’s state of undress as you removed your clothes, leaving a pile in the middle of the floor as you joined her on the bed.

“You listen well. I might have to keep you around,” Mina said as her lips curled into a smirk again. Her legs spread wide open, giving you the perfect view of her beautiful pussy that was ready to be feasted on.

“Eat me.”

You licked your lips as you laid down flat on your stomach, keeping Mina’s legs spread wide open for you. Before diving in you kissed both of her thighs repeatedly, bringing your face to her center as you licked up and down her slit slowly, earning a moan.

The sweet taste of Mina’s pussy was the best thing that had entered your mouth that night as you licked through her folds, running your tongue aimlessly before teasing and sucking on her swollen clit.

“F-fuck, that’s good. Show me what you can do with that tongue.”

Mina’s moans were music to your ears as you ate her pussy out, licking her pussy with purpose as her thighs closed around your face. The taste that entered your tastebuds was unforgettable as you leaked every drop of honey that dripped out of her leaking pussy, savoring her escaping juices that entered your lips.

“That feels so fucking good,” Mina moaned as her thighs squeezed your head tighter, and she ran her fingers through your hair, trying to force your tongue deeper inside her sensitive delicious pussy. You fucked her hole with your tongue, trying to capture as much of her essence in between your lips as her loud moans filled the room.

“Keep going…” Mina said as you kept your lips sealed around her clit, slurping hungrily as you brought two fingers inside her pussy, feeling her tight walls clenching as you curled them and found her spot with ease.

“Oh..oh f-fuck, I’m close, don’t you dare fucking stop.”

Mina was so delicious that nothing could keep you from eating her pussy, lapping up all her juices as your fingers became drenched in slick. You felt fingers digging into your skull as you did your best to keep your lips tight, barely able to breathe.

“I’m gonna fucking cum on your face, oh f-fuck!”

You kept the pressure on her clit, fingers moving in and out of her tight cunt as they clenched tightly, signaling her impending release. You kept constant eye contact as Mina’s toes curled and her thighs trembled violently around your head, holding you in place as her orgasm took control of her body and she made a mess on your face and screamed out in pleasure.

Mina came so hard the bed shook as you felt your face covered in her nectar, and tried to help her ride out her orgasm as best as she came down from her high, releasing her warm thighs around your face as you slowly pumped in and out of her pussy, cleaning your messy fingers off in front of her.

“Y-you’re good at that,” Mina weakly said, catching her breath.

“Let me return the favor,” Mina said as she got into position, kneeling on the mattress as she pulled her hair into a messy ponytail.

“Stand up and let me suck your cock.”

Whenever Mina gave an order you obeyed it, carefully rising to your feet as Mina eagerly awaited. She ran her tongue over her lips as she looked at your shaft, now hard as a rock and eye level as she gripped it tightly and stroked it, sending the first shocks of pleasure through your body.

“This will do.”

Mina didn’t waste time as she licked every inch of your shaft, keeping her eyes on you as her tongue swirled around your swollen head, collecting everything your leaking slit dripped out. Mina hummed as she rubbed your cock on her cheek, slapping her face with it several times and letting out the biggest grin.

“Are you ready to have the best blowjob of your life?” Mina asked confidently. You didn’t have a chance to answer as Mina’s lips parted, and you felt a sudden rush of wetness and warmth as you entered her mouth.

“Oh fuck…” you moaned out loud and sunk your toes into the mattress at the sharp pleasure, letting out a deep breath.

Mina wasted no time getting to work, wrapping her full red lips around your cock as she bobbed her head up and down, sinking her lips deeper as she took all of you with ease, using her tongue to pleasure the underside of your throbbing shaft.

“Oh my god, Mina…”

Mina kept her soft delicious lips sealed around your shaft as you rested a hand on the back of her head, guiding her movements as she fondled your heavy balls.

“Does that feel good?” Mina asked in that sexy soft voice of hers, running her lips down each side of your hard cock before resuming her blowjob, moaning around your shaft.

“It does, fuck it feels amazing.”

Mina upped her pace in response, looking up as she sucked you off and loving your cock in her mouth as much as you did.

Mina looked like a goddess on a normal occasion, and here she was on her knees, pleasuring you as best as she could and she couldn’t have looked any more beautiful.

“Fuck my face.”

The three words surprised you coming out of Mina’s mouth, such vulgarity coming out of what you perceived as a proper woman was such a striking contrast.

“I really hate repeating myself,” Mina said as your cock slipped from her lips and jerked it off furiously, staring into your soul with her deadly gaze.

Whatever Mina wanted Mina seemed to always get.

You took control of your cock as Mina opened her mouth wide, waiting to accept your gift into between her warm lips, the red color on them almost devilish.

Not wanting to keep Mina waiting you took your cock and pushed it into her wet warm mouth, feeling the tight grip of her lips as they instinctively wrapped around it and thrusted gently, hitting the back of her throat with your initial thrusts.

You waited for gagging sounds that never came, and once you realized that Mina was not struggling one bit you grabbed onto both sides and vigorously began to fuck her pretty mouth as she held onto your thighs, sharply digging her nails into your skin.

Mina looked up the entire time as you used her mouth for your pleasure, feeling her throat tightening as you thrusted carelessly. It only took a matter of seconds until Mina’s round pretty eyes filled with tears as you were mercilessly fucking her mouth, moaning every time your cock struck the back of her warm throat.

Your thoughts filled only with lust as you fucked Mina’s warm mouth, thrusting harshly in a rhythm that only made her muffled moans louder as drool spilled everywhere. You kept this up again and again, holding onto the back of Mina’s head and forcing her as deep against your base for several moments before releasing her.

Mina smiled proudly and gasped for air, spitting her saliva all over your shaft and balls before changing her attitude.

“That’s enough. Fuck me. Now,” Mina said as she laid back down on the bed, spreading her legs wide as she rubbed her pink pussy in anticipation. Positioning yourself in between you took just a moment to rub your shaft through her wet folds, gathering her slick before nudging at her entrance.

“Don’t keep me waiting. Fuck me.”

“Needy are we, Miss Myoui?”

Mina glared back at you and shot an intimidating gaze that sent a shiver up your spine.

"Don't use my family name in the bedroom."

It was a mistake you wouldn’t make twice.

With one slick move your shaft entered the warmth of Mina’s pussy, her tight walls clenching to welcome you in as you both gasped at the initial penetration. Mina was dripping wet as you slowly slid in and out of her hole, her juices making every movement as easy as possible.

“God, you’re so tight...”

“And you feel so big inside me. Shut up and fuck me.”

You used your hips and watched your shaft disappearing in and out of her pussy, hearing Mina’s lustful moans filling the room as her head tilted back in pleasure. Her tight cunt squeezed your cock as you thrusted in and out of her body, filling her up to the hilt.

“Fuck me harder.”

Mina always knew what she wanted and you were going to give her everything she desired. Your pace quickened right away as you pumped your throbbing shaft deep inside Mina, causing her breasts to bounce with every rock of your hips.

“Harder. Pound me.”

Grabbing onto Mina’s slim waist you obliged her right away, driving your cock with such force that the bed began to slam against the wall. Mina’s eyes were full of lust as you gave deep pistoning thrusts into her tightness, feeling every single inch of her warm wet pussy.

“Fuck me just like this. Fuck me until I cum again!”

You didn’t let up, increasing the pace even more as you slammed your cock inside Mina’s cunt with every inch of your throbbing shaft. It felt incredible how tight she was, and fucking her at this relentless pace that she demanded.

Mina felt so good around your cock, so wet and tight around your cock as you pounded her into the mattress, watching her half-lidded eyes and her opened mouth filled with pleasure as you gave into her.

“That’s it. I’m fucking close. I’m gonna cum!”

With every thrust Mina felt even wetter, drowning your cock in her juices as you pounded her, moaning and gasping with every harsh movement.

Your initial meeting with her was a prim and proper girl who screamed elegance, and here she was a lust filled mess in between the sheets, about to make a mess on them.

Mina’s tight pussy pulsated around your shaft as you plunged deep inside her, her long legs wrapped around your waist as she chased her orgasm. Her loud sounds of bliss echoed as you fucked her, and soon after Mina came beautifully all over your cock, toes curling as her back arched high and screamed in pleasure.

You fucked her through every last strong second of pleasure, and her limbs uncoiled as she came down a gasping mess, messy juices leaking down her thighs and spilling onto the bed sheets.

“N-not bad,” Mina said as she tried catching her breath, a sly smirk forming over lips.

“You made me cum twice, so it’s only fair that you get to cum now,” Mina said as her stamina began to recover, running a hand through her soft golden locks.

“I want you to cum inside me,” Mina said casually as pushed herself off your cock, repositioning herself on her stomach as she got into her favorite way to be taken, hands and knees on the mattress. You took your first glimpse at her raised plump round ass, perfectly looking soft cheeks that looked very appetizing.

“But not in my pussy,” Mina said as she shook her round ass, giving each of her cheeks a firm slap.

“There’s lube in the drawer. I assume you know what to do with it.”

Bottle in hand you lined up behind Mina’s beautiful big ass, squeezing her warm buttcheeks and kneading them, digging your fingers into her soft flesh as much as possible.

You quickly realized the bottle of lube she kept had been almost depleted.

“Seems like you’re almost out,” you teased as you shook the bottle several times, watching the clear liquid flowing around inside.

“You caught me. Can you blame a girl for loving anal?”

“Not at all. Especially when you have an ass this perfect,” you said, giving both of her cheeks a quick slap as her flesh rippled. You couldn’t help yourself as you rubbed your face all over Mina’s delicious ass, teasing the rim of her puckered hole with the very tip of your tongue.

“Mmm, fuck,” Mina moaned in satisfaction as you spread her cheeks wide, letting you know she enjoyed having her ass eaten. You licked her hole repeatedly, swirling around it before finding your face being pushed away, a frown on your face forming in response.

“I love that tongue, but I’d rather have your cock inside my ass.”

You were disappointed, but what Mina wanted Mina got as you lubed up your cock up and her puckered hole in preparation, the mutual anticipation at an all time high.

Placing a hand on one of Mina’s wide hips you lined up your lubed shaft with her asshole as she arched her back and looked back impatiently, a sultry look on her eyes.

You knew better than to keep her waiting, slowly pushing your cock into her tight rim and feeling how incredibly tight her ass was as your tip disappeared inside. Mina gasped loudly as her muscles relaxed, allowing you to fill more of her ass.

“Deeper. Fill me with every inch, I can take all of you inside my ass,” Mina demanded, needing no adjustment whatsoever. Her pussy was incredibly tight, but her ass was on a whole different level, hugging your cock firmly. The initial resistance faded, and with the combination of your saliva and lube you were able to penetrate Mina’s ass to the hilt.

“F-fuck, I love that feeling so much. I love feeling so full. Fuck me in the ass.”

Mina’s vulgar words once again contrasted with her elegance and beauty. You felt extreme tightness and heat around your cock as you started moving, thrusting in and out of Mina’s ass at a gentle pace.

“You can do better than that.”

Mina was never easily satisfied it seemed. Grabbing onto her full wide hips you squeezed her flesh tightly as you fucked her ass without any kind of buildup, pumping in and out and stretching out her tight little hole.

“That feels so good...that cock feels so good inside my ass, don’t stop fucking me.”

Soon your thrusts were at the same relentless pace, slamming your cock deep inside Mina’s tight asshole so harshly that her ass jiggled with every deep thrust, your balls slapping against her wet pussy that Mina couldn’t help but give out loud needy moans.

“Oh my god, Mina, your ass feels so good,” you moaned as you felt so much tightness squeezing your shaft. Mina gasped and moaned desperately as her fingers dug into her expensive silk sheets, trying to find an outlet for the intense pleasure you were giving both of your bodies.

“Fuck, you’re so deep. I can’t wait for you to empty your balls inside my ass.”

You never wanted your cock to leave the comfort of Mina’s incredibly tight asshole, fucking into her ass with as much effort as you possibly could, hearing the combined moans filling the room.

The tightness gripping your cock was like nothing you had ever felt before, feeding your animalistic urges as you pounded Mina’s ass as hard as you could as your bodies became covered in sweat, the harsh sounds of flesh on flesh encouraging your merciless pace.

“You like that tight pretty ass being fucked Mina?” you hissed as you pounded her hole with every amount of remaining energy you had, wanting to do nothing but make a mess inside her.

“Y-yes, fuck yes! Keeping fucking me, and don’t stop until you cum!”

You wanted nothing more. You squeezed Mina’s hips hard enough to leave bruises, pistoning your hips uncontrollably as you gave her tight ass the deepest and hardest thrusts, opening her up as much as you could as a tightness formed in your abdomen.

“F-fuck, Mina, i’m gonna cum soon.”

“Do it! Cum inside me, fill my ass with cum!”

You wish you could have stayed in this position for eternity. Mina’s bent over body covered in sweat, her tight perfect ass being pounded into by your shaft was something you never wanted to stop, but it grew to be too much. Each thrust into her asshole grew that tightness in your core even more, and you couldn’t last much longer, you’re not sure if anyone could.

It took only a handful more of thrusts until you were at your limits, burying your cock deep inside Mina’s tight asshole as far as it would go. You moaned her name loudly as you violently throbbed in her ass, sending thick spurts of cum deep into her body. You kept thrusting inside her ass as much as you could, emptying your balls as her hole milked every drop out of you.

You rested inside her as you recovered from one of the best orgasms you’d ever had, running your hands all over Mina’s body as you kissed her shoulders. Slowly pulling out of Mina you exited her body as thick semen slowly dripped out of her freshly fucked gaped asshole, dripping down her thighs and staining her sheets.

With nothing left you crashed next to Mina, trying to catch your breath as she pressed her naked sweaty body against yours.

“Mina, that was amazing…” you said, finding your stamina completely gone as you sank into the mattress.

“You weren’t bad either. Like I said, you would do nicely,” Mina said, flashing one more gummy smile.

“Rest up. You’re going to have a long weekend ahead of you.”

#twice smut #mina smut #twice #mina #reader insert #male reader #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction

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shig-a-shig-ah · 3 years

Note

Please I'm on my hands and knees begging for some kind of angst/comfort or whatever sequel to Solace what do I have to pay to see it at last

You know what, anon? Fuck it—ask and you shall receive.

DISCOMFIT ━ PART 2 OF SOLACE

» pairing: dabi x fem!reader, previous shigaraki tomura x reader

» cw: noncon, free use (mostly implied/referenced), implied anal, mentions of cheating, little bit of comfort, whole lot of angst. 18+, minors DNI.

» a/n: This picks up exactly where Solace left off, and isn’t exactly canon-compliant because the war arc hadn’t ended when I first posted Solace. It’s also more angsty than smutty, but def still NSFW. As always, reblogs, replies, etc. are welcome <3

» wc: 5.3k

» ao3 mirror

Like my work? Support me on Ko-fi or request a commission.

There's lead in Dabi's stomach as Shigaraki drags you towards the door, and he's already scrambling to tug on his sweats, staggering to his feet as though he could effectively intervene. He'd heard the threats hissed in your ear, the ones scattered among the taunts Dabi had tried so hard to counter with his own exaltations, but he hadn't been prepared for them to be genuine, had thought that in the end Shigaraki would view your shame as his own. That he wouldn't want to make this betrayal public, not really.

Apparently, Dabi was wrong.

When you're hauled across the threshold, he falters. The thought of your imminent defilement is enough to make him feel sick, bile rising at the back of his throat as his gut twists; he doesn't think he could bear to witness such a desecration. But in the end he also doesn't have a choice—Shigaraki pauses in the doorway, his vicious gaze fixing on Dabi as he gives the order. "You're coming too."

Dabi's throat tightens, because he knows there's no use trying to oppose Shigaraki's will, not with his newfound power. And there's no clemency in the man's burning red eyes, no hints that Tomura has doubts about his chosen retribution, nothing at all to give Dabi hope that perhaps the pale-haired man can be dissuaded from this corrective action.

So Dabi swallows back that bitter taste in his mouth, and he follows.

***

Your heart is in your throat as you're dragged into the hall for the second time, only vaguely aware of Dabi trailing behind, failing to interfere though you don't blame him for that, could never condemn him when this is so much more your fault than his. Had you ever really thought you could gladden yourself with Dabi's comfort and then return unscathed to Shigaraki's arms?

You're loud at first, and desperate. You rake at Tomura's forearm as you try to free yourself from his bruising grip, clawing until red droplets are blooming from the scratches on his skin and his flesh collects beneath your nails, but those marks knit themselves back together almost as quickly as you carve them in. Your feet scrabble ineffectually against the carpet too, trying to slow Tomura's movements, but all that accomplishes is friction burns when you stumble, collapsing to your knees even as Shigaraki continues his unyielding march, dragging you along without so much as a backwards glance.

You beg shamelessly again too, pleading with him to stop, to not, to simply let you go. You swear that you'll leave, that he'll never have to see you again, but he ignores those cries just as he does your pathetic attempts to grapple yourself free. It isn't until your implorations grow quieter, more disheartened, that he pauses—you're weeping, not even thinking about what you're saying, rash words falling from your lips. "Tomu, please, I'm sorry, it was a mistake. Please, if you ever cared about me, just let me go."

It's then that he freezes in place, every muscle in his body going rigid, the cords in his neck standing out as he whirls around to face you. His eyes are impossibly wide, his mouth twisted in disgust, and something dark flashes behind his expression, something that, but for a moment, makes him look wounded rather than filled with rage. It's gone almost as soon as it comes, replaced by an expression stonier than any he's fixed you with thus far. He spits his retort through gritted teeth, his tone so tight and glacial that it sends a shiver down your exposed spine.

"Who could ever care about a whore like you?"

***

Dabi can see you struggling, tears streaming down your reddened cheeks as you beg, but he hears none of those supplications, hears nothing but blood rushing in his ears and the wet glug of his throat every time he tries to swallow down the lump that has lodged itself there. Just moving forward consumes all his focus; this sprawling mansion may as well extend for miles for all the effort it takes him to continue putting one foot in front of the other as Shigaraki tows you down the hall.

Your grotesque procession ends in the cavernous ballroom on the ground floor. It's ornate even in its empty glory, sunlight streaming through the tall, arched windows and glinting off the crystal of the chandelier that hangs unlit from the ceiling. Dozens of observers trail behind, every inquiring mind that had peered out to investigate the commotion now obeying Shigaraki's commands for them to follow. They're watching warily, whispering behind their hands as their eyes flick curiously from Dabi, shirtless and shaking, to Shigaraki and you.

Dabi comes back into himself when Shigaraki hurls you unceremoniously to the floor, the sharp crack of your head against the hardwood echoing loudly enough to breach the disassociated haze in which he's been trapped. The sight of your face, dazed by the blow, has him instinctually moving forward, but he's stopped at once when a chiseled arm casts itself across his chest, halting his movements. A low growl issues from the back of Shigaraki's throat. "Don't."

It was easier not to protest Shigaraki's rough treatment of you when the three of you were alone in Dabi's bedroom. He'd been able to convince himself then that Shigaraki had some claim on you, some right to do what he was doing, a sense that had been given all the more weight by your own equivocal response to those harsh touches. But the sight of you now, curled on the floor clutching your head, your legs tucked to your chest as though that could somehow preserve your modesty, is harder to abide. It has heat roiling under Dabi's skin, his insides near-roasting as he does his best to restrain himself, to keep emotions too tumultuous to define from bubbling up and setting him alight.

So Dabi looks away. He does his best to tamp down on that growing heat and to endure, to think about the importance of being there for you. After.

Even after Tomura extends his sadistic invitation to the assembled remnants of the Paranormal Liberation Front, Dabi is naive enough at first to hope that no one will take the bait, that even a crowd of villains won't be depraved enough to indulge in what Shigaraki is offering. Except, Dabi had, hadn't he? Had found his own satisfaction in the first part of Shigaraki's punishment, even as you'd wept. He tries to tell himself that was different—he'd already had you, more than once and voluntarily, and you'd asked for him, implored him so desperately that he couldn't have refused, especially not when it was something Shigaraki had been so intent on enacting.

A darker thought flits across the back of Dabi's mind when he remembers the way you'd writhed under Tomura's domineering touch: if Shigaraki insists on it, will you beg here too?

It's a question that goes unanswered. You spend less than a minute sniffling on the floor surrounded by that mob of villains, and then Dabi's glancing up against his better judgement to see Re-Destro stepping forward, dark eyes glinting with curiosity as he shrugs off his suit jacket and loosens his tie, the balding sycophant unabashedly eager to avail himself of Shigaraki's sloppy seconds.

All your struggling has ceased; you're not trying to leave or asking for help, or mercy. Dabi's not sure if you're still trying to please Shigaraki or are only clinging to some last shred of dignity, if he should be disgusted or proud. Still, you flinch when the redhead crouches to trace one large hand up the outside of your thigh, and that small sign of discomfort is enough to have Dabi moving without thinking, every fiber of his body screaming out to defend you from that unwanted touch. But he only manages one feeble step forward before Shigaraki's hand is curling in his hair, yanking him back so hard that Dabi's scalp throbs. Shigaraki maintains that tight hold, leaving Dabi immobilized and with no choice left but to keep staring forward.

"You're going to watch every second," Shigaraki hisses.

Dabi nods. Grinds his teeth. Watches.

***

He thinks nothing could be worse than the powerlessness he feels as Re-Destro takes you. It's a sense of impotence that settles in his bones, that unearths and amplifies every inadequacy he endured in his youth until his knees are weak and there's blood leaking from the corners of his eyes. Just like back then, he's too weak to do what is needed. He can only watch in dismay as someone slots themselves into a role that should be his.

He's wrong, of course, that nothing could be more horrible than witnessing that first act. It's worse when he starts to notice the familiar tensing in your body, and hears your high-keyed whines reverberating off of walls designed to carry just such a pitch. It's worse when he spies Skeptic with that camera trained on you, documenting your disgrace as he palms himself through his pants, and even worse when Spinner comes forward, casting a long, uncertain glance towards Shigaraki before burying himself in both your holes. It's worse when they stop taking orderly turns coupling with your pliant form and start to share instead, and it's worse still when Dabi realizes that somewhere along the way he's grown shamefully, achingly hard.

But the worst? The absolute worst?

That comes at the end.

You're nothing but a crumpled heap on the floor, one cheek squashed against the stained hardwood, your expression glassy and far away. People have stopped coming forward, all those who wanted a turn having taken one, or more. Their faces are uneasy now that they're spent, murmuring again and shooting furtive looks towards the door, obviously unsure if their continued presence is required but too wary of Shigaraki to ask. So it's Dabi who finally works up the nerve to speak, his voice tight through his clenched jaw.

"You did what you wanted. Now can we go?"

A sense of relief washes over him when Shigaraki releases him, but it's short-lived as the other man fixes that red-eyed stare on Dabi.

"Huh," he muses thickly, his expression unreadable as he cocks his head. "You still want her."

Dabi hesitates. Because he knows Shigaraki doesn't want that to be true, is intent on ripping apart whatever tenuous connection you and Dabi have forged over the past weeks, but Dabi's not sure that such a thing is possible. Right now he can't imagine the future any further than getting you both far, far away from here, but even after watching you submit to Shigaraki so readily, after seeing you clench and moan while being offered up like so much meat, Dabi doesn't think he could ever turn you away, not so long as you want him. So he nods.

Shigaraki's unreadable expression morphs, his lips splitting into a wide, depraved grin. "Fine." There's something in his tone that has Dabi's chest tightening with dread already, a sense that only intensifies when Shigaraki continues. "Finish her off, and you can have her. After all, what the fuck do I care if you want to keep the toy you damaged?"

