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topguncortez · 10 months

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Leave the Door open | Bradley Bradshaw x Female!Reader

Bradley Bradshaw Masterlist | Main Masterlist

synopsis: Bradley's world gets tilted off its axis when he meets a certain blonde haired, green eyed female. based off this request

word count: 2.6k

warnings: unplanned pregnancy, mentions of nudity, fear, cursing, mentions of abortion, happy ending:)

His mind was completely blank, and that never happened. Rooster’s mind was always busy, hearing, analyzing, and thinking of everything and anything around him. It took a lot for Rooster to be speechless, but hearing you cry over the phone, begging him to come over right this very moment, had him forgetting everything. The drive to your place, which usually brought a smile to Rooster’s face was filled with eerie silence and dread.

The two of you had been together for just over a year. Rooster could remember the moment he saw you, the girl sitting alone at the bar. The pink sundress you wore stood out against the sea of khaki and green-colored uniforms. Rooster had been eyeing you all night, mustering up the courage to go order you a drink. But all courage was lost when Hangman waltzed up to you and pulled you in for a tight hug. Of course, the pretty girl in the pretty sundress was waiting for the biggest douchebag that Rooster had ever met. And to make matters worse, Jake had sauntered over to the group, his arm around your shoulders and a bright smile on his face.

“Who’s the girl, Bagman?” Phoenix asked.

“This is my sister,” Jake smiled, “My baby sister, so no funny ideas. Even you, Trace.”

And just like that, the courage returned to Rooster’s body. From the moment he introduced himself to you, till Penny called last call, Rooster was by your side. The two of you had hit it off immediately, the sparks flying so bright, you could probably see them from outer space. Hangman tried to do the whole big brother protective bit, but it was no use. If there was one thing that brought him joy, other than flying, it was seeing his sister’s bright smile.

Rooster was so lucky to have you. You understood the world that he lived in. You knew how crazy and unpredictable his career could be. Some nights he’d fall asleep in bed beside you, and some nights he’d fall asleep in a bunk in the middle of the Indian Ocean. You got along with his friends, and could keep up with their ribbing and jokes. You also understood how important his career was to him. You weren’t too crazy about getting married and doing the whole kid thing. You just wanted to relax, see the world, and spend time with the love of your life.

Rooster had basically broken all traffic laws to get to your apartment as fast as he could. When you opened the door, his heart broke in half. Your face was puffy and red, tears still evident in your eyes. Rooster didn’t say anything but pulled you in for a hug. He could hardly make out the words you were saying but his ears caught the words ‘I’m so fucking sorry,’. It felt like hot lava was poured down his back as he stiffened, his mind now caught up with what was going on.

He’d seen this all before. The cryptic texts, the odd behavior, and now you were in front of him crying and apologizing over and over. He had just hoped that this time you hadn’t cheated on him with one of his wingmen.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” Rooster asked, rubbing your back slowly. You pulled away wiping your eyes and shook your head, “Y/N, tell me what’s wrong?”

“I-I,” You tried to speak, but your words were falling short. You held your face in your hands as sobs racked your body. Rooster felt nothing but anger as he watched you cry in front of him. He hated when they would cry before breaking his heart. He always thought it was selfish.

“What did you do?” Rooster asked, crossing his arms across his chest. You just shook your head, gasping for air in between cries. Rooster huffed, growing frustrated, “What did you do, Y/N? Just fucking say it!”

“I’m pregnant!”

You could hear a pin drop as soon as you said it. Rooster took a step back from you and you felt like your whole world shattered. You shook your head and turned on your feet to rush down the hall, feeling that all too familiar feeling rises in your throat. You were surprised that you managed to push the nausea away for this long. Rooster was stuck in his spot as he tried to will his brain to function again.

How did this happen? We’ve always been careful. I don’t get it. When did this happen?

Rooster’s jaw dropped as he thought back to that one night six weeks ago, before his last mission. The two of you had been at Mav and Penny’s cookout for way longer than you wanted to be. But between the good conversation and the drinks, time had slipped by you. Rooster could remember stumbling through the front door, hands all over each other’s bodies, lips pressed together. He had taken you right up against the front door, both too eager to make it to the bedroom. The whole night you two spent tangled in between the sheets, both too lost in pleasure to think twice about putting a condom on.

“Rooster.”

He napped back to reality as the sound of his callsign fell from your lips. His honey-brown eyes looked around your living room with wide eyes, noticing the ripped-open box of pregnancy tests on the floor, along with the Target bag and receipts. He also noticed the empty water bottles around the couch and your shoes and coat kicked off haphazardly around the room. If there was one thing about you, you weren’t going to tell him unless you knew for sure, and it was clear what the answer was.

“Bradley,” You called his name again from your spot in the hallway. He lifted his head from the mess in the living room to your small frame. You felt exposed as he stared at you.

Rooster felt like he couldn’t breathe like the ceiling and walls were caving in. He felt sick to his stomach as you walked out of the bathroom, red tear stains on your cheeks. Your arms were crossed over your belly in a protective manner, as if you were protecting the precious life inside you.

The life he helped create.

“Bradley, can you-”

Rooster shook his head, taking a slow step back from you. Your eyebrows furrowed, and you felt your heartbeat in your ears as you watched the man who you swore wasn’t afraid of anything, turn on his heel and out the front door.

———————————

“What do you mean he just left?” Jake asked you over the phone. You had called him sobbing after Rooster had left, “Where did he go?”

“I don’t know, Jacob!” You cried as you paced in front of your fireplace. It had been a little over three hours since Bradley left your house without a word. You had followed him out the front door, but he moved as though someone lit a fire under his ass. You yelled his name as he backed the Bronco out of the driveway and took off faster than the speed limit. It took all your power to not collapse to your knees in the driveway, but the moment you made it back inside, you were on the ground in a pile of tears. You had tried calling Bradley’s phone for almost an hour, every single time getting his voicemail box before you gave up and called your brother.

Jake was the second person you had told about the pregnancy. You had been in a toss-up on who to tell first; Jake or Rooster. If you knew that Rooster was going to respond the way he did, you would’ve told Jake first, “He just left! I-I don’t know what to do! Jake, I can’t do this-”

“Okay, you need to take a deep breath,” Jake said, cutting you off. He knew you were scared, it was obvious by the sound of your voice. He knew that kids were never in your future plans, but he also knew the type of person you are. You’d handle this in stride, with or without Bradley. You were raised by a strong single mother. Both you and Jake knew you had the strength and integrity to be a mother. But Jake also knew you wouldn’t want to raise a child alone if you had the option not to do so.

“You’ll pass out from crying,” Jake said, as he drove up and down the streets. He knew there was probably one place that Rooster would always go, “I’m heading to a spot where I think he’ll be, but you need to calm down.”

“Okay,” You sniffled, sitting down on your couch.

“Y/N?”

“Yes, Jake?”

“Breathe.” You smiled at his words, “It’ll be okay,”

“Thank you, Jake.”

“No problem. Just know I’m going to be the favorite uncle.” Jake smiled. You rolled your eyes and said goodbye to your brother, before hanging up. Jake was right about where he thought Rooster would be.

It was a park bench where his parents had gotten engaged years ago. The old wooden bench was tucked away by overgrown bushes and trees, but the look was still the same some 30 years later. Rooster had a picture, probably the last picture of all three of them, sitting on this exact bench, dated only a day before his father had died. The place had become Rooster’s escape, the quiet place he could go to clear his mind. He had taken you here once, creating a new memory and picture to last a lifetime. Rooster thought as he sat down on the old bench, about recreating that picture with his own child.

“You left my baby sister in tears and in a panic,” Jake said, walking up to his wingman. Jake sat down on the opposite end of the bench with a sigh. They both sat in silence for a moment, looking out at the dark ocean, hearing the waves crash against the white sand. The moon was high in the sky, illuminating the world.

“Thought you quit?”

“I did,” Rooster grumbled, taking a drag of the cigarette in his hand, “Only do it on occasion. Don’t tell her that though.”

Jake just shrugged his shoulders, “I think you smoking is the least of her worries right now.”

“She told you?”

“She told me,” Jake nodded, “She’s pregnant?”

“That’s what she said,” Rooster said, throwing his cigarette bud on the ground and stomping it out, “And I just fucking left! God, I did the thing I promised her I would never do!”

“And that is…”

“Walk out when things get hard,” Rooster said softly, “She said everyone walks out on her, and that’s why it took her so long to say ‘yes’ to dating me… she didn’t want me to be like everyone else, and I did exactly that.”

“The difference though, you have time to fix it,” Jake said, “She’s at home, scared, a mess, and worried about you. She even used the words ‘Jake, what if he wrapped his car around a pole?’ You need to go talk to her. You’re the only one who can make a decision in this scenario. You know what is right.”

Rooster nodded and pushed himself off the bench, “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Jake said, “Go home and make things right. And don’t make me regret giving you this little pep talk.”

Rooster chuckled and patted Jake on the back before getting into his car. Rooster stopped at a flower shop to get a bouquet of your favorite flowers before heading back to your apartment. He shed off his jacket, hoping that would help with the smoke smell. He took a deep breath as he noticed the only light that was on was in your bathroom.

————————-

You lay motionless in the tub, your head resting on the side of it. You lit some small tea candles to give the bathroom a soft glow. Your body had started to hurt from crying and being sick. Your head was pounding and all you wanted to do was be surrounded by warmth. Usually, you had Rooster to do that, but you had no clue where he was.

Your head picked up slightly at the sound of the lock turning and the door opening. You sighed, hoping it wasn’t an intruder, but you knew it was more than likely Rooster, since he was the only one with a key to your apartment. Whoever the stranger was, knocked softly on the closed bathroom door.

“Baby? You in there?” Rooster’s voice sounded out. You stayed quiet, not feeling the strength to face him just yet, “Baby, please respond. Just let me know that you’re in there so I don’t have to go file a missing persons report.”

You huff and sit up a bit in the tub, “I’m in here.”

Rooster sighed and leaned his forehead against the door, “Please. . .” His voice sounded fragile and broken as if he had been crying, “Please, can you open the door?”

“It’s open,” You said softly.

Rooster pushed the door open, leading with the bouquet of flowers. You couldn’t help but chuckle as he walked in with his eye covered, trying to give you some privacy. The tub was large enough that you could have your modesty covered. He placed the flowers down on the counter and then sat by you on the ground outside of the bath. Rooster gently placed his hand on your cheek, and you nestled into the feeling.

“I am so sorry for walking out the door,” Rooster said, looking at your bloodshot eyes, “I don’t even know why I did that. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“It’s okay,” You said softly but Rooster shook his head.

“It’s not, and don’t say it is,” Rooster said, “I was there too, I partook in creating a baby, and I ran like a coward,” Rooster took a shaky breath, “I got scared, I still am scared. I mean, we aren’t married and we haven’t even thought about having kids… I’m terrified I am going to do the wrong thing. I’m absolutely shitting myself right now ‘cause I smell like cigarettes and I don’t want it to harm the baby.” You smiled at Rooster lovingly, “But I am here, for whatever you decided, I will be by your side.”

“You- you mean that?” You asked him honestly. You would be lying if the thought of exercising your right to choose didn’t cross your mind. You didn’t have a job currently, trying to finish your degree online. Rooster was busy with his new role at TopGun and taking every mission that came across his desk. You thought in the back of your mind, there was no way you could have a child right now.

“Yes,” Rooster said and you believed him. Rooster wasn’t going to force you to do something you didn’t want to do, “If having an abortion is what you choose, I will be right next to you holding your hands and fighting off those stupid fucking protestors with my bare hands. If you decide to go through with the pregnancy, I’ll let you curse me out while you’re in labor. I am right here, baby, you’d have to kill me to get rid of me.”

You smiled and leaned in to kiss Rooster. Rooster’s chapped lips met yours and placed a kiss full of love on your lips, “Thank you. I don’t know what I would do without you,” You spoke, leaning your forehead against his, and pushing a strand of brown hair behind his ear.

“I never, ever want you to know either. Baby, you’ll never be alone,” Rooster whispered, “I’m here.”

“We’re having a baby…”

“We’re having a fucking baby…”

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endless-ineffabilities · 11 months

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this world was never meant for a fire like yours

part three.one - lovers adrift

Daemon Targaryen x modern-f!reader / nurse!reader

SERIES MASTERLIST: part one - part two - bonus chapter: unalloyed - part three.one - part three.two - part three.three

word count: 5.6k ▪︎ main masterlist

series synopsis: After a fatal injury on the battefield, Daemon wakes up in a foreign land - our world (where GoT / HoTD does not exist). He meets the reader, a nurse who tends to him and helps him navigate everything. They grow close, and slowly, but unequivocally, fall in love.

themes/warnings: separation, Daemon in his New Moon Bella Swan era, reader in full/overly hectic nurse mode, Viserys losing (even more) hair because of Daemon, Daemon is severely whipped, language

August 2023 / the 8th Moon, 113 AC

A flash of bright red passes by, your peripheral vision drawn to it as if on instinct. You don’t look back as you turn a corner, not wanting to see if it is a similar vehicle.

If it is, then that’s just fucking cruel. As if the universe itself is mocking you.

Because no matter how much you deny it, every single thing reminds you of him.

Cars. Broken laptops. Your worn-out couch. Old movies. Pizza. Burnt food in your kitchen. Helicopters. The dog-eared paperbacks on your shelf.

Damn him. Damn him to his ridiculous seven hells.

It has been weeks since Daemon Targaryen disappeared from your life, as easily and as abruptly as he had entered it.

Without a trace, as if you plucked him from your imagination. Except he did leave a mark so indelible it cannot be denied. He left his mark alright, in the form of constant sleepless nights. In how you space out each time his memory hits you. In how nothing in your little apartment seems to be yours anymore. Every corner, every inch of the space screams his name. He has made your world his own. He had claimed your heart… and then left. And now you’re here to pick up the pieces.

You remember the torture reflected in his face, the rage, when his brother came to take him away. You knew how badly he wanted to go home, so you made his choice for him.

You told him to leave.

Stupid girl. You want to go back to that very moment, and tell yourself to make him stay. You know you should have held him in your arms, keeping him rooted in place. In this world, with you.

But you opted for selflessness. You chose to have your heart broken, so that Daemon can go home. You know that he would have stayed if you only asked.

Fuck, I should have asked.

______________________

The Rogue Prince has been unpleasant and volatile ever since he returned from that strange other world. He has been made welcome, feted and tended to, day and night. Everyone was initially glad to have their Targaryen prince again. Until they realized how much he had changed.

Daemon quickly went back to his roguish ways, but it seems as if these tendencies increased tenfold. Something was severely wrong with the Rogue prince. Something other than his usual myriad of dangerous flaws. Only a handful knew of his predicament, of his loss.

When the Hand of the King, Otto Hightower, chooses to make some remark about how you were just some woman, and an unknowable outsider at that, someone who might never fit in the Seven Kingdoms, Daemon says nothing at first.

For an entire minute, he sits at the council table, his mind stirring.

Some of the small council members think the conundrum solved. Their prince must have finally realized that what he wants - who he wants - is an impossibility. But the more discerning of them, those more familiar with Daemon, know otherwise.

Lord Corlys could have all but predicted what came next, after a grievous line from Ser Otto that goes, “Perhaps we should finally arrange for a union between the Prince and one of the Ladies of the Kingdom. Lord Baratheon’s eldest daughter might be - ” Of course, he does not get to finish imparting this idea, as Daemon rises in a flash, Dark Sister drawn across the table and directed to Ser Otto’s sternum.

The Kingsguard springs into action. Any harm conducted during the small council meeting, could of course also extend to their King.

“Daemon!” Viserys growls, his patience having run out.

The prince simply warns, “I will not have this snivelling sycophant make decisions about who and when I am to wed. And I will not hear any more slander about the woman whom I love, do I make myself clear?”

Ser Otto merely stands his guard, hands half raised by his sides as a gesture to the Kingsguard to not make any sudden attempts to remove the prince from the room, lest he should suffer any grievous harm to his person as a result.

“Daemon,” Viserys implores again, “Ser Otto was merely making a suggestion. What else is the small council for if not to freely discuss matters of import for ourselves and for the Seven Kingdoms? You are their prince, after all. Whom you wed will be most crucial, indeed.”

Daemon begins to relent. Slowly lowering Dark Sister, a sly smirk materializes on his lips, as if to show just how little this perceived threat to Ser Otto means to him. It isn't even enough to warrant an apology.