Dabi swallows hard, looking around again. The crowd is watching intently, exchanging hushed whispers, and he knows they can hear every word, have no doubt anymore about just what has happened here, if they had any doubts before.

"Better get on with it," Tomura jeers, followed by a quiet, callous chuckle. "Take the last turn, and the two of you can go. Or don't, and I'll keep her here for days."

Fuck, Dabi can feel the weight of all those eyes on him, of dozens of gazes flicking between his torn expression and your used up form. He wants to say he can't, that he could never, but it's not the truth. The thought alone might have him fighting back a wave of nausea but that doesn't mean he isn't still erect, tenting his pants in a way that's painfully obvious to himself and to everyone else. Physically, at least, Dabi absolutely could.

He takes a step closer to you. Grimaces. He wants to reach out to you, to give you the reassurance of a soothing touch, but there's nowhere your skin isn't reddened or contused, the evidence of that damage exaggerated by the sheen of sweat and worse coating your skin. Your eyes roll up just enough to meet his hesitant stare, and Dabi gives you what he hopes is an apologetic look.

Dabi does what he has to do.

***

The moment it's over Dabi is scooping you up, hooking his arms around your shoulders and behind your bruised knees and lifting you gingerly from the floor, taking you in his arms as gently as he can manage. Your eyes drift to him again, the corners of your lips twitching and a tiny whimper issuing from the back of your throat, a sound so small and feeble that Dabi has to bite hard at the inside of his cheek to maintain some semblance of composure.

He avoids making eye contact with anyone as he leaves, not even sparing a glance towards Shigaraki to confirm this is really over; if the other man decides to change his mind, Dabi's sure it will be painfully obvious. But no one tries to stop him from taking you—he flees the scene of your discrediting successfully, with his heart pounding and his eyes fixed firmly on the floor ahead of him. Just as when he'd followed Shigaraki's march before, he puts one foot in front of the other and wills himself to think of nothing else.

It's difficult. Your skin is slick against his unclothed chest, and feels feverish. Every time he shifts you, he can feel wetness dribbling down your thighs as he tries to lie to himself it's nothing. Tries not to give it any attention at all.

Dabi's never been very good at deceiving himself, and it's all the harder now with the images of your defilement burned into his retinas—Shigaraki knew just what would make him suffer, Dabi has to admit that much.

When he reaches his room, he sets you gently to the floor, whispers that he'll be right back and then disappears into the bathroom, shutting the door tightly behind him. He cranks on the bathtub—it will be necessary to clean you up since he's certain you couldn't stand if you tried. It also serves to drown out the sounds to come, because the moment the water starts pouring he's lunging for the toilet and heaving his guts into the bowl, coughing and sputtering as he retches.

By the time he's finished being sick, the tub is nearly full.

He checks the temperature of the water. Once, twice. Three times. It's hard for him to gauge it adequately when he runs so hot, and the last thing he wants is to scald your abused skin or any of those tender, overworked parts. When he's finally wrangling you into the tub, he dips your hand in first, one final test to ease his anxious mind.

"That feel all right, baby girl?" He's not sure if you really nod, or if you're simply shifting a little, but either way he takes it as a yes.

In the end, it doesn't matter so much. The water turns disgusting almost the moment you're submerged, an oily sheen rising to the surface that Dabi doesn't want to think too hard about it. He drains it and doesn't repeat that mistake, only fills it a few inches full the second time and then scoops water over your irritated skin to rinse away the worst of the mess, a painstakingly slow but necessary measure. He repeats it twice and only after that muck stops rising to the top does he let the water creep higher so that he can wash you properly.

He starts with your hair. It's another slow process, trying to keep from snagging your damp tresses on the staples that line his palms as he massages shampoo into your scalp, and moving carefully to avoid the lump that's formed at the back of your head, where it cracked against the hardwood floor. He does his best not to grimace visibly at that swelling, does the same as he's working sweat and sticky clumps out of your matted locks—your eyes are still bleary but he knows you're watching him, and he couldn't bear for you to see how much it affects him to witness you like this.

Conditioner is probably an unnecessary touch, but he works it in anyway once the last of the suds have been rinsed away, thinks it might help you to feel some sense of normalcy, if that's even still a possibility for you. He lets it soak in while he tends to the rest of your inflamed skin, trying best as he can to be gentle, though that doesn't stop you from wincing every time he brushes over some raw, tender spot. When he finally works the washcloth between your thighs, the last horribly necessary task left, you let out a choked sob, your face contorting in distress in a way that has his throat tightening again.

"Shh, baby girl," Dabi soothes, his voice raw even to his own ears as he lifts a hand to stroke at your hair. "It's okay. I've got you."

You can't help but wonder if that's entirely true as you bite back more complaints and let him tend to your ravaged sex. You can see the tightness in his face, the way he can't seem to look at you for long, and Shigaraki's words keep running through your mind, a grim mantra that sticks in your head even more than the memories of the past few hours.

You'll be ruined for him, just like you're ruined for me.

The thought is enough to have panic brewing in your chest, a near-hysteria clawing its way through you. Because what would you do without Dabi? Who else would ever want you now? It would be too much to lose them both.

You don't realize tears are streaming down your cheeks until hot thumbs are brushing them away, cerulean eyes fixed worriedly on your own. "It's okay," Dabi murmurs again. "You're okay."

But it's not, you're not, probably won't ever be again, and you need more than those thin reassurances. Your arm aches when you lift one hand to catch his wrist, your feeble grip a reminder of just how worn you really are. "Am I—" your voice is hoarse, your words interrupted by a painful cough as you struggle to speak through your wrecked throat "—am I ruined for you?"

The way his face falls at your question is reassurance enough, that tight expression going slack and defeated, the corners of his brows lifting in grief. Then Dabi's pulling you to his chest, water sloshing over the side of the tub and cool porcelain digging into your side as he wraps both arms around you, his face burying itself in your damp strands as he cradles you close.

"No. No, of course not, baby girl. Never."

***

When Dabi finally releases you, he leaves you soaking in the tub long enough to take a shower. He's loath to abandon you for even one second, but he needs that cleansing and, more than that, needs a moment to breath. Because you'd never clung to him so eagerly before, never needed him the same way he needed you, not when you had someone else to hold tightly to.

So just now, when you'd burrowed against his chest and made clear that he was the one you were counting on? Well, he'd be lying if he said it hadn't felt good.

Shigaraki might have succeeded in cracking the pedestal Dabi had placed you on, but all that's truly accomplished is to bring you down to Dabi's level, to a place where he can actually hope to make you his. And Dabi doesn't want to find that thought reassuring, doesn't want to dwell on the realization that this whole fucked up situation might be the only way he'll get the one thing he still wants in life. But he does.

He cranks the heat in the shower as high as it will go as he tries to wash away that guilt, but the scalding water isn't enough. It can't rinse out the shame of finding personal satisfaction in your suffering, just like it can't scour away the memories of obeying Shigaraki's final order, of burying his length in the slick sensation of a dozen other men's seed, of squeezing your thighs together in a desperate bid to create some sort of friction, or of sinking himself into your tighter hole when it seemed like the only way to end that agony.

The list of things that require Dabi's contrition is endless, it seems.

Perhaps it's some kind of fucked up penance, then, that once you're both clean Dabi finds himself offering to go collect your things from the room you'd shared with Shigaraki.

It's an offer born of necessity; you have nothing to wear and while Dabi would love to dress you in his clothes, would relish the sight of you parading around in some oversized shirt that belongs to him, the way you had with Shigaraki's clothes back in the old hideout, he has nothing to offer on that front. An extensive wardrobe isn't among his precious few possessions—the options are his filthy tee shirt and jeans, the ones that reek of booze and ash, or his sweats, amply stained from your walk of shame. None of that seems anywhere near adequate.

So Dabi grits his teeth yet again, tugs on those dirty clothes himself and leaves you tucked safely in his bed, bundled in his only towel. There's an anxious look in your eyes as he departs, one that has a strange thrill coursing through him as he murmurs a promise to return quickly.

He tells himself as he journeys down the hall—pointedly ignoring every person he passes—that Shigaraki won't be there. Dabi's seen the boss angry before, knows he's one to wander and destroy rather than to sulk, and if Dabi were a betting man he would wager that Shigaraki won't be setting foot in the room he'd shared with you any time soon.

Unfortunately, Dabi is wrong once again. There's no answer when he knocks, but when he slips inside it becomes painfully obvious that lack of response wasn't because the quarters were unoccupied. He pauses inside the door, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, and is almost immediately assaulted by the sounds issuing from around the corner, just out of sight: sheets rustling and heavy breathing, the faint slap of skin on skin, a quiet moan.

Fuck. Fuck no. This is the last thing that Dabi wants or needs to witness, even if the stab of incredulity and anger he feels about it is undeserved. It's how he himself would have coped, he knows, had Shigaraki's return to the Liberation Front and your return to him gone according plan, but the thought that he could avail himself of this ever after today's display has Dabi's stomach twisting.

He holds his breath as he immediately retreats, the carpet muffling his slow, quiet steps. Dabi will try something else, ask Toga to loan you some things, or rifle through the remnants of Jin's possessions if he has to. All he has do is get out of here without—

"What do you think you're doing?"

The sound of Shigaraki's low voice has Dabi freezing in place. He sounds different than when they last spoke, some faint trace of amusement there in place of that calculated callousness. Dabi keeps still, tries to convince himself that it's not him Shigaraki is addressing, but that hope proves unfounded.

"I can smell you, you know. You reek of smoke. So why don't you stop hiding and tell me why the fuck you're here?"

Dabi's first instinct is to simply turn and leave, to avoid this unpleasant encounter all together and pray Tomura will simply return his attentions to whoever had the poor judgement to leap into his bed. But in the end he steps forward, not willing to test the other man further than he has with his mere presence, not when there's still a sinister edge to his tone and the damage Dabi's wrought is already likely to haunt him to his dying day.

A light clicks on when Dabi steps into sight, the sudden assault on his pupils making him blink rapidly, and when the room finally swims back into focus, Dabi freezes. Tomura has some woman tucked neatly in his lap, her back nestled to his chest as he peers at Dabi from over her shoulder, the sheets barely covering where Dabi is positive they're joined together.

"I just came to get some of her shit—I didn't think you'd be here," Dabi says flatly, trying to not to let his eyes drift from Tomura's face as deadly hands grope at exposed breasts, dark bite marks and hickeys starkly visible even from the bottom of Dabi's field of vision. "I'll come back later. Or just find her new shit."

"Why bother when you're already here? Just get on with it." Dabi can sense something forced in that casual dismissal of his presence even as Shigaraki lets out a low laugh, and that impression is only strengthened when the woman—some MLA holdover Dabi recognizes but couldn't name—tugs at the edge of the blankets, obviously intent on providing herself with some sort of cover. Shigaraki growls immediately, pale fingers clamping around her wrist so tightly that she whimpers in protest. The first syllable of Tomura's name falls quietly from her lips, a paltry whine that's quashed as soon as it begins, Shigaraki's wide palm slapping harshly over her mouth. His eyes narrow in displeasure as scowling lips ghost over her ear.

"You're the one who wanted to fuck," Dabi hears Shigaraki hiss, "so don't you dare stop."

Dabi might have felt some sympathy for her in another life, some pang of unease at the way her eyes widen and she fidgets nervously before hesitantly rocking her hips, but in this moment he can muster no sympathy, not when her apparently voluntary presence far exceeds even Dabi's expectations for the shamelessness of these meta liberation freaks.

He does, however, feel a twinge of disquiet when he realizes, after a moment of staring, that she looks like you. Not exactly, of course—the nose is wrong, the hairstyle different—but enough. Her hair color, her eyes, her build: they're all reminiscent of your own.

Dabi tries not to think about what that means.

"Well, aren't you going to do what you came for?" Shigaraki taunts. That malicious glint is back in his eyes, the corner of his thin mouth curving up into a smirk that makes it clear he's enjoying Dabi's discomfort at the scene playing out before him. His hands start to wander again as though to emphasize it, pinching and tugging at puffy, exposed nipples while the woman continues to issue muffled mewls from behind his hand. "I'm busy, if you couldn't tell."

Dabi grits his teeth and looks away. "Where is it?"

Shigaraki only shrugs, that sneer widening, and Dabi turns stiffly towards the dresser, doing his best to tune out the soft cries as he rummages through the drawers. After a moment it's clear that nothing within belongs to you, and reluctantly Dabi steps further into the room to search the closet. He finds what he's looking for there, thank god; neatly folded stacks of pants and shirts line the shelves, blouses and those fancy nightgowns you're so fond of arranged neatly on hangars beside them. There's a duffel bag on the floor too, and Dabi quickly busies himself shoving as many of your belongings into it as he can, working with unceremonious haste and chewing at his cheek, still trying to ignore the way the sounds behind him are escalating, the moans and lewd wet smacks growing louder, more rapid.

He only stops when the duffel is overflowing, too stuffed full to even zip shut. It's certainly more than enough for now, but he wonders briefly about the rest of your possessions, if there's some other source of comfort he could and should bring you before Shigaraki decides to dispose of anything you've left behind. But Dabi has no way of knowing, has never been permitted to so much as step foot in this space before.

When the unmistakable sound of a slap emanates from behind him, followed by a throaty groan, Dabi decides it doesn't matter.

It takes him a moment to steel himself, to work up the nerve to turn back towards the room and the vulgar performance occurring mere feet away, but he once he does he strides purposefully towards the door without so much as a glance towards Shigaraki and his new—and very temporary, Dabi suspects—lover. He's almost out the door, seconds from feeling as though he can breath again, when that mocking voice is once again demanding his attention.

"Dabi," Shigaraki calls out liltingly, and Dabi pauses.

"What now?"

His obvious impatience draws a cold chuckle from Tomura. "Don't try to leave. Either of you," Shigaraki says. "The Violet Regiment still needs its lieutenant, and I need you motivated."

For a long moment, Dabi simply stands there, his hand still resting on the knob as he considers those instructions. Shigaraki isn't wrong to think he would consider it; Dabi's mostly accomplished what he hoped to with the League, and his more protective instincts have been screaming at him to get you out of here since the second it was clear Tomura intended to honor his threats. But he'd already had doubts that the jilted man would let that happen, not when the punishment he'd devised is most effective if you're both forced to stay, forced to face everyone who witnessed your downfalls and shared shame.

And also, well...Dabi's more protective instincts might tempt him to flee—he's disappeared before, after all, thinks he could do it again even if it would be harder to evade Shigaraki's reach—but his possessive instincts? Those have more self-serving thoughts brewing in the back of his mind. Because if the castigation you endured is most effective if you stay, it also means that Dabi has no advantage anywhere else. Would you cling to him so sweetly, so fiercely if you weren't surrounded by those who had seen you so thoroughly humbled? Or would such an escape only taint Dabi's presence in your mind, single him out as the last reminder of your humiliation and debasement?

It would, he thinks. So Dabi nods even though Shigaraki can't see him, noting the opportunity present in what was surely intended as a threat. The sadistic leader might be intent on dangling this over both your and Dabi's heads until at least one of you is dead, but Dabi's made the best of bad situations before, ones worse than this.

"Sure thing, boss," he says, working to keep his tone level and mild. He steps out into the hall, lets the door click closed behind him.

For the first time all day, Dabi smiles.

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi x y/n #dabi smut #dabi fanfic #dabi angst #tw: dubcon #tw: noncon #bnha x reader #bnha smut

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riverscyberwife · 3 years

Text

The First Time She Met Daryl Dixon

Part of the 'Call Me 'Darling'' Series

(Daryl Dixon x unnamed female character)

The first time she met Daryl Dixon was not pleasant.

“Fucking Shit!”

It wasn’t long after the fall. The time of indescribable horrors. The day the dead began to walk the earth.

“You useless shit” a feminine voice rang out in exasperation, met only by the greenery that surrounded. Tears pricked at frustrated eyes as small, dirty fists beat aimlessly at the soft earth beneath. The roots of a nearby tree grazed along knuckles, breaking the skin there. An unintentional hiss left trembling lips as sad eyes observed the fresh blood appearing.

She had found herself alone in a dense wood somewhere near farmland in Georgia, drifting aimlessly, no destination in mind. Attention on the songs of the wild birds. The music of the forest being the only company had in days.

In dazed wandering, clumsy feet had met a large tree root protruding rather rudely from the ground. It met her right foot violently, causing herself to stumble harshly while holding the appendage prisoner. The attached ankle twisted painfully as her warn body was thrown forward and forced to spin, landing unceremoniously on her obnoxiously generous behind.

An advantage only when the clumsy feet betrayed her. Something that happened more often than her ego would like to admit.

A glare that could almost kill, along with some less than lady-like language was aimed at the battered ankle. It lay life-less and throbbing next to the offending root, almost mocking with its silence.

A twig snapped far too near for comfort. A rustling of leaves alerting to a nearby presence. In such a vulnerable position, the woman mentally chastised herself for becoming too distracted to hear the oncoming intruder. Almost definitely one of those undead fucks stumbling across a yummy young lady laid out like a buffet.

Her head whipped around to peer behind with enough force to cause the joints of her neck to let out a crack. A sound that went unnoticed as a sharp gaze found a man staring at the crumpled heap she currently was. He seemed alive enough as he pointed an intimidatingly large weapon at her head.

Is that a crossbow? The thought shot through her mind before returning swiftly to the danger that was presented. It wasn’t something you’d ever expect to see in real life, let alone have pointed at you. Far more intimidating than a gun it seemed due to its unexpectedness.

The man holding the weapon was rugged. Short brown hair and clothes had seen better days. Gaze locked with the most vibrant blue eyes. An intense silent battle taking place between said eyes and her own.

“Ya kiss yer mother with tha’ mouth?” His voice was gruff. Deeper than expected. It held a soothing quality even in its accusing tone.

“Not if she was alive” A deadpan tone returned, eyes narrowed as the gaze turned cold. He only grunted in response. A shiver ran unexpectedly down her spine. Probably just caused by the very pointy stick he had ready to be catapulted through her skull.

“What are ya doin’ round here?” he questioned more aggressively this time. The hints of playfulness had disappeared. This man meant business and she didn’t doubt he would shoot her with the intimidating weapon if he felt the need to.

“I’m having a teddy bears picnic, can’t you tell?” An overly sweet voice quipped back unwisely. Suspicious eyes only narrowed in return as the grip seemed to tighten on the bow.

“Okay” A tired sigh left dry lips. “I was just wandering, looking for her next meal and place to sleep. I fell over this damn tree”. Trying not to feel embarrassed by the statement, her gaze wandered the muscular upper arms visible due to the missing sleeves that seemed to have been forcefully ripped away.

“I take it by your defensiveness that your camp is near here” she queried. “Don’t worry, I won’t go near it.”

“Better not. Now get outta here before it ain’t a choice.”

Eyes rolled at his threat. “Not very welcoming are you?” The question was met only by silence.

“Fine, I’m going.” She stated as weak arms pushed herself to her feet, forcing the rapidly bruising ankle to take the weight. Attempting to ignore the pain in refusal to look weak in front of this rude man. The backpack that slid from aching shoulders during the fall was slung back into place and the dagger that had saved her life numerous times secured in a determined grip.

“Nice to meet you” her defeated voice rang sarcastically before turning and limping away as fast as able.

“Asshole”

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

Many months passed without a thought about the rugged man. Surviving alone could be very distracting after all. Jumping from abandoned house to worse smelling abandoned house with the hopes of a safe nights rest. Never knowing where the next meal would come from or even if there would be a next meal.

The weight dropped off at a concerning rate. Concerning only because there was a good chance of being eaten by the dead because her trousers fell down. What a way to go. She died as she lived. Falling over.

Eyes raked over the forest floor in search of life. Trusted dagger held securely in her dominant hand, poised ready to strike should dinner appear suddenly. An unexpected commotion seemed to begin somewhere to the left. Ears guiding rushing feet towards the sound in hopes of a large animal to catch. The grumbling of her stomach agreeing with the silent statement.

Upon the arrival at the scene, crouched down behind a shrub, her small body was easily hidden by the undergrowth. In immediate sight was the back of a man. Keen eyes would not have recognised him so immediately if not for the missing sleeves on the dirty brown shirt. He was facing off with four of the dead. A knife raised high in his right hand seemed to be his only weapon. A glance to the side revealed the crossbow a few feet away. Far less intimidating when not pointed at ones head.

Logic said he couldn’t reload the damn thing in time to shoot the fuckers one by one. She however had not been spotted by the dead and was only about 3 feet from the weapon.

Daryl began to panic as what felt like a never ending amount of walkers came at him. He couldn’t kill them all at once and his knife wasn’t doing much good. He’d resorted to desperately shoving them backwards.

The walker directly in front of him was big, standing at least 6 foot tall and charging with a purpose. It managed to knock him to the ground, the snapping jaws aiming to rip Daryl’s face cleanly away. It was prevented only by an increasingly weakening forearm to its neck.

Thick black blood oozed from the tear in its jugular, dripping grotesquely onto its struggling prays jaw and throat. Should Daryl open his mouth he’d be treated to a very unfortunate final meal.

‘This is it’ thought Daryl as he frantically felt around for the fallen blade. ‘I’m gonna fuckin’ die.’

Daryl’s rapidly beating heart seemed to stop dead as a bolt from HIS crossbow shot through the top of the walkers head to protrude from the now permanently dead man’s mouth. The sharp tip pointed directly between sky coloured eyes.

With a confused sigh, his head leant back to peer behind at the crossbow which lay exactly where he had left it. The unsightly corpse was shoved unceremoniously off of the hunter as he realised suddenly that there were no walkers after him.

It took a few seconds to come to his senses as he observed the 3 other walkers already dead on the ground nearby. Steely eyes flickered up to the small woman standing a few feet away, casually wiping a bloody knife on a large leaf. Confusion only grew as he stared at the calm woman who acted like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. A look of boredom on her face.

Smug eyes flickered to the side where the rugged man still sat stunned on the ground. An involuntary smirk forced its way onto her face. It was so difficult to keep the bored look when the handsome mans jaw was practically on the floor.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” This seemed to snap him out of his daze. His mouth clamped shut audibly as an irritated expression took over.

“Daryl” was all he said as he made his way slowly to unsteady feet.

“Well Daryl” she chimed nonchalantly “You’re welcome” before turning and once again walking away from the shocked man.

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

Most nights she dreamt of the undead. Snapping jaws, inches from her face. Dirty, broken nails on rotted flesh, grabbing at her skin. Thick black blood filling her mouth and claiming her lungs.

Sometimes she would dream of family. The life lived before. Laughing faces and sweet smiles. Little girls with pigtails and pink dresses. School days sat on the grass in the sun. Underage drinking in the park. Splashing in the cold sea. Golden sand between painted toes. Faces not seen in years.

And sometimes she would dream of the most beautifully pure blue eyes. Those eyes were the most haunting.

Stayed local to the area, familiar terrain was an advantage. It was only a matter of time until she stumbled across it. The prison. The opposing grey buildings would have been of little interest had it not been for the suspicious lack of dead ones.

Upon closer inspection there appeared to be crops growing in the grounds. A variety of luscious plants living in neat rows. Every so often a mop of brown hair would appear within the greenery. A slender teenage boy who tended the food.

Witnessing silently from the branch of a nearby tree, never daring to make a noise or risk being seen. People were after all, dangerous.

Many others appeared within sight in the hours observed. Some seemed to be on lookout. Some pierced the skulls of dead ones through the fence. Many simply socialised and basked in the sun. Although not terribly interesting, it was the most entertainment had in weeks. Quite like a trip to the zoo, watching them in their natural habitat. There seemed to be little of concern and just as the tired woman considered slipping away to find her own refuge for the night came the startlingly loud rumble of engine.

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

Far louder than that of a car, approaching the fence that opened in entrance to the structure was a motor bike. Another thing unexpected at the end of the world. The more shocking factor however being the slim figure and mop of brown hair that sat astride. The fear-provoking weapon strapped to a wing adorned back. Her rugged man.

Any idiot with half a brain would know not to approach the prison alone unless they desired an arrow through the head. But there was something about this man. The incessant need to see him again. To hear the drawl of his voice. To see that pretty face up close even in the snarl that was sure to be aimed at her. Luckily, Mr Dixon, hunter and gatherer extraordinaire didn’t seem to spend that much time in the prison. The outdoors suited him far better.

Daryl treaded stealthily through the thicket, bow aimed low and eyes alert. His ears strained in search of a living creature. He swore his heart leapt from his chest at the sudden noise slightly behind and above him. Startled feet spun so fast he stumbled.

“I like your hair. Suits you”

The feminine voice presented no unease due to the deadly weapon pointed directly at the source. A raised eyebrow prompted Daryl to lower the thing before accidentally shooting.

“Bloody ‘ell woman, where’d ya come from?”

“Bit of a personal question. Don’t you think? You don’t even know my name yet” the voice quipped with a smile. Feet landing gracefully on the ground in front of the alarmed man as she dropped from the low branch.

Daryl grumbled, dropping his eyes which only caused her grin to widen.

“What’s yer name then?”

“Can’t tell you that. Stranger danger.”

“Think yer the only danger ‘round ‘ere.”

“You think too highly of me, Darling.” Lips smirked as light fingers gently raised Daryl’s chin to meet devious eyes.

His shining orbs widened comically at the gesture. “Darlin’?!”

The outraged tone of the statement served to strengthen the ever present accent.

“Oh I do like that.” Smirk turned to a full grin. “Call me Darling.

----------

They couldn’t seem to keep away from each other. Well she couldn’t keep away from him anyway. He’d always go in search of food and the menace would always appear seemingly by magic. She intrigued the man and she knew it. The way his eyes followed her form was like he wanted to figure her out. Solve her like a walking puzzle.

She craved his voice. It soothed something inside her. Somehow made the state of the world forgettable. Hours were spent together without notice. He didn’t speak much but he always listened intently and usually had a smart remark to counter her regular jabs. Teasing Daryl Dixon was always her favourite part of the day.

He never asked where she was going, was staying or why she was always alone. He didn’t seem to want to burst the secret little bubble they’d made for themselves. Something both were happy to keep intact as curious eyes secretly watched the prison.

It was getting progressively more difficult to live alone in the wild. When Daryl went back to his cosy home with his friends at the end of the day her tasks were to go in search of food and a place to rest her head. She would never confess her struggles. He would want to help and her pride wouldn’t allow it.

At her lowest she found herself slumped in a corner of a dingy old house, curling in on herself. The small fire haphazardly made almost burnt out, the strength to go in search of more kindling evaded the weak woman.

Just as she hadn’t seen the face of her favourite person, her body hadn’t seen water in days. Food even longer. If this was how she was to go out then so be it. She’d survived this long alone and that’s all that mattered.

Her vision swam as black spots appeared. There was no control left of her body as it slumped sideways, striking her head against the wooden floorboards as unconsciousness consumed entirely.

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

Daryl panicked when she wasn’t at the usual spot. She was always there when he went to hunt. He had no idea how she knew when to find him but she did. He often questioned if she was real. This mysterious girl that no one else had ever seen could so easily be part of his imagination.

He remembered how Rick had seen Lori for so long after her death. He’d spent so much time alone out in the woods that it wouldn’t surprise him if his mind had made up the annoying woman that he couldn’t stay away from. No, she had to be real. Even Daryl’s mind couldn’t tease him like she did.

He began by wandering in the direction he had last seen her go as they parted, knowing there was a nearby town that could offer some food and protection. As gravel crunched beneath old boots in place of the usual dirt and neglected buildings began to rise on either side of the man, it became clear that the area was empty. Motionless walker bodies lay scattered around, each seemingly had received a knife through the head.

The smell was overpowering as the hunter contemplated why they hadn’t been burned. Perhaps she was only passing through. Perhaps she simply didn’t have the strength.

Tracks were clearly visible all through the town. Mostly bloody, they led into every single building. Daryl sighed. He was sure by the small stature of the print that they were hers. The woman that so desperately clung to his mind had clearly been here. Yet he had a feeling she was still here. She wouldn’t just leave him, would she?

Daryl could almost hear Merle’s voice echoing in his head, calling him a whipped little bitch. He scowled at the thought but just couldn’t stop. What if something had happened to her?

----------

Sharp eyes scanning the area, he could clearly visualise the woman clearing the place, killing walkers and scavenging for the food. His eyes drifted to the last house to the left. The windows were boarded and the door was shut. A trap lay set in front of the building. It was clearly the most secure place. His feet carried him almost involuntarily towards it. Towards her.

White light pierces blackness. Heart beat rising. Blood rushes ears. Footsteps sound a million miles away.

Gentle knuckles brush cheeks. Rough fingers press pulse point. Fluttering eyelashes attempt in vain to open.

The earth tilts sickeningly as her body is forced into sitting position. The sound of ringing slowly transitions to the calling of her name. The familiar voice causing an upturn of lips. Her rugged saviour.

Cold liquid is raised to parched mouth. Gulped down greedily without thought. Hands fly to grab the bottle. The best water ever tasted. An appreciative groan as eyelids are forced to rise. Blurred vision soon clears to reveal shaggy brown hair that begs to be touched.

His name leaves her lips in struggled whisper. His eyes are hard with judgment and underlying concern.

“Why the hell didn’ ya tell me?” some form of food is held to her chin.

She doesn’t take not what as her eyes shift away in shame and her arm weekly brushes it away.

“I don’t want your food”

“Well ya clearly need it. Ya look like hell.” His teeth grind in annoyance at the usually stubborn girl. Her head shakes in response, causing the black spots to momentarily return.

“I don’t need saving, Prince Charming.” He guffaws at the name.

“I aint no prince, nor ‘nything charmin’.”

She needed him gone. She couldn’t bear the look of pity in his eyes. The worry on his features. She wasn’t anyone’s problem.

“You shouldn’t be here. Just go back to your damn prison. The irritation clear in her voice. Almost missing the way his vibrant eyes widened.

Shit. She realised her mistake a split second too late.

“How the fuck do you ya know ‘bout tha’?” She’d never heard him sound so angry and even a little scared. Knowing full well that if they found she knew about their home that they wouldn’t just leave her alone. She was dangerous to them.

Nervous eyes flicker everywhere but at the face that stared her down.

“I’ve been watching. Had to know if you were dangerous.”

“An ya didn’ tell me”

“Would you have let me go?” It was Daryl’s turn to look away in shame.

“Nah. Would have to tell ‘em ‘bout ya” He sighed defeated.

“Exactly.” Their eyes clashed in a battle of wills, silently debating what would happen next. After a beat, his eyes shined in a way that determined a decision had been made.

“Yer comin’ with me” He stated assertively.

“No” she countered plainly, offering little room for argument.

“Wasn’ askin’.” Before further refusal could leave her, strong arms surrounded her. He rose to his feet, cradling the surprised woman to his chest. Her bag hanging from his right hand where it curled around her knees.

Her malnourished body was slow to react. Sluggishly moving to press at his firm chest in protest. He easily made his way out of the house and to the far end of the street where the bike sat undisturbed.

The fresh air aided in clearing her senses. The situation she was in becoming evident to her irritated mind.

Gently set down on the leather seat, she was released from the sure grip.

“Fine.” A resigned smile as the cogs of her mind began to spin. “I’ve got another bag though. Brown satchel. Must still be in the lounge.”

He nodded. “Alright, I’ll be right back. Don’ move.” Turning and jogging back into the house.

The moment his right foot made it over the threshold, the loud roar of the bike engine caused his heart to sink.

“Son of a bitch!” Fast feet threw him back out the door and half way down the street but it was too late. His mysterious girl was gone and so was his bike. A lone bag lay in the spot it had previously been in. His own bag containing the water and food he had offered her.

The walk back to the prison was long, made worse by Daryl’s rising anger. Refusing to interact with anyone upon his return, he had his way into the empty cell where he refused to sleep but went to for privacy. Throwing himself down onto the lumpy mattress, he glared at the underneath of the top bunk. His mind swirling with images of her devious smirk.

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

Two days later he was woken at the ass crack of dawn by Glenn frantically calling his name. As the sun had appeared over the horizon so had his bike, propped up on its stand just outside the gate. Next to it lay a cardboard box full of baby formula as an apology.

Daryl of course went looking for her, but she no longer appeared. Weeks were spent without a trace of her until another box of formula appeared outside the gates in the dead of night. Sat atop this one was a small stuffed elephant, the perfect size for little ass kicker. Soft and clean as if straight from a baby shop.

Next to it a small piece of paper. In loopy handwriting it read ‘Stop looking for me, darling. It makes me miss you more.’

He thinks he can let her go. Thinks he can carry on living. Barely thinking of her during the busy days but she appears in his dreams. Reliving the sweetest moments between them behind closed eyelids.

“Come back with me.” His sombre voice breaks the silence.

They had somehow ended up leaning against a railing on the edge of a rooftop. Forearms against cold metal, they basked in the glow of a setting sun. Features basked in orange light, he watched her shyly.

They both knew that they should retreat to safety before darkness fell but neither could bring themselves to leave the others company. Peace consumed them as they absorbed the view laid before them like a renaissance painting.

Her head tilted as her eyes searched his face contemplatively.

“Ya always leave me.” His dejected words caused an ache in her chest.

“Why won’ ya stay with me” He asks earnestly.

“I can’t” Eyes cast downward at the sudden urge to shed a tear.

“Why? They’re good people. Rick an’ Carol an’ lil ass-kicker...” His fists clench as the unfamiliar emotions stir within him. His stare fixed on the setting sun.

“Exactly. You’re a family. I don’t belong there. I can’t. I can’t lose anyone else.” Her eyes squeeze shut as pain consumes her.

“So I don’ mean nothin’ to ya?” His voice strains.

“You shouldn’t” Her voice is a soft whisper.

His head turns to question her answer but she’s already gone.

“Darlin’?”

He’s woken suddenly by the sound of Judith’s cries. Greeted only by the sight of the bunk above him. He decides he’s going to find her. He has to.

But he doesn’t. Because soon enough the sounds of gunfire and screams is all that’s heard as the prison falls.

A/N - Here it is, the first thing I've ever written recreationally. It was so much for difficult than i expected. I feel like i'm handing over a steaming pile of rubbish but here you go! I hope you enjoy.

@pandorahurtsx @winchestershiresauce @sunflxwerbullet @holliss @haruhey @lilythemadqueen @dixonextracts @daryloverdixon

#Daryl Dixon #daryl x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl x y/n

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lockefanfic · 3 years

Text

Business Trip: Part 39 - For You

Author’s Note: please read the entire thing before sending me hate mail :P

Your eyes still worked, at least.

A part of you hoped that blinking would make it all go away. Would turn the terror of the past few moments into nothing more than a fleeting vision, a horrible nightmare from which you would soon wake. But no matter how many times you blinked, the scene in front of you stubbornly refused to disappear.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl. The seconds became minutes, the minutes became hours. Later you would learn that everything that happened, from the first gunshot to the moment the authorities and paramedics arrived all occurred within just a few minutes. But it felt much longer. It felt like forever.

Your first instinct is to look down at yourself, bringing your hands to your chest, searching for a wound that you thankfully would never find. You’d heard all the stories and seen the scenes in movies and TV shows - of people being shot but not quite knowing it, their brains blocking out the pain until it was much too late. Your hands search your torso, afraid you’d find the sticky wetness of your own blood - but your search is thankfully in vain.

Your eyes find Momo, perhaps out of instinct, out of some need or desire to ensure she was okay. The blue of her cropped t-shirt seemed so vibrant, oddly bright, as though your eyes were seeing it for the first time. You reach out to her, and even though she is standing only a few feet away it seemed like you would never reach her. She seemed so far. So distant. Your right hand reaches out to her, but your arm moves painfully slowly, as though you are moving underwater.

When your fingers finally touch her some indeterminate amount of time later and wrap themselves around her upper arm, it takes your brain a moment to register the sensations of doing so - the soft cotton against your palm, and the flesh and bone beneath that.

To say she was shaken was an understatement - mouth agape but not speaking, eyes wide open but seeing nothing; brain processing the data provided to her by her senses but understanding none of it.

You give her a scan from head to toe, eyes working frantically, hoping with all your soul that you would find no horrific injury, no blossom of red that would indicate a grim fate for the young woman. But she seemed okay, uninjured and in one piece, if one were to ignore the shock and paralysis the gunshots had mercilessly placed on her senses.

You are suddenly aware of the high pitched tone in your ear, a single, shrill, unending tone playing a song with only one note. You give your head a shake to try and rid yourself of it, but it carried on, heedless of your desires, selfishly determined to drown out any other sounds that could vie for your attention.

When you speak, your words, and hers, sound distant, as though spoken by a faraway person, in a language you didn’t understand, and much, much too quietly. The loud tone smothers it all, forcing you to struggle to hear every syllable.

“Momo, Momo!”

“She… Th… they-” she stutters, brain unable to comprehend what had just occurred, much less find the words to describe it.

“Momo! Momo, you’re okay you’re fine I’m okay too let’s go-” you manage to say, the syllables leaving your mouth in an uncontrolled spill of sounds. Enunciation was a foreign concept; something that only existed in a world where gunshots did not. Simpler, easier, peaceful times - times when you had full control over yourself and your senses.

It takes you a moment to realize that Momo’s eyes are locked on the floor - and the two bodies lying on it in crumpled, fallen heaps.

One of them is Nayeon, lying on her side, as though she has decided to take a nap, right there on the floor. What a silly thing to do-

Nayeon!

You move as fast as you can towards her, but as with Momo she seems so far away, so distant, when in reality she was no more than a few steps from you. But your senses have been skewed, your ability to gauge time and distance right along with them.

When you finally reach her your eyes look over her crumpled form, searching, fearing the worst. Your brain runs at a million miles a second, wondering how you could possibly treat a gunshot wound, how you could possibly stop the bleeding, how you could possibly keep her from-

Nayeon coughs, a dirty, wet sound. But she manages to speak.

“Fucking bitch shot me!”

You would have laughed if it weren’t so serious, if mere milliseconds before you weren’t fearing that she was dead or dying. Her hands clutch her chest, closing around a small tear in the dark blue of her kevlar vest.

You begin to tear the thing off her, fingers and hands working at velcro straps, fearing that the vest was providing only a temporary cover for the true damage beneath. Your fingers close around the edge of the vest’s front panel, fearing what you might see when you lift it off her small, suddenly fragile looking torso.

But there is nothing there - no bright splash of red, no crimson stain. Only the white t-shirt she wore beneath, matted to her chest with sweat. You place your hand on her side, where the bullet would have impacted, had effectiveness of modern protective equipment not kept her from experiencing the effectiveness of modern weaponry.

“Fuck!” she swears again at your touch, the curse word suddenly very close, very near to you, no longer so distant or far away. Perhaps your senses were slowly returning, shocked into recovery by Nayeon’s foul language. The pain was good, and the cursing was better - it meant she was alive, and in coherent enough condition to speak.

“Arrrgh!” comes another pained grunt to your right - and your eyes tear themselves from the pained grimace on Nayeon’s face to find Jihyo, slumped against the living room’s couch. Somewhere along the way she had managed to get on her knees and tear her own vest open. She reaches inside its folds, pressing her palm against her midsection and feeling the space where the bullet impacted against her body - but when she retrieves her hand it is blessedly free from any blood.

Her chest heaves, struggling to gulp down air into lungs empty of it. On the ground next to you, Nayeon does the same, her features contorted in pain as she struggles to rise. Both of them were knocked off their feet by the shots, but both were still breathing, and both were still alive.

Jihyo is reaching for her fallen pistol on the ground. She gets up to one foot as she makes an effort to stand, but it proves too much for her, and she falls again to her knees. She reaches for the radio at her belt, and she begins to speak as clearly as she could into it, presumably to a police channel, to report what had just occurred. Every syllable sounds pained, full of stress, as though each word took enormous amounts of effort to form and speak.

“We need- fuck! Get her… Fuck!” Nayeon says, stirring on the ground, turning as best she could until she too is on her knees. She reaches for her own pistol, fallen a few feet away from her, but when she stretches out her arm she groans in pain and clutches her side.

“Stop fucking moving,” you scold her, your words sounding a little more harsh than you were expecting, but knowing that she was injured and was risking making it worse by moving.

“She’s still… fucking out there,” Nayeon hisses, “the girls… downstairs-”

“Fuck,” you hiss, catching on to what she was implying. You turn to Momo, who was still standing there frozen, not having moved an inch. Her face is an expressionless, unmoving mask, lips still ajar, eyes still wide open.

“Momo! Momo!” you say, trying only half-successfully to reach the young woman, “Momo!”

“Y-yes?” she answers, finally, her neutral tone seemingly out of place given the circumstances - although she is still a little bit in shock, and it was all she could do to even comprehend you, let alone manufacture the words to provide a response.

“You need to get on the radio and tell the girls downstairs to watch out for Seulgi - tell them she’s armed and-”

Another loud crack, diminished somewhat by distance, but no less demanding, no less completely overwhelming to you and everyone else in the room. Another demand on your senses. Another temporary, momentary paralysis.

Another gunshot.

---

You weren’t quite sure where you found the speed, or the energy, to get downstairs as fast as you could. You realized, later, how stupid of a thing it was to do - running, unarmed, into a possible confrontation with someone who was very much armed.

You had thought that you had finally regained your senses by the time you’d reached the parking garage beneath the apartment. Time was beginning to move at a normal pace again. Your eyes and ears had caught up and recovered. Perhaps it was the adrenaline coursing through your veins that convinced you you were ready for whatever it was that awaited you. Perhaps it was the knowledge that more of your team members were downstairs, in Seulgi’s path, and that you needed to do something to protect them, or at least warn them, of what was headed their way.

You were ready, you thought, for whatever came your way.

But when you find Jeongyeon slumped against the wheel of a nearby car, Chaeyoung clutching a bloodied bandage to the older girl’s side - you realized that you weren’t at all ready.

---

“Jesus Christ,” you swear, the words once again sounding distant, far off. Time had begun to slow again, and everyone and everything moved and sounded, again, as though it was underwater. “What the fuck happened?”

Jeongyeon’s eyes flutter open, thankfully, and her lips move - but she doesn’t speak. Chaeyoung, as frantic and as frazzled as you have ever seen her, doesn’t respond either, preoccupied with keeping her hands pressed against the bandage on the left side of Jeongyeon’s torso, beneath her ribs.

“Oh my god-” comes a voice from behind you, and you tear your eyes from Jeongyeon’s pale face to realize it is Sana, having just arrived at the scene.

“Sana!” you hiss, “get us a fucking ambulance!”

“I… I’m fine, boss,” Jeongyeon manages to say through trembling lips, “It’s fine, I just need, gimme five minutes, I-”

“Stop talking,” you snap, bringing your right hand on top of Chaeyoung’s, pressed against Jeongyeon’s side. The white bandage beneath is stained bright crimson. It has begun to leak over Chaeyoung’s slim fingers, and after awhile you begin to feel the warm liquid on your palm as well.

“She- she shot her,” Chaeyoung says.

“Who, Seulgi?”

“Yeri! It was fucking Yeri. The bitch had a gun and when she heard the shots come out of the apartment she pulled it on me,” the words stumbling out of the girl’s mouth in a tumble. “She made me get out of the van and she came around back to get Jeongyeon out-”

“I thought I could take her, boss,” Jeongyeon mumbles, a slim smile appearing at her lips. Her face starts to pale, sweat forming on her forehead in heavy drops as she begins to go into shock. You reach out and press your left palm against her cheek, cradling her face as it slumps against her shoulder. You smile as best you can, although you can feel your lips tremble and your eyes water.

A thousand thoughts run through your head - none of them pleasant, none of them welcome.

“They fought and the gun went off,” Chaeyoung continues, her voice sounding quieter and quieter. She continues to talk, in a rushed and hurried tone, but the words don’t register in your brain. The only thing that exists in that moment is Jeongyeon’s glassy eyes, the softness of her cheek in your palm, and the warmth of the thick liquid seeping between your fingers.

“The ambulance is on the way!” Sana says, from somewhere distant. Your sense of sound has begun to dull, Sana and Chaeyoung’s frantic words registering as far off sounds, incomprehensible, dulled, fading away into nothingness.

“Did… did you-” Jeongyeon mumbles, the words leaving her lips in thin, airy sounds as she gasps for each breath. Her hand reaches up to yours, pressed against her cheek, damp with her sweat. With trembling fingers she searches for and finds the bracelet on your wrist.

When she finds it, a slim smile appears on her lips before her hand falls away and her eyes close, a single tear falling down her cheek.

---

One month later

---

“I’m just nervous about it, that’s all, sir.”

“You don’t have to call me ‘sir’ anymore, Dahyun. And what do you have to be nervous about?” you answer, looking over at the plane seat next to you, where the young Korean girl is trying her best to figure out a complex looking program that looked, to you, a little bit like the scrolling green text from The Matrix. After some deliberation and with the other team members already having their own areas of responsibility, it was decided that Dahyun would take over the technical requirements of your team in addition to her duties as your executive assistant.

The rest of the team had gone ahead on a slightly earlier flight with Momo and your equipment. You had to stay behind for a few hours to make final arrangements and say your farewells before you and Dahyun hopped on a flight.

“Unnie was so good at all this technical stuff. She operated all those laptops and screens and stuff like it was second nature. She could hack into a server using a paperclip and a peanut. What if I fuck something up?”

“You’ll be fine, Dahyun. You’re the most technologically inclined out of all of us. I can barely sync my iPhone to my computer without somehow deleting half my music.”

The young woman giggles softly - a rare sight over the past few weeks, for any of you. But her worries quickly return, manifesting itself in a sad smirk on her face.

“I’ll do my best. I just wish she were here with us.”

“Me too,” you say softly, your fingers moving unconsciously to touch the bracelet on your wrist. You lean back in the plane seat, hoping to catch an hour or two of sleep before landing.

“I can’t wait to get my hands on Seulgi and Yeri. For her.”

“For her,” you repeat.

---

When you open your eyes the first thing you are aware of is Dahyun’s face, staring back at you.

“Can I help you, Dahyun?” you mumble, trying your best to rub the sleepiness from your eyes.

“Mmm, I just can’t sleep, sir-” she says, catching herself and replacing the honorific with your name.

“Why is that?”

“I’ve been thinking, mostly. Of her. And of the last time we were together. With Miss Miyoui. In the locker room…”

You let a small smile appear at the corners of your lips as you remember the little four person liaison you’d enjoyed with Dahyun in the locker room of the JYP offices. It seemed like forever ago now.

“I recall that you like to watch and observe those… meetings, Dahyun.”

“I do.”

“Shame there’s no one here to record us-”

“There doesn’t need to be someone recording, ” the girl replies, her tone suddenly as sultry and seductive as you’d ever seen; something you didn’t know she were capable of. “As long as I get to watch.”