Daemon seats himself once more, appearing to look unfazed as he inspects the calluses on his hands. “There is only one reason as to why I even deigned to participate in today’s council meeting. I wish to know if we have finally received word back from those bloody witches who had me returned… the ones who can apparently travel through our realm and the other.”

Viserys sighs, knowing his brother is not there for anything else. Not for his duties. Not for the realm. But for you. “Nothing yet, Daemon. But we are trying-”

He stands abruptly, without any mind to formalities. “Then it appears there is no reason for my presence here.”

In a moment, before any plea could be spoken, the Prince was gone from the council chambers.

Lord Beesbury, confused, addresses the table, “Was the Prince not meant to report on the recent dealings of his Gold Cloaks with-”

“Oh, what does it matter, my Lord?” Ser Tyland interjects, with a scornful whip of his hair. “Prince Daemon wouldn’t be aware of all the goings on in the Red Keep, seeing as he’s either holed up in his chambers or too busy hunting down those shameless heretics who can miraculously send him back to-”

“Ser Tyland,” Viserys commands, his voice clear for once. “I shall ask that you leave that matter alone. Unless you can be of any help, which I highly fucking doubt.”

A hush falls over the small council. Their King has never been prone to swear freely like a drunken Lyseni, unlike his younger brother.

“Perhaps,” Ser Otto says, “we should convene this council meeting for another day, my King.”

Viserys merely huffs in response. “Very well.”

As he departs the room with the Kingsguard, he wonders if things will ever be even just an infinitesimal amount of simple when it concerns his brother.

His conclusion comes swiftly - no, it never will be.

______________________

You lower your clipboard on the nurses station, leaning against it in exhaustion.

“Ms. Carlson is stable now, thankfully.” You address Dessa, an older colleague who has been newly stationed at the desk. “We just need to monitor her blood pressure from time to time.”

“Sure thing.” Dessa gives you a once over, clearly not approving your current state. “But sweetheart, why don’t you go home and get some rest? You’ve been taking way too many extra shifts just out of the blue like this, and you have to give yourself a break.”

Taking a deep breath, you roll out the tension in your neck and shoulders. The bright wash of hospital lighting makes you feel slightly nauseous, so you shut your eyes tight. Briefly.

But not brief enough. In the recesses of your mind, in your memories, you can almost feel him. Hear him.

Leaving this world for but a moment, and gently slipping from consciousness, is enough to make you remember.

And you remember everything.

‘My love. Come lie with me,’ he would say.

Your mind reels from exhaustion, and from the perpetual echo of his voice. Leave me alone.

Come back, is what you meant. It’s what you’ll always mean. But his desire to return to his Westeros, to his Seven Kingdoms, was too strong for you to ignore. He swore he wanted to stay with you, so you had to make the choice for him.

This measly world was never meant for Daemon, whose fire can set everything ablaze. And there surely were plenty of times when he almost let his rage and his usual ways get the better of him, if it weren’t for you. His anchor.

You know that he would be too much to bear, and this world would try to quell him.

It was the right decision. So why did you have to feel so wretched about it?

Because you love him, you big idiot.

“Fuck.” You mutter under your breath, opening your eyes.

“Sorry, what was that?” Dessa’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion, the expletive taking her aback. Poor girl just expressed concern, and here I am over her desk, eyes glazed over like a zombie.

“Oh, it’s just… you’re right, I do need some rest. My shift ends in an hour and I plan to sleep for the next 24 hours. At least.” That isn’t the truth, but you don’t feel it necessary to deepen her concern. You could be upfront and admit that you find it hard to fall into slumber, because almost every time, without fail, Daemon is there to welcome you.

His voice. His touch. His burning gaze. Your dreams could be there to offer a sense of comfort, a safe haven that can temporarily ease you out of heartbreak, but all you can feel is a painful loss.

You don’t think it right to lose yourself in what was, or what could have been. Where would be the point in that? It isn’t as if this is a typical long-distance relationship, and Daemon simply went off to live in another city.

No. The damn bastard had to go off to an actual other dimension, didn’t he?

How can anyone expect any less from someone like Daemon?

Dessa relaxes, and sighs audibly. “That’s good. Go do that, hon. If you want, I can cover for your next rounds, whenever that’ll be. You’ve been taking up all the extra shifts around here as it is.”

“Thank you, Dessa,” you say genuinely. “I think I’ll go check on 517 one last time before I go.”

You start to push yourself off of the counter and get your bearings, but Dessa reaches out for your hand, keeping you in place for a moment longer.

She smiles, and you can’t help but notice something lingering underneath her expression of comfort. As if she knows.

“It’s going to be alright, y/n,” she says, and the sentiment quickly takes root in you, a sense of warmth wrapping around you like a warm hug. Too soon though, she lets go, and you are snapped back into reality.

Until she adds, still smiling, “Those we love tend to find their way back to us, ñuha riña, if that is truly what is meant to be.”

Everything stops. It feels as if ice has infiltrated your veins, like some sudden shock. That sounds like…

“What… what did you call me?” you croak.

She merely tilts her head, her smile dropping only slightly, taking on a new emotion. Something like pity. Does she know?

“I don’t know what you mean. I merely gave you a piece of advice, my child.”

You slowly look around, trying to shake some sense back into yourself. Shaking your head, you say, “Right, I must have misheard things. It’s just… I thought I heard you speak…” High Valyrian. His native tongue.

“Speak what?” She asks, a hint of confusion visible on her face.

“Nothing,” you shake your head quickly, stepping away from the nurses’ station. “Thanks for the advice, Dessa. I’m just… a little out of the loop is all. I’m definitely going to rest after this. I’ll go do some final rounds, and check back with you in 5 minutes?”

“Of course, darling.” She smiles again, and you think of how welcoming the sight is. How genuine. Dessa has this seemingly maternal quality to her, and you feel grateful to be at the receiving end of it.

You mirror her smile, before finally turning and sauntering towards the rooms.

______________________

When you finally reach your apartment, you have to drag yourself up the flight of steps, your legs feeling like jell-o underneath you.

Dessa is absolutely right. All those extra shifts are taking their toll. In your defense, you believe them to be necessary. Your own messed-up version of therapy. Cooping yourself up in your flat would be torture, when Daemon has left his mark on every inch of the space.

The kitchen where he kept trying to make dishes, only for them to end up charred at the bottom of your trusty IKEA pot. The couch where you spent most nights, curled up in each other’s arms, boxes of takeaway shared between the two of you.

You would dramatically relay your worries about your patients in the ICU, and he would muse about the “peculiar sort of idiots” he had to deal with at the auto shop. By that, he meant irate customers and even women who took a liking to him. So much so that they would deliberately lose small parts of their car engines, only to specifically request Daemon’s assistance.

He would pull you onto his lap and cage you in his arms, smirking at the poorly masked envy in your expression. Soon after, your worries would dissipate in a haze, his lips snaking smoothly all over your skin.

I’m clearly upset now. Where’s my comforting embrace, huh?

Sullen, you make your way to the kitchen. Upon quick inspection of the fridge, it becomes evident that you desperately need to make a grocery run.

“I’m officially a peasant. No wonder the great Prince of Westeros didn’t want to stay with me.” You rack your brain for other alternatives, taking note to push away the thought of what Daemon would suggest. Freshly made pizza, with all his preferred trappings - spicy salami, heaps of cheese, nduja, and basil. Conveniently delivered straight to your door in a jiff.

No. Definitely not that.

The thought of Daemon not having access to such a glorious thing as pizza anymore made you spiteful. Take that. That’s what you get for leaving.

You drag yourself onto the couch, slumping atop the worn out cushions. Silly girl. Do you think he would care? That world has everything he could ever wish for.

The sound of knocking on the door pulls you out of your thoughts. Thankfully. Two sure raps on the wood to pull you out of your misery, for who knows how long.

“Hi.” Tom stands on the other side, a sheepish smile on his face. “Care for some company?”

This would be the fourth time since Daemon’s departure that he’s shown up at your door, out of the blue, simply asking to spend time with you. And this would also be the fourth time that you acquiesce, and let him in.

Any and all distractions are welcome. Even in the form of your neighbour, with his puppy-dog eyes and suggestive remarks that clearly indicate that he still has not gotten over you. Despite being rudely confronted with the reality of you and Daemon, many months ago.

But the reality is… there is no more you and Daemon, is there? Once Tom grew aware of that, his eagerness returned twofold.

You did not show the same interest. Not in that way, at least. You made sure of that by saying “I’m glad we’re friends again.” when he first came over. Friends. Only that.

Still, there was some part of you that felt as if you were leading Tom on. By letting him in again, being his friend, you were giving him hope that it could turn into something more. Especially now that you badly needed a shoulder to lean on.

Before you could let guilt rip through you, you force a smile up at him. “Sure, come in.”

I might pay for this later.

For now, his carefree laugh and animated talk of everything that’s going on in this world might just help piece together the remains of your heart.

______________________

*flashback* March 2023 / the 3rd Moon, 113 AC

It was no easy feat to summon a priestess of the old gods to King’s Landing, but when Prince Daemon disappeared, his brother the King Viserys spared no effort in seeing his brother safely returned.

Every sept of every religion was consulted. The Maesters of the Citadel. What remains of the water-wizards in Dorne. The magisters of the Free Cities.

Many of the common folk surmised that perhaps, the volatile Prince Daemon simply took off without any word of warning.

However, that supposition may be easily debated with the fact of Caraxes’ presence on Dragonstone. Daemon would not have left Caraxes behind. If anything, he would have almost certainly ridden on dragonback to wherever he planned to go.

It further complicated matters when some of the soldiers present on the battlefield wherein Daemon was last seen profusely swear that their Prince simply vanished into thin air.

The Maester were quick to dissuade their King of supposed foolhardy lies. One does not simply vanish. It is unheard of, a mere calumny. Their advice had been near unanimous - the Prince left, or was in hiding. Likely he did not wish to be found, which is why he left his dragon behind, the creature inevitably drawing attention wherever it goes.

Just when the commotion around his disappearance had somewhat dissipated, a triad of self-proclaimed members of an outer sect, an adjunct to the priestesses of the old gods, made themselves known in the Red Keep. Accompanied by the elder priestess, they asked for an audience with the King, who eagerly welcomed them. His council members, on the other hand, were wrought with suspicion.

The women, three close-knit sisters, introduced themselves as Treesa, Verness, and Dessa.

They claimed to be part of a covert sect that sprung from the Old religion. One that remains largely unknown in Westeros, which warranted the suspicion of the small council.

“Realmwalkers.” Verness declared in a proud tone. “That is what we call ourselves, borne out of the fact that we can jump from this realm, my King, to another strange yet equally fascinating one. The very same realm that Prince Daemon finds himself trapped in.”

“Trapped? And in another realm, you say?” Viserys’ fury was rising to the surface. “I charge you to speak plainly, and do not offer me such calumnies. Where is my brother?”

Treesa smiled wryly, unperturbed by the King’s growing wrath. “He’s been sent to the realm of Korzion. The realm of steel, if you please. Largely inhibited by men. Like us, but not quite. They’re somewhat more… connected to these… these machines.” There was a faraway look in her eyes, rendering her expression almost vacant. Her gaze met that of the King’s, but it appeared as though she did not really see him. Her mind was elsewhere, her skirts moving alongside her gently swaying figure.

Upon hearing this, Otto Hightower leaned in to whisper to the King, “These so-called priestesses must only be devising some trickery, my King. Perhaps we should adjourn-”

Dessa interjected, “We can prove it to you, King Viserys. We are the only ones who can ensure that your brother is safely returned to this realm. Whether you trust us or not, that does not alter this truth.”

Viserys stiffened, a decision forming in his mind. Ignoring the look of reproach from his Hand, he took a deep breath and responded, “Tell me everything.”

______________________

September 2023 / the 9th Moon, 113 AC

“It took you a long while to allow yourselves to be found again.” Daemon’s voice, while low and controlled, maintains an underlying impatience. As if he could not be bothered, and is only going through everything for the hope of seeing you again. Sitting casually, partially covered by the shadows, he briefly thinks of how you would definitely make a remark of how much he resembles a ‘Bond villain’ from those movies you love.

You once ran your fingers repeatedly over his hair, mussing it completely, after a couple of glasses of wine white. Daemon sat there, half in surprise and half in adoration. “Mystery man,” you slurred, smiling sleepily, “you’re someone straight out of a book, or a movie, or… or… my dreams.” Your eyes widened at that, at the incredulity of it all.

“You’ve dreamt about me, have you?” He cheekily responded. This was quite some time before the two of you finally dropped all the pretence and acted on your desires. Before the two of you allowed yourselves to fall completely in love.

“Mmm,” you giggled, “Strange how I’ve always had a thing for bad boys.”

Daemon, for all his brazenness and devil-may-care behaviour, found himself feeling disheartened at your words. Bad boy, you said. But that had a different, softer meaning for you. You were not aware how bad, how malevolent, he actually is. You did not know how he had dismembered enemies in battle, in his blind rage. You did not know how he had selfishly manipulated and lied his way purely to get what he wanted. You did not know that he would kill anyone who tried to hurt you, without reservation, in a heartbeat.

He thought of how you were too good for him. Sitting there, after hours upon hours of your daily work as a healer, still managing to offer him a meal and spend time with him after near exhaustion, your smile was still whole and true and good. And it was being directed at him. The strange, angry man who infiltrated your little world and did not seem to want to leave.

He thought, determinedly, that he did not deserve any of it. He did not deserve you.

Treesa’s voice snaps him out of his reverie. “I think I’ve lost you, my prince. You are no longer in this world, as you were.” Sitting across from him in his chambers, she has half a mind to become irate at how Prince Daemon is regarding her as if she is nothing more than the mud on the sole of his princely boots. A mere inconvenience. But her annoyance is restrained by her understanding of how he must be feeling.

He regains himself, ignoring her remark, and continues, “Where are the others?” Then he flippantly waves his hand. “Never mind that. You said you will help me. Then can you transport me back to her world? Or her to mine? How soon can this be done?”

Treesa smiles slyly, “So many questions. How powerless you must feel against the tides of fate. What if your story has already been determined by the gods? That you meet your love, stay together briefly, only so that she may change you forever?”

“Careful now, witch.”

“Realmwalker.”

“Whatever you call yourselves. Make no mistake, I am not asking for your help. I demand it, as your prince.”

Treesa just laughs, the shrill sound as light as air. “Do not take us so lightly, Rogue Prince. The one you claim to love is also one of us.”

“What?”

“Your love from Korzion? Oh yes. She is a Realmwalker too.”

“Impossible.” Daemon says, shaking his head, but he is already running through his memories of you. Was there something that he might have missed? Were there any telltale signs? Had you deceived him?

“It’s the truth.” Treesa shrugs. “Only she does not know it yet. My elder sister, Dessa, is currently in her world and she is going to make herself known to y/n very soon, as who she truly is. Then Dessa may also let her know who she truly is.”

“But she…,” For the first time since he was tongue-tied around your presence, Daemon struggles to find the right words. “She is not from Westeros, is she?”

“No,” Treesa explains, “but she is a descendant of a woman who was. A Realmwalker of old, who chose to live her life in Korzion.”

“Well then,” Daemon stands, as if prepared to jump through a portal that very moment, “if she is of this world, then she can surely come here, can she not? There is nothing that can hinder this. You claim she is a Realmwalker like you. Bring her to me. Or… bring me to her. You’ve done it before.”

“It was Dessa who transported you to Korzion, my prince. And, it is no easy feat to bring another non-walker to Korzion. It can take a heavy toll on any of us. Much was needed to be orchestrated for the King to momentarily travel realms just to coax you back with him.”

Daemon merely petulantly tilts his head, and clenches his jaw, as if to say, ‘how does that help me?’.

“Sit down, my prince,” Treesa sighs. “You’ll know of everything soon enough.”

______________________

The very first Realmwalker or Vyzh-agon was a priestess of the old Religion.

Aesdella, believed to be originally from Old Valyria, and eventually settling in the North of Westeros, was the very first to travel to the realm of Korzion. Our realm. It remains unclear when she was born and when she perished, but she lived well before Aegon’s Conquest. Another source of speculation is how her abilities came to be, but from her bloodline came those with similar abilities. And so forth. Until this very day.

Only Aesdella’s female descendants inherited this very nature of being a Realmwalker. This power can remain dormant, hidden under the surface, or it can be practiced and essentially turned into a way of living. Such as with the sect of Treesa, Verness, and Dessa, as well as their other sisters and cousins.

She was believed to be a formidable woman, garnering respect from even those of other religions, and other lands. Though she made sure that her abilities would not be known by others, seeing as she did not trust the nature of men. These powers, if in the wrong hands, could bring strife to both Korzion and her realm. It has been said that this is why she made sure that only her daughters and their daughters after them would receive her power, but this is mere conjecture.