You weren’t sure how ready you were for what would be the first solo intimate interaction with your executive assistant, especially given the events of the last few weeks. But part of you also knew that a brief respite from all the heavy emotion and sadness that had overcome your lives over the past little while was welcome. As you look over at Dahyun, sitting on her side in her seat, you find a similar emotion in her eyes.

You watch as she gazes towards the end of the plane’s aisle, and the light that indicated a vacant washroom. She playfully adjusts the large framed glasses she is wearing, and she smiles, shyly, before rising from her seat.

Instead of waiting for you to make room for her legs to pass by, she straddles you suddenly in the plane seat, swinging one of her legs over until she is sitting in your lap for a brief moment, her wide hips and firm thighs resting on your crotch. Then, before you knew what was happening, she swings her other leg over until she is in the aisle. Knowing your eyes are locked to the swinging of her wide hips, she heads towards the bathroom at the end of the aisle.

You let a few moments pass before you join her.

---

There wasn’t a lot of room in the cramped airplane washroom for one person, let alone for two. But you found no reason to complain, so long as there was enough room for Dahyun to watch her reflection in the mirror as you stand behind her and slowly unbutton the flower-patterned cardigan she is wearing.

The look on her face, reflected in the small mirror, is absolutely enrapturing. For so long you’d dismissed her as a clumsy, if kind-hearted, colleague - and nothing more. Even when she’d joined you in a more intimate environment she’d expressed more interest in watching the sex unfold rather than being an active participant; although you’d be lying if you hadn’t had reminisced more than once about the way she touched herself while she watched you fuck one of her colleagues, or the lewd enthusiasm with which she cleaned a recently fucked pussy, slurping and licking your fresh cum from a dripping hole.

As you finally finish unbuttoning her cardigan and pulling its folds apart to reveal her full, round breasts, you wonder just why the hell it’d taken you so long to take this step.

Dahyun gasps in pleasure as you raise your hands and cup her breasts for the first time, squeezing the firm mounds softly, relishing in the feel of her tight nipples between your fingers. You were surprised by how endowed she was - she’d done a good job of hiding her perfect hourglass figure beneath loose jackets and skirts in the office.

You plant soft kisses on her neck, your eyes looking up at the mirror to watch her eyes glaze over in pleasure as you have her way with her chest for the first time. It surprises you to see her hands working at the button of her jeans, quickly unzipping them and pushing them down her wide hips, revealing a cleanly shaven mound and a delicious looking gap between her full thighs.

All the while her eyes are locked on her own reflection in the mirror, eyes half-lidded in pleasure behind those large-framed glasses of hers; glasses that lent her an air of innocence that deliciously juxtaposed with the filth that was leaving her mouth.

“Mmm, do me n-now, sir. Quickly, p-please. I-I can suck y-your c-cock later, a-and you can d-do whatever you want t-to me. But right now I just… I just want it inside me!”

“What was that, Miss Kim?” you ask, your lips drawn close to her ear, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair on your face.

“F-fuck… fuck me n-now, sir!”

You smile, devilishly, as Dahyun begins to stutter her words, the same way she did whenever she was turned on. You lick your lips, the smile widening, as you undo your pants and pull them down your legs, allowing your stiff cock to spring free. You press yourself against the quivering girl’s frame, pressing your hot shaft against the small of her back.

Dahyun lets a soft, wordless moan of pleasure escape her lips. You return your hands to her breasts, capturing her nipples this time in your fingertips, teasing and twisting the stiff little buds until her eyes finally shut involuntarily with pleasure; but Dahyun quickly forces them open, forces herself to watch her image in the mirror as you play with her body.

“P-please, sir, fu-fuck me now! Put.. put y-your b-big cock in-inside me!”

“You’ve wanted this for so long, haven’t you, Dahyun? All this time, watching me fuck those other girls, knowing you wanted this cock inside you too?”

“Y-yes, sir! Ch-Choa unnie said you… you f-fucked her so g-good. I… I-I want you to f-fuck me too!”

The idea of Choa relating your exploits to her replacement was a thought too delicious to ignore. Releasing Dahyun’s breasts from your grasp, you reach down with your right hand and grasp your shaft, pressing down on her upper back with your other palm until she is bent over the washroom sink. You take a moment to enjoy the feel of her hot, dripping lips on the head of your cock before you thrust your hips forward and slip inside her pussy, penetrating her for the first time.

Dahyun moans loudly as she is filled with your cock; so loud you are afraid for a moment that someone outside in the plane cabin could hear you. You immediately cover her mouth with your right hand, but all you can do is partially muffle the chorus of moans and gasps that begin to leave her throat as you begin to fuck her, your cock quickly easing into a slow but firm pace, sliding in and out of her wet, tight little pussy as best you could in the cramped airplane washroom.

It was the relief from the pain and heartache of the past few weeks, you knew, that drove you to fuck Kim Dahyun’s mewling, quivering body with a rough speed and pace that surprised you. The past few weeks were some of the hardest in your life, and the brief respite that this little liaison provided you was too tempting to ignore. There was some relief to be found in Dahyun, and some solace in the pleasure quickly building up in your loins. Her body’s reactions indicated that she had no qualms with the way you were taking her; quite the opposite, in fact, if the dripping wetness of her tightly squeezing pussy were any indication.

Your hand tightens around her mouth even as the volume of her muffled moans increases. A minute or so passes as you fuck her roughly against the sink, neither of you doing much to delay or prolong the pleasure building within your bodies. It doesn’t take her long to cum in your arms, her eyes rolling to the back of her head in pleasure as you fuck her into and through her orgasm, her pussy tightening and pulsating around you deliciously.

Satisfied that she was winding down from her orgasm and could control her volume, your hand leaves her mouth, travelling down the pale, perfect vanilla skin of her upper chest to fondle a firm, round breast. You watch, enraptured, as her full mounds bounce with each thrust of your hips against the perfect hourglass shape of her bent body. You squeeze her firm hip with your free hand, enjoying the sight of her round butt taking each thrust between them as you hammer in and out of her pussy.

You feel your orgasm approaching, and you do little to fight it. You knew what this was from the beginning - an impromptu quickie, a brief escape, a temporary respite from the pain and sadness of the past few weeks. And you didn’t feel any desire to delay the pleasure that you so desperately needed.

“I’m going to fucking cum inside you, Dahyun,” you hiss into her ear, the words more threatening than perhaps you truly desired.

“Y-yes, please, sir, p-please - F-fill me up! P-please, sir, cum in me!” she gasps in return - your tone not threatening her as you’d feared, but instead arousing her even further.

Satisfied that she was more than willing to take it, you delay your peak no longer. With one last thrust you push yourself as deep inside Kim Dahyun’s tightly grasping pussy as you could before your orgasm overtakes you and you send stream after stream of hot, thick semen deep inside her body.

It seems to last forever - as if the pent up emotions of the past few weeks were releasing themselves, at least temporarily, with each rope of cum that you sent straight from your spurting cock to splash deep into her hot wet depths. When it is all over you slump forward, bracing yourself against the sink, trapping Dahyun’s small frame against it.

You find yourself breathing heavily with a sudden exhaustion, as if all the physical demands of the past few weeks had suddenly chosen that moment to tax themselves on you.

It felt as though Dahyun’s small form, filled to the brim with your warm, fresh cum and still stuffed with your slowly softening cock, was the only thing keeping you from collapsing with exhaustion. She was clearly open to having a physical relationship with you, given her participation in at least two of your other liaisons; but you knew right then and there that she likely initiated this because she knew you needed a blissful, if temporary, relief from the weights the past few weeks had put on your shoulders.

“Thank you, Dahyun,” you whisper gently into her ear.

“Anything for you, sir,” she replies, finally turning her gaze from her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes close and she lets you hold her close for a moment more as you try to find comfort in the warmth of her body.

---

It felt like a lifetime ago when you stepped off the plane in Tokyo, Momo by your side, for the three day business meeting that had set all of the past year’s events in motion. So much had happened since then. You’d crossed paths with so many people, experienced so many things that would stay with you for the rest of your life. The version of you that stepped off the plane today was so far removed from the version of you that stepped off the plane so many months ago. That person would have seen you as a stranger.

One thing remained the same - Hirai Momo, standing impatiently outside the terminal next to a large stack of plastic containers that held your team’s gear. Next to her are Mina and Tzuyu, checking over the contents of an opened equipment bin. Standing a few feet away, conferring with each other over something on an iPad, are Nayeon and Jihyo.

A white pickup truck and a blue van pull up to the curb. Chaeyoung hops out of the driver seat of the truck, and Sana out of the van. Together the girls start loading your gear and equipment into the bed of the pickup.

Dahyun leaves your side to help the girls load the truck. Momo greets you as you approach.

“Tokyo e yōkoso,” she says, a bright but determined smile on her face that you return with one of your own. “Everything is accounted for and the team is ready to go, boss.”

“Let’s roll.”

“For her,” she says as she leans over and grabs one end of a plastic bin, motioning for you to take the other end.

“For her,” you repeat.

---

One month earlier

---

It all registered as blurs to you. Blurs of movement, blurs of sound. You see and hear it all, but register none of it.

You weren’t quite sure how you got to the waiting area outside the hospital’s operation room, nor how much time had passed since the events at Red Velvet’s apartment. The people around you buzz like bees, speaking in what were probably frantic, quick bursts - although to you they register as a dull, characterless drone, the way a voice does on TV when put through one of those machines meant to conceal the speaker’s identity.

At some point Mr. Park - JYP - shows up, finding you and clutching your shoulder with a firm hand the way a comforting father would. He takes a knee in front of your seat, staring you right in the eye as he speaks what you would assume to be words of comfort and reassurance - even if you can’t make sense of, much less remember, what he is saying. He brings you close for a hug - unexpected, but not unwelcome - before he rushes off to speak to a nearby nurse.

Others are there too - Mina, Seolhyun, Sana, Dahyun, Tzuyu, Chaeyoung - and Jihyo, her torso wrapped up with bandages. At some point she tells you Nayeon is being treated for a fractured rib, but is otherwise okay. She tells you that there’s no sign of Seulgi or Yeri, nor any idea where they’ve taken Irene, although the entirety of the city’s law enforcement is now looking for them. She is speaking in hushed tones with JYP and what you assume to be two other detectives.

The other girls take it in turn to comfort you, each in their own way and with varying levels of coherency. Mina and Seolhyun keep it together the best, comforting you and the others with hugs and assurances that everything was going to work out. The others are too overcome with emotion to do anything more than sob into your chest before one of the others - Mina, more often than not - comes to pry them away.

Throughout it all you are aware of only two things - the feel of Momo’s hand, clutching yours, and the glowing red sign above the operating room door that tells you it is in use. She never leaves your side. The sign never stops glowing red.

At some point, long after the sun has gone down, the red sign turns off, and a tired, weary looking doctor emerges from the doors.

---

“Bring me my Switch, boss. And a fucking cheeseburger.”

They’re the first words you hear from Jeongyeon, five days after the events at Red Velvet’s apartment. You had to remind yourself you were in a hospital, lest you find yourself swearing loudly at the girl.

“You’re insane, Yoo Jeongyeon.”

Jeongyeon winks, offering you a smile, before opening her arms.

“Shut up and come here,” she says, before you lean forward and embrace her as best you could given her hospital bed and her half-seated position. As you hug she grunts a little bit in pain.

“I guess no doggy style for awhile, boss. You’ll have to do all the work. I think I can still lie here and spread my-”

“Jesus Christ, Jeongyeon,” you say, half-laughing, half exasperated at the idea that a girl recovering from a gunshot wound could so easily be cracking lewd jokes. You take a moment to relish in the sight of her pale, but still vibrant face as she lies back in her bed, a soft smile on her lips.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” you ask, desperate to know what could have driven her to act so recklessly.

“I dunno, she was so tiny. I thought I could take her out. I had the jump on her when she opened the van doors, but I guess her finger slipped or something while we fought, and the gun went off.”

“Jesus, Jeongyeon, she had a fucking gun. She didn’t shoot Chaeyoung. She just wanted the van for their getaway. You should’ve just let her have it. Chaeyoung says she even freaked out a little bit after she shot you.”

“It was definitely an accident - or so I think. She stuck around long enough to grab a bandage from the first aid kit and show Chaeyoung how to use it. Thankfully she had shitty aim. Or I made my saving throw, I guess? Bullet managed to miss all my organs.”

“It might’ve been a different story if the shot went a few inches in a different direction. Why did you do it?”

Jeongyeon looks down at her hands in her lap, picking away at what was left of her bright green nail polish as she tries to find the right words.

“I wanted to prove to myself - and to you guys - that I could actually do something. You, Momo, Sana, those two cops; you’re always out there in the field, kicking ass and taking names. I’m always in the van working the fucking keyboards and staring at a screen. I wanted some of the action.”

“I don’t believe that. You tackled a girl with a gun, just so you could feel like a badass?”

“I thought I could take her, okay? I tried to use tackle, but it wasn’t very effective. It turns out Jeongyeon-type is weak against gunshot-type attacks.”

You both share an exasperated laugh.

“That’s only half the reason, anyway,” she continues. “After I heard the gunshots I thought I might need a gun. Y’know, in case…”

“In case what?”

“In case you were in danger.”

You sigh and bury your face in your hands, exasperated at the idea that Jeongyeon had risked her life - yet again - for you, even if her actions were a foolhardy gamble at best and a potentially fatal mistake at worst.

“Jeongyeon, you jumping armed people for me is the last thing I want.”

“I know, I know. It’s just - when I heard those shots go off I was afraid something had happened to you. I knew I had to get to you. And she was in my way.”

You are unable to find the right words to reply to her, and you settle instead for finding her left hand and cradling it in yours, rubbing her knuckles idly with your thumbs.

“I’ll make sure she pays for it. Her, Seulgi, even Irene, eventually. I swear it. I’ll get them. For you.”

Jeongyeon smiles - a warm, sincere smile full of affection.

“Just give me a couple of days and I’ll be good to go, boss. I just need-”

“No,” you interrupt, “I’ll get them. I didn’t say ‘we’.”

Jeongyeon is at a momentary loss for words. Then her brow furrows, and you ready yourself for the barrage of pushback she was about to unleash.

“Boss, I-”

“No, Jeongyeon. You’re staying here to recover. Seolhyun runs the Seoul office, but she’ll be looking after you. We’re going after them while you rest up.”

“What do you mean, staying here? At least give me a laptop, I can still do my job from a hospital bed. I dunno if you know, but they have pretty good wi-fi in this country.”

“That won’t help if the rest of us are leaving the country.”

“I can go-”

“No, Jeongyeon. You’re staying here. I’m not sure if you noticed, but you have a fucking gunshot wound. Your only concern now is recovery. You’re staying. That’s final.”

The girl lets a grunt of disapproval leave her lips. For a second she tries to cross her arms, but gives up when the movement causes a sharp spike of pain to shoot up her side.

“At least tell me where you’re going,” she hisses, through gritted teeth.

“Jihyo says it’s likely Seulgi and Yeri have left the country. We have them on CCTV at the airport, boarding a plane to Japan. They looked like they were taking Irene with them against her will.”

“That bitch’s days are numbered. Seulgi looked like she wanted to tear her head off.”

“Regardless, we need to go after them. We’re leaving soon.”

Jeongyeon seems upset with the prospect of staying in Korea, but you take the long sigh that she gives you as a sign that she has finally accepted your decision. When she looks over at you again her eyes are soft and glassy, filled with tears and words she wanted to say but couldn’t.

She squeezes your hand in hers, and the two of you sit there in silence for awhile with soft smiles on your lips. The prospect of parting with Yoo Jeongyeon and leaving her behind was a painful one to bear.

“Go get them for me,” she says, softly.

“I will,” you promise. “For you.”

---

Author’s Note: Please don’t hate me :P

#kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #male reader #pov smut #twice #twice dahyun #Kim dahyun

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shreddedparchment · 4 years

Text

Pseudo Princess Pt.27

Beaten and Lost

03/24/2020

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader Word Count: 5,109

Warnings: language, canon level violence, injuries, wounds, blood, smidge of angst

A/N: So...I should really edit this more but I’m tired and I’m sure you all want this more than you want my edits. lol I’m pretty satisfied with it. Hopefully y’all like it too. If you happen to reblog, thanks for helping me spread my work! xoxo

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY STORIES. Reblogs are appreciated!

“No! Clint! Get to those citizens. I’ll handle James.”

“Oh, you’ll handle him? Much like you handled those bandits in Bosset?”

“I did handle them.” Nat argues, ducking as another flaming ball of tar goes soaring over their heads. “We got out of there, didn’t we?”

Shielded for the moment behind an overturned vendor’s stall, she and Clint find themselves catching their breath as chaos reigns around them.

Nat can see Peter flying across rooftops, shooting his web at Hydra soldier after Hydra soldier. Incapacitating them by grabbing them and knocking them out or suspending them from the streetlamps and balconies.

She can’t see, but she can hear the whoosh of wind as Sam flies overhead, aided by his specialized wing suit.

“Barely.” Clint nods. “It’s all over after today, you know that, right? Everyone in the kingdom…in all the kingdoms will know who you all are now.”

“It was bound to come out.” Nat shrugs. “It was Steve and Tony that wanted to keep things quiet, for their families’ sake.”

“I can relate.” Clint sighs.

“I’m sorry, Clint. I didn’t mean to drag you back into this.” Nat assesses her old friend, dirty blonde hair, handsome features only slightly aged and looking more exasperated than tired.

Time with his family has done him good.

“It was inevitable.” He nods. “Alright, on the count of three.”

Nat nods, reaching down to take hold of a long metal rod that has broken off from a carriage in place of her usual adamantium daggers.

“Is that really a good idea?” Clint asks, eyeing her sheathed daggers now out and visible with her lack of cloak.

“I love him, Clint.” Nat shakes her head. “I’m going to marry him. I won’t kill him.”

“You might have to.” Clint insists.

Nat only meets his gaze, defiance written all over her scratched up and dirty face.

“One…Two…Thr-” As Clint and Nat make to rise, the weight of their temporary shield falls out from behind them and they have to scramble up onto their knees as they watch the stall levitate up into the air.

“What the-?” Clint begins and they both watch as it rises higher and higher, a strange red energy lifting it into the air.

It swirls around the stall like smoke, vibrant in spots where it pulsates with power.

“Looks like we aren’t alone anymore.” Nat says, bringing Clint’s eyes to her.

He sees her watching the road in front of them and follows her gaze to a young girl, no more than twenty with her hands in the air, clearly directed towards the stall that had just been ripped away from them.

She’s wearing a form fitting red leather tunic and jacket over a pair of dark gray pants. Inexpensive clothing that looks as if it were once new, but now tattered and torn.

Nat at least wears a collection of torn up skirts woven together around her hips making it look as if she were wearing a skirt while leaving the front of her legs exposed so that she can reach her weapons.

This girl is wearing just the pants. No weapons, nothing but the strange red energy.

Her hair is also red, but duller than Natasha’s, and waist length. Left to do as it pleases, it floats around her body as the red magics that she is clearly manipulating dances about her.

With eyes like scarlet fire, she suddenly brings her hands down and both Nat and Clint scramble up just in time, diving out of the way as the stall crashes into the cobbled road and explodes into splinters.

As she approaches, they get to their feet only to feel the strange rush of air and force along their fronts and get knocked to the ground again.

“Do you see-?” Clint begins.

“No.” Nat replies.

They rise again, attempting to get to their feet only to feel the same rush of air and force against their back.

They’re shoved forward and fall onto their hands and knees, landing roughly so that the frozen stones beneath their hands draw a little blood.

Annoyed, Nat glares.

“This is getting ridiculous.”

“The girl is a witch. Could she be doing this?” Clint wonders.

“No, I don’t think so.” Nat sighs and makes to stand again only to get pushed hard in the stomach. It sends her soaring backwards into the air a few feet until she makes impact with something large and hard.

It catches her under the arms and the heat suddenly makes sense as she’s helped to her feet.

“It seems you’re having a bit of trouble, Lady Widow, shall I help?”

“Thor!” Nat gasps, grateful to be up on her feet, but she frowns at him all the same. “How many times must I tell you? It’s Black Widow.”

Thor smiles at her. “It seems you’ve found yourself a bit of a nuisance.”

“Indeed.” Nat nods.

“Hey, how about a little assistance, your Majesty?” Clint gestures at the girl whose stopped advancing at the sight of Thor.

“That girl is not your problem.” Thor says, pointing at the girl and watching her with a furrowed brow.

“Then what is it?” Natasha asks.

“It’s the boy.”

“Boy?” Clint pushes himself up onto his knees and looks around, confused. “What boy?”

Without warning Thor draws his arm back, calling into it his hammer which very nearly reaches him when the body of a man wearing head to toe silver appears with his hand around the handle midflight.

As it reaches Thor, dragging the boy along with it, Thor quickly grabs him and slams him into the ground only to place his hammer on his chest.

“This boy.” Thor smiles down at him.

Nat’s mouth is slightly agape as she stares down at Thor’s catch, Clint then rises and moves over to look down at the lad as he struggles and grunts against the weight of Mjolnir and attempts to push it off.

“Why couldn’t we see him?” Clint wonders.

“He was moving too quickly for your eyes to see.” Thor explains. “He didn’t know that he wouldn’t be able to lift my hammer.”

“Not so quick now, are you?” Clint taunts.

“I think Hawkeye and I can handle the girl.” Thor says, turning to Nat with a look of stern approval. “Barnes and Hydra are regrouping in the town square. You’d best head there and help the Spiderling, Pigeon, and Stark.”

“Spiderman and Falcon.” Nat corrects, but she’s already backing away from them. “Clint?”

“Go. I’ve got a God on my side.” He watches as Nat turns to run, then looks to the girl whose fingers are still dancing with red waves. “How are we going to handle this one?”

“You could never handle my sister.” Says the boy still struggling, glaring at both Thor and Clint. “The Scarlet Witch will warp you into your darkest nightmares. She will tear your mind apart piece by piece until you are nothing more than a sobbing, whimpering fool.”

“You promise?” Clint asks, then turns to give him a smug smile.

~~~~~~~~~~

She can hear it before it hits. She can feel the heat against her skin before she can even form the plea for Tony to stay his hand.

“James, please.” She begs, holding his arm back behind him with as much strength as she can muster.

Behind her the Falcon has lost a wing as is fighting hand to hand against a mob of Hydra foot soldiers.

Peter is with him, attempting to help as much as he can while also pulling the occasional bystander away from the fight.

Nat has been able to hold Bucky off for only a few minutes. Seven? Eight minutes? Maybe ten.

They feel like hours. Every punch avoided, ever kick expertly maneuvered feels like another thorn in Nat’s heart.

“Please, my love.” She whispers into his ear as he grunts and with a surge of strength pulls his arm from her hold behind his back.

He turns around and grabs her by the neck, squeezing with his flesh arm so tight that her eyes grow red as her hands hesitantly travel down to the blades along her thighs. As her fingers make contact with the cool metal, she realizes that she can’t do it. Nat can’t hurt him.

She mouths his name, a haggard whisper through the constriction of her throat, and brings her hands up to hold the one choking her to death.

Nat thinks she sees a shift in his eyes, a return of warmth, but if it was real it came and went too quickly for her to be sure it wasn’t just her oxygen deprived mind wishing he’d remember that he loves her. That he asked her to marry him.

She wishes that she could have a chance to tell him yes. That she’ll marry him. That even if she can’t give him the life he deserves, if he will have her, she will happily live out the rest of her days by his side.

He flips her, then slams her down against the cobble road. Nat gasps in as much air as she can as the darkness in her vision begins to clear. Her head is pounding, she can feel blood pooling along her scalp.

Wheezing, she forces her body to move, to shift. She wants to see him.

Bucky has turned and is moving towards Tony who has somehow found one of his gauntlets. At the center of his palm is the gleaming blue shine of his blaster. The magic and lightning that he seams to have weaved into his suit and tamed it to use at will.

He raises his glove, holds it up towards the approaching threat.

Nat pushes herself up and throws her and out towards Tony, almost mimicking his movement as the blue light grows brighter faster.

“Tony, n-!” She tries, but he fires, and it hits Bucky square in the chest.

He’s sent flying back into a heap on top of a pile of wooden crates.

Nat falls onto her side, staring at him in relief that he’s down, but she knows it isn’t over. She moves as quickly as she can to subdue him and manages to get onto her feet.

Racing to his side, she reaches for his arm, but he throws it up towards her and she’s sent flying back into one of the now broken lampposts.

She hits it hard and crumples with a pained groan around the base. Somehow, she manages to refocus, pulling herself back up onto her feet with the assistance of the broken post.

By the time she’s up, searching for Bucky, she finds him charging at Tony who has found the rest of his suit probably kept safe in his carriage. Hidden, like Steve’s shield had been. Like all of their tools.

Bucky races at full speed at Tony, not stopping as Tony sends shot after shot towards him. He dodges each blast of energy. He even grabs Tony’s wrists and points his hands up at the sky rending his shots useless.

Tony counters with a kick to his chest, sending Bucky skidding back only to readjust his footing and dive at his target.

Tony punches and kicks, avoiding Bucky’s metal arm as best he can while also trying to blast him with his hands.

It takes only a minute for Bucky to get Tony down on the ground. On his back, Tony is at a disadvantage.

Nat begins to race for them as Bucky brings his metal fingers down around the blinding circle at the center of Tony’s chest.

With his swollen cheek, cut lip, bloody nose, Bucky huffs with the strength he uses to pry his fingers in around the orb.

Nat can hear Tony’s own wounded grunt, one hand pulling at Bucky’s normal arm to pry it away from his neck and the other squeezing and tugging at the metal one around his power source.

“Don’t make me do this Barnes.” Tony gasps.

“Don’t!” Nat cries, still too far away.

The orb within Tony’s chest begins to glow brighter, more blinding, more chaotic in its pulsing energy.

“Tony, don’t!” Nat pleads, pushing her leg to run through her limp.

“I’m sorry.” Tony whispers, and the light in his chest explodes shooting up into the air with a twenty-foot beam.

Nat is thrown back by the force of the blast, but she recovers quickly, forcing herself to scramble up towards them.

Bucky lays motionless a few feet away from Tony’s gasping form his metal arm gone. Severed by Tony’s energy beam at the shoulder. Shards of sharp metal protrude from the wound.

“James!” Nat calls, falling to her knees at his side. “James, please.”

But he’s so still.

For one breathless minute, Nat watches the love of her life lay before her, not breathing.

But then his chest moves, and she’s saved the grief of mourning her one true love.

Turning to Tony, she finds him sitting up, one leg bent with his arm resting over it as he watches her and Bucky.

“Are you alright?” She asks him, ignoring the rage she feels towards him because she knows it was necessary.

“Alright?” Tony gets to his feet. Groaning and grunting as his body protests the movement. “I’m a king. I am…perfection. Urghhh…”

“Perfection my ass.” Nat mutters, turning her gaze back to Bucky.

“Is it my turn?” A shaking elderly voice suddenly speaks.

“By all means, old woman. Assist away.” Tony waves her over, walking with her as she exits one of the shops where she’d been hiding watching the entire fight.

Agatha stops beside Nat and gives her head a quick inspection.

“Get this bandaged up right away, unless you’d like to lay unconscious beside your lover.” She orders.

Nat frowns but tears a piece of fabric from her open skirt and begins to wrap the strip around the worst part of her wound. She doesn’t have time to do it justice.

Agatha drops down beside Bucky and begins to look him over. She opens his eyes and they look as normal as ever.

“Well?” Tony asks, impatient.

“He’s out. It also appears as if whatever spell he was under, it has been broken. His injuries are extensive. He will not wake.” She assures them. “Perhaps ever.”

“What?!” Nat demands, voice panicked.

“This wound.” She suddenly rips Bucky’s tunic open then unbuttons his shirt to show a massive amount of black bruising along the left side of his body. “This will not heal easy. We need to get him somewhere safe. The quicker the better.”

“Tony…” Nat begins, turning to him, but Tony is watching the crowd in the distance.

“We can’t just leave them. There are still too many Hydra soldiers running around the city.” He frowns, his mind also jumping to you and Steve.

Are the two of you alright?

“You won’t.” Thor says from above before he lands with a small earth-shaking boom beside them. “I will stay along with the Pigeon, the Spiderling, and the Hawk. The two of you should take Barnes and the other prisoners back to your castle.

“Someone also needs to begin the search for Steve and the little bird. From what Peter said, Steve was gravely wounded. And Y/N is pregnant. I need to know she’s safe.”

“Prisoners? What prisoners?” Tony wonders.

“Don’t worry.” Thor assures them. “They too will not wake before you reach the castle. Go, my friends. I will provide what assistance I can here.”

“Thor…” Nat begins, desperate to thank him.

“Natasha…” Thor cuts her off, turning a serious and suddenly terrified gaze on her. “Find her. Find Steve. Make sure they’re alright.”

Nat agrees, knowing that she too will not rest well until she knows that you’re home safe and that your little prince is hopefully, unharmed.

You’re exhausted, trudging through overgrown fronds and grass as you struggle to weave your way through densely packed sycamore trees.

The forest is old, the canopy all but obscures the night sky above.

In the darkness, you cling to Steve’s hand as he leads you through the trees. Every now and then the late winter wind blows and scatters the branches overhead to give you a stunning view of the clear sky. A jeweled sky dazzles you, then retreats behind the leaves once again.

Your arm is yanked forward, and you gasp tripping over your dress which you quickly yank up with your free hand to keep from falling.

Steve’s cloak, still around you to stave off the frigid air, nearly does you in with a second trip but you managed to find your balance.

“Steve…” You begin, a warning in your voice because he’s your guide. He can see better than you can apparently and you’re relying on him to keep you upright with your little prince at stake.

What you find is Steve slumped against a tree, still somehow standing, but clearly weak and unable to stand upright. He drops his shield where it falls with a muted clunk.

“Steve!” You gasp, releasing his hand which he was still holding onto tightly, and rush to his side.

Getting in close is the only way that you can see his face, so you get right up against him. His nose only a few inches away.

He has both eyes closed, one swollen and black, bruised so darkly you shudder to think what that might look like under proper light.

His lips are slightly blue and that gives you such fright. You throw the cloak off of your shoulders and quickly wrap it around him.

With a split bleeding lip, now crusted in the corners where he allowed the crimson to dribble and pool, he protests.

“No.” He says, still managing some volume and a stern tone despite the exhaustion he’s clearly feeling and the pain his body is fighting.

The longer he stands there pressed against the tree, the lower slides along the thick trunk.

“Keep it on. It’s c-cold.” He shudders and you frown at him.

“You need it more than I do.” You assert and clasp the cloak at around his neck then draw the rest closed to help him keep what little heat he has.

“But our baby.” He sighs, finally reaching the base of the tree where he sits with his legs bent but weakly splayed out as you make sure his cloak is secure.

“Our little one is warm and safe in my belly.” You give him a smile but begin to notice the way his shield arm is resting at an odd angle. “Steve, your arm…”

“It’s nothing.” He tries.

“Don’t lie to me Steven.” You frown.

“It’s dislocated.” He relents quickly not missing a beat, knowing the tone you’re using well from the night you found Sharon in his bed.

“Shit.” You bite your lip but move to position yourself beside him. “Steve, why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

“We had to get away.” He shakes his head but meets your eyes. “I needed you safe.”

“I am safe. But what will I do if you pass out here, in the middle of the forest? You should have told me. We should have stopped when I asked hours ago.” Your worry is outweighing your anger, and he seems to see that because he smiles weakly.

“Is this really the time to rub it in how right you are all the time?” He teases.

“Steve…” You fuss.

“I’m alright, my flower. Truly.” He lies.

You growl and move around the base of the tree sticking close to the ground. You move all the way around it, circling until you come up on Steve’s other side.

“What are you doing?” He wonders, curious but also wary.

“Looking for something. Do you still have your dagger?” You reopen his cloak and begin to feel around his waist.

He shifts for you, shoving his hips out a little and arching his back which makes him grunt with pain.

“Center of my waist. On the back.” He instructs.

Quickly you reach for it and pull it out before you pull his cloak shut again then turn around and begin to crawl away from him.

A tug on your skirts stops you and with his dagger in hand you turn to look back at him.

“Where are you going?” He frets, brow furrowed.

“Don’t worry, I won’t go far.” You promise, reach back, and pull his hand away from your skirts.

You crawl around for maybe ten minutes, picking up every stone and pebble that your fingers blindly encounter. At one point you swear you feel a silky scaled body slither past your outstretched digits but you ignore it and swallow down the panic as you convince yourself that it was probably more afraid of you than you are of it.

At last, several trees away and just out of Steve’s sight, you find what you’re looking for. You reach around for the long thin branch that you’d felt earlier. With the knife, stone, and branch, you crawl back to Steve to find him sitting up, craning his neck for sight of you.

Upon it, he sits back and releases a long-held breath.

His legs are a little more relaxed, stretched out but still wide open in his fatigue. You settle between them, scooching as close as you can but turn back forward as you sit up as straight as you can.

“Can you undo my bodice?” You ask, with your collection of tools placed before you, you move your hair out of his waist.

“You can’t take off your clothes.” Steve says, not understanding what you’re trying to do.

“Steve…just do it. Open my dress and once you see my corset strings, open it and then rip the driest part of my underdress. As much of it as you can.

“Y/N…” Steve begins, defiant.

“Please.” You beg, but you make it clear it isn’t an option.

After a moment of hesitation, he huffs out a gust of air before he gets to work on your dress.

It takes him five minutes to undo it and your corset, then another three to find and rip as large a piece of your underthings as he can.

“Is that dry enough?” He checks, holding out for you a strip long enough to wrap your arm several times.

“That’s perfect, my love.” You gush, taking the strip to feel how damp it might be.

Your skirts would have been too wet, trudging through snow all night.

Steve does your dress up as best as he can or attempts to before you’re up on your feet moving away from him.

“Wait…” He complains but you don’t stop and instead begin to feel around the large trunks you pass.

“You can dress me again in just a moment.” You tell him, but he growls.

“You’re going to catch your death with your back open like that!” He fumes.

You ignore him in favor of your search and after only two minutes this time, you find what you’re looking for. A knothole almost just out of reach.

Licking your lips, you push yourself up onto your toes and with trembling fingers search the space within.

You shut your eyes and refuse to think about what animals you may be disturbing.

Luckily, you find none, and instead find what you’re looking for.

With your stick and fabric in hand you scoop out as much dead and dried foliage as you can into the fabric with your stick placed in the middle of it all. The knothole is abundant in material, so you take as much as you need before you wrap it up around one end of the stick.

You cut a few small holes into the fabric to give the twigs and leaves and dried grass some air before you move back towards where you can hear Steve groaning in pain.

As he hears you near, he makes sure to stop.

Because he needs it more than you do at the moment, you find your spot between his legs again and turn around for him.

Quickly he begins to do your dress up, fighting the pain of his dislocated shoulder.

He’s pushing himself too hard and you know that he will pay for it. You hate that!

By the time he laces up your bodice, the spark from his steel dagger on your flint rock strikes a spark and your torch comes to life, blazing bright in what was only a second again pitch dark.

It’s blinding and you blink against the light before you grab it and turn to look at your husband.

He’s impressed, his face full of it, but what a face it is all beaten, black and blue.

“Oh, Steve.” You cry, your heart breaking.

“I’m okay.” He promises, reaching up with his good hand to stroke your cheek.

“No, you’re not!” You smack his hand away and shove the end of your torch into the ground to free up your hands.

With his cloak already open from him dressing you, you reach for his shoulder and feel for the shift.

Giving him time to fight you on this is not an option so you quickly force him back against the tree.

“Stay still.” You order, and without waiting for him to acknowledge what you’re saying, you begin to pull his shoulder up in small smooth circles.

“No, Y/N, wait.” He groans.

“Shh.” You frown but continue to lift his arm up.

“Y/N…” He repeats, his voice fighting the agony.

“Shush!” You insist, then finally feel the shift as his arm pops back into place.

“AH!” Steve cries, his breathing hard and his eyes shut tight.

You guide his arm across his chest and push it towards him to make sure he knows to keep it there while you tear more fabric from the thick layers of your skirts.

With his arm in a sling, Steve seems a bit more relaxed.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Steve wonders as you get up and fix your dress before you reach over for the torch.

His eyes are glued to your face, full of admiration and adoration, bloody lips curled slightly in a smile.

“I grew up alone, remember? I had to take care of myself.” You move to his good arm and hook your own through them. “Come on, your Majesty. On your feet.”

He groans and grunts as you pull him back onto his feet and tired legs. While he gets used to the sensation again, you hand him the torch and lean him against the tree. Then you move to grab his shield and with a long spare piece of your skirts available, you tie the disc to your back where you know it will be safe.

“You look good in my insignia.” Steve flirts.

“Of course, I do. I’m your wife.”

Steve huffs a small laugh.

“Come on, King Flirt. Lean on me.”

He wraps his good arm around your shoulders and leans as much weight against you as he’s willing which gladly is enough that the two of you can get moving again. And with the torch now out to show you the forest, you gasp as you realize just where you are.

“What is it?” Steve asks, sensing your glee.

“I know where we are!” You smile. “Come on. If we make good time, we’ll get there before the sun rises.”

It takes two more hours of you pulling Steve forward, forcing him to move faster just as he’d first forced you away from danger. You’re starting to feel the bite of the cold, but you don’t dare take the cloak from him. Only now are his lips beginning to show a bit of color. His cheeks aren’t so pale. His eyes are a little brighter.

You’re at the top of a hill when you finally stop and you’re breathing hard as your eyes take in the sight you’d thought you’d lost forever.

If not forever, then at least for a long time.

Below you both, nestled into the hillside is the Village of Bright Rise. A dozen and a half thatched roofed buildings that were once the only home you thought you’d ever know.

The church is on one end of the square, old and crumbling but still made with materials far better than the village houses that look to be in the midst of repairs.

The mill to the farms is on the right, and the old manor home—long since abandoned by the lord that had settled Bright Rise way before your parents had been born—sits derelict and half destroyed about a mile away from the village.

Still, despite the poverty you see before you, there is beauty in the large trees and the flower fields that you can only remember from your memories now with winter having taken the blooms. The small pond is frozen, and the roads are blanketed with fresh snow from earlier in the night when the sky had filled with clouds before being whisked away by winter winds.

“Where are we?” Steve wonders, staring at the little village below.

“We’re in Bright Rise.” You declare. “This is Bright Rise, Steve. This is where I was born. This is where my parents died and where I grew up. Just outside of the village, just before you reach that abandoned manor, you see that main road?”

Steve follows where your gaze to the spot you mean and nods.

“I see it.”

“That’s where my life changed. That’s where I found Grandmother fallen over in the mud. Where I searched, elbow deep in a bog for her purse. That’s where Father found me. Took me. Changed me.

“That’s where my destiny to be your wife manifested. This…this was my home.” You turn to him, watch as his face changes and devours every inch of the small place he sees below him.

“Do you see that small cottage over by the farms? To the right of the mill? With its crumbling walls and overgrown vine?” You ask, watching him.

“I see it.” He says, “Is that-?”

“That was where I lived. We’ll be safe there for a bit.” You whisper, suddenly nervous about him seeing your home. “Will you stay?”

Steve hears the insecurity in your voice, the fear of what your old home might say about who you were. Who you are. Because even if you are no longer that same girl that was taken at the side of the road, she is still within you. She’s your core. The base of who you have become.

“Anywhere.” Steve says. “So long as I’m with you.”

#king!steve x reader #king!steve x reader fanfiction #medieval fantasy au #royalty au #marvel au #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #king!steve x you #steve x you #captain america x reader #avengers x reader #pseudo princess #pseudo princess pt27

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painless-innit-colourful · 3 years

Text

‘Two Down, One To Go’ - part 3

Hopefully I didn’t spend eight months burning the festival vods into my memory to end this badly. Tubbo was there for Tommy the night after he lost his second life, and he’d like to return the favour. After his temper gets the better of him, the last of the heroic Pogtopians must deal with the fallout and figure out what to do next. Featuring a little headcanon about how a person knows how many lives they have left.

part one | part two

---

After what felt like a century, it was quickly ended. Tommy was never going to win, that much was clear from the start, and it was clear in his movements and the growing fearful look in his eyes that he wanted it to end. Techno’s eyes met Tubbo’s for a split second as he dealt the final blow, a punch that landed square in the middle of Tommy’s face. There was a horrible crack, and Tommy slammed into the wall of the pit, blood gushing from his nose and down the white part of his shirt like a raging river. He tilted his head back as Techno advanced for the final time, pushing him away with the back of his forearm, pinning him against the wall, and it was unclear if the motion was to keep Tommy from attacking or from pitching forward. Their eyes met: Tommy’s were dilated with fear and pain, while Techno’s beady gaze was steely but triumphant. They seemed to come to some understanding (perhaps of what mortality is), for Tommy then shut his eyes and dropped his head. Techno stepped away, and the boy slumped to the ground.

With the ease and temperament of a cultivated warrior, the Blade straightened up, wiping at his face and smearing some of Tommy’s blood about his eyes. It was like he was wearing a crimson masquerade mask. For a few moments, there was again that uneasy silence: something about the Blade looking over the crowd kept them quiet, subjugated by his aura of intimidation. Then he looked away, and there was a small burst of noise from the crowd - like a firework - as they began to disperse, sensing the end of the dramatics.

The Blade put one hand on the side of the pit and hopped up with the grace of a dancer. Compared to Tommy, bruised and bloodied, you could hardly tell he’d been in a fight. He looked between the lingering scraps of the crowd, Wilbur waiting with a smile and his hands still in his pockets, Niki glowering at him, Tubbo looking at the floor by his feet and Tommy still slumped against the wall of the pit. One clear of the throat had all of them looking vaguely in his direction, but he was looking for Tommy’s attention. “So..?” “F*ck you man,” Tommy said through a mouthful of blood. The pigman just laughed, and it echoed around the cavern like thunder. “It stays in the pit.” And off he went, an arm lazily thrown across Wilbur’s shoulders as he painted pictures of a destroyed Manberg in the air with his hands and words, the crowd stalking them rife with gossip and gawking and money changing hands. Tubbo’s stomach dropped.

“What are we going to do?” Niki’s voice was soft, barely audible in the echoing noise. Tubbo leant his head back against one of the rough stone walls, the burns curling around his eyes stinging. There was a spluttering to his left: Tommy attempting to clear his mouth of the blood still trickling from his nostrils. “I don’t know.” He admitted, lurching forward to go and help Tommy. “No no, I’m coming up, don’t.” It took Tommy a couple tries to scramble out of the hole in the ground, one palm pressed ineffectively against his nose, still leaking down his face. “Bloody thing- hah-”

“C’mere-” Tubbo reached for his face, the edge of a smile creeping into his voice as Tommy tried to duck away, also ineffectually. “Nah I’m fine, trust me-” “Mate-” He’d managed to grab Tommy’s wrist, reeling him in and slinging his other arm about his waist to keep him there. He ignored the flare of pain from the burns on his chest and arms, instead grinning at the grimace Tommy was giving him as he pulled his hand away from his nose. “You’re doing a sh*t job with that nose bleed.” He pinched his nose, “Head back, big man.”

Tommy crossed his arms like a toddler throwing a tantrum and threw his head back. They waited in the growing quiet for an indeterminate amount of time, as the people became more settled, as Niki grew more restless next to them, as the pressure on Tubbo’s injuries ached more and more, until finally he couldn’t take the lancinating pain any longer, and sprang away from Tommy with a wobble, breathing heavily.

His eyes were screwed shut, as were his teeth gritted and fists balled up, nails digging back into raw flesh and bandages. Prime this hurts. He couldn’t seem to get enough air. He sank to his knees, retreating into Tommy’s jacket like a hedgehog or a turtle hiding beneath protective layers. His head throbbed, like someone was bashing on it with a hammer. Somewhere in the back of his mind - the logical part - he knew what was happening. The danger had passed, the fighting ended. His body had pulled down the protective wall it had raised since Schlatt had snatched the mic from him, and now he was feeling the full force of his injuries without the adrenaline rush to dull the pain. But the part of him that knew this, the part that was telling him he was fine wasn’t as loud as the headache trying to split his skull from the inside.

‘Get up,’ He fell back on his Manberg habitats: don’t cry around other people, don’t show weakness or injury. ‘Stop this now, and get up.’ He willed himself to stand, commanding one leg at a time up. He got one foot flat on the floor and almost stood on it, when another wave of nauseating agony swept over him and he pitched sideways, crumpling into a heap on the floor like a discarded suit blazer.

“Tubbo-” Roughly, he pushed himself off the floor, ignoring the stabbing sensation from his palms as he righted himself. ‘Stop this. Get up.’ “Woah- Tubbo, stop a second-” ‘Stop horsing around. For Prime’s sake, get up now.’ “Tubbo, wait- Holy Prime, stop moving, you’re hurting yourself.”

Tommy’s hands hesitantly grazed his sides, feeling through his borrowed jacket where the bandages got thinner as his eyes traced the rest of them covering most of Tubbo’s upper half where burns didn’t. “Aah- Sto- Stop-” Tubbo managed to get out, shaking his head quickly and falling away from Tommy, the movement making him feel lightheaded. The hands quickly retracted. “Knees?” He nodded, a lot slower than before. “Are- Are you okay? What hurts?” Tommy asked as he put his hands palm down on Tubbo’s lap. The older boy fought through a mental fog that threatened to cloud his vision. “E-Everything-” He exhaled quickly in something that might’ve been a laugh in another universe, staring down at Tommy’s hands on his knees and laying his own next to them. “My head- It feels like- like someone keeps hitting me and- m- my heart-” He shook violently, bandaged hands going to clutch his sides as if to hold himself together.