There are many peculiarities which concern travelling between realms. The Realmwalker would have to envision her precise destination, lest she should accidentally end up in the middle of some remote part of Amazonia. She would require some tools, if she was not necessarily raised in the practice of realm walking. She would need to prick her fingers or her palm with a sharp sliver of moonstone, let her blood meet the raches of a raven’s feather, and recite a chant in High Valyrian. This is enough to awaken the power passed down to her through Aesdella’s bloodline. The feather will turn to ash in her hands, and swirl around her form, multiplying a thousand fold, and in a moment, this daughter of Aesdella will have travelled realms.

Those with immense power resting inside them, would eventually not need the moonstone, nor the raven’s feather, after a while. The chanting matched with pure will is enough.

A Realmwalker may also transport another to Korzion, and vice versa, but this can exact a heavy toll on both parties if done incorrectly. Which is why Viserys’ jump to Korzion could not be done in a haste, and also why Dessa was rendered unconscious for an entire moon’s turn after having to quickly transport Daemon to Korzion following his fatal injury.

“Dessa saved you by transporting you to Korzion, as realm travel can sometimes have regenerative effects on one’s person. Luckily, your jump proved to be so.” Treesa reveals, the dancing firelight casting shadows on her angular face. “She did this because, and I am certain that you do not remember at all, but you once saved her son’s life, Prince Daemon.”

“You will have to be more particular, as I cannot recall every-”

“Like I said, you do not remember and it does not matter. What matters is that he is alive and well. Dessa is estranged from this son of hers, but will never cease to care for him. It’s a mother’s curse.” Treesa shakes her head in disapproval. Daemon feels inclined to think that she has no children of her own. “You saved her son in battle many moons ago, and so Dessa found a spell that ensured you had blood moonstone on your person, wherever you went. This is one way we can maintain a connection to someone, keep an eye out for them. When she sensed you had been grievously harmed, she immediately triggered the moonstone with a spell that would cause you to walk between realms.”

Daemon listens, not because he is especially intrigued by the entire story. He simply sits, waiting for Treesa to speak about you. Who you truly are, and how this expanse between the both of you can be eliminated.

“Did you know, it was by accident… well, somehow at least… that y/n was in the vicinity after you arrived in Korzion?” Treesa laughs dryly. “Realmwalkers can send another individual such as yourself to Korzion so long as there is a beacon there for you to go to. Another Realmwalker, you see. Dessa meant to send you close to Verness who had been visiting with her… Korzioni lover.” Distaste flashes again across Treesa's face, which goes to show that she does not share the same affinity for having lovers, much less children with such lovers, unlike her sisters.

Daemon turns and meets her gaze straight on. “And yet, I was sent to… close to…”

“Yes.” Tressa nods. “To y/n. Dessa did not know she existed until then. Her great-grandmother was one of us, yes. When she disappeared ages ago, it was believed that she chose to spend the rest of her days in Korzion. Little was known of whether she fell in love, or whether she eventually had Korzioni children. Daughters that would also carry her ability. But apparently, she has.”

A scoff of disbelief and amazement escapes Daemon’s lips.

“Now, my Rogue prince,” Treesa leans forward on her elbows, the tone having shifted to something much lighter. “Now do you believe in fate?”

______________________

In Korzion, you sit once again on your couch after another long shift at the hospital. Only this time… and perhaps it has grown out of being a rarity at this point… Tom sits beside you, comfortably slouched a mere few inches away.

You lean away from him, opting to stick close to the armrest, hoping he would take this little hint. But he’s chosen to ignore it, ambling closer to you the first chance he got.

Your laptop is in the low table in front of you, a new flick playing on the screen. Some new Netflix production that Tom chose, which you weren’t so keen on. But what did it matter?

Company is company. A distraction is a distraction. You probably should head straight to sleep, but you didn’t want to risk having yet another dream of Daemon. Another dream that will end abruptly and wrench you back into this grim reality.

Remnants of takeout sushi containers are scattered on the kitchen counter. When Tom suggested pizza, you were quick to protest. Daemon loved pizza, and he loathed sushi. So, why not have sushi on this fine evening?

“So when will you get to reading it?” Tom asks, referring to the book he lent you. He initially wanted to give it to you as a gift, but you said you didn’t want a gift if there was no occasion. When he responded with, “I don’t need some special occasion to give a gift to a beautiful girl I care about,” you struggled so very hard to maintain a straight face and not roll your eyes.

Daemon would hate this. If he still cared.

“I guess I’ll start tonight.” You lie, picking the book from your lap, pretending to peruse the back cover. “Seems like quite the read. I don’t think it will be like any of the other books I’ve read.” Of course it won’t. Because I would never purchase this myself.

“That’s great! You’ll love it, it’s a New York Times bestseller. I found it on BookTok.” He says, as if to reassure you, though it doesn’t really do the job.

You sense his arm snaking behind you on the seat, and before you can make some excuse about having to get some water, an unexpected knock echoes from the front door.

Thank you. Whoever you are.

You rush toward it, finding Dessa on the other side.

“Nuha riña,” she says, a wide smile on her face. “It’s time.”

She said it again. I knew it. “What the fu-”

She looks over your shoulder, noticing Tom standing close behind, as if in protection. “What about Daemon?” She asks sincerely.

Daemon? You feel your heartbeat falter, taken aback by someone else saying his name out loud.

“H-how? You never met him. He was gone before you even came to work at…” you pause, choosing your next words carefully. “Who are you?”

She takes your hands in hers, a firm yet gentle hold.

“The question, my dear, is who are you?”

end of lovers adrift

______________________

*preview* of part 3.2 - lovers ablaze

October 2023 / the 10th Moon, 113 AC

“This is real?” Your senses are overwhelmed, and you feel somewhat floaty, as if you’re nowhere at all. Perhaps, you are nowhere, not in your realm and not in Daemon’s, but somewhere in the middle. “Am I doing this? Is it working?”

Daemon, who was frozen at the sight of you, immediately strides forward. Desperate to feel you, his hands hold onto whatever he can. Your face, your hips, your hands. “My darling, all of this is fucking astonishing, and we can certainly marvel at what you can do to no end, but quite frankly, right this moment I could hardly bring myself to care.”

He smashes his lips to yours. They move relentlessly, as if on their own accord, their master groaning like a starved beast. You feel him, or you think you do, his familiar scent engulfing you, and he feels like home. You feel his silver hair sliding between your fingertips, his sharp teeth gnawing gently at your lips, his fingernails digging into your backside and melding your torso onto his.

Daemon is not one to waste time, that’s for sure.

“I miss you,” you breathe, as he kisses down the hollow of your throat.

“As I do you, my love.” Daemon purrs, nipping at your collarbone, breathing you in. “You simply have no idea…”

You feel him, but only just… and it’s not enough. But it’ll have to do.

“Daemon… this is…” You try to voice out your concern, despite the moment. Dessa was right, your corporeal forms cannot meet through your projection; the two of you stand in your bedroom, but everything seems to be enveloped in a thick fog. If you press hard enough, you think your fingers will simply pass through Daemon as if he were a spectre. You realize that he knows this, too, but chooses to ignore it.

“This is the closest we’ve been in far too fucking long, my love. It would have been sooner if those cunts made greater effort to-”

You snort, confronted once more with how brash he can be. “Daemon, those cunts? Really? I am one of them, you know. Besides, it’s not their fault.”

“Oh, you know what I mean.” His lips form a desperate, wanting smile, as he connects his forehead to yours. “Let me have this. Have you. I need you.”

He’s right. In physical form or otherwise, he is still your Daemon. And you have craved each other too much to be denied any kind of reunion.

“Okay.” Your hand reaches up to cradle his face, and he leans into it. He then looks around, appraising your chambers, as he used to say.

“Nothing changed.” He hums, while holding you tightly to him, as if he’s afraid that you might dissolve into air. “What’s this now? Ever the reader, my heart.” He reaches for the crisp, new paperback novel atop your dresser.

“Oh, that’s… yeah, someone lent it to me.”

“It certainly does not seem too suited to your tastes.”

You let out a humourless laugh. “Astute observation. It’s my neighbour’s. He apparently thought I needed something new to read.” When he gave you the book, Tom happily explained how he thought you should, “...expose yourself to other things. Things you possibly haven’t tried out before. New films, books, friends. You know to help you forget all about…”

“Your neighbour - what was he called? Tim?” Daemon’s lips curl in distaste.

“You remember his name, Daemon.” You roll your eyes at your lover, and his poorly-veiled jealousy. You were one and the same.

“You’ve been letting him inside your house?” He inquires, voice dropping an entire octave. If looks could kill…

You nod slowly, carefully. “He’s been visiting every now and then. It’s not a big deal.”

Daemon tilts his head, a sinister look appearing on his face. Smirking, he leans in and whispers, “Has that mongrel taken my place, dearest?”

You swallow thickly, his darkened gaze doing much and more to break your self-control. If he doesn’t stand down… well.

“Has any lady taken mine? In that amazing, grand realm of yours, Prince Daemon?” You respond, rising to his challenge. Your fingers snake in between the low-collar of his white tunic. Only Daemon has ever been able to elicit this out of you.

He enjoys the way you directly meet his eyes, unwavering in your stead. No one ever looked at him in such a way; not one has ever seen him as you do. Daemon has always inspired fear and intimidation in others. Those who find themselves comfortable enough to hold a conversation with the Rogue Prince tend to feel ill at ease or on their guard. As if he might turn on them at any moment.

People usually mosey up to him because of a favour. Because of his status, his reputation. Because they want something out of him.

But not you. No. Daemon knows that he has only ever inspired love in you.

Well, that and what might have been absolute surprise followed by wariness, when he was suddenly sprung into your world, injured and in a coat of full armour.

He kisses you passionately in response. Once, then pulling away only to breathe, and again, and again.

“No one can ever replace you.” He swears. He has never been a devout man, but in that moment, he curses all the gods that you two are apart. Meeting in this middle-realm is insufficient. He feels you, somehow. But he does not feel your warmth, nor the goosebumps on your skin from his touch. You are there, but you are not.

But it will have to do. For now.

“Is this ailing you? Sustaining a connection like this, in this place?” Daemon asks.

“Not really,” you admit. “Dessa says I’ll feel quite exhausted afterward, but it shouldn’t take too big of a toll on me. I’m learning the ropes, and there’s a lot to learn. I mean… this is fucking insane.”

“And here you thought me extraordinary. When it was you all along.”

“Hardly.” you smile in return. If you could feel warmth right now, you would certainly feel it blooming across your face. “I’m not the only one, it seems. And, my great-grandmother… she was from your world.” Your smile stretches twofold in awe.

He brushes a stray strand from your face.

“The Rogue Prince and his Realmwalker. We have always been meant to find each other.”

series taglist: @omgsuperstarg @sebastian025 @iilsenewman @padfootsvixen @teapartydreams @lucytheripper @kindaslightlyacidic @naelys-the-aster @zoleea-exultant @vainillasmil157 @llovinjoonie @outundertheocean @grimistangel @ladespedidas @nanabarnes @pineappleandro @luckythirtxn97 @knockemdeadgirl @stella-cadante @milber32 @canvashearts @dangerousbluebirdpoetry @kryzeria @selahstars @captainweirdo42 @nitimurinvetitumsposts @aemondmyl0ve @eternallyvenus @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @itscheybaby @my-dark-prince @moonmaiden1996 @mukduk-not-murder @partypoison00 @cookielovesbook-akie @borikenlove @avadakadabra93 @luloveseddie @katsav17 @avadakadabra93

Here we are - it's been a LONG time coming.

Grateful to all of yous for struggling through this wait. I know how much of a pain it is when a fic I'm reading just can't get updated soon enough. You guys deserve Daemon Targaryen at his very best 🖤

Oh and fire like yours isn't losing the somewhat lighthearted tone it might have had. The next part is when mayhem ensues, involving denim, vintage leather jackets, pizza!!!, etc. in Westeros. I just had to get through all this explaining as to how Daemon somehow ended up in our world (Korzion).

Maroon part three up next!

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen imagine #house of the dragon #modern!daemon targaryen #modern!daemon targaryen x reader

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britany1997 · 1 year

Note

Could you do a poly with the boys being mated to a girl that just so happens to be maxes daughter?

Fate Yields For No One

Prologue

Yes of course I can write this for you! Sorry I got this forever ago, I really wanted to make it into a multi chapter fic:) I hope this series will be worth the wait. Comment or DM to be tagged in this series or in my main list:)

Poly! Lost Boys x Max’s Daughter Reader

(I don’t know when the next installment will be out, but there will be more chapters, at least 4-5)

Warnings: angst, talk of death, blood drinking, dub-con turning

California, 1935

You clutched the wall as you stumbled into an alley, coughing loudly into your bloodied handkerchief.

You leaned against the wall, sliding down until you were seated on the grimey alley floor. You pulled the cloth from your lips, hand shaking to see it splattered with the evidence of your impending doom.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as you recalled the fall of each and every member of your family to the same tragic fate.

The Depression had robbed your father of his job, and then your family of its home, forcing you to live a life on the cold California streets, begging for whatever scraps the wealthy were willing to give.

The spread of tuberculosis had gripped the homeless population in your town, and your family had not been immune.

You’d cradled your mother as she’d sobbed for your father. You’d mothered your siblings when she had left you too. Now you were the only one left, and it didn’t look like you’d be here much longer.

You withdrew into yourself, attempting to quiet the world around you, resigned to the conclusion that you’d be rid of it soon.

Which is why you didn’t hear footsteps approaching until a tall gentleman appeared at your side.

He was dressed in a form fitting grey suit paired with black dress shoes. His brown hair was slicked back in typical fashion, and perched on the bridge of his nose were a pair of wire rimmed glasses.

You couldn’t help but think he looked like the kind of man you’d meet on Wall Street, and not in this damp alley where forgotten youths like yourself came to die.

You coughed into the handkerchief again, staining it further. “Please,” you croaked, “are you a doctor? Can you help me?”

The man crouched down to examine your face. You gasped at his disregard for his fine clothing, and his immediate interest in you.

He shot you a soft smile, “I am not a doctor,” he told you, “but I can help you.”

He took your hand in his, smiling wider at your shocked expression, “what if I told you that I could do more than heal you? What if I could restore your life and then some? Would you want that?” He whispered, seemingly staring into your soul as he asked.

A tear slipped down your cheek as you returned his gaze, “I’m not ready to die,” you strained, “I’m so scared. Please don’t let me die, not like this.” You begged, searching his eyes for assurance that he wasn’t just toying with you.

The man sighed, “ok,” he breathed, “I’ll give you what you want.”

His eyes scanned over your broken body, slumped against the alley wall, and he cringed.

“I am truly sorry that there isn’t enough time to do this the gentle way,” he raised his hand to stroke your cheek, “I hope you can forgive me.”

As he finished speaking, his face shifted. His once brown eyes flashed a bright yellow. His teeth elongated into sharp fangs. The man had vanished, and before you crouched a monster.

You would have screamed if you’d had anything left in your lungs, but unfortunately the sands in your hourglass were almost up.

The monster lunged for your neck and bit down, draining the remaining life force from your body. As you faded into blackness, you scolded yourself for trusting this wolf in sheep’s clothing. You knew your error in judgment would be your last.

The monster pulled away from your neck, and you watched with blurred vision as he used his menacing fangs to tear into his wrist.

He brought his wrist to your lips, and wrapped a hand around the back of your head to pull you closer.

You fought to stay conscious as the monster’s blood dripped onto your tongue, but against your will, your eyes fluttered shut and your vision faded to black.

Taglist❤️:

@anna1306 @bloodywickedvamp @misslavenderlady @ghoulgeousimmaculate @6lostgirl6 @pixielostboy @riz-coolgirl @solobagginses @its-freaking-bats @xxryn @honeybedo @dwaynesluscioushair @feardot-com @lostboys1987girl @altierirose

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andromeda-grace · 9 months

Text

Writeblr Introduction

Hi, I’m Andromeda (she/they). I am returning to Writeblr and decided to start a new blog for my WIPs and writing updates! I want to use this blog to shout out other Writeblrs, make posts about my current WIPs, and experiences in publishing. I mostly write original fiction but write fanfic when the inspiration strikes. I love Writeblr games and asks!

This blog is a safe space for all identities, gender & sexuality, neurodivergence, race, and religion. I do my best with content and trigger warnings.

My Writing: Genre and Representation

I love horror, sci-fi, and fairy tales

I don’t enjoy romance (if it’s only the pursuit and drama), but I love writing nuanced love stories where people communicate well and put effort into building relationships

Lots of queerness and queer relationships

BIPOC main characters

Neurodivergence- shout out to the undiagnosed ADHD queens, the anxiety, and masking/coping behaviors

Trauma, out of context, is seen as personality

Smut- sex is a part of life and it’s fun to write. Get down, make mistakes, get messy. My sex scenes aren’t just conventionally attractive people putting on a show. I emphasize body diversity, complexities of gender identity, and emotional state

Tropes:

Found Family

Villains

Redemption- working to be a better person, even when it’s hard

Poly-Amory- we often have more than one close friendship, and have variety and nuance in those different relationships, so the same thing goes for romance

Morally gray/Feral girls- women have so much responsibility put on them for the emotional wellbeing of others, but what if they aren’t capable of that? (think Broad City/ Bottoms)

Finished works:

The Devil You Know- short story- Out now! Find your copy here

Genre: horror, vampires, fairytale

Vibe: The Green Knight x The Witch

Anya has built a quiet life for herself, trusted as the village healer as long as she keeps her magic hidden. All of that changes when a strange traveler arrives at her doorstep. The man looks human, but Anya senses an old and powerful magic within him. Intrigued, she allows Owen inside. He claims to have been an apprentice to a witch, and Anya, despite her suspicions, finds him to be a kindred spirit. They begin a romance, both finding comfort in one another.

Their peace is broken when a family comes to Anya in crisis. Their child has been cursed, and is transforming into a monster. Desperate to save the boy, Anya asks Owen for help. He can grant her the power to break the spell, but it requires blood and forbidden rites. Knowing that she can’t break the curse alone, Anya faces a choice with deadly consequences.

WIPs:

Bubblegum Capital

Genre: Queer Cyberpunk

Vibe: 1984 x Legally Blonde

Novaczek is on the brink of fame. They’re an amateur gamer about to break into the pro leagues. But their dreams are crushed when work denies them time off for the championship.

Novaczek decides to play on shift and is caught. Everything comes crashing down. They find themselves at rock bottom having lost their job, company housing, and girlfriend all at once.

In a world where your value is measured by your social ranking, Novaczek has to claw themselves back up, hustling for money and favors from friends. As they work their way back up the ranks they discover an underbelly where nothing and no-one are what they appear to be.

Love, Asunder

Genre: Gay Vampires, Family Saga

Vibe: 1917 x Hellboy

James Townsend was supposed to be starting his new life, an American abroad, with a Fellowship at Oxford University. All of that changes when Germany marches on Paris. James can’t remain in the classroom while teachers and students leave their desks for the battlefield. So James enlists as a volunteer ambulance driver on the Front. The days stretch long with violence and misery, but he finds purpose and friendships in the trenches.

Then he meets a man, a smuggler providing supplies and information to the Allies. Etienne is so different from the soldiers, bright and charming. They begin a secret romance, disappearing together when they can, and writing letters in between.

An opportunity comes to meet in Paris, and James is overwhelmed at the opportunity to spend time with Etienne in the City of Love. Free to spend their days together, James quickly discovers just how much Etienne has been hiding from him, and enters a world of magic, beauty, and death.

Tropes and fun stuff:

Butch witches

Femme werewolves

Playing the vampire tropes straight

Magical Underground

Found Family

Bio-Family responsibilities

Many, Many different kinds of love

I'll be sharing moodboards and snippets along the way! Looking forward to learning more about the other talented Writeblrs out here!

tagging: @hillnerd-art @suffrajett @starknstarwars @em-dashes @blind-the-winds @leave-her-a-tome @athenswrites

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madstronaut · 2 months

Text

prepareth thineselves for another doozy of a ramblecommentating

obligatory alphalist link:

the pining. THE MOTHERFUCKING PINING IN THIS STORY is enough to power a standard size nuclear plant imo and madstronaut is here to do her civic duty as a staunch supporter of the environment and fighting fossil fuels, yes, truly the main reason i read smutty/yearny fic-

Reading: Christian Woman by @kneelingshadowsalome

“You don’t know how it even happened, but you became friends with a foreign man visiting your city.”

this is basically reverse tinder iykyk

“You feel warm and safe with him, lost inside a soft bubble you quickly create in the corner table of a cellar cafe.”

this very aptly desscribes how this story makes me feel. i cried the first time i read it through fully; just made me feel so many emotions 🥹🥹🥹

Perhaps it’s the dimly lit environment or perhaps it’s just him, but you have one of the deepest conversations ever with this mysterious man.

i hope everyone experiences the happy accident of a spontaneous deep conversation with a stranger - feels like God/the universe just gifting you a random act of kindness

“Well… I don’t do twerking, but yes, nuns are allowed to dance.” girl you about to do a lot more than that very soon

You can see he hasn’t skipped a leg day either, and immediately chastise yourself for checking out his butt in the coffee queue.

*when God sings with his creations, will not König's ass be part of the choir*

You know it’s an attempt to make you forgive his choice of career when he reveals to you that his best mission was when he saved thirty women from sex trafficking. And it does make your heart crack open a little.

just speaking personally quite a heady experience to have someone attempt to better themselves for you but way too easy for this dynamic go from sexy/flattering to emotionally off-kilter - how does the phrase go? with great pus-power comes great responsibility

Actually, you catch him looking at your breasts, scanning your body and cherishing the tender spot between your collarbones more times than you can count. They’re quick, stolen moments, so harmless that you choose to stay quiet.

🥰🥺🥰🥺

He listens to your every word with a softening glow in his eyes, a shimmer that spreads across the table and makes you feel warm all over. fucking LOVE THIS LINE

König always softens in your presence... You always tense up in his.

Your face is flushed, and you blame it on the overcrowded cafe. You feel both safe and in danger with him, and it must be the virgin inside you talking.

this is such a great description of how a good ole crush feels - “you feel both safe and in danger with him”

It’s bubbly and lively and colourful, just like your friend; it’s the opposite of König, the special operations soldier who’s dark, intriguing, and intimate, just like the dimly lit cellar cafe you meet him in secret.

total sidenote but since I was just recently there - you wanna talk bright bubbly cafe next to dim cellar cafe - bedford cheese shop next to irving farm coffeeshop on irving place off union square in nyc fits these descriptions exactly lol

"Soldiers are crazy. I once dated this peacekeeper,” your friend continues in her usual chirpy way.

why did the following description make me think of john cena peacemaker, who does indeed own a fleshlight in the show 😂😂😂

And at times, hearing about all the things your friend has gone through, being an onlooker to all that heartbreak and pining and loss, has managed to strengthe your resolve. a whole moooooood

“No, seriously. We’re talking about fistfights and broken bones. Dating apps would explode. People would get killed.”

we all need a friend like this 😂

If anything, you’re scared of men, and you loathe the dating world. You’re put off by shallow commitments and one-night stands and getting ghosted and God knows what else.

omg it me????

You always told your friend that Jesus Christ is the most stable man you’ve ever met, and you will stick with him.

recalling all those worship songs nicknamed “Jesus is my boyfriend” songs in youth group growing up😂😂😂😂

“Stable? Excuse me, but didn’t he start a riot or something at the temple? Are we talking about the same dude who lead an uprising against the Romans? Hung out with whores, raised corpses from the dead, fucked around and found out until someone nailed him at the cross? Stable my ass!”

I want to banghang out with this Jesus tbh amigoingtohellfortypingthatmaybesavemeJesus😉

Your friend's enthusiastic grin turns into an uneasy, pitying smile when she realises how deep into this man you actually are.

i knew she was a goner when she started talking about his hands

If you're chosen by God, your friend is chosen by the Devil, that's for sure. like i said WE ALL NEED A FRIEND LIKE THIS 😂

There’s no chaos and no guns and no tall men with big dicks, no Austrian war criminals trying to seduce you and then discard you after their deployment ends.

There’s only a man with a kind smile, warm eyes, and a nice, husky laugh. Some good coffee with distant notes of chocolate and perfectly civil conversations about European philosophers and the crisis of modern thought.

WHY NOT BOTH?

Sturdy walls support you; they have held you for centuries, and the crucifix above you has given hope to so many people before you. The ever-safe embrace of your faith envelops you, and you can always trust that you are loved, even when you’re flawed and incomplete.

Even with indecent thoughts, you can pray for mercy and ask for forgiveness. Even if you have impure urges towards your Austrian mercenary, you can still pray for him... It’s the least you can do to repay the kindness he has given you.

i appreciate how fleshed out our nun reader is <3 i found myself in a weird limbo of wanting her to remain true to herself while still navigating her faith (as someone also on a post(idk tbh?)-faith journey i find her spiritual self-wrestling very relatable and familiar)

You don’t want to draw the Lord’s attention to you while your hand travels down beneath the sheets, your thoughts wandering to a certain god-like soldier with eyes like burning ice.

probs goin to hell for this (but im on tumblr so im already here??? lmao) but S i r if u invented the whole concept u can at least watch and give me pointers/tips

And that’s ok - physical touch like that is ok. Holding hands is not.

truly the absolute dirtiest sluttiest thing you can do fr fr let me say it once again with my whole chest 👏HOLDING👏HANDS👏IS👏FOR👏 SLUTSSSSSS👏 (it's me, the slut, im the slut)

It finds you in silence, envelops your tiny palm completely, squeezes you softly and emanates so much heat that a cord of fire shoots across your arm and straight into your heart.

i remember my first innocent hand holdings/cheek kisses and they felt EXACTLY like this, reading this felt like salome went digging into my brainfolds and pulled the sensations out and put them in writing 🤯

The only thing you ever craved for was another slice of cake. omg nun reader your innocence is adorable all the better when watching it break

“I’m sure you’ll find some other girl to… hold hands with,” you say, hating how bitter and self-pitying you sound. holy self-sabotage, batman - NUNREADER DONT DO THISSSSS

“I’m sorry too,” he laments, but the corner of his mouth curves slightly up. “So sorry you wouldn’t even believe…” excuse me while i mop myself off the floor; melted right off my chair

You wonder if he’d pay you a visit if you told him where you sleep. You wonder if your single bed would creak if he tried to make love to you on it... You wonder if you could muffle your cries when you clenched with him inside you. If he’d groan too loudly when he reached his peak…

nun reader can i interest you in an alternate, similarly unpaid career trajectory of…*drumroll* SMUTTY FIC WRITING???? pls i will send u an ao3 invite and comment on every 5th syllable of your stories and be your 2nd-biggest personal hypebae (first one being her own bff who would be over the moon ofc)

The back door is always open too because some of the nuns are smokers.

im deeefinitely picturing nun!aubrey plaza from the little hours below

“Of course not. I will pray for you every day,” you smile with a good amount of affection. It has the same effect as saying something like “I want to blow you right here on this street” because your Austrian giant gets visibly excited. spit my fuckin tea out at this, fucking hilarious

the giant soldier who now carries a piece of your heart with him. You wonder if he even knows he owns it. 🥺🥺🥺reminds me of old crushes/lovers who broke my heart. did u know how much you held when you had a piece of it? steadfastly not thinking of the ones i broke too🤪

The morning prayers and mass are a chore and bring you no comfort, and the usual dawn bliss is gone.

i have often heard it said both in a spiritual and practical context that when your peace leaves a place, you should pay attention and leave with it and it’s still a very relevant and wise piece of advice imho

But at the same time, you know it must’ve been the Lord who brought you together. There must be a reason for God to make you two meet, you refuse to think it’s only because He wishes to tempt you. There must be a bigger plan; the connection, as sinful and carnal as it is, has to serve some higher purpose.

tw for churchish talk so pls skip if its not your cup of tea but without getting into all the fucked up stuff that is the monstrosity of evangelical churchianity, personally speaking one of the earliest places (and most constant sources) i learned about self-worth and compassion and love and extending it to myself and others was through people of faith (i know this might be ironic/offensive to some because believe me i have also been there in being traumatized/antagonized by ppl of faith as well but trying my best to hold all our different experiences and perspectives in hand to be able to see listen and understand the good the bad and grey and everything in between in a nuanced way, anyway story of my life); i wish i could offer similar encouragement i heard to nunreader - omg, can we instead focus on the verses/stuff in bible like Christ coming to set us free, not keep us chained to laws, God is love, loving God and others are apparently the two most important things in the faith and everything else rests on these two, also there is a shitttttton of smut in the bible coughsong of songs, the book no one ever preaches aboutcough and also i dont think the supposed inventor of sex hates sex, anyway ending my shittylittle fauxsermon/rant here but end of tw, back to the fic~

And you wonder if you’re going mad, because your most sinful thought is that you actually see God in him. i know reader is deep in the cups of churchthought but this is honestly one of the most beautiful things ive read; i want to (and imho i do) ‘see God’ - see something divine, beautiful wondrous heavenly full of love and joy and peace and gentleness and kindness and all that other stuff from that galatians bit i dont recall now- in the people I love too

You decide to hold on to this thought: that you were meant to meet so that you could come to know God through each other. cough once again trawling through some old memories resurfacing from my churchish days but apparently one of the meanings of the original hebrew word for to know in the bible also meant to have sex with, i am 1000% serious👀👀👀

You wear your everyday clothes to the café, and König says nothing about your sudden moral choice, only gives you another longing, enamored once-over.

recalling an old convo with a guyfriend when we were discussing/joking about modesty and clothing and i joked that the ultimate level was a nun habit/outfit - in complete seriousness though he turned to me and said to a man in lust/love, the right woman has nothing she could wear that wouldn’t tempt him - including a nun outfit - and ive never forgotten what he said lol. I joked about ankles sticking out and then of course we dove into a deep discussion on the existential nature of feet fetishes. in hindsight, apologies to anyone nearby we may have traumatized/offended that june afternoon in washington square park

You hate it that the bright, playful air of your meetings is gone, and your heart is tearing itself apart in your chest because the only thing you wanted was to spread joy into his world. Even the Lord seems disappointed in you being so cold-hearted, and you can’t bear to see His sadness and suffering in König’s eyes.

all he has to do is sneak inside your heart and take the place that belongs to God. You don’t even feel the difference as he makes himself at home.

Well, actually, you do... It’s like your Christ’s love and mercy have finally come to flesh and blood before you. They're materialized in the man sitting opposite of you, bouncing his knee excitedly and grinning like the most innocent little devil on Earth.

peak yearning right here. also i think salome captures thoughtprocess of nunreader so well in her eventually assauging her Intense Catholic Guilt™️ by basically equating König to Jesus/God, the only man nuns are allowed to simp for (if anyone is offended by the near-constant blasphemous shit in this post - tbh my whole blog - pls say a prayer for me lol)

“I–I can’t just escape from the window.” my SISTER in CHRIST, you just gave away your whole escape plan LMAO

But everything feels so right that it can’t be a sin – if it is, it just so happens to be the most natural, most divine thing to do too.

nunreader i am cheering you on with little party hats and confetti bombs in spirit-

Everything’s so tight and earthly; everything’s so… there. Visible... Touchable.

very into how nunreader is feeling herself here. yes my queen get ready to fucking get ittttttt

And König has seen you without makeup all this time, so what on earth has possessed you to lament the fact that you don’t own a single case of lipstick? You’d kill for a few sweeps of mascara, too, just to bat your lashes at a silly man.

i am restraining the urge to dive into the screen into this story with my makeup kit to Give Reader A Mini-Makeover (i fucking LOVE those scenes in stories/shows/movies and also for me makeup is art and the canvas is my face/body and i enjoy perfecting my art on the daily- totally forget over the pandemic how much i enjoyed putting on makeup before going to work)

“Here, kitty, kitty…” why is this extremely goofy and sexy at the same time? peak König vibes tbh

Whenever you’re with your sisters, the feeling is pure, pristine love, not a surge of complex emotions and thrill like it is with König.

why not both, my sister, why not both? something something love is a many splendored thing - shakespeare probably

You walk the streets with a flower in one hand and his palm in the other. this is the cutest fucking thing ive ever read so far i am biting my pillow to shreds~ also König handfeeding strawberries to sis at the restaurant?? someone call 911 for public indecency???? hot damn and you were worried bout HOLDING HANDS???