“Hey,” Tommy leaned closer so he was looking up to talk, his expression empathetic, a soft smile in his eyes as he spoke gently. “This happened before, remember? This happens when you lose a life. Remember last time, in the Camarvan? It passes. Just wait with me, alright?” “Everything hurts-” “I know,” He patted a steady rhythm into Tubbo's lap, one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three, like a waltz. Slowly, gradually, the agony receded, relinquishing his senses back to him, and he became aware that Niki had knelt by his side. "What can I do..?" Her mascara was running. Tommy gave her a soft smile, “I think… I think we should get out of this f*ckin’ cave. Get some air.”

“I think you need a change of clothes, big man.” Tubbo croaked, and they both looked down at Tommy’s shirt, stained rusty-red with the blood of multiple people. “Speak for yourself.” He said lightly, and Niki gave a breathy sigh. “I think we should burn it.” “His or mine?” “Both.” She said with a slight laugh, glancing behind her. “I could go find some for us now?” Tommy replied with a shake of the head. “Let’s just get out of here. Although-” He glanced at the axe by the side of the pit. “If we’re going up top we could do with a shield or two and some weapons, y’know, standard procedure.” He jumped to his feet and scurried away with a call of: “I’ll be right back!”

“Hey Tubbo,” He glanced up to see Niki smiling warmly, sitting cross-legged beside him. “Are you alright now?” “I’ve certainly been better.” Their half-hearted laughter flickered like candlelight. “So, um… What Tommy said about you being down a life… Is it true?”

His hand went to the tally under his collarbone leisurely, feeling through the bandages to the tiny, earth-shattering ridges beneath. Two. There were definitely two.

“Yep,” He breathed. “I am down to one canon life.” Stating the fact seemed to make it all the more real. He was the third of his friends to slip, and now he too walked the boundary between those that stay and those that have passed. “I’m so sorry.” She patted his leg. “If I’d have done something- if any of us had done anything-” “Don’t.” He caught her hand. “It’s not worth thinking about. Besides, the Blade has already made it clear that- that it wouldn’t have been worth it.” He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but he felt it was warranted. Sure, military strategy dictated they’d done the right thing. Sure, they only lost one set of eyes on the inside, and not two. But it was like Tommy had said: it was getting less about the nations and the wars and the ideals by the day - at least to them. Of the three founding fathers of L’Manberg, they only had three lives between them now. Some resentful part of him wished they’d found the button. A front-row view of Manberg’s destruction would’ve been better than this.

“What would you have wanted, though?” Niki has this remarkable ability to see through people, almost as if she had heard his thoughts drifting to the button. He shut his eyes briefly, trying to think, and he was standing on the stage again, boxed in by yellow concrete and foes all at the same time. His eyes darted up to the rooftop of the NASA building, where he’d been only minutes ago. Wilbur and Tommy, highlighted figures in brown and red against the cheerful blue sky, each had a hand on their communicators, Tommy staring straight at him, mouth wide open in disbelief while Wilbur’s fingers flew furiously across the keyboard.

‘techno is on our side’

‘he wont hurt you’

“Wilbur said he wasn’t gonna hurt me.” He opened his eyes again, back in the ravine, though he didn’t doubt part of him would ever leave the concrete box. He looked Niki in the eyes, “I would’ve liked the truth, I think. I would’ve liked... to know.” She nodded, and the next time he blinked they were walking through the fields of a once-great nation together, anticipating frivolity and celebration to come, no matter how disagreeable the town they would be painting red. Ironic turn of phrase, to say the least. “This was really not how I expected today to go.” Niki’s laughter in response was sharp. “Definitely not.” She smiled sympathetically. “If it’s worth anything, I thought your speech was very good.”

He smiled indulgently, just in time for Tommy to reappear looking like a packhorse, weighed down with two shields and enough weapons to take back Manberg. None of these things were in his hands though: he was juggling three round grease paper packages, and Tubbo knew exactly what was coming when he stopped juggling and presented Niki with one, standing up straight for once and putting some false bravado into his voice.

“By the way Niki, welcome to Pogtopia. Here’s your dinner. A quick note, we’re not exactly equipped for high cuisine, so I’ll run you through how mealtimes work if you’re going to take your meals in the cafeteria-” He gestured at the bashed-up picnic benches they’d had to disassemble to get into the cave, and then reassemble to eat off of in the space next to the ‘kitchen’ in one very funny afternoon swearing at badly-translated instruction manuals. “Here’s the menu: since we were late back, we get yesterday’s leftovers, the emergency potato stockpile. Also, Technoblade does not seem to be in a chefing mood.” There was a round of awkward faces before he continued. “Tomorrow morning for breakfast: potato stew probably, hopefully not reheated. Tomorrow lunchtime: potato, maybe in a salad.” By now Niki was starting to figure out the pattern, the confusion on her face travelling through disgust to disappointment to resignation to acceptance. “Tomorrow for dinner: jacket potatoes- Hey, do you wanna guess what’s for breakfast the day after?” “Oh boy! I wonder…” They giggled, the first human sound to grace the cavern walls in too long. “I swear on Prime, I wouldn’t have asked for the pig’s assistance if I’d known he’d only cook us potatoes.” His eyes flicked momentarily to Tubbo, and his smile dropped. “As well as a couple other things, y’know…”

The air around them shimmered, or maybe that was just Tubbo’s vision. “We need to get out of here.” “Yeah.” Tommy’s response was quiet and laced with a foreign grief. They headed for the stairs together, Niki following attentively behind, and when their shoulders collided, their hands joined automatically in a softer hold than ever before.

“Did- Did you do that alone?” Tubbo asked Tommy as they climbed the stairs, part of a shuffling conga line of heroes and refugees and martyrs. He looked back for a moment, his eyelashes casting strange shadows down his cheeks from the swinging lamps next to them. “Do what?”

“What- What happened to me just now, and what happened in the Camarvan. When everything hurts and you feel like you’re going to die again.” Tommy’s somewhat guarded expression melted, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Yeah.” He admitted in his softer tone, “At my house, before I came to tell everyone.” “Why?” Tommy turned away as they kept climbing. “We would’ve been there to help you, if- You didn’t even tell the others for ages though, did you?” He remembered a single terrifying moment in the middle of the biggest party they’d ever been to (thoroughly discounting today) when Tommy confided in him. “You didn’t want to worry everyone.” “I didn’t want their pity either.” He said, tone level.

“How did you do it?” “I… Don’t remember. I think I blacked out, at least functionally.”

Not only had his best friend handled, or tried to handle, the pain of losing a life alone, but he’d also attempted to silently carry that burden by himself. Just the thought of it put a weight over Tubbo’s heart. “I would’ve helped you.” He murmured as they took a left and escaped the crowd, heading towards another exit. “You did,” He said lightly. “All those nights you stopped me waking half the nation? That counts.” They crossed the floor of the small chamber at the top of the spiral staircase, and Tubbo suddenly dropped Tommy’s hand and stopped to open the enderchest against the wall. With careful hands he drew out the record with the red label and a smile from Tommy.

“That’s the real one, isn’t it?” Tubbo looked between his two companions. “Anyone got a jukebox?” They didn’t have their bench, but no matter where in the world you are banished to, you’ll always have the sun.

Injured and weary, yet stubbornly surviving still, the three of them climbed the steps to the sky and caught enough of the last spillage of heaven for the day that they could fit in a full song. And by the last light, they had planned a plot. Of revolt and rebellion. Such familiar words.

And with the first stars rising as their witnesses, they hatched a smaller plan. A little catharsis, if you will.

---

The sky at dusk was gorgeous as the sun gradually sank out of sight. Tubbo wished he could enjoy it, but the ache in his being and his head and his heart was too much. “Are you cold?” He shook his head, but Tommy put his arms around him anyway. He was so careful, draping them where he knew there were no bandages; back, shoulder, standing just behind him and placing his head right next to Tubbo’s. Blocks turned in the jukebox before them, its red label swirling in the low light like a spinning skirt as the melody played for all the men and the beasts and the trees that came to listen.

Out of the blue, Tommy whispered in his ear: “Can I make you a promise I can’t keep?” “I- Yeah, sure.” If he hadn’t been so tired, he might’ve turned his head to see what Tommy was up to. All he knew was that his best friend had leant closer and squeezed his sides warmly. Tubbo ignored the slight painful twinge. “I promise-” He whispered, the words so soft they got lost in the song. “-to keep you safe, Tubso.” “Oh.” “I promise, as long as I live, to be there, to stand between you and Techno, or Eret, or Schlatt or Dream or Wilbur or- or Death him-bloody-self, and I promise to say ‘No you may f*ckin’ not hurt him’ and-” “Okay, I get it-” “-and I’ll f*ckin’ fight them, all of them if I have to.” “I’m fine Tommy, you don’t have to be all sappy for me.”

“It’s true.” And though he hadn’t moved that whole time, nor had his tone changed, Tommy’s arms suddenly felt a lot safer to be in. “No matter what happens, whether Techno is on our side or not, whether we get Wilbur back or get more people on our side or not or whatever, it’s me and you - and Niki - together against- against the world. And I mean that.”

Like a blanket straightened over a bed, a small silence settled over them as the last signs of the sun vanished behind the next hill. “Swear it,” Tubbo’s voice was barely above a breath. “On something important.” He couldn’t explain his sudden change of heart, but maybe the way his limbs shook with leftover adrenaline and fatigue and fear could. “I- I swear it on the discs. Me and you, ‘till the ends of the Earth.” “Always those discs.” He couldn’t keep the slightest hint of mockery out of his voice, but Tommy just hummed in disagreement. “If I swore it on the safety of the most precious thing, it wouldn’t be a promise, it’d be a paradox.”

By the time the meaning of his words dawned on Tubbo, Niki had reappeared, and Tommy let go out of his shoulders, a knowing smile gracing his features as he purposely avoided Tubbo’s scrutiny. “Had trouble finding it?” “No, actually.” She took a few deep breaths before continuing. “You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to find a lighter in there.” Tommy and Tubbo shared a look equal parts bemusement and consternation. “Well come on then, the sun’s about to have gone down and I don’t know about you, but it’s getting a bit f*ckin’ cold out here.” “I think that’s because you’re only wearing a t-shirt, Tommy.” Niki teased, while the boy just shot her back an unimpressed look. “Yeah, well,” He turned to look at Tubbo, ruffling his hair somewhat roughly. “I lost my jacket like an hour ago.”

They tittered in tandem until Niki cleared her throat. “Who’s gonna do the honours?” His companions then immediately answered her question by looking to Tubbo. The edges of his lips curved upwards. “Can someone else hold it for me?” “I’ll get it-” “No, let me.” Tommy squinted at Niki. “I think least injured should do it, just in case.” She reasoned. “Didn’t you get shot on the way out of Manberg?” “Didn’t you fight an entire crowd in Manberg by yourself?” “That’s a bit stupid,” Tubbo interjected. “I was trying to find you.” Tommy shrugged. “Okay, yeah, you hold it.”

Straightening her posture, Niki pressed the lighter into Tubbo’s hands and then held up the jacket. It was Tubbo’s Manberg Secretary of State uniform, jet black and singed and soaked-through in places. His thumb played with the catch over the hood of the lighter. “Just- What are we gonna do with it when it’s… on fire, y’know?” Both of his fellows stared blankly at each other. “One second.” Tommy took two steps backwards and disappeared over the ledge, and Tubbo skittered forward with half a laugh to see that he’d hopped down to borrow some water from the nearest pond. “Love the forward planning skills we got here.”

Rather comically, it took Tommy about a minute to lug the bucket of water back up the hill. “We will have no forest fires tonight.” And the three of them giggled a bit more. “Okay,” Niki said, wiping at the corner of her eye. “Ready?”

It took more force than usual for Tubbo to get the lighter to work, and once the flame appeared he snatched his fingers away, conscious of the flammability of his bandages. Niki held the blazer before her, arm high in the air, and Tubbo reached out, touching the end of the lighter to the edge of one of the sleeves. At first, nothing happened, and then, the jacket caught. Abruptly, Niki was forced to let go of the flaming piece of clothing as the fire raced up and across it in seconds. “Holy sh*t.” She whispered. “F*cking sh*t indeed.” Tommy tugged Tubbo back towards him as the blazer dropped into the wind, flapping downhill as it dissipated into dark ash. “I was not expecting that.” “Probably the amount of alcohol soaked into the fabric,” Tubbo said with disdain. “Good f*cking riddance, Manberg.” “YEAH!” His friends cheered together, and he watched as the fire consumed the uniform he’d despised so much. The flag on the left lapel seemed to glow as the flames ate away at it, and that made them three out of three for burning a Manberg flag.

“I heard there was a special place,” Tubbo and Niki looked at Tommy with incredulity as he began to sing the anthem, but there was a certain mischievous twinkle in his eyes as he sang, and they joined in, the familiar words and melody both a comfort and a thorn. “Where men could go and emancipate, The brutality, and the tyranny of their rulers,” Tommy held his hands up, silencing the other two as he grinned. “Well this place is real, don’t be afraid, With Tubbo-” He pointed to each of them in turn. “Tommy, Niki, F*CK TECHNOBLADE-!”

The three of them fell about laughing. “You should do it louder Tommy, I don’t think he heard you-” Niki said between the hooting emanating from a small crowd gathered at the Pogtopia tower and the hysterical laughter of her comrades. His shouts echoed throughout the little valley they overlooked, and they soon resumed the tune, joined by members of the rebellion across the land, humming and singing along whether they were allowed or not. To be a traitor is not a respectable thing, but sometimes it is better to follow one’s heart than one’s leader.

“It’s a very big and not blown up L’Manberg!” It was as if the land itself was singing, and Tubbo hoped they could hear this chorus back in Manberg. “For L’Manberg!” For those that were unsure, that needed to hear that paradise had existed and could again. “For L’Manberg!” For those that were still left behind, keeping their heads down and staying out of trouble, especially after tonight. Tubbo tried to inject as much panache into his voice as he could, partially for them, for those that were rightfully too afraid and unable to sing along. But mostly because he wanted JSchlatt to hear him. “For L’Manberg!” He wanted to walk through the nation he’d served for so long, waving the correct flag, singing their song, and he wanted especially to scare the sh*t out of that tyrant. I survived, he wanted to say, standing at the other end of the trigger. I survived, and I’m leading the choir, and we’re going to have our land back thank you very much, no matter how many tallies on our charts. “For L’Maaaaaanberg!”

For L’Manberg, and for everything it stood for. Tubbo, like his friends, is down to his final life, and he’s sick of playing nice.

---

Taglist: @nixavia @zrenia @spaceheatertrash @hitherto-blue (Please let me know if you’d like to be on the taglist in future :)

#I DID IT I DID IT I FINALLY POSTED IT IT'S FINALLY DONE #crim in december is cheering so loud rn. they thought they'd never finish this darn thing #anyway that was 10000 words. if you finished the whole thing i love you so much #and if you can find the previous parts click on the next tag:#crim writes #anyway if you say something nice i'll love you forever. i am so nervous i really hope people like this or i am really wasting my life here #dream smp #tommyinnit #tubbo #technoblade #niki nihachu #clingy duo #manberg festival #dsmp fic #tell you what i am not looking forward to putting this on a03 later #BECAUSE I AM NOT DOING IT NOW! IT IS HALF 2 IN THE MORNING AND I AM GOING TO BED! THANK YOU AND GOODNIGHT :)

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what-big-teeth · 4 years

Text

Heal (Male Fae ; Fic Raffle)

And done! @serenitydusk requested a story with the female reader being a witch who encounters a male fae. Like I said before, my muse grabbed hold to her wonderful ideas and refused to let go until there was story that incorporated those elements (all 11 eleven pages worth). So I hope you all enjoy this fic!

tw: blood ; injury ; attempted break in Female Reader (POV) x Male Monster The forest is alive in more ways than one.

The verdant green of the trees and underbrush is near blinding. The shade of the rich soil almost appears jet black. And the scent of the fresh blooms is short of addictive; almost mouthwatering.

All signs of the Fae.

You’ve known this fact ever since you moved to the outskirts of your picaresque, rural town. The power ebbing and flowing from the surrounding land told you as much. You haven’t pinpoint the exact source, and you’re fine with not knowing.

Some stones are better left unturned.

You know the land you live on is not your own. So you leave offerings near the thickening edge of the forest, where the old trail has been reclaimed by nature. Today, you offer a small jar of honey, freshly gathered from a nearby hive; untouched, chilled milk in a glass bottle; and healing salves neatly packed and tied in dense cloth. The latter is always gone when you return to give more offerings the next day.

Since you’ve begun paying your respects, in return, your decrepit cottage has slowly recovered from the damage caused by time and the elements. The musty scent covered up by the herbal bundles hanging from the ceiling has turned naturally sweet. The molded cracks and leaks in the walls and roof no longer exist. And most importantly, your meager foraging has grown bountiful, leaving you with an excess of ingredients to use. Most of it for your famed healing salves and ointments. You can’t help but smile knowing your work is just as popular among the Good Neighbors as it is among the townsfolk.

Which is why today, you’re able to head into town to answer a house call.

You tuck away another container of pain-relieving ointment then slide the top of your leather satchel in place. After a final glimpse at your cold hearth and sun-filled workshop, you set off.

The main path into town leads eastward, past two, towering rows of conifers. Their citrus, piney scent engulfs you with every step.

By the time you reach the town’s entrance, the sun is almost high in the sky. The townsfolk are up and about with many greeting you cordially. You do the same, but keep pace towards your destination. A few fallen leaves and pine needles cling to your light cloak; you know the fabric is suffused with the forest’s scent. Your patient won’t mind, but her caretaker may be offended.

Once your feet carry you down a narrow, cobbled street and to a bold, blue door, you lift your hand and give the barrier three solid knocks. There isn’t enough time to pluck away every needle and dust off every leaf before the door wrenches opens.

Roderick regards you with a critical eye, as if the piercing stare will send you scuttling back to your cottage. You stand your ground instead, and give him a pleasant, practiced smile.

“Good morning, Mr. Tate. I’m here for Mrs. Hale‘s weekly house call.”

You quickly learned to never call Edith anything but Mrs. Hale in his presence. The first time you did, your affront nearly left you without the gold coin and tip she promised you. So you adapted and now tread carefully, letting Roderick hear what he’d prefer. But great god and goddess if he didn’t make your attempts at pleasantries difficult.

Roderick hums low then steps away from the threshold. You swiftly enter in case he decides to change his mind.

“Mother is near the hearth. She insisted on preparing some tea,” he says, voice tightening. “‘For our guest’”, she said.

Roderick can barely think of you as such thanks to how you’ve proclaimed yourself a witch. You hope, with time, he’ll slowly come around. Just as many of the other townsfolk have.

You thank him and follow him the short distance to the kitchen. Edith sits at their small dining table, her wizened, deep brown hands clutching the steaming mug before her. Her wide nose flares as she inhales the vapors as the fresh scent of peppermint prickles your nose. One of your favorites.

“Roddy, is that the healer?” Her dark, rheumy eyes squint in your direction and her wrinkled face lifts with a smile. “It’s so good to see you, my dear.”

“Likewise, ma’am.”

As much as you wish to greet her properly with a hug or a pat to the back of her hand, you ignore the urge. Roderick could easily kick you out for not treating his mother-in-law with the “proper respect”. Instead, you remove your satchel and take the empty seat across from her.

“Roddy,” she says, “be a dear and pour our guest some tea, will you?”

You glance at Roderick; he looks as if he’s swallowed a bitter draught. But he does as his mother-in-law asks then stands at the kitchen entrance, like a sentinel. No matter. You’re here for Edith and her alone.

As you both chat about summer’s approach and her change in hairstyle, you examine her hands. You carefully bend each finger, checking her expression for any signs of pain. None. You then move on to her wrists and see her twinge at the slight movement.

“It’s better than it was before,” she says.

“That’s good, but I’d still like you to keep using the compress and herbal infusion. Warm the infusion and apply it three times a day, as before.”

“Yes, yes. Roddy will help me, won’t you dear?”

As you place some lengths of cotton wool and dried herbs for the infusion on the table, the crinkle of Roderick’s lips and nose lessens.

“Of course, Mother. You only need to ask.”

Edith smiles beatifically before her mouth falls open.

“Oh, you haven’t finished your tea.”

With the way Roderick’s nostrils flare, you know you’ve overstayed your welcome.

“What I managed to have was delicious,” you say, patting the back of her free hand. “I should get going.”

“Won’t you stay for dinner? Roddy can walk you back to your cottage afterwards.”

His gritted jaw says otherwise. You kindly decline Edith’s invitation and gather your satchel.

Roderick leads you to the front door, holding it open as you pass through. A harsh jingling from his person draws your attention.

“Here,” he says, thrusting a leather pouch your way. “Your coin.”

You carefully take it from his tense, outstretched hand.

“Thank—”

The door slams shut.

“...you.”

The bustle from the town’s main square drifts through the air. With a sigh, you turn back the way you came. There are a few items you need to purchase before returning home.

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Like many times before, your offering of healing salves has vanished from where you’ve left it. But surprisingly, so has the fresh honey and milk. That hasn’t happened before. Believing this to be a good sign, you smile and walk back in the direction of your cottage.

You arrive just as the sun has nearly vanished beneath the horizon, before the more natural denizens of the forest have fully awakened. You slide the wooden security bar in front of the door and light your hearth, as you do every night. Your mouth stretches open in a wide yawn, but you ignore the temptation to bathe and curl up in your bed. There are some herbs that need to be hung for drying and your recent tincture needs to be strained. So first—

You hear a knock at the door.

Your brows knit together; you’re not expecting any company. The townsfolk know better than to venture into the forest so close to nighttime.One knock becomes two. Then three, four, five. Silence. You only hear the chirping and buzzing of the usual nocturnal insects. The tight grip on your cloak loosens. Perhaps the person has—

A dull “thwack” sounds against the door. It’s followed by a creaking wrench and a deep grunt of effort. Then again and again. You know the sounds intimately. You’ve passed by men from the town felling trees for firewood in the fall.

The person outside is breaking in.

You nearly lose your footing backing away from the source of the sound. Your gaze darts around your workshop. The knives you own aren’t meant for injuring or self-defense. They pale in comparison to a sharpened axe.

The axe bites into the door with more force. The wood groans. Splinters. The blade hits true again. You see a hint of it through the door. Your stomach roils.

But you manage to swallow your scream. You refuse to give the intruder any pleasure from the palpable fear gripping your chest. Even as your lungs struggle to draw in air, you whip around and grab one of your paring knives. You aim it towards the door and brace yourself for what’s to come next.

There’s a pained yell, mingled with a sharp curse. A growl then an animalistic scream, aimed away from your door. Grunts and groans, which you recognize as signs of struggling. They’re cut off by a weighty ‘thud’ and a lighter one that swiftly follows. The sounds of the forest are muted and you stand unharmed in one piece. But how?

With slow careful steps, you edge towards the damaged door. You place your paring knife on the floor and slide the security bar away, swiftly picking up your knife once the plank is secured.

The would-be intruder lays on the ground in a crumpled heap, their face pressed into the grass. An arrow pierces their flesh just beneath their shoulder, its fletching of hawk feathers ruffling in the night’s breeze. You can’t help but wince; for the shot to have fractured bone, the strength behind such an attack had to be enormous.

Looking up, you see the source of that strength.

Your savior stands half a stone’s throw away, cloaked in shadows. What little light remains from the sinking sun acts as a backlight, revealing his silhouette. You’re able to see the outline of their quiver and longbow. They’re of humanoid shape, but something about his head makes you uncertain.It’s then you realize the odd shapes framing his head are large, curled horns. And see the glowing, green pinpoints staring at you. Not human. But fae.

Neither of you move from where you stand. Part of you wants to, however, not wishing to incur the wrath of this Kindly Neighbor. But you’re frozen where you stand. Perhaps by his power.

“You are unharmed?”

The masculine voice would be soothing if not for the rasping edges surrounding it. He sounds injured, but you have no way of confirming your suspicions. You swallow against the nervous lump in your throat.

“Yes, I am. I…appreciate your aid and concern.”

The fae scoffs.

“Your thanks is misplaced,” he says. “I’m merely reinforcing the laws of the forest established by its ruler. Nothing more.”