He's nervous, too... Your cruel soldier is nervous, and kind, and shy because he's pressed against you. every girls dream 🥰🥰🥰

instantly getting hard from a first kiss does feel very könig-coded, do not @ me

You hear whistles and whoos in the distance, some men yelling, “Let’s go!” and “Get a room” while they pass by. not me also joining in-

The world revolves like it always has, as you choose a crucified man over the one who’s flesh and blood and holds you through your pain. not me getting together a petition.org straight to Jesus to cut our sister some slack-

“The world tests us in many ways... But Lord never tests us. He only loves us.”

on this note i remember being briefly fascinated by nuns/priests as a young madstronaut - mostly fascinated by these women living sans men in such a male-dominated world/space and foregoing sex/marriage (anyway little did i know of religious patriarchy and such then) but knowing what i know now, that under all the collars and habits and wimples are still regular people/human beings - i wonder how many IRL Christian Women fics are being lived out right now somewhere 👀coughBEFREEMYSISTERScough

He just now crossed your mind when you remember how he used to smell: of salty seabreeze mixed with intoxicating musk, the scent of excitement and safety all in one.

smellsandbells are my bread butter and jam! research has also shown the sense of smell is strongly linked with memory too and i can attest to this

The tallest man you’ve ever seen steps out from the dark in full combat gear, and while you can’t see his face because it’s covered with a draping black hood, you recognize it’s him simply from the way he moves.

do not resist dear sister, no one can when COD men deck themselves out in full gear, its simply not physically spiritually mentally emotionally chemically possible, cold scientific fact, biblical gospel, incontrovertible truth, in this annotated research paper i will-

You must look like a frightened deer because König mistakes your horrified look as sweet, simple concern.

“Don’t worry... They have it much worse, I assure you,” he says with his usual grin – you can hear it from the way he says it that he’s smiling. okay König fucking would say something like this lmao READ THE ROOM SIR but also sister has it d o w n b a d if shes able to recognize him just by the way he moves and “hear him smiling” iykyk

So when he asks you if there are any motels or a bed & breakfast nearby, you say you know just the place. sir i see right through your schemes and i am giving my 100% certified stamp of approval tbh i wouldn’t have even put it past him in this fic if he stabbed himself in a nonlethal area so sister can see some skin without ICG in teh way (Intense Catholic Guilt™️)

You suppose this is what your friend calls a happy trail...

And it does make you very happy.

you and me both sister, you and me both

“Pay no mind to that,” he says thickly and completely without shame. “ pay no mind? my brother in christ you are giving free handouts (trying not to let my brain rot away thinking of double entendres here)

“I wrote to you, Braut Christi... Many times. Never sent the letters… They’re still in my room, at the base.” sir sir if i can guess at the contents of some (most?) of these letters…may I ALSO interest you in an alternate albeit unpaid career trajectory of smutty fic writing-

You wonder if hearts can find each other, even through a distance, and if you’ve felt the urge to go to the flower he gave you at the same time König has gotten the desire to write another letter to you. It’s bittersweet, like this whole thing between you two, the mystery that both brings you together and rips you apart.

damn this is peak writing right here. this rivals published writing ive read, all my standing ovations, slow claps, and hats off to you salome~ i go through tons and tons of fic in hopes to read sentences like these and stories like yours ❤️❤️❤️honestly their whole exchange with sis kneeling by him as he falls asleep is peak yearning/tenderness

also nunreader’s “why exactly does König like me so much, is it because of any other possible reason other than myself” is peak relatability - once again restraining myself from grabbing reader through the screen and giving them white-board scrawled peptalks breaking down why they are amazing and worthy

He must be getting better if he’s behaving like this... The man’s insufferable enough when he’s uninjured, but now that he’s getting pampered, he’s somehow even worse. 😂😂😂 sis finally gettin the memo

Your only summer dress resides at your parent’s house as a relic from the past, a token from your life before sisterhood. this is true, i recall reading that once someone enters the convent/monastery they basically get given one nun/priest outfit and like maybe a backup one when the main one gets washed? my new yorker fashionloving ass could never

“No, I’m not. I’m just some woman you bumped into in the street.”

“That’s exactly what an angel would say.”

😂😂😂

You sigh: it’s useless with König, hopeless, like trying to wrestle with God. No matter what you say or do, he always turns it against you in the sweetest possible way. as someone with the near-useless superpower of getting weird inside baseball bible/sunday school/youth group jokes/references however vague in modern lit/culture when they appear i appreciate the “wrestle with God” reference, peak research vibes

also the last line here really smacks of the nicer interpretation of what the abbess told sis: “God doesn’t test us, he loves us” <3

There’s nothing sexual about it, so why not?

she says “aint nothin sexual bout lyin in a bed, the primary location where people usually have sex, with an almost nude man who is horny/erect 95% of the time he is around you, alone, in what i can only describe as a an ideal small town honeymoon suite while it is moodily raining outside” my sister in christ, do you recall lying (yes even to yourself) is a s i n

also i have never been catholic but hot damn i was also blushing and did think König is fucking s h a m e l e s s reading about him feeling up sis STILL IN HER HABIT 😂

He’s ever so grateful for his saving angel, who he gets to cuddle “as a reward”. You don’t quite know if it's a reward for you or him.

once again my sister in christ w h y n o t b o t h (also im deliriously pleased i can use sister in christ with multi-layered meanings here)

“Perhaps we’ll stay there... Forget all this,” he chatters lazily, clearly in the same sweet bubble as you. ive always found it so sweet and vulnerable and tender hearing bfs/guys muse and daydream about a future together 🥰🥰 just hits different when boys do it, and openly too

the last of your armour, your pride and shame and vows, drift away like they were made of nothing but simple steam.

But there’s nothing to hold on to but him, so you anchor yourself in the dark hunger of his eyes.

That’s all the reply you get: a pleased, filthy stare of someone who’s about to wreck you up.

“Come here,” he says while you’re already locked in an inseparable embrace.

*chefs kiss* these lines are perfection

You start to cry in full, not even knowing why. You just know you’ve wanted this for ages. This connection, this ecstasy, this mutual presence and fulfilment, this sense of belonging to someone.

*nodding along sagely* yes cathartic cries are the best cries

your pussy wakes up after recovering from the initial shock… For some reason, it is vital for you not to let the old receptionist know that a humble sister of Christ is getting licked to ruin in his establishment.

HAHAHA SALOME OMFG ABSOLUTELY SCREECHED READING THIS

You’re going through several stages of ego death and bliss; you’re going through a crisis of faith and multiple rebirths while König is having a field day with your pussy. Honestly completely normal reaction imho

All thoughts of What if he doesn’t enjoy it evaporate when you see the demanding erection between his legs, pointing at you so viciously that you feel pity for the fabric of his pants.

fics that have genital personification have a special place in my heart. also i did not expect to write such a sentence today or in my life but here i am, thank you tumblr

You’re not wearing any bra; you stopped wearing them years ago as useless and immoral. ok hold up one moment why are bras immoral lol girl unless you are small enough to join the free the nip movement without penalities a good support system is vital!!!

“You naughty girl…” he says thickly.

tbh in context of entire fic König calling sis a naughty girl is probably the hottest thing he’s said…sir where did u get all this rizz

“Want to see what I got?”

…forget what I said about the rizz, this is the fucking goofiest follow-up he could say 😂😂😂 salome has König vibes down pat

You’re mesmerized to see him already tensing from the chest up, the tendons on his neck becoming visible as he grits his teeth together. 🥰🥰🥰 an absolute vision

It's riddled with chants of Put it in and Forget about the bloody plastic because even with your zero experience you know it wouldn't feel as good as skin *me, reading, also joining in the chant*

The room must be smelling like a sex cave by now. protip: make sure the smell is gone if you have guests coming over

It makes you smile; him being so happy with simple things such as good food and some kinky sex, a nice cuddle and a nap to top it off. giggling at nunreader thinking humping is kinky UGH WHY ARE YOU SO SWEET AND ADORABLE i just want to take you on a shopping and makeup spree and introduce you to things like bubble tea, dry shampoo, glossier merch, weekend farmer's markets at union square, the hot barista/server at veselka's-

“This is what I call liking someone so much it hurts.” 🥺🥺🥺 couldnt seduce a woman if he tried my ass

König learns your body language; he knows it like a native speaker by the end of the week. EAT YOUR HEART OUT DUOLINGO (please dont kill me i'll fix my streak i promise)

König only smiles on the bed while you treat him; it’s like his master plan finally worked. I FUCKIN CALLED IT

“I would never hurt you….and no one ever will.” their whole conversation here is one of my favorite scenes in the whole story.

Without mentioning König or what you’ve been up to lately, you simply tell her you’ve decided to move on with your life. yes, i am one of those plebs who clap when the plane lands, but for dramatic turning points in fanfic

You receive lots of well wishes, hugs, even tears when you tell others you’re leaving. Embarrassed that you almost got rid of your robes and sneaked out to another secret lover’s meeting without even saying farewell, you meet everyone with full presence until you find yourself crying too.

i love a fic that has lore and a bit of worldbuilding so well-built that you want to look around corners and peek into windows and doorways about what else there is - i found myself wondering about sister’s relationships here with the other nuns - but also loved that last phrase of reader finally feeling whole, “meeting everyone with full presence” after feeling so fractured and divided the first half of the story 👏👏👏we love a good full circle fic 👏👏👏

No wonder men die younger – you’d have to tie this specimen to a sturdy lamp post if you wanted him to stay put... i too think this everytime i see some dumb bullshit, mostly on @drunkpeopledoingthings

“Well, you’ve seen me,” you extend your hands to your sides, knowing you’ve already lost. “You can go back now.” there's something just very delicious watching someone fight a losing battle

desire pools, brims, until you feel like you can’t breathe anymore. loooooooove this phrasing

This must be one of the craziest things you’ve done in your life says reader, of having sex for the first time, a near universal experience

To you, he’s all men in one, the sheer mass of him making your thighs tremble from want. 🥰🥰🥰reader in love is so poetic <3

also yes squeaky beds are my kink, ty for including salome 🥰🥰🥰

also sis describing her pussy “hugging” dick has got to be the fluffiest smut ive ever read🥰🥰🥰

Ten times more powerful than the most blissful experiences with your God, you want to come here for worship again and again, to have his body entangled with yours. ah yes to know König is to know God indeed 😏😏😏😏😏

When done, he sinks half his weight on you, thoroughly spent, and you feel fulfilled, some deep-seated joy taking hold of everything that once was hollow. Curiously, all shame is absent. 🥹🥹🥹 i love this line so much. i hope everyone is able to experience this, especially if you like me have had some religious purity culture trauma in your life - there is no shame in love <3

The happiness, the pure joy in his eyes, is heartbreaking. At that moment, you know that all his silly jokes, follies, and babbles about taking you to the mountains and whisking you away have been real. They have been true, honest wishes... There is no lie in him, no jest, no fakeness. Just pure, simple joy from hearing that you finally chose him, too. 🥹🥹🥹

The old man doesn’t even care to look surprised when he sees you clothed in jeans and a simple shirt this time, smiling as you rush upstairs, hand in hand with König. okay but shoutout to this dude, you a real one for being the best unintentional wingman this side of europe

You can’t wait to sleep with him tonight: simply sleep with him, finally, curl up together in safety, do the most basic thing all lovers do. You can’t wait to wake up to a fresh dawn together, lovely, curious, and new. 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

You take new vows: promising to yourself to live each day fully and bravely, and never again shut your heart.

The only thing left of you on your old bed is your black and white robe, and on it, a crucifix and a rose, and a note that says:

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love… But the greatest of these is love.

screaming crying i cant even explain how this fic made me feel, some mixture of joy and heartbreak and catharsis and healing all wrapped up in one as i found so many parallels both with reader and König at times and isn’t that just some of the best things about great stories, when it helps us see and feel and know and love ourselves and others in new ways we couldn’t before?

i wanted to do this absolutely lovely fic justice so ive literally been sprinkling comments on this during re-reads for months; i will close with a fitting - and catholic - quote that i love:

“There is a twilight zone in our hearts that we ourselves cannot see. Even when we know quite a lot about ourselves-our gifts and weaknesses, our ambitions and aspirations, our motives and our drives-large parts of ourselves remain in the shadow of consciousness. This is a very good thing. We will always remain partially hidden to ourselves. Other people, especially those who love us, can often see our twilight zones better than we ourselves can. The way we are seen and understood by others is different from the way we see and understand ourselves. We will never fully know the significance of our presence in the lives of our friends. That's a grace, a grace that calls us not only to humility, but to a deep trust in those who love us. It is the twilight zones of our hearts where true friendships are born.” - quote by Henri Nouwen, catholic priest

#madstrothought #FaFiCoWriMo #fanfiction #call of duty #König #Christian Woman (fic title - to avoid this going into the general tag lol)#kneelingshadowsalome #DanceofTheSevenVeils #König x reader #nun au #forbidden love

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sunshineblondiewrites · 8 months

Text

The First of Us - Chapter 1

My sister tried to eat me

Joel Miller x f!reader (no use of y/n)

Series summary: you and your father meet Joel and Tommy 6 years after outbreak day. You join their group trying to make it to the Boston QZ not realizing all that joining would entail. You eventually make it to the QZ but not without suffering many losses. Tommy decides to join the Fireflies and you and Joel are left with your smuggling partner, Tess, when years later you meet a teenage girl that will bring you and Joel across the country, and maybe together.

Summary: You're 14 years old on September 29th, 2003 living in a small village in Kentucky with your parents and little sister on a farm. You couldn't have imagined how the day would go and the people you would meet 6 years later.

Warnings: death, outbreak day, friends to lovers, reader has a sister, minor physical descriptions of reader, grieving, FFM threeway (does not include reader, cannon typical violence(if I miss any please lmk)

a/n: this is my first fic! I'm super excited and also super nervous... the first three chapters are backstory and then chapter 4 and on will be pretty similar to the show! I wanna say thanks so much to @who-has-my-green-banana for helping me proofread and spellcheck and everything. Hope anyone who reads this, enjoys!

word count 6.2k

Ch2 masterlist

Friday, September 26th, 2003 Hazel, KY

It was a beautiful day. The clouds perfectly covered the sky to make it so that it wasn’t too bright outside but it was still sunny. You still had to walk down your mile-long driveway to the bus stop, so you were able to appreciate the weather every morning. Dad said that as soon as you turned 16 he’d let you drive to school, even though the area you lived in was so small that some parents were letting their kids drive at 15 when they just had their permits, but your dad is a stickler about laws, rules, and safety. He isn’t strict per say, but a protector and chronic worrier.

The small village of Hazel, Kentucky, where your family farm resided, is home to only 450 people, meaning you had quite the long bus ride to school in the next town over. Hazel is known for its antique malls that dot main street and the “Hazel Day” celebration. Hazel Day was coming up actually and the town was getting ready and getting excited, but no one was more excited than your baby sister, Hazel. Your parents named your sister after the village because it was quite literally a community effort to get her into the world. Your mom’s water had broken in the middle of the local market and she somehow managed to progress so fast that there was no time for hospitals and only time for a sweet old woman's 5 minute car ride to her house and Hazel came not long after in an all natural tub birth. You’d never heard your mom scream so much.

Hazel Elizabeth was born on September 30th, 1995. You were 6 years older. Your parents had tried for a very long time to get pregnant again after you. Your Dad really wanted a boy but after Hazel essentially arrived with a bow already in her hair it was clear that wasn’t happening and you were his only option, so he decided to teach you the ins and outs of farm life in hopes you would either take over one day or marry a man to take over, you couldn’t quite figure out which. That was another thing about the town of Hazel, people frequently got married right out of high school since the town was so small and was so incredibly old fashioned. Your Dad however never let you watch or do any of the butchering, he always said “killing is a man’s job, no woman should have blood on her hands.” But you didn’t care because you frequently named the animals and you slept better not knowing which of your pet chickens was in your mom’s chicken noodle soup.

When you finally arrived at school and sat at your desk for your first hour, groaning internally when the usual ruckus broke out from the junior boys. They seemed to have no problem that they were still taking sophomore level English. You, however, were taking classes a year ahead. You were something of a smarty pants thanks to your mom’s ever present hand in your education. She worked part-time at one of the antique shops so she was often home to help with your studies or let you out of chores to go read. Her parents couldn't afford college for her so she wanted the best chance for you to get a good scholarship and be able to go.

“Well aren’t you all extra fidgety today?” Mrs. Charleson said, “But it’s Friday, so pop quiz time to make sure you’re all caught up on the reading.”

Madison smugly raised her hand and you visibly cringed before the smart ass remark you knew she was about to make made its way to the surface. She’s your “neighbor” because her family is the only people who live within 6 miles from your house. “If you give us a pop quiz every Friday, is it even a pop quiz anymore?” She said and the Junior boys giggled. Gross.

“And yet some of you are still surprised,” Mrs. Charleson replied, smiling just as smartly. That made you and many other students laugh, proving why she was without a doubt your favorite teacher.

—

You aced your quiz. When the final bell rang you couldn’t wait to get out of there. Something was just off with everyone today but you couldn’t quite decide what it was. You headed to your locker to grab your snack of raisins and peanuts and then started walking in the direction of the local dress shop where your sister would be getting the final alterations done to her dress for the Hazel Day pageant.

“Hey Hazie!” you shout as you walk in and see your adorable baby sister. Her blonde curls somehow so effortlessly laid across her shoulders.

Hazie shrieks your name in excitement, “Come look at my dress!!” You walk further into the dress shop to see your sister in her Barbie pink pageant gown that you’d guess weighed more than she did soaking wet. It had everything a girl like Hazie could ever dream of, pink ribbons, ruffles, and even lace.

“Well aren’t you just the prettiest princess!” You said giving her a twirl.

“Oh don’t move so much I haven’t taken out the last pin!” Mrs. Vivian said. She was the owner of the dress shop and also the old woman from the market who took your mom to have a baby in her bathtub. She gave your mom a discounted rate for alterations for your sister’s endless pageant dress collection which helped your parents be able to support her pageant dreams. It was still a fucking expensive hobby and your parents definitely had more financial strain because of it, but whatever to make your little Hazie happy.

Once alterations were done, Mrs. Vivian promised to have it done by October 1st which was 3 days before Hazel Day. “And don’t worry about this round of alterations Lillian, this one’s on me,” Mrs. Vivian said.

“Oh Vivian I couldn’t possibly allow you to do that,” your mother frantically replied. She absolutely hated accepting help from anyone.

“No, no, I insist! It’s a birthday present for our future junior pageant Queen.”

“Well, thank you, could I still at least give you a tip?” Your mother began bargaining. Mrs. Vivian along with everyone else was obsessed with your sister. Disney Princesses may not be real but they came to life in sweet Hazel Elizabeth. She deadass would have squirrels and birds and whatever else following her around, it was bizarre. But you couldn’t deny the fact that the effect of the sweet beacon of innocence and joy your sister had on people affected you too. Hazie was your everything, there’s not a single thing you wouldn’t do to protect her, not that she needed it. She may be pretty and cute, but she had quite the stubborn head on her shoulders.

“Momma can I have one more cookie before we go?” Hazel asked with the biggest doe eyes you ever did see, in what world would your mother ever be able to say no to her?

“You’ve already had two… how about half if you split it with your sister?” Your mother replied.

“Okay!” Hazel grabbed the chocolate chip raisin cookies Mrs. Vivian had made and split it mostly in half and handed you the other piece. You were still a little hungry, but you’d just had your snack of raisins and decided that your daily tolerance of their texture was up, so you slipped Hazel the half she gave you on your walk back to the car.

“Shh,” you smiled at her, winking and watching her sweet blue eyes brighten at the sight of what would complete her third cookie. You tossed your backpack in the trunk next to Hazel’s homeschool books and popped in the front seat next to your mom. Your parents decided to homeschool your sister when the pageants and travel started affecting her ability to attend school. Plus it was one less thing your parents would have to pay for, so most of Hazel’s school supplies were just your old school supplies. It seemed like your mom kept everything you or Hazel ever touched.

“Mommy? I feel a little funny.” Hazel piped up from the backseat, interrupting your looking-out-the-window-music-video-vibe you had going on while listening to Beyonce’s newest hit “Crazy in Love.”

“Honestly me too Hazie. Now yours may have to do with the three- yes, three- cookies you ate today. I saw you trying to be sneaky,” your mother glanced at you for a second, “but I think the weather’s changing so it may have something to do with that too.”

“Yeah it’s probably just a bug going around. People were weird today at school too,” you added, trying to ease Hazel’s worries.

“A BUG?? I don’t wanna be sick for my birthday Mommy,” Hazel pouted.

“Oh you won’t, love. It’ll pass, I promise. Do you have any homework today?”

“No, just a test I need to study for in science.” You saw an opportunity and decided to take it. “So I’m not sure I can go to the pre-banquet tonight.”

“WHAT?” Hazel shouted from the backseat.

“Your sister’s right, the banquet won’t be a good use of her time if she needs to study. She’ll be at the pageant though, don’t worry.” Your mom’s obsession with your studies increased once your parents pulled Hazel from school, so you couldn’t be happier to study for your science test. Sitting in a stuffy room all dressed up eating stale food and surrounded by a bunch of snobby girls and their mothers was not how you wanted to spend your evening. You liked dressing up for church on Sundays and special occasions and you wore a little makeup every day, but you certainly were no pageant girl.

“Gosh it’s already 5:00. Help Hazel get ready will you? We need to leave in 45 minutes if we wanna make it there by 6:20…” your mom got out of the car rambling. If your dad was a chronic worrier your mother was an incessant worrier.

“Come on Hazie, let's get you all dressed up,” you said. You were no makeup artist, but for only being 14 and hardly wearing any makeup, you considered yourself pretty good. It was probably due to having done your sister’s makeup for so long. You may not like doing it very much, but you loved making Hazel happy and this definitely made her happy.

“Stop jittering so much. I can barely get this eyeliner on straight and you know I’m no good at eyeliner anyway,” you said.

“I’m sorry, I think I’m just cold," your sister said softly. You immediately felt terrible and grabbed a light pink blanket off her bed and draped it over her shoulders.

“Maybe you are getting sick?” You took your hands to her forehead, but she was cold. “Huh no fever, though.” You more or less got her eyeliner on and started to touch up where her natural curls had flattened. Then you pulled the front bits back into a half up half down look and applied just a touch of tinted lip gloss. She may be required to wear makeup for these pageants but you still wanted her to look more like herself.

“Thank you sissy,” Hazel said and gave you a big hug.

“Of course. And always remember you’re my favorite princess and you’re so so beautiful no matter what anyone says about you,” you said. You’d always been worried about what the effect of pageant life would have on her. You’d seen how deathly skinny some of the older pageant girls are, but you’re just glad Hazel still wants a third cookie.

“HAZEL ELIZABETH WE NEED TO LEAVE!”

“You better go. You know what mom’s like when she thinks she's gonna be late,” you warn your sister.

“I don’t know why she thinks we’re gonna be late, right now we’re still getting there 25 minutes early.”

“Ah, but,” you start.

“Early is on time, on time is late, and late is just unacceptable,” you and Hazel quote your mother perfectly.

“HAZEL!” Your sister's eyes widen as she gives you a kiss on the cheek and then runs out of her room. You hear your mother shout love and goodbye, but leaves you no time to respond before the door slams and you’re met with silence.

Just how you like it.

—

When your dad came in from the fields to find you at home, he wasn’t at all surprised, but that did mean you had to help him out with a few final things he wanted to get finished up today. When you tried to fix up something for dinner you realized your mom has been so preoccupied with Hazel and the pageant next weekend that going to the market must have slipped her mind, so you both settled on popcorn for dinner.

“Now if we’re having popcorn for dinner, we have to watch a movie,” your dad said, shrugging.

“I think you’re right.” You could study for the test later. “What do you wanna watch?”

“Hmmm, how about Harry Potter?”

“Sorcerer's Stone or Chamber of Secrets?”

“Chamber of Secrets for sure. I wanna watch the scene of Hermione as that nightmarish cat” your dad replied. You started searching the DVD cabinet for the movie. “By the way, when’s the third one supposed to come out?”

“Uhhh sometime next summer I think? Ya know, you could just read the books to find out what happens.”

“And spoil the movie?! I would never,” your dad dramatically puts his hand out in front of you, reminding you where Hazel gets all her sass from. You, on the other hand, were more like your mother- empathetic to all, but protective of those you care about. Always a silent watcher and observer, thinking and planning what the correct response or move should be in a situation. It’s why your dad refuses to play board games anymore because either you or your mom would destroy him and Hazel and then it was just a battle between the two of you to see who could outsmart the other. You’d only beaten your mother once. She always seemed to be one step ahead of you. She claims it’s what happens when you become a parent, you’re too mentally prepared for any option to be surprised when something happens. Your dad would always say that’s bullshit because it’s never helped him out, which then turns into your mother scolding him for cursing around Hazel. You work with him in the barn so you’ve heard all the profanities, thanks to his frustrations, so she's not worried about you. She’s under the impression you just filter it out and have the vocabulary of a saint, but in reality you just don’t do it around her and your dad graciously hasn’t told her.

About thirty minutes into the movie, your dad is passed out on the couch so you head upstairs to study for your test on Monday. Whatever made your teacher decide a test after the weekend was a good idea needs to be reevaluated. You plopped down at your desk, opened your textbook and notes, and began to go through them. You had stayed up late the night before studying the reading for the “pop quiz” you took today so your eyes started drooping a lot faster than you thought they would and before you knew it you had passed out on your desk reading your notes.

—

It was 11:30 when you heard it. A strange, croaking noise coming from down the hall that awoke you from your impromptu nap. You were a little disoriented from falling asleep at your desk. Your desk lamp was off, so you assumed one of your parents had shut it off before they went to bed. You turned the lamp back on and realized you had drooled on your notes. Shit. You had only smudged the ink a little bit and decided they were legible enough before you heard it again. Is there a fucking frog in the house? You tried to reason with your very sleep clouded brain when the croaking got closer and you heard a door creak. You got up from your desk chair to peek out your door and saw a small shadow had appeared in the darkness of the hallway. Assuming she also heard the freaky croaking noises and got scared, you called out to her in a whisper.

“Hazie? Are you okay?”

She tilted her head at you and you heard more croaking.

“Hazie…?”

She jumped at you, and an inhuman sound came out of her–a shriek or scream or something you couldn’t even begin to describe. Before you knew it she was on you, clawing, snapping her teeth, and scratching. You were quite a bit bigger than her, and Hazel has always been quite small for her age so you could overtake her physically, but the mental hurdle of trying to understand what she was doing was a battle.

“Hazel? Hazie? Hazel? What the hell is going on, stop it!” You were wrestling with her at the top of the stairs and were starting to get scared she was gonna take you both down them. She kept croaking and screeching and suddenly the light was turned on. Your father stood at the bottom of the stairs, not croaking thankfully, but looking confused. When your mom and sister came home they must have left your dad on the couch and shut your lamp off.

“What the fuck are you two doing? Get off her!” You didn’t know who he was referring to but you didn't have time to ask before you heard more shrieks and inhumane croaks coming from your parents room. The door was shut but it was shaking like someone was pounding on it.

“Dad, something is wrong,” you said, starting to panic now at the possibility your mother would come barreling out of the room acting just like Hazel, or worse. Your dad started moving up the stairs, causing Hazel to suddenly stop attacking you and fly at your father, straight down the stairs. Hazel, or this creature that looked like Hazel, missed your dad completely and basically just flung herself down the stairs. That fall should have killed her or broken a bone at the very least, but she hit the bottom and just got straight back up, then turned to look at the two of you. The croaking and shrieking coming from your parents room was now partnered with sirens and helicopters outside. You didn’t know what was happening but you knew everything was changing much too fast for your liking.

Hazel stood there, staring at you and your father, and started twitching. Similarly to how she had while you were doing her makeup, but more violent. She opened her mouth and in the light from the lamp in the living room and the one above the stairs you could see that there was a tendril-looking plant coming out of your sister's mouth that was moving on its own. You almost thought you were hallucinating. Something compelled your father to move. He barreled down the few stairs he’d come up and grabbed your sister by the neck like he was about to choke her, moving her head up to immobilize it. He studied her for a second before throwing her in the kitchen pantry and shutting the door. She started croaking again. But now she was also screaming. Not the shrieks from before, it sounded like the Hazel you knew. Screams she’d make when she saw a bug or got dirt on her hands. Screams she made when she fell off her bike. Screams like how she should have screamed when she flung herself down the stairs.

Your dad calling your name brought you out of your daze. “I need you to grab something heavy that I can put in front of the door,” he shouted over Hazel and your mother’s screams. You’d never heard so much noise. So much unpleasant noise and it was loud. Loud. So, so loud. You couldn’t think. You could barely will yourself to move from the top of the stairs. Your arms stung and were sticky with blood pouring from where Hazel had scratched you. Could you even say that was Hazel? A more concerning bang from your parents door made you run down the stairs much faster. You could take Hazel in a fight like that, but definitely not your mother. Thankfully, the door held through. You don’t know where you found the strength to push the DVD cabinet in front of the pantry door. Just a few hours ago you were searching through it to find Harry Potter, and now you’re using it to trap your “sister” in the pantry.

“What is happening?” You frantically asked your father. More like yelling at your father over the noise. You just needed it to stop being so loud so you could think.

“I don’t know.” Your father moved from the pantry door that was barely holding on due to your sister trying to break through it. She isn’t that strong. She can’t be that strong? Your dad turns the TV on to see news reports of towns and cities on fire, people killing what looks like other people before cameras could cut away. The signal was barely pulling through, but you could see enough. When the signal was fully cut out, your dad moved to the radio, where they were talking about people who were acting similar to your mom and sister, and how they’re not safe and people need to run or kill them. Then there were croaks and screams and the signal went out and all you heard from the radio was static. Static, screaming, shrieking, your father’s heavy breathing, you couldn’t comprehend what was happening.

“Go to your room, shut the door, lock it, and stay in there until I come get you,” your father moved over to his desk in his office and took his gun out of the drawer and loaded it.

“Dad…? What the fuck are you doing?” You followed him, but suddenly heard gunshots in the distance and more sirens and you both looked out the window. It was rare to hear sirens all the way out where you lived, so you both knew that if you could hear them, it didn't mean anything good.

“What everyone else is,” he said, turning from the window to look at you. He moved to where you were at the front of his office and you could see the conflict in his eyes when he looked at you. “I don’t want this on your conscience.” You couldn’t hold it in anymore. You started to cry. You cried, the shrieks blending in with your sobs. You so desperately wanted to wake up from this nightmare.

“I know sweetheart, I’m sorry.” You looked up and your father was crying too. In your 14 years of life you had never seen your dad cry. That scared you even more.

“Go in your room,” he said sternly, trying to hide his emotions and tears. You wordlessly followed his orders, taking one last look at the pantry, the pounding on the door was going to be the last thing you saw your sister do alive. Your father was about to kill your sister, and your mother. And you were not only letting him, you almost felt thankful. They won’t have to suffer anymore. At the top of the stairs, right before the door to your room, you watched the pounding on the door to your parents room too before slipping into your room and closing the door, locking it, and staying there. Just as you were told. You’d always been a rule follower, but you just never thought it would be something like this.

A few minutes passed before you heard the DVD cabinet get moved and the pantry door finally break open. You assumed your dad had to talk himself into what he was about to. Then you heard it. Bang. A set of croaking stopped and you heard your dad’s sobs as he climbed up the stairs. You sobbed into the pillows of your bed. Then you heard the same thing as before, the door opened, and then the gun went off.

Bang.

And you’re met with silence, but this time you don’t like it.

—

6 years later, date unknown, year 2009

It was a beautiful day. Sunny with a soft breeze. You stood at the two matching headstones with the wildflowers you’d gathered, taking the dead ones out of the pot and adding the new ones. You and your father had stolen the headstones a few weeks after outbreak day. You couldn’t even really say stolen. The owner had gotten infected, and no one was really around to stop you. You and your father carved their names into them that night and wheelbarrowed them over to where you buried them the next morning. Lillian Rose and Hazel Elizabeth. You saw their bodies, for closure purposes. Both with a bullet in the head and cordyceps, you now knew, in their mouths. They didn’t look like them, which helped only a little bit because it didn’t help any with the fact they were dead.

Your father and you drove into town the morning after and got a little bit of information. What law enforcement had told them to do in town, none of them apparently cared enough to go out to the countryside assuming we were all dead. Then what we knew so far about the people being dubbed “the infected,” it passed through bites so you were okay since you only got scratched but you and your dad were both on edge for a few days. And that the town leaders left were calling for a meeting to see who was alive and who wasn’t.

Out of the 450 people in Hazel, 25 people remained. Two of which being you and your father, so 23 others. Most of them were the only ones of their families to survive. It seemed like if you didn’t get sick, a family member bit you before you could do anything or register what was happening. That seemed to be what happened to your neighbors. Your dad killed a lot of infected people that day, including Madison and her family. It seemed like her parents had gotten sick and attacked her because she had a bite mark and they didn’t.

The general consensus of the meeting was that you can try to make it to what eventually became the Nashville QZ, at the time it was just a government support station, because it was closer than the Frankfort one or you can stay here and play survival. Most of the older people decided to try to make it to the QZ, but you and your dad decided to stay. You both felt safer in your own hands rather than someone else’s. After some cars were stocked with people, gas, and food you sent over half of who were left away.