A groan interrupts your thoughts on how to continue the conversation. The bulky, would-be intruder shifts his head against the ground, turning their tanned face away from the dirt. You’re able to make out his features thanks to your lit hearth, and find them familiar.Roderick isn’t the only one in town who is wary of you. But he is the most forward with his actions and words. The man lying near your home is one of his friends.

You stifle the curse building behind your tongue. The fae have never condoned vulgarity and you don’t wish to make things worse in this delicate situation.

“You should return indoors,” the fae says suddenly. “And find a way to deafen your hearing.”

A sharp chill rushes down your spine.

“May I ask why?”

You think you hear his grip clench tighter around his bow.

“This man’s actions have assured his death.”

Your stomach plummets as your mouth opens before you’re able to stop it.

“Please don’t!”

The unnatural silence amplifies the pounding in your head. The fae hisses, his body shifting in a stilted manner as he hunches forward to guard his middle. So he is injured.

“And why should I show him mercy?” he rasps out.

“This man has family and friends,” you say. “If they came to search for him, they could disrupt the peace of the town and the forest in general. I don’t wish for any innocents to accidentally bring the forest’s wrath onto their heads because of him.”

Because not even you, who many of the townsfolk believe to be powerful, wish to incur the wrath of the forest itself.

The fae says nothing in return and you fear he’ll deny your request. After a strong heartbeat, you speak again.

“Please do this and I’ll tend to your wounds until you fully heal.”

Your sense of logic catches up to you and decries your words as dangerous. You know what the Kindly Ones do for anyone must be repaid in kind by their own terms. But you don’t take them back. Because avoiding any harm befalling the townsfolk is better than having it seep into the town or fall upon it like sudden deluge. This thought alone keeps your gaze stalwart as the night settles around you.

“Done.”

The weight of your agreement settles beneath your skin and latches onto your bones. It’s a warning; if you don’t uphold your end of the bargain, the oath will find another way. One that’s more grievous.

The fae stalks over to the fallen man. His ram skull mask and long, inky, black hair coming into view. He slowly hefts Roderick’s friend up onto his feet with a claw-tipped hand. If it weren’t for the bloodied slash interrupting the pale white skin of his torso, you believe he could do so without effort. Surprisingly, Roderick’s friend groans then startles, crying out as he agitates his injury.

“Listen to me.”

An otherworldly reverberation bolster’s the fae voice. Roderick’s friend goes ramrod straight.

“You will run back home like the cur you are. You will tell the one who sent you how displeased I am. And if he should step foot in this forest, my hounds will hunt him down and rend him apart. Then come for you.”

The man screams as if facing death incarnate. And in a way, he is. The fae releases him and he runs down the path into town. The fae snorts at the sight, swaying unsteadily.

“One last thing,” he says, his gaze finding yours. “Do not remove my mask.”

He then falls over in a heap.

The forest comes to life again moments later, as if the last few occurrences never happened. You curse freely, the reality of your situation becoming apparent. Clenching your jaw so as not to hear your teeth chatter, you rush over towards the fae. The rhythmic rise and fall of his bloodstained chest makes you sigh with relief.

It takes a great deal of strength and energy—neither which you barely have due to the long day—to drag him inside. It’s only after securing your home again that you keep hauling him towards the rug before the hearth. Sweat beads your brow once you finish. One obstacle done. Checking over his injury reveals some stemming thanks to the clumpings of dried blood. That gives you enough time to create a makeshift bed and gather what you need. Warm water, pieces of cotton cloth, ointment and healing salve…

The blood that once stained his skin now clings to your hands. But thanks to your attentiveness, the injury is concealed beneath a generous amount of medicine and two layers of cotton cloth. Your patient shifts against the thick quilt and pillows beneath him. A good sign.

“You’ll need to remain here for a few days for the wound to heal properly.” You rub your clean forearm against your clammy brow. “Is that alright?”

“Whatever it takes to hide my moment of weakness,” he rumbles curtly.

You resist the urge to curl your lip. He’ll be just fine.

“Shall I leave the hearth lit for you?”

“No need. I can sleep without it.”

With an accepting hum, you place a blanket onto his brown breeches, ensuring it doesn’t touch his wound.

“If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to call. Pleasant dreams.”

A sense of wrongness almost overcomes you with him inside your home. Luckily, you’re able to stave it off. You know you’ve done the right thing. You’ve saved an innocent family from the attention of the fae. You’ve saved a guilty if foolish man from a pain worse than death. These realizations bolster you, becoming a calming mantra.As you finish straining your tincture and hanging your herbal bundles to dry, you feel as if you’re being watched. You refuse to turn and confirm this, your shoulders hunching.

“Conall,” he says.

You nearly drop the damp, clean sieve in your hand.

“Pardon?”

“You may call me Conall. It should help make my temporary stay easier.”

He falls silent immediately after. It’s only after ensuring the green pinpoints have vanished that you heat up your bathing water, douse the hearth, and retreat to your room.You hope he heals and leaves soon; time cannot pass fast enough. But you know it won’t.

Slumber pricks at your mind and it coaxes you into unawareness.

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The awkward tension between you and Conall rears its head the next day. He accepts the food, drink, and aid you provide without a word. Which you are more than satisfied with. The only thing that stirs your annoyance is his staring.

Perhaps Conall hasn’t seen a human up close going through their usual routine. Or he hasn’t been inside of a human home. Either way, you feel the vivid pinpoints that are his eyes follow you when your back is turned. The strain comes to a head two days later, when Conall’s injury has begun scaring.

“What is it?” you snap.

If Conall is surprised by your tense words, you can’t tell due to his mask. It only serves to infuriate you more.

“You’ve stared at me as if trying to look right through me, even though I’m doing what I can to ensure your health. Yes, this is part of our original bargain. But I will not be made into some object in my own home! Why is it that you stare so much?”

Hints of frigid fear attempt to douse your building irritation. You stifle them easily, expecting a snide response.

“You are worth looking at,” he says. “Especially in my eyes.”

A new heat replaces your searing temper. One that floods your cheeks and heats your blood. Your mouth snaps shut and you swiftly finish wrapping cotton cloth around his torso.

“Y-Your injury is nearly healed,” you say, standing up and hurrying towards your filled basin. Thrusting your hands into the chilly water does nothing to help. “You should be able to move easily now. Perhaps leave in a few more days.”

“That is good to know, healer.” You hear something akin to mirth in his tone. “Perhaps I will get to see more of that fire you have hidden before then.”

You flee moments later, as much as you’re later loathed to admit. Even worse, his words stay lodged in your thoughts even into the next day. But that isn’t the only change you notice.

Conall begins to compliment your cooking, sincerely stating how comforting it is. He even aids you while you wrap his torso with fresh cotton cloth by holding it in place. During one long day after a promised house call, you find him asleep before the lit hearth. As expected. But the bundle of vivid, wildflowers awaiting you at the table is new.

So is the smile it brings to your lips and how you welcome it.

Soon enough, Conall begins to ask you about your house calls. About seeing Edith weekly. About Lucas, the little boy with golden-brown skin whose illness you’re monitoring. It isn’t surprising when the talks veer into more personal territory. He asks about your favored places in the forest and in town. What sweets you prefer. How you gather the offerings you leave near the forest’s edge.

“But how did you…”

Your voice trails off as his gaze darts away from yours. You smile and place your spoon into your cooling stew.

“I take it my healing salve is of the greatest use to you?”

Conall hums, lifting another bite of dinner underneath the pointed edge of his mask.

“The honey and milk are not unwelcomed,” he murmurs. “Perhaps that can be said about other things as well.”

This time, his eyes meet yours. And with a small thrill, you realize the sight of them no longer frightens you. Before your bravery leaves, you reach across your table and place your hand on the back of his.

“I agree.”

Your smile falters. As much as you wish to not ruin this peaceful moment, reality nudges at your mind like always.

“You’ll be leaving soon, won’t you?”

Conall pulls his hand away. Only to gently thread his fingers through yours, being careful of his claws. But he still skims your skin with them, making your shiver.

“Yes. But I will return, if you wish to wait for me.”

The breath you take is silent, but heavy. You release it as you laugh, happiness bubbling up from inside you.

“I do. For however long it takes.”

That night, before bed, Conall calls for you. As you kneel beside his makeshift bed in your nightshirt, he lifts his hand and cups your cheek. With his other hand slowly lifting his mask, he closes the distance between you. His lips press against your skin, then trail down the side of your neck before resting at your pulse. He lingers there, then gently scrapes his sharp teeth against the area. Your self-control nearly shatters then and there as he pulls away, replacing his mask.

“When the morning comes, I will be gone.” You can hear the smirk in his voice. “But when I return, I plan to continue where I left off.”

You lift your own hand to touch the back of his.

“Can I know one thing before you go?”

He nods.

“Why is it you can’t remove your mask?”

His thumb stroking the warm skin of your cheek pauses stiffly before resuming.

“This...is my punishment for my recklessness,” he says. “It’s one of many shackles binding me to the Queen who rules over these lands and lands beneath the hills. As long as she holds them, I’ll never truly be free. All of my being will solely belong to her. My thoughts, my appearance, my strength, my skill. Anyone who attempts to remove those bindings will face her wrath. But no more.

“I have something precious to fight for and see again. Even if I have to challenge every member of her Hunt; even if I have to face her head on, I promise I will prevail. So that one day, you’ll find me standing before you, utterly freed.”

Hot tears slip from your eyes and he patiently wipes them away.

“I accept your bargain,” you say. He coaxes you closer, pulling you into a warm embrace. Even with your nightshirt acting as a barrier, you commit the feeling of what skin touches yours to memory.

Morning wakes you with a slight chill in the air. You lay on Conall’s makeshift bed a bit longer, inhaling the fading scent of him: deep and heady like the forest after a strong rain. This, too, you lock away in your heart as you stand to your feet. All that’s left to do is to wait.

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Days become weeks. And weeks turn into months. Soon enough, the harvesting festival is nearly here with the townsfolk preparing for the festivities. You still make your usual house calls, some to newer patients and others to familiar ones.

Little Lucas has long overcome his illness and is happy to play with the other children again. Edith always has a cup of herbal tea with honey ready for you, glad to talk to you about anything and everything. Roderick is nowhere to be found during these visits. But the few times you do glimpse him, he looks at you with muted fear. He may never change.

But at least now, he knows you aren’t to be trifled with.

That evening, after the festival, you finish creating another batch of ointment as the harvest moon illuminates the night sky. Fatigue slows your attempts at cleaning your tools, but you manage to finish the task. A series of knocks on your door startles you. Forgetfulness and drowsiness are to blame for you not securing your door.

Wary, you silently take the sharp dagger gifted to you by Edith a few weeks ago. You slowly walk towards the door and open it.

A shirtless man with vivid green pupils surrounded by black peers down at you. The scar running against the bridge of his straight, pale white nose nearly interrupts his entire face. One of the pointed tips of his ears is missing, replaced by a healing scab. But it and its twin are framed by familiar curling horns as is his head. His ragged yet long inky, black hair shifts as he sways. A wet gasp tears from your throat as he pitches forward and you break his fall.

“Conall!”

He buries his nose into the juncture of your neck and shoulder. The hot breath he releases is tempered with a soft kiss on your skin.

“How I’ve missed this scent.”

A laugh slips out of you before you can stop it. You hold him close, sniffling against your tears.

“It seems I’m injured yet again,” he mutters wryly, sounding tired.

You place a hand against your beloved Conall’s cheek as he grins, being careful of the green bruising.

“I’ll take care of you,” you say. “If you’ll let me.”

The weight of your promise settles into your bones, palpable but not unpleasant. It even sends a shiver down your spine. Or is that caused by Conall’s warm smile?

You’re not sure. But at this moment, you don’t mind not knowing. Not as you close the distance between the two of you. Before the warmth of his kiss is all you know, he whispers against your skin.

“As long as I can do the same for you.”

#monster boyfriend #monster/human #monster romance #exophilia #fae boyfriend #fairy #fair folk #200 follower raffle #I hope you all enjoy!#fem reader #female reader

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captainrexisboo · 4 years

Text

In A Single Night

Here it is, my lads and ladies and lovers. Only six hours after posting the promo lmao. Sitting at 1685 words, this is the first chapter to my WereRex AU (accidentally prompted by this ask), as well as my first installation of my Monster!Clones series (because apparently I have no self control).

This specific AU takes place during some vague historical time period, outside the Star Wars universe. More supernatural and magic than sci-fi. It is a romance! But, I don’t think it’ll be explicit. There will be very loose reminiscing of lovemaking, but no detail will be shared (yet- I mean c’mon, it’s me).

In this chapter, there will be warnings such as: body horror (not gore tho), the act of pinning, An Anxiety Attack, and An Actual Attack (again, no gore), and ANGST

Tag list will be in the replies, let me know if you would like to be added! Thank you all for your support, and as always any comments are welcome!!! Happy reading!!!

Edit: link to pt2

“Rex!”

Your whispered shout cut sharply through the still night air, not daring to be any louder. You’re not sure what you were afraid of, there was nothing in the woods to fear- except for the reason you were there to begin with. The pressure of the task at hand made your head swim, and the anxiety from terror made your hands shake, thinking of what you witnessed, your grandmother’s age-old guidance, and Cody’s blessing, it all came crashing down onto you in frantic waves.

You forced down a breath, the air scratching down your dried throat. Eyes frantic, you glanced in every direction, praying you found him before he found you. Your grip tightened on the rim of the helmet- of his helmet- and you stared into the blue jaig eyes that graced the front of the dome. It was the only bit of armor you brought with you, the most familiar to use, the only other clothes being his nightwear. The entire armored set and flowing blue mantle that he wore about the castle would’ve been too much to carry, too heavy. You needed to be able to move quickly, which was already proving difficult in the dense underbrush of the overgrown forest that he had escaped into, the leaves and low branches making your trek much noisier than you would have preferred. Dried twigs snapped under your boots, and every rustle from a night critter or chirps from various insects made you spin around with shoulders raised, terrified but ready to commit to the mission at hand- bring Captain Rex home.

You couldn’t believe it when only hours ago you witnessed the esteemed Captain fall into a frantic heap into the grass, a terrible aching cry ripping from his throat at the edge of town, the giant archway of the tall brick barrier that surrounded the village framing his crumpled body. He had been waiting for you, he had asked to meet under the light of the moon tonight while he was on break from patrol, just outside the town gates. You were about to run to the aid of your lover when something cold ran down your spine. An instinct to stop, stay out of sight- you’re unsure if it was the force of the raw wail or the way he seemed to be moving under his jacket...as if the muscles formed underneath his skin were realigning, morphing, writhing...growing.

You stood back, frozen, breathless. You couldn’t tear your widening eyes away. Especially when you saw the thick fabric of his pristine white coat begin to tear and rip, partially from the swelling of his form, but also shredding from the clawing of his shaking hands, as if the material were burning him and he needed it off as soon as possible. Underneath, instead of the tanned expanse of scarred skin you thought you knew so well, was a coating of shining blond hair, almost a soft golden in the glinting moonlight. His screaming had subsided, but you could still hear his rough, ragged, deep breathing, even from how far away you were. His grunting and groaning were painful, you could tell his throat was already scarring from the harmful strain of voice, and yet he still found it in himself to howl into the night sky, throwing his head back in a gruesome, bitter ballad to the full moon above you. As the furious sound waned from him, you could see his form slacken in relief. His breathing was heavy, laced with an outraged growling. He moved from being lurched over on his knees to gaining onto his haunches. Where you thought he would be shaky, you noticed him channeling whatever was left of himself into standing up with his signature battle-ready grace.

He stood tall, like usual...but with an extra two feet added to his height. The blond coating of, not hair, but thick, coarse fur, extended over his limbs, bristling in the cool of the night. His form not only stood taller, but also gave him a wider stance, even with hunched shoulders he was hulking, skin nearly ripping at the sudden growth. He rolled his neck and shoulders back, the sudden crack of settling bones finally bringing your lungs back to life as you took a gasping breath, a single stumbling step backwards- you were too loud. He whipped his head around to face you with a wild snarl, bounding to you, covering nearly two hundred meters in a matter of seconds. You shrieked, falling back onto the uneven cobblestone as he was suddenly on top of you, caging you beneath him in his new massive form, your heart hammering as whimpers stuttered past your quivering lips, his hot breath washing over your face, claws cracking into the hard rock next to your cheeks, threatening to cut at your hair.

His plush, bow-shaped lips curled over to showcase protruding fangs, mere inches away from your face as you flattened yourself against the cold hard ground, practically trying to will yourself beneath the surface before the unthinkable could happen. His face kept most of his shape, nose a little longer, a little pointed upwards, and jaw widened as if to take mauling bites out of anything- no, out of anyone. His normally cleanly shaven face was covered in the same fur as the rest of him, except for where his brows had been. The fur there was almost forming something like a dark mask, making a T-shape over his eyes and nose. All of this you could take in stride as he sniffed over you, you could stand any of this transformation as he kept you trapped below him, but it was his eyes that had you quaking.

His kind, honeyed stare, the irises that held such adoration and desire for you as you whispered promises of love and devotion to each other behind dark corners and between soft bed sheets- that was gone. No trace of your dearest paramour to be found. Instead it was a fiery golden gaze, a purely carnal type of hunger, and for what you couldn’t be sure. His pupils had shrunk into pinpoints, surveying you like a piece of meat, like a meal. He opened his mouth with a throaty growl, baring his teeth to you even more, craning down to your neck with thick saliva dripping from his maw. As his teeth skimmed over your flesh, just before they could pierce through, is when you finally found your voice, previously dammed from terror, choking out a broken, “Rex, please…”

He paused at his name. Holding over you, as still as the hanging moon, upright ear twitching in response to your begging. Your breath shakes in anticipation, tremors running through your otherwise petrified body. He rears his head back harshly, suddenly, letting out a grim bark, and you screw your eyes shut tight to brace for the searing pain of your ripping flesh...that never comes. After a thick moment of watching the synapses of nerves spark behind your eyelids, you blink them open, slowly shifting up onto trembling elbows just in time to see him disappear into the shadows of the trees.

You’re terrified.

You want to cry.

You don’t understand what’s happening, so you stay lying on the ground, curling in on yourself as you silently sob out his name. You roll to your side, letting fat tears stream down your face, throwing your hand over your mouth as you push out heaving breaths, seeing the sharply pierced stone next to your head, splintering cracks coming from each hole at the force with which they were made. You laid there for what felt like hours, alone, shaking, small under the laughing moon. Emotion wracked through you, storming through your mind and body until you were left rasping for precious oxygen, completely emptied of your tears, the streaks having marked their pathway down your cheeks and neck to under the collar of your shirt.

Something whispers at the back of your mind as you’re coming down from your rush, a suddenly clear vision of your childhood, your grandmother telling you stories of shapeshifting beasts. Simultaneously man and monster, both in body and soul. You had asked her before she tucked you into bed once, while you were throwing on the covers and trying to blink away fatigue to finish the tall tale, “Is there any way to change them back? Aren’t they still human under their fur?”

She looked wistful then, staring out the window of your bedside, looking up into the moon. A sensitive shine came across her gaze, delicately reflecting the candlelight as she spoke so quietly you had to strain to hear her, even in the hush of your bedroom.

“If there’s someone who loves the beast enough, despite knowing their cursed form, underneath the light of the stars they can present the fanged horror with clothes-”

“Clothes? Grandmere, that doesn’t sound very-”

“Very what? Extravagant? Magical?” she chuckled, a little broken, wiping away sitting tears on her lashes, “Child, love is the most magical thing in the world. If it’s love in the purest form, telling the beast to come home, it will leave it’s brutish whims behind and dutifully follow it’s love back to the safety of a warm bed.”

She touched the garish scar you knew hid under her blouse, drawing in a sharp, shaking breath as her fingers traced the marred pink flesh of her shoulder, “If it’s not true… they’ll leave you. They’ll lose their last bit of humanity in that moment. Make you wish you had spared the energy you’d used to find them to begin with.”

You crash back into reality, her warning sitting heavy in your mind. You finally sat up, still in the middle of the empty road, surrounded by the dark windows of closed shops showing you your ragged reflection. You dusted off, getting onto wobbling legs before stalking off towards the castle. More specifically, the soldiers’ dormitory.

If the memory held any truth, then you didn’t have much time. You had to find his brother.

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stevenbasic · 4 years

Photo

...so here we are.

”...you’re tripping me!”

“I am not tripping you…” I said, as I watched her quizzically examine her keycard, which she had just pulled from her purse as we stumbled down the fifth-floor hallway, towards her room, “you’re just...really drunk.”

“I am…” she said, voice suddenly serious, playfully so, “I really am…”

And then she laughed like a banshee...

”Melissa shhhhh…!” I hushed her - a few drinks deeper than I thought I’d be this evening myself and trying to keep from laughing, “people might be sleeping..!”

“Ppppsssfhh… “ she sputtered, slipping her keycard into the top of her dress and waving me off dismissively, strutting ahead of me several paces. I watched her totter on her huge heels, admiring the sway of her womanly hips even in her drunken state. “It was sooo fun tonight with the band,” she said, again entirely too loudly, raising her hands above her head, now starting to slowly writhe to her own music as she walked.

”You were certainly having a good time,” I commented, outright staring now at her ass as she rolled it lasciviously, dancing by herself. In her skintight dress her cheeks shook with their own breathtaking swagger, more aggressively wanton than anything she had done earlier, and now entirely for my benefit. She was just being playful, she was sloshes out of her mind, but the end result was earthshaking, jaw-dropping.

As she strutted, her swollen glutes slid up and down in syncopated rhythm stretching the material of her dress to the limit with every hit of the unheard bass. Three horizontal folds were now stretched across the apex of her butt, bunching the inadequate fabric with every surge and gyration of her deliciously voluptuous rear. I watched as her dress rode further up her thighs until she giggled, reached behind herself, and pulled the hem back down.

“Dr J were you looking at my butt when I was dancing tonight?” she asked, plainly.

“What?? When?!?” I stammered, remembering pointedly the times earlier when I’d been doing just that, “N-no..!”

“It’s really, really filled out recently,” she continued, all the while popping and gyrating her womanly hips to an unheard beat, causing her powerful looking glutes to bounce back into action. Oh god, they practically had their own gravitational pull and despite myself I still couldn’t look away. “I mean, look - itz a tank -” With that she shook her impressive glutes even more aggressively, in an earthquake of flesh and muscle, back and forth, back and forth, punctuating each swing of her hips with a “Boom, Boom, Boom!”

“M-Melissa..!” I implored, trying to laugh, and trying not to moan...or faint - she may have more muscle in that rear than I have in my whole body - “Someone might see!”

At that she laughed and turned back, eyes half-lidded, and stepped right up to me as she spoke up. ”Oh shusssh it’s jush us...” she chided, throwing her arms heavily around my neck and looking down at me with a sozzled twinkle in her eyes, “...shorty.”

She giggled.