You started playing adult that day. Your father asked for your opinion on every decision setting up this new version of your father-daughter relationship as partners and equals, knowing the two of you were really the only ones you could trust. You’d gone through everything the two of you did that day, why hadn’t you two gotten sick? You figured it out before the authorities did that it was probably flour. The only common thing you and your dad had done was not eat something with flour. Even six years later you think about what might have happened if you had eaten the cookie and gotten sick or if you and your dad had decided to order pizza instead of just eating popcorn and got sick.

You raided the market for non-perishable goods first, then houses. You stepped over bodies, infected and not. You gathered a hell of a lot of gas and stuff for your farm animals. Living off of your land and what you could find was hard, but after you heard about what was going on in the local QZs you were glad you and your father decided to stay.

You were already pretty outdoorsy, but your father taught you even more. You had your own gun now, you practiced throwing knives in your spare time, and you helped with the butchering now and again. You tried to stay good, it’s what your mom would have wanted, so the occasional straggler was given a meal and a place to sleep for the night before “gently” being told to get on their way. You rarely ran into infected, but when you did, you killed them with ease. Your dad hated when you wouldn’t let him do it. He was still trying to preserve some kind of innocence he thought was left in you.

You can’t lie to yourself, the apocalypse and the world shutting down requiring you to work more combined with the fact you had just gotten older had given you the looks you wished you had at 14. You could tell by the way men looked at you when they stopped by your house, and because you weren’t blind. You were 20 now, your body was now fully developed, your hair was long, you’d gotten slightly taller, and your body was thinner and more toned.

You and your dad decided to do one of your rare visits to town to find some cars to get gas out of and maybe check in with the people and make sure they’re doing okay. Out of everyone left in Hazel, you were significantly better off than most people because of the farm and just being more able bodied. There weren’t a lot of families in Hazel, most of them were in the next town over, so it was a lot of middle to late aged people just doing what they could and trading with you and your dad for food. You certainly weren’t living luxuriously or comfortably per say, but your worries were certainly less than others.

Your dad headed into one of the antique shops on main street to see if they still had anything of value. You both ignored the fact this was where your mom worked, and that you’d searched this one hundreds of times, rarely finding anything, and you were only here because it made you feel closer to her. Then you saw them, straight in front of you. A group of people you’d never seen before. They’d just walked out of what used to be the local bar and it looks like they found a stash the other people in town had either been saving or hadn’t found yet. The man at the front of the group noticed you first then said something to the others that made them look your way. It immediately made you worry, you’re used to taking one, maybe two people in for a night but not… 8.

“Dad?” You called softly trying not to give off that you were scared but with enough urgency that he came out immediately. He too noticed what you had seen and that they were headed right towards you.

“Fuck,” he said taking his gun out from behind his back and holding it down at his side, as did you.

“Well hellooo there,” the man who was in front said with a bit of a southern accent, “who might we have here to bless us?”

“Mike, how about you?” your father said and you smirked.

“Well I’m Ryan, and we’re just a group of people trying to get by, you think you could help us with that?” You scanned over the group of them, out of the 8 only 2 were female, but they all looked set to kill you and your father at any second. But there were two men in the back, however, who looked uncomfortable. They looked similar enough to be at least related, maybe brothers. One was taller and more well built than the other who was only slightly shorter but skinnier and with more defined muscles but you could tell they could both pick you up one handed and throw you down with ease. The taller one definitely caught your eye the longest, he looked like he’d seen some things.

“That depends, what exactly do you want from us?” Your father did the talking and like always you did the observing.

“Some food to start, our location, and maybe something fun for later,” Ryan said, eyeing you. Bold. Now you had to speak up.

“I don’t know what you had in mind but I can guarantee my idea of fun and yours may not be the same,” you said softly but not unstrong. You can sense that he doesn’t like hearing no so you’ll at least be gentle about it.

“Oh please enlighten me,” he said, taking a step toward you. You took a step toward him.

“I like to throw knives, and I can think of a target I could practice with, if it's not too small,” you say, giving him a sweet smile. The other members of the group giggle and this Ryan guy backs off.

“Aren’t you just a sweet peach,” he said sarcastically.

“Now, we can help with the food and location, but if you’re going to stay here you’re going to follow our rules. Got it?” You said.

“Now what makes you think we’re gonna wanna abide by that?” Ryan says.

“Because you wouldn’t be asking us for help if you didn’t need it, and looks to me like this girl over here is coming down with something so you need medication too. I can also tell that you all are longing for a good night's rest and haven’t eaten well in a few days, so if you want any of that, you're gonna listen to us.” Your observations seemed to sway them because soon enough they were in the bed of your dad’s pickup and you were headed back to your house.

—

You all exchanged information and food. They snarfed their meals and you couldn’t blame them. You learned most of them were from Texas but a few were from Louisiana and Mississippi. They were traveling north, apparently the QZs in the bigger cities like Boston and Philadelphia were doing better than the Kentucky ones so they were trying to make it there because life in the open was getting harder and harder. You learned that the FEDRA people had finally developed a test for cordyceps that pinched you in the neck and the reader would light up green or red. But the most thought provoking thing you learned was about raiders and FEDRA raids. You and your dad had thought the FEDRA raids were over, but apparently they were still going out on random raids to try to collect people. Not things or supplies, people. And then killing them because dead people can’t get infected. But the sound of raiders just terrified you. You figured the people in front of you were raiders of a sort but they seemed to be on the better end of what’s out there.

“We only kill if they attack us first, raiders kill first,” a woman named Sasha said. You looked at your dad and you could see the thoughts crossing his mind. We won’t be safe from any of that.

“If you think it would be best, you’re welcome to join us. Your food supplies should get us most of the way there and if we can ride in your truck it would help us get there faster. Try to find better lives for all of us,” another guy whose name you haven’t been told yet said.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea Blake, but we’ll have to let them think about it,” Ryan said in response.

You looked at your dad shrugging your shoulders slightly, “It’s not a bad idea, we’ll eventually run out of things here and one dry season and that's it.” Your dad looks at you slowly and you try to communicate with your eyes what you’re really thinking. It’s an opportunity to get out of here with actual able bodied help to maybe find somewhere easier.

“Okay,” he says to you first, “okay,” he says again directed at Ryan.

You picked up some of the dishes and headed into the kitchen to start washing them. You quickly grabbed the extra soap from the pantry and a common thought of yours crossed your mind, that you didn’t have to open the door anymore. You heard footsteps behind you and who you expected to be your father was actually the two men you had guessed were brothers, carrying the other dishes.

“Oh, well thanks…” you said, a little surprised.

“Yeah, no problem,” the younger one said with a real southern drawl you hadn’t heard in a long time, “I’m Tommy by the way. And this is my older brother…”

“Joel.”

#the last of us #the last of us hbo #tlou #tlou hbo #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller reader insert #joel tlou #tommy miller #tess the last of us

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stxrfclls · 2 months

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‘ abigail cowen, cis woman, she/her, 26 / 32 , cauldron made high fae ’ ― cauldron save you. it seems 'LUX' ASHBORNE has finally made it to the capital, the LADY IN WAITING from AUTUMN COURT is said to be CHARMING and is said to describe themselves with FLASHES OF WILD FIRE THAT OFFER A PERFECT WARMTH, SECRETS OF A FORGOTTEN LIFE, LAUGHTER THAT INFECTS AN ENTIRE ROOM and with all of this in mind their RECKLESS nature always seems to get them into trouble. may the mother hold them as they navigate this unthinkable time. ; written by honey, cst, 29, she/her.

𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬

full name . alexandria 'lux' ashborne

nickname(s) . lux

age . 26 appearance / 32 actual

sexuality . hetero ( also a maybe ?? )

occupation . lady in waiting

species . cauldron made high fae

loyalty . none

height . 5'6"

𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬

lux came into the world as alexandria ashborne, a princess to her house and the youngest of 7 siblings. the girl never quite fit into all that, a reckless and wild heart that refused to be tamed with dresses and corsets. she was often atop roofs or in a tree rather than courting like her siblings. it drove her parents mad, but the youngest ashborn was never punished.

she was a dreamer, always thinking there was more out there than simply marrying for her family and having children. it wasn’t that she didn’t ever dream of love, she just didn’t want a duty filled life. early on into her life she’d find friends outside of the nobility, and lux was born as a nickname for being the light of the group.

that dreaming head of hers never quite settled, though, and lex continued to believe there was more. well, that more would come when she met a fae, the embodiment of a creature she never expected to meet, but read plenty about. their relationship would border a romance in lux’s mind, but she never quite knew how he felt. this is definitely a grey area bc it is an open wc, but eventually this relationship would bring her to the cauldron and lux would be reborn again, shedding the name alexandria for good.

her introduction to life as a fae would be a rocky one. gone was the man who brought her to the cauldron, and in his place soon a mentor that would help her navigate. once fae found out she was formerly human things would be a mess, she was a symbol of broken rules and nobody liked that. but her personality and her kindness would move her places, and she eventually became a lady in waiting to the noble family of the autumn court. lux doesn’t think it’s the job she wants for the rest of her eternal life, but she does it well and her experience as a princess in the human realm comes in handy.

she’s still a wild and reckless spirit, as wild as the fire she controls and burning as bright as her namesake. lux is a vibrant person, a good friend to have, even if she hides the mess inside her mind at her whole world changing.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

on main : fae that brought her to the cauldron, first fae friend

other ideas : tbh anything, she’s only been a fae for 5 years tho so def limited history

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬

✦ 𝔩𝔲𝔵 𝔞𝔰𝔥𝔟𝔬𝔯𝔫𝔢 *⁎ , ✦ 𝔩𝔲𝔵 ⁑ threads *⁎

✦ 𝔩𝔲𝔵 𝔞𝔰𝔥𝔟𝔬𝔯𝔫𝔢 *⁎ , ✦ 𝔩𝔲𝔵 ⁑ inspo *⁎

✦ 𝔩𝔲𝔵 𝔞𝔰𝔥𝔟𝔬𝔯𝔫𝔢 *⁎ , ✦ 𝔩𝔲𝔵 ⁑ dev. *⁎

✦ 𝔩𝔲𝔵 𝔞𝔰𝔥𝔟𝔬𝔯𝔫𝔢 *⁎ , ✦ 𝔩𝔲𝔵 ⁑ image *⁎

#ofcourtfables:intro #✦ 𝔩𝔲𝔵 𝔞𝔰𝔥𝔟𝔬𝔯𝔫𝔢 *⁎#✦ 𝔩𝔲𝔵 ⁑ threads *⁎#✦ 𝔩𝔲𝔵 ⁑ inspo *⁎#✦ 𝔩𝔲𝔵 ⁑ dev. *⁎#✦ 𝔩𝔲𝔵 ⁑ image *⁎

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daedalusdavinci · 7 months

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ok here it is. here is my little intro to the main characters im kind of working on rn w my oc stuff. image descs are all in the alt text bu ti fucking forgot to add that theyre all like pixel images and now i dont feel like going back and adding it so. now you know. thiiis took me too long to put together so @redactedcrow @ashysiashy YOU ASKED FOR THIS

Rogue

More infamously known as the Beast of Mariana, Rogue is an arms dealer known for his ruthless fighting style, his constantly cycling crew, and his beastly appearance. It's rumored he goes through henchmen so fast because he eats them, but he does have a small, core crew of specialists that he keeps on staff full-time. He's quiet, guarded, and distant, but intensely loyal to those close to him. While his past is a mystery, it's clear he bears it with great difficulty, turning fear into an unending hunger for power. When that hunger drives him to hire on a thief, Rogue's fear of vulnerability threatens to destroy the world, or at least himself.

Tom Johnson, AKA, The Spectre

Tommy isn't what he seems. A retail worker by day, and the most prolific thief in Mariana by night, Tommy's lust for adventure drives him in most things. Hedonism is the name of the game, and Tommy's never found a thrill he could deny himself. Skydiving, spelunking, mountain biking, parasailing- anything that gets his blood pumping, he's up for. On the surface, he's friendly and flirtatious, but he lives a life of isolation, his secrets keeping everyone at a safe distance. Rogue is the first person he thinks might be able to understand, if he can break through that hard shell. Or, Tommy's reckless lifestyle might finally mean consequences he can't come back from.

Barbara Fiske

Rogue's right hand, Barbie is often described as serious, unemotive, and intimidating by those who meet her. She handles most of Rogue's administrative work, and possesses a seemingly uncanny ability to anticipate exactly what Rogue's thinking at any given moment. Those who really know her know that she has a passion for plants, a fondness for messing around with her fellow crew, and a loyalty to Rogue that can't be severed by anything.

Ben "Benny" Parks

A retired thief and Rogue's current mechanic, Ben is eager to set the more exciting days of his youth aside and make a- for him, if not for Rogue's enemies- peaceful living. His ability to produce metal-melting acid is nothing more than a nuisance for someone who works with his hands, and he suffers from chronic pain caused by permanent acid reflux. Still, Rogue's crew has been exactly what he needed, and they've adopted him happily as a target of their frequent harassment, and to some, a mentor figure.

The youngest of Rogue's crew, Em handles cyber security and studies under Barbie and Ben, helping out wherever help is needed. He's bright, enthusiastic, and an easy source of laughter in Rogue's group, with a passion for all things video games, anime, and fashion. After biting off more than he could chew as a teen and pissing off one of the most powerful men in Mariana, Rogue's crew offers a safety net he hasn't broken out of yet, but his remaining grudge against the rich and powerful is one that promises a dangerous future.

Wen Xiaming and Mandi "Shortcut" Williams

As Rogue's resident tanks, Wen and Shortcut are the ones seen with him in the most, always armed to the teeth and ready to fight. Affectionately referred to as "dumb and dumber," the girls aren't known for their smarts, but they're deadly and ruthless, willing to gun down anyone on Rogue's command. One is never seen without the other, and their flirting is a source of irritation for many who trade with Rogue.

Nita Vasani, AKA, The Reporter

Overachiever by day, vigilante by night, Nita strains to balance her retail job, education, and secret identity. Her life's passion is to be a journalist, and when encouragement from the wrong person ended in a case gone wrong and a dip in a chemical spill, opportunity presented itself in the form of powers. Now, she investigates crimes and exposes them in exposes, shining light on the darkest parts of Mariana. Her passion for the truth makes her a confusing companion for Tommy, who thrives on secrets and commits the very crimes she attempts to reveal, but something has always kept her from giving him up.

#my ocs #half of them are trans and like all of them are adhd or autistic peace and love #that didnt fit nicely into my little descs tho #i decided to use my pixel figs bc theyre all nice and consistent and look p polished unlike 90% of my art of them #and i uh. did not wanna post the pinups lmao i dont need ppls intro to tommy to be like that

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scftsunshine · 8 months

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@depictedblue liked for a starter!

"cassie!" riley exclaims, smile wide on her face as she catches up to blonde and loops her arm through the other's. "hi! i was wondering if maybe you'd be interested in joining me for a shopping trip? i just got paid and i heard they put in a new store at the mall ... thought maybe we could check it out?" head tilts a little in curiosity as she shifts slightly to look at the blonde.

#( i'll take my heart clean apart if it helps yours beat // interactions )#( shining on // cassie howard )#( bright girl meets broken world // main )#depictedblue #(i hope pre-established friends is okay & the starter in general is???)#(lemme know if i need to change anything!)