I looked up at her. Christ, she was so tall: with her heels, six-six? More? I shuddered, immediately feeling so short, so small, eyes right at her collarbone, at the rings of her gaudy golden necklace. She tilted her chin up, making herself seem taller still, and peered down her nose at me.

I felt a sudden surge of her perfume overtake me.

“How’z the air down there?” she giggled, and played her fingers through my hair. I struggled, but suddenly felt myself unable to fight it: I glanced down into her breasts.

Fuck...me.

My heart pounding, I looked back up at her. I saw it in her eyes: her energy was wild, drunken, unpredictable. She seemed to be holding herself back on a short leash, albeit tenuously. If I was going to be the one to stop things, it should be now.

Or, well...soon.

“Here,” she slurred, as suddenly she reached behind herself, steadying her weight on my shoulder with her other hand. Half-struggling in her inebriation, she clumsily removed one shoe, then the other. She threw her arms again over my shoulders, big sparkly stripper-heel sandals dangling behind my head from her fingers. Now, with her barefoot, we were a little more face-to-face.

Who am I kidding?

“There we go…” she purred, still looking down into my eyes, “...that better?”

“s-s-sure…” I stammered. Truthfully, she was still a good five (or more..?) inches taller than me, but at least I felt less...dwarfed. Eyes at her chin, nearly her big, brightly-painted lips...which she pursed for me in a drunken air-kiss.

“Mwah!” she smooched...and then she did it again. She pursed her lips - slowly, more dramatically this time - into a big, glossy kiss, pausing, letting me look at it, and then smacked the air between us again. “Mwah! Mwah! Mwah!”

Then she cackled like a crazy lady.

She laughed, turned, and draped her left arm over my shoulders, her right around my middle. She glomped onto me, putting her - ooof - weight on me, and announced: “Now...where’s my room?”

“You’re so drunk, Melissa,” I replied, as I slowly began again to guide her down the hallway, acutely aware of the press of her big, soft breasts into the back of my right arm.

“It’ss your own fault...“ she slurred, “you an’ that...bartender, you wanted to get me drunk didn’t you? <giggle!>” She was stepping clumsily, feet entangled in mine.

“Oh my god am I going to have to carry you?" I joked, struggling to keep her upright, keep her from listing into the wall. Jesus she was heavy.

"haha yes!!" she laughed, suddenly putting both arms around my neck and leaning into me, putting her full body wei-

Aaahhhgh..!!

“Ohhhhahahaha!!” she laughed pulling me down. We fell right over, me careening into the wall on my left, both of us crumpling to the ground in an awkward heap, she on top of me.

“Melissa..!!”

Her laughter filled the hallway. “Am I that big??” she screeched, laughing again and, as she slowly started to extricate, to untangle her limbs from mine, she got to her knees, then to a crouch. She offered me a hand, as I was still righting myself. I took it and, as she began to stand, she told me “Looks like I should be the one carrying YOU!"

As soon as I got to my feet, I was swept off them.

"WHoOOAhhhh...!" I cried, as Melissa reached her right arm under my knees, her left supporting my back, and scooped me off the floor. Suddenly I was in her arms, cradled to her like a-

“Melissa!!” I exclaimed, shocked. How is she..?!?

“Hush now, mommys got you!” she laughed, hoisting me up a bit more, settling my frame in her arms, and setting off again in a walk. “You just shush and let her take you home!”

“Stop..!” I cried, at once both humiliated at my new situation - I was being carried like a child by my new Office Manager - and awestruck. How strong is this woman?!? “Melissa put me down!!”

“You’re so light!” she marveled, as she strode with shocking ease down the hall, bearing me with less effort than seemed possible, “How much do you weigh??”

“I, uh, I d-dunno…” I answered, finding myself flabbergasted into submission by this show of strength, “like...o-one fifty?” The power in her arms and the soft press of her chest into my right side had cowed me, and I was now passively letting her carry me, arms pinned helplessly. I looked down the hall, her door was approaching. We didn’t have far to go, and I coul-

”Omigod I outweigh you by almost forty pounds,” she crowed, “and...I just keep getting bigger…and bigger...and <hic!> bigger...<giggle!>”

I looked up at her, she down at me, her thick dark hair framing her face. That hiccup had shook my whole body. She was smiling, obviously amused at the whole situation, while I was thinking-

i’m still losing weight…

“Here we are, my roooooom…” she announced, coming to a halt and turning to the door, number 536. She made no effort to put me down, and merely held me (and her shoes, still) as she asked “Get my key for me?”

“Wh-wh…?” I stammered, confused, “Wh-where?”

“Riiight there,” she said, looking down at her chest which - squashed into my right arm and side - bulged up over her top. And held her keycard. It was tucked into the bodice of her dress. I could just see the tip of it, white edge peeking just shy of where it lay, slipped between the dress’ neckline and her right breast.

Oh no I c-can’t...

“It’s okay...they won’t bite,” she chuckled, and waited for my next move. She hoisted me again, settling me more firmly in her arms, and giggled at my dilemma - I was obviously too frozen by my meekness and modesty to just reach for her tits. “C’mon…” she urged, stifling a giggle, “you can do it…”

I pulled my left arm as free as I could and, heart racing, summoned my courage and gingerly reached for the card. Just as I did, she mischievously took a sudden deep breath, inflating herself up inside her soft, elastic dress just to make my task more difficult. Lord god I couldn’t help but goggle as her huge boobs bulged.. “Melissa…” I complained, hearing myself whine but unable to tear my eyes away. She only laughed at my plight and encouraged me again.

“Itz right there, sweetie…” she cooed, and finally I was able to pinch it, take hold of it without touching her skin, and slide it out while she giggled again at my dilemma. I held the card aloft and, as she crouched a bit for me, slid the card into the lock to unbolt the latch.

“Good boy!” she praised, managing with her right hand to grab the handle and push open the door. With me in her arms, she stepped into the room. “We’re home..!” she announced, as the door closed on its own behind us, with a portentous <thud>.

As she walked us in I saw that her room, of course, looked a lot like mine, just as a mirror image. A single king sized bed dominated the main space, a good-sized flat screen hung from the wall over a long set of drawers. A single chair with a small table sat in the corner, next to the floor-length shades, which had been drawn. The rooms here at the hotel were done in a modern-beachy style, if there is such a thing, sort of like the rest of the resort.

Currently, the lighting was dim, the covers pulled down and pillows arranged: touches from the staff that likely visited over the past few hours. Melissa walked us right up to the bed and, unceremoniously, dumped me onto it, head up near the pillows. I bounced a little on my back; the mattress was quite firm.

Immediately I started protesting. “I should go,” I said, starting to sit up but not moving from my position; Melissa had leaned over the bed, near my feet.

”No no no..! <hic> You need to relax..!”” she charged, as she grabbed one foot and began to pull my shoe from me.

“Uhh...M-Melissa..?” I queried, watching her as she dropped one shoe, and began working on the other, “I...I think I’d best-”

“Shhh, shhh….” she directed, yanking the second shoe off me, tossing it aside, “therrrrre….now you can’t tell me this doesn’t feel better…” She stood up, blew a lock of hair off her face, and-

Jumped on top of me!?!

“MELISSA!”

The bed shook, and she was laughing, as she’d just launched herself off her feet and fell onto the bed with me. I was knocked back as she’d landed at my right side, her arms straddling me, and she immediately fell down, her head hitting my chest, resting itself up near my shoulder.

“Let’s snuggle…” she cooed, purring and clucking, her nose nuzzling into my neck. She was drunk, sooooo drunk; she would of course never be this physically affectionate normally. This was beyond the pale.

“M-M-Melissa…” I began, trying to mount a defense but with the soft press of her body against mine: the face nestling into me, the strong arms around my thin chest, the big breasts squashed into my side and now a huge, long leg draped across my hips...she had me not only immobile but struck helpless. My heart raced. This was too dangerous, too much, but I was paralyzed by my own weakness, unable to move a muscle.

“MMMmmmm thisss feels so nice....” she purred, smacking her lips and rubbing her nose up my throat, “just the two of us, together, finally. I’m so happy…”

Good god I can’t let this happen, I can’t, I thought, the repercussions of infidelity storming through my brain, but being drowned out themselves by the temptations of Melissa’s body, the scent of her hair, the thought, the idea, the possibility of her peeling that dress down and-

Oh my god, what’s happening…? Her leg had found its way on top of me and was moving towards - jesus, I was hard. If that knee or thigh came to- Stop it! I told myself, Stop!

I shifted myself, turning my hips away from her, trying to avoid her leg. She moved, up my body a bit, her leg rubbing against me, still trying to find purchase, find something. She’s doing this on purpose… Jesus just the thought of that drove me harder, swelling me up towards my belly. I can’t let her feel...

In a show of resolve I didn’t know I had, I turned more, away from her to my left, flipping myself onto my left side. to shield myself. I faced away from her, bit my lower lip. My eyes were watering with the effort.

I heard her whine behind me - “awwww…” - but then, undaunted, she cuddled up closer, squashing her big, soft breasts into my back and spooning me. She raised herself up just enough to whisper directly into my left ear.

“Remem...ember when we did the pictures…? On the beach..?” she breathed, her voice so close, filling my head and making my loins clench.

I tried to keep from moaning, and was able to stutter back. “Y-yeah, like...three d-days ago..?” I was obviously aroused, she must have known that. In her drunkenness, she either didn’t care or just found this incredibly amusing.

”Did you have funnnn?” she asked, still purring into my ear. The buzz of her sozzled voice was thrilling, so intimate, and again I nearly groaned.

“y-yeah I did….” I replied, thinking I should just stay quiet, thinking that - if I just waited here, immobile, quietly - maybe she would slowly fall asleep, pass out. But...god help me, I didn’t. Instead, I kept talking. “...I can’t believe how much...different you look, now, compared to back then…” fuck what am I doing…?

“You mean my boobs are bigger?” she said plainly, voice popping in my ear. I could hear her smile, and felt her nose nuzzle my hair.

Again - only because she was drunk, I continued. “W-well...y-y-yes…”

”You’re right,” she purred, so drunk, “They’re soooooooo much bigger. I was maybe a triple-D back then, or an E or something...I dunno….but now I’m…”

Her voice trailed off...but she was still breathing into my ear. Almost imperceptibly, I felt her press her breasts into my shoulders.

“Y-y-you’re w-what…?” I peeped. I couldn’t believe I was asking this.

”Omigod I don’ even know…” she giggled, “an H? Like an H-cup now? But even those, my new ones….they’re sooo tight now…”

“R-r-really..?” I asked, sounding entirely too curious, too eager.

She paused.

”Soooo Dr J…” she began again, “while we were doing the pictures...how you had to keep going into the water? Was that because you kept getting a bonerrrr..?”

“What???” I exclaimed, shocked, “Melissa!!!”

“Well...was it??” she giggled, relentless and pressing in closer.

“Melissa! No!!!” yes.

“Oh c’mon...it’s okay..!” she laughed, starting to sit up a little behind me, “I know it’s hard to hide. Randi told me…”

“Randi told you what??” Oh my god this is a nightmare!

”How...y’know...big you are <giggle!>” she pressed, pausing, looking down at me, “So...how big are you?”

”MELISSA!!!”

“C’mon, tell me!” she cried, playfully, sitting up more and putting her hands on my hip to start to pull them tow-

Abruptly, defensively, I turned onto my stomach, facing the headboard and biting my lip again. I heard her sign in amused frustration.

“Melissa I can’t-”

”Oh shush...we’re frien’s, right?” she persisted, slumping herself again down next to me, “And it’s juss us here…” She put her mouth right next to my ear again, and bit my lobe impishly.

”Melissa this is so i-inappr-“

”....And I just told you how big I was...creepy guys are constantly asking my, like, bra size,” she continued, unvexed, her voice slurring, perceptibly slowing down, “I’ll tell you anythingg. That my waist is twenty-two inches, my hips are thirty-eight. I’m six-one, a hundred and eighty...eight..poundsss...”

Jesus christ. I had to fight to keep myself from rutting my now fully stiff shaft into the mattress, dry humping the bed.

“So, c’mon...you tell me now....how big is it?” Her voice was getting more sleepy.

”oh my god…”

”I know...you, you’re such a gentleman…” she drawled, “I mean I was so drunk tonight you could have totally taken advantage of me...you’re such a good...husband...”

With a pause, as I lay there on my belly tense and stock-stiff, she paused, drunkenly switching gears.

“I’m sorry your wife is so mean...” she whispered, “I’m sorry she’s...the way she is...to you…”

I lay frozen.

"If you were myyy husband I'd…well, I’d be differenttt..”

She was slurring.

“You wouldn have to work so hhard...”

I shuddered as she...oh christ...started kissing my ear, tenderly, gently. God help me I didn’t back away.

“I wouldn' let you lift a finger..."

Oh my god, Melissa...Melissa...

"...and I'd have a million babies for you."

That did it. “M-Melissa…” I whispered, as I turned to her with my lips…

She had passed out.

============================

BIG help from Doubleburger, vman2000, kjm7997 and Antares. And apologies that - tho I did the morph myself on the first image - I don’t know who did the original morph in the second. Plz advise!

#Growing Into the Job

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nightingaletrash · 3 years

Text

For you? Anything

AO3

“I will arrange an audience with the Blacksmith’s Association and we can clear up this tax dispute in no time. Two or three days of negotiation ought to settle it.”

Logan was struggling to keep his eyes open. Maybe it was because he’d spent four years as King trying to prepare Albion for war, and as such had dealt with such quibbling disputes with brute force. Or maybe five years of war prep had simply alienated him from the simple minutiae of day-to-day business and rendered it impossibly boring.

Peace, he had found, did not feel like peace. It felt more like anticipation. A breath between battles, and merely a pause before some new threat loomed on the horizon, ready to be fought. Once the illusion was shattered, nothing ever truly restored it, and anything that didn’t seem to contribute to a greater goal seemed pointless or wasteful.

He found himself understanding his mother a little better with every passing year.

At least he wasn’t the only one struggling. Lorna’s head had drooped no less than three times in the last five seconds and her dark eyes fluttered in an attempt to stay open. Truly, the most fearsome foe the two siblings had faced since the Darkness’ defeat was the unending drone of Hobson’s voice.

“Now, onto much more important matters: the hiring of a new head gardener. As you know, the rose bushes this year have suffered some minor discomfort due to the inclement weather and less than salubrious soil management. I’ve arranged an interview process that should take no more than eight weeks, starting tomorrow morning. It should make for a very stimulating two months.”

Logan glanced down at Lorna and jerked his head as if to say ‘I’ll catch you up on the details later.’ She gave him a grateful albeit weary smile and finally let her eyes slide shut as she slumped into the throne, letting her exhaustion overtake her.

Logan forcefully straightened his back and reasserted his focus onto Hobson, who didn’t seem to notice her Majesty clocking out of the conversation, and he tried his best to hang onto the aide’s every word. It was perhaps the greatest obstacle he’d had to overcome as Royal Advisor.

The hours crawled by and the sun began to sink lower and lower in the sky. Servants stole their way into the throne room to replace candles that had burned too low, sparing glances at their dozing Queen, though they quickly hurried away after receiving a pointed look from Logan, who managed to remain awake, attentive, and on his feet which were beginning to ache.

And somehow, even as nightfall finally arrived, Hobson was still talking and working his way through that damned list of his.

“But lest we forget matters of state, we really ought to begin a more considered census of the population. Estimates of the number of citizens vary widely.”

Something in Logan’s gut jerked and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Something - he wasn’t sure what - was very wrong. Suddenly listening to Hobson was no longer his focus. He scanned the room for any sign, any clue to support the sudden feeling of unease that had overcome him.

Nothing immediately jumped out. The most recent rotation of guards were all stood at attention, weapons ready at hand. The doors didn’t open, there was nothing to suggest any intrusion whatsoever… Until his gaze wandered upwards.

“I suggest each one come to the throne room and has a little chat with you while I count them-”

With a flick of his wrist, Logan drew his sword and deflected the blade away from the throne - away from Lorna. It flew across the room and bounced harmlessly across the carpet. Hobson yelped and dived for the cover of the throne as Lorna flinched awake, staring wildly around for the threat that Logan had already spotted.

A bald, scarred man dressed in dark leathers and with a sword sheathed on his back. He scowled at Logan, backed up and then leapt down to the ground, tucking and rolling across the floor. He drew his sword and rose to his feet in a readied stance. This was a man with experience and training. An assassin in every sense of the word.

“Is it too late for an audience, my Queen?” he spat, glaring at Lorna.

Logan moved to block her from sight, keeping his weapon trained on the assassin as the guards drew their rifles.

“Surrender now and you may live long enough to receive a trial,” he said coldly.

The assassin spat.

“I’ve come here to fulfill my destiny. To get revenge for everything you’ve done.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed.

“If you want revenge, I think you’ll find I’m the one you’re after,” he growled, gripping his sword tightly. “But you will leave my sister out of it.”

There was a pause, and then the assassin said, “no. I don’t think I will.”

He lunged faster than expected and swung hard, giving Logan barely a moment to parry the blow. Then he attacked again, jabbing and swinging with the sort of mastery that took years to perfect, and with all the anger one might expect from a vengeful madman.

But he was also outnumbered. Logan parried another blow and smashed the pomel of his sword into the assassin’s nose, sending him staggering backwards. He hung back a moment, giving the guards a chance to aim and fire.

There was a deafening crack of multiple gunshots, but the assassin rolled back, skirting out of the path of the bullets before catching one of the guardsmen between the eyes with a throwing knife. The guard crumpled into a heap, and the assassin lunged for Logan once more.

Their blades locked, and the assassin stared pointedly over Logan’s shoulder.

“Did you think you were safe here, your Majesty?” he jeered. “Did you think that your guards could protect you?”

Logan forced him back, determined to put the assassin on the back foot.

“I know all about guards,” he continued regardless, dropping and rolling backwards, putting distance between himself and Logan. “They couldn’t keep me in the Keep, and they couldn’t keep me out of your castle!”

Another throwing knife aimed to catch a second guard in the throat, but it was knocked out of the air with a ringing gunshot.

Logan knew better than to take his eyes off of his adversary, but he knew Lorna had been the one to shoot it down. Instead he lunged, knocking the assassin’s blade to one side and then making to run him through. But the assassin simply dropped his sword and rolled in the opposite direction, pulling out a switchblade. There was a piercing screech as the blade glanced over Logan’s chestplate.

“I am the voice of change!” the assassin declared. “I am the voice of a revolution!”

Another bullet skimmed past Logan and struck the assassin in the thigh. He yelled as his leg gave out under him in a burst of blood and gunpowder, and he scrambled to regain his balance. Logan didn’t let him.

Instead he kicked the switchblade from the assassin’s hand, pressed his foot hard on his wrist, and plunged his sword through his sternum.

There was no deafening scream or wail of pain. It was like all the air had just gone out of him in a small gasp, his mouth forming a small ‘o’ as his eyes rolled back into his head. He floundered weakly on the floor, a hand grasping at the blade in a vain attempt to pull it out.

Logan decided to save him the trouble.

With a swift twist, the blade came free and the assassin lay there, gasping for breath. And yet he still found the strength to lift his head.

“You think you’re safe now? That your precious sister is safe?” he spluttered through a mouthful of blood, bubbles forming at his lips. “I am the first of many. We will kill you, both of you, in the end.”

He fell limp and Logan stepped over him. Lorna lowered her rifle, her face white with shock. Funny. After facing the Crawler, it was hard to imagine that anything could surprise her anymore-

A hand clamped on his ankle with a murderous desperation, and before he could react to stop it, a dagger sunk into the flesh of his hip. His eyes bulged as he stared down at the assassin, who grinned up at him through bloody teeth and a glare filled with malicious glee.

“And the end will be sooner than you think!”

A guard sprinted forward, shoving Logan aside before promptly drilling the assassin between the eyes. But the damage was already done. The blade came free, clattering to the ground as Logan stumbled and collapsed, pressing a hand to his wound.

It burned, by the Light it burned! He’d never been one to panic unnecessarily, but the pain did not dull and it only furthered the onset of fear blossoming in his chest. The pain only grew, spreading and burning until he was writhing on the ground, pleading for the agony to stop.

“-poisoned blade, your Majesty-”

“I know, Hobson! Fetch the healers-”

Lorna was at his side, Hobson at her shoulder. She was gripping his hip, putting pressure on his wound as the aide vanished from his swimming vision.

“-on, Logan, help’s-”

Sweat was already beading his forehead and he couldn’t understand a word she was saying. Was he dying? Light, please, he didn’t want to die. Not now. Not after all of this.

“-unidentified ship in the harbour-”

“-can wait until- -healer for my brother-”

“Understood. Have- -until her- -to receive-”

He couldn’t follow. His vision was blotted and his blood was on fire. A cool hand cradled his face and for a brief moment in his delirium, he thought it was his mother. But that wasn’t right because his mother was dead. Like Walter, his father. And tonight- Light, tonight they had tried to take his little sister too. Why did the Light want his family so badly? Why?

When he awoke days later, he was in his room with no recollection of sobbing in his sister’s arm as the poison’s agony wracked his body, but he could feel the after effects. He’d not felt so weak since his encounter with the Darkness. He could barely lift his head, barely even speak. His wound hurt with every movement, even the slightest shift of the sheets or coil of his muscles, causing a wave of pain to radiate out from his hip, and there was little the healers could do than continue to provide the necessary potions every few hours.

When he was finally able to speak without slurring into unintelligible nonsense, he asked for his sister. He was met with disappointment.

She had gone to Ravenscar, the healers told him. There was a situation involving some escapees, but they knew nothing else for the time being. Her Majesty would be back as soon as possible, but he would need to rest in the meantime. But rest assured, the watch had been tripled and the castle secured. He was safe now.

Which was useless to him because Lorna wasn’t.

He had never told her about Ravenscar. He’d told himself that he would after the Crawler was defeated. But then he didn’t. Something new would come up and he decided to put it off a while longer. The subject of their mother’s rose bushes had taken priority over that damned island. And he knew why it hadn’t come up before now.

Because if she knew, it was another problem she’d need to fix. If she knew, it was another reason to hate him. If she knew, she might decide he didn’t deserve to live after all.

Cowardly. So bloody cowardly. What would his mother think if she could see him like this, if she could see that she had raised a coward to be King? To see her first born reduced to a sobbing mess over every little thing he realised he’d gotten wrong.

He wasn’t sure if it was his brush with death or if it was some effect of the poison that was playing havoc with his emotional state, but he was trapped with his thoughts and no means of assuaging them. The only person he could bring himself to trust was Lorna, and Lorna wasn’t here. She was on Ravenscar, where people wanted her dead because of him, and that realisation wracked his still-healing body with a fresh wave of sobs.

It seemed like an eternity of living the same day over and over again. Wake up, be tended to, cry over everything, regain control for another check up, cry some more, then fall asleep when he exhausted himself from crying. Over and over again, with little to no variation.

Finally there was a knock at the door and it wasn’t a healer that stepped inside.

“Logan.”

He stared for a long few seconds, then made to push himself up to greet his sister. His arms, however, seemed to have forgotten all of their strength, and at best he managed to accomplish an undignified flop.

Lorna had the good grace to let it go unmentioned, and instead sat down beside him on the bed. She brushed a hand through his hair, smoothing is back, and then glanced him over.

“You look terrible,” she laughed, a weak smile tugging at her lips. “But I’ll take that over the alternative.”

The unspoken word hovered in the air, but Logan had no interest in plucking it out of the air and putting it in his own mouth. Besides she wasn’t wrong. He felt terrible, so he had to look it too. Weak, unkempt, sick to his stomach. His body was healing, but the pace was a slow one.

“I feel it,” he mumbled. “Lorn… about Ravenscar-”

She cut him off with a shake of her head.

“We can talk about it when you’re feeling better,” she said gently. “Just rest, Logan. There’s no point in arguing about what’s already done.”

His eyes burned and he scraped together what little strength he’d recovered to raise his arms in an attempt to pull her into a hug. Luckily she got the idea and met him halfway. She gathered him up into her arms and held him gently as she buried a hand in his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled thickly as the tears rolled down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she murmured back, her voice gentle but firm. “I’m here now.”

#nightingale writes #fable 3 #king logan #hobw #lorna #princess lorna #hobson #the traitor's keep dlc was just too good an opportunity y'know

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