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libidomechanica · 1 month

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An wi her

Were no one that watcher’s housemaid were black hair had to dine? And then, Sir, I said, upon the eye pours of odour slanted her lot, half- naked as any sing, than before

the sea, resting roar, now to snow: the grew to woo, supplied inside to Haleakala Crater. And in the scroll, and, leaving leads; and I with pain disguysing dies, or in the

shattered syllable, and neuer since broken by Time’s fev’rous cavalier, but things, for that hinder social mill we gazed upon all the niche a squall her, here the moonlight so

much these let flye: she wept them. The sea, the ship creak’d, the old and all that he had perfection’s strongly parts entyre, in which the storm the things that Urne. Not the dam ready make, deuoure

they who suffer thing else but cruelty, or peril past to be expert in its supplied: and you thrown in the great office of might glow, after the foreigne and read in for

a kiss’s strength one with adamant chaff for ever, how blanch’d from the turn, sole-though fled away, and, stands so wanton’d rounding, when clasps a spires of my young girl’s blouse and clearned hall

long since breaker-beauty, all the second wasted you, whose reluctant nature lends such those pryde, whereof ye little still it grew thy fair the boats; and in me without, my only

cunning such worlds rich. So sorrows longer hopes and is eternall persist in sail, that tenderest religious and green, like a question. Hammer clinking him more we none,

your bright alone, but found. He made your selfe like God, one another secret sweet in tune, thou madest Life in my lyfes Leach doe ye proud hart, This weakness, but none vs can

it suit a cadaver. And cried, for it I came, all that rises an April days, which we called Devil’s Elbow on the mought it boundary of the Soul till slip, even they han

great hope was help! Which a stupid see till I attend, let my poor flowery main, and graces and highest steel bosom swell on double I t’abide than my own,—a hollow

the heart. An’ wi’ her lying on the air but with the keeps the garment foundation made. And so, thus they bene to meet, who plead for looke, and travel, ennui, love, nor lose

thou dost bear, because the meadows downe, as holy season which now hauing prayse and fed by life could not so; but scorn of her freshness of the snowy-banded if her hurt doth diuide

bliss to returneth ouer all the crevice peer’d his look she said, and roll, and Madeline below their beauty is best apothecary’s house; nor is set on one quickly, waking

as thing, still reueale, all curious ymage of my love, and stood, but love, gold, and every looks at will be, thou art lyttle moon was quiet as Florian, cursing Cyril

and shake, my soul exults, and honour and hardy fight well to feede, they woke the blossoms, which beats of muslin, into tears, who would. And one is the earth light flow’d hour ere log,

and all we will, till find a still people are dangerous thine; they brook the coolness fitteth vs; leaue the beds were lies; I feel that sets on live thee to mee: no, no, no, my

Deare, this said to it by birth is dumb; but I should not knows not a learn, but soon as those pryde depraues each others not even now astonishment. Than in compare: that to her.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #166 texts #ballad

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pinkaroma · 11 months

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The Silent Years

Most people don't have recollection of the first 5 years of their life. A friend once told me his earliest memory of his childhood was around 6 years old. Unlike me, I remember many memories of my childhood before the age of 5.

My mom met my dad at the age of 18. She had a strong desire to leave home and start her life as an adult in the real world. But my grandmother had strong traditional beliefs that a woman should not leave the family home until she is married. This prevented my mother from going off to college with a full ride scholarship she worked hard to receive. She turned it down in respect of my grandmother's wishes and to avoid her own mother from ending all contact with her for a possible few years as my grandma once did so with my eldest uncle. (He married the woman of his choice and she didn't like my aunt one bit. My uncle went against her wishes and moved away to marry her, thus causing a fall out, and in the end result she did not speak to him once for another 6 years).

To my mom, marrying my dad was her one way ticket out of the house. At first my mother didn't love him. It took her a few months to fall in love with the man she married. Almost similar to how arranged couples take a while to fall in love together. And to my dad, marrying my mother was his only way to get a green card as he was a Canadian citizen.

My mom was on the patch. (A form of birth control). Of course she was sexually active with my father. She went to live in Canada for about a year with my dad as she wanted to meet his side of the family. It was there that I was conceived. I was a literal "whoops". Despite being incredibly responsible with changing her patches on time, I was still an outcome. My father was livid, because he didn't want children until later in his life. (Even though he was literally 10 years older than my mother.) He was so mad. He pushed my mom down the stairs of his parent's home when he found out. But my grandmother intervened to defend my mother, and she cursed my dad out in Vietnamese, my mother didn't know what she said to him, but she knew it was enough to put him to shame. At first, he didn't want me. But his family was so happy about the news of me being a girl as all the grandchildren they gave my paternal grandmother were all boys, I'm guessing it was the only reason why he didn't object afterward. I'm the only granddaughter for my paternal side of the family. My mother was emotional, I mean it was her first pregnancy, who wouldn't be? She decided she wanted to have me in the states back in her home town because she wanted to look to her own mother for comfort, advice, and other topics. My grandma was the main reason why she wanted to move back and have me there instead.

In November of 2003, I was born.

I can say for a fact I don't remember much for the first 3 years of my life. I have blob-like memories of that timeline. Like going on trail walks with my parents, family members, my cousins, smells, my old daycare, and faint memories of playing in the plazas of Mexico, my grandmother's house in Mexico. Burning my hand on a iron because I was curious, scraping both my knees on the same day, one knee in the morning, the other shortly after. My neighbor friend. My first family dog. Just small memories of different things.

But the vivid memories I have are of my closet's darkness, the tears streaming down my mother's face, my dog's dead body lying on the face of the backyard concrete, the broken glass girl's tea set I had been gifted from my mother, the bright blue and red lights outside my home window, and the sound of my father's vociferate voice when he was angered.

My father, as you've already noticed, had anger issues. He still does now, but he hasn't done anything similarly close to what I remembered since he was forced into state mandatory anger therapy.

I remember how easily upset my father got when I was a child. It was like walking on egg shells around him. Anything could piss the man off. He was so mad once that he broke one of the plates of this beautiful glass porcelain tea set my mother got me. My mom and I were playing together because I asked her to play tea party with me. We put the set in dirty dish sink because I used actual desserts on it, and used water to pretend I was drinking tea. I don't remember what he was mad about but I saw him raise the plate and bang it on the marble counter causing it to break.

Not once did he ever touch a single hair on my head. It was only my mother he took his anger out on, I have memories of him beating her. He expected her to do everything herself, and even maintain an image. He wouldn't give her money either. He was so frugal, a literal cheap ass, he forced her to give him the receipts of the things she bought at stores. It was so bad, we barely had furniture in our house, I didn't even have my own bed until the age of either two or three. My mother would hide money she received from family members to buy everything we needed. I also remember I had a tiny time gap away from my parents from when I was around 2 years old. I don't remember the reason why, but I remember living in my grandmother's house for a few months in Mexico until my mom came back for me. I remember clearly how verbally abusive my dad was. And at times, I was there to witness both my parents physically fight. The scarring, the bruising. I was so scared that most times I went up to my room to hide in my closet and I'd just cry in there alone as I heard the furniture downstairs knock over, the tumbling, yelling, and the sounds of my mother in distress. Although I don't remember the call, my mom told me in one of the fights my parents was in, I took the house phone and dialed 911 for help. I do remember the police showing up and instead of accepting the help the two cops offered, she instead refused them and said everything was fine. And my parents were both silent for the rest of that night. My mother never said anything or asked for help from anyone. She had always kept silent. My mom told me that while she was married to my dad, all she wanted was to die, but she always thought of me and my brother first.

After the aftermath of one fight, there was broken glass on the floor that no one realized was there because it was clear, that I ended up stepping on it, and to this day I still have a small yet healed scar on the bottom of my right foot.

And while pregnant with my brother, she discovered my dad cheated on her with his co-workers multiple times. My step-mother in the near future also happened to be one of these co-workers. And it was thanks to him that my mother contracted an STD. (If you ask me which STD, I truly don't remember, I'd have to ask her again.)

There was also another time, in which my mother purposely got a job at a small grocery store just to earn money to support me, my baby brother who was recently born, and our dog and used it as a perfectly good excuse to stay away from my father. I remember while she was gone at work, my dad was so mad at our shih tzu, his name was Gizmo, named after one of the Gremlins from the movie. He had peed and chewed up the TV chords and my dad was so mad I remember he grabbed Gizmo from the back of the neck and walked to the backyard door, opened it, and threw my dog across the yard as if he was a football and I saw him fly, his back hit the tall wooden fence, and then I saw him fall to the concrete floor. Our backyard wasn't a normal backyard with grass but rather an entire area of just concrete. Soon after, he called my mom saying he messed up. She got off work early worried that he might've hurt me or my brother, and when she walked in, I had told her what happened and we both rushed to the backyard to see poor Gizmo on the ground in a pool of his blood. She rushed him to the emergency vet, apparently he didn't make it that night. She was so sad and felt so bad about it that she had to lie to me telling me he was in the puppy hospital getting better. Within the next 2 weeks, she bought another Shih Tzu with the same colors, but the spots were in different areas, and named it Gizmo. (I noticed the spots were different but I didn't think much of it. I was clueless.) She lied to me saying it was the same dog because she didn't want me to know our actual Gizmo passed away. The amount of blood I saw on the original Gizmo was so traumatizing, that when I saw Gizmo #2 walk past me, I had thought I saw blood on his back and even said "Mommy, Gizmo's bleeding." And there was nothing on his back, but I swore I saw it. I don't know if my mom remembers when I told her that.

At some point, it was finally too much for my mom and when I was around 4 and a half years old, she divorced my dad. From that point on, I had two different birthdays and two of each holiday.

#physical abuse #verbal abuse #ptsd flashbacks #trauma #childhood trauma #childhood memories #anger issues #bipolar disorder #daddy issues #divorce #animal abuse

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teenageread · 1 year

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Review: It Ends With Us

Synopsis:

Sometimes it is the one who loves you who hurts you the most.

Lily hasn’t always had it easy, but that’s never stopped her from working hard for the life she wants. She’s come a long way from the small town in Maine where she grew up — she graduated from college, moved to Boston, and started her own business. So when she feels a spark with a gorgeous neurosurgeon named Ryle Kincaid, everything in Lily’s life suddenly seems almost too good to be true.

Ryle is assertive, stubborn, maybe even a little arrogant. He’s also sensitive, brilliant, and has a total soft spot for Lily. And the way he looks in scrubs certainly doesn’t hurt. Lily can’t get him out of her head. But Ryle’s complete aversion to relationships is disturbing. Even as Lily finds herself becoming the exception to his “no dating” rule, she can’t help but wonder what made him that way in the first place.

As questions about her new relationship overwhelm her, so do thoughts of Atlas Corrigan — her first love and a link to the past she left behind. He was her kindred spirit, her protector. When Atlas suddenly reappears, everything Lily has built with Ryle is threatened.

Plot:

*Trigger Warning: Domestic Abuse*

Lily Bloom hates her father. Or hated, as today was his funeral and she gave the worst eulogy in the world. She was supposed to say five great things about her father, which she did, by standing there in silence for two minutes before a family member took her down thinking she was too emotional to deliver the speech. Lily hated her father due to how he abused her mother throughout her life and beat up Lily’s first and greatest love. On the roof of some apartment the night of the funeral, Lily meets Ryle, an equally broken man who strikes up a conversation with Lily to tell each other naked truths. Truths to the core, and where Ryle had some about how he wanted to have a one-night stand with Lily, he also had the trauma of being a doctor and watching a child die. Where Lily talks about the death of her father, and how she also thought Ryle was hot but was uninterested. It was Ryle who inspired Lily to, six months later, open up her flower shop, a dream Lily had since childhood. Hiring a rich girl who needs something to do, Lily quickly became friends with her solo employee Allysa. Helping to get the shop open, Allysa brings over her husband and younger brother, who happens to be the same Ryle that Lily met on the roof all those months ago. Deciding to go for it in a relationship, Lily and Ryle quickly become the it couple, who are both in love with their jobs and each other. Thinking she found the prince charming, Lily is flabbergasted when her first love, Atlas, comes back into her life. With her new relationship with Ryle showing some darker threats, Lily is stuck in an unneeded love triangle between her first love as a teen and this current love of both brightness and darkness.

Thoughts:

Colleen Hoover wows readers with this stunning adult version of a love triangle romance novel, featuring bad boy Ryle, protector Atlas, and twenty-three-year-old Lily Bloom. The story is told only from Lily’s perspective, both as an adult with Ryle and through diary entries as a teenager talking about her and Atlas. Told in two parts, Hoover kept the story fast-paced and interesting with the progression of Ryle and Lily’s relationship, along with Lily's friendship with Allysa, and rekindling with Atlas. The main trigger warning and romantic conflict of the story are centered around abuse, both in her mother’s and Lily’s relationship. Domestic abuse is a large part of the story and how our characters deal with it separately. Not to spoil the “surprise” as Hoover’s book is best to go into the blind, it shows the creative edge and sensitivity of the writer Hoover as she narrates this harsh subject matter. Unlike the previous Hoover book, the sex is quite light in this story, despite Lily and Ryle doing it multiple times, Hoover does not waste the page space as they have in previous novels, instead keeping it almost PG, as there were better matters to focus on in the story. The title is beautiful and not what I expected, as Hoover keeps it a secret till the end of the novel, to the meaning of the title and its relationship to Lily and her loved ones. There are good parts of the book like Lily’s diary entries being addressed to Ellen DeGeneres, but sometimes bad parts of Lily's character fall flat despite being the star of the story. Yet Hoover should be praised for how they navigated the idea behind domestic abuse and why women stay, as she gives Lily countless opportunities, and then shows the aftermath of what happens when you do leave. This novel is worth it for that alone, as Hoover uses their platform to tell readers Lily’s important story of ending the cycle.

Read more reviews: Goodreads

Buy the book: Amazon

#It Ends With Us #Colleen Hoover #book review

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kitmoas · 2 years

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To Break You

Summary: The first year of your time with the Avengers is definitely not as amazing as you thought, but your best friends are your foundation.

Pairing: Kate Bishop x Yelena Belova x Reader x Peter Parker (platonic best friends), Wanda Maximoff x Reader (romantic)

Genre: Angst? With some fluff?

Word Count: 2559

Warnings: Some hurtful words spoken to the young recruits by the older Avengers.

A/N: This is sorta based off an Anon asking for a training montage and very loosely inspired by Long Live by Taylor Swift. I really love this drabble…well its really long but it isn’t technically part of the main story line, just background story to fill in blanks.

Drabble part of Devil AU

You look over as Peter goes flying through the air, slamming into the wall after Thor threw some lightning at him. Bracing as Scott kicks you square in the chest, you’re able to stop yourself from flying through the air. The victorious look on your face is quickly squashed when Sam swoops in, feet first, forcing your body into the wall. Yelena was slapping aggressively at the mat as Bucky held her in a chokehold. Kate was dangling out the window as Wanda held her there, mockingly asked if she needed help.

The first training session with the young Avengers was not going well. Your mentors weren’t allowing the four of you to use their powers or weapons because they thought you shouldn’t rely on them. They were going on and on about losing your go to things, but honestly right now it feels like it’s just an excuse to beat us up.

The entire thing was being watched over by the four mentors, who ended up dismissing the training a few hours later. The young recruits could see the utter disappointment on their faces, and it dragged their mood down a lot. They were having a press conference later that day where the world would be given the chance to meet their new heroes. With the older Avengers proving how untrained the recruits were really didn’t help the positivity of the group.

The four friends were all in various states in their shared room. They had all thought they would hate the lack of privacy, but the temporary community room became the best safe house they could have ever thought of having.

Peter is the first one to speak up, “H-How do they expect the stupid neighborhood spider kid to be an Avenger?” His eyes are closed and his fists are tight as he hangs upside from a web. The three girls can see the anxiety building and Kate walks over, sitting below him. He leans his forehead on hers, and she sighs slowly.

“Petes…you are so amazing.” Kate’s voice is shaky but sure. Her entire body trembles with a choked back sob.

You looked over at the two, and you felt anger surging. Spinning around quickly, you grabbed one of Yelena’s knives and threw it at the wall. The Russian lowly chuckles, the sound not as bright as usual, as she steps over to you pulling one of her favorite knives from a pocket. “Солнце, if you must throw my knives do it correctly.” She gently guides your arm, showing you the motions a few times, before aggressively moving your arm and forcing you to throw the knife perfectly. She leans in, resting her head on your shoulder. She’s tense and stiff, reminding you of when you first met. The pressure of her head increases as she leans more aggressively into you, looking for some sort of grounding. The three of you have come to realize that she still struggles understanding her own thoughts when her emotions run wild, and she uses the three of you mostly as a way to ground herself.

“My darkness is gonna destroy the Avengers.” Your whisper is broken, barely audible but you know the other three heard. Kate’s sob escapes roughly, and she’s immediately overwhelmed. Peter fell from his web, before holding Kate. You could see a few tears leaking down his cheek. Yelena’s arms wrap around you, almost painfully, and she’s shaking. You don’t understand what she's mumbling but she’s panicked and you know she’s fighting the invasive thoughts in her mind. You stand there, holding onto the blonde’s arms, sobbing quietly.

——

Kate was screaming and trying to fight off the seventy agents in her room as they all had weapons, and all she had was a metal pipe. Yelena could be heard grunting out Russian slurs as new agents arrived in her room as soon as the previous ones were taken care of. Peter couldn’t be heard, but he was on his back trying his hardest to not hurt anyone as he struggled to learn without his powers. You sighed as you could feel your friends struggling. The room you were in was insanely bright and it caused you to become disoriented, and you only had 5 people to take down and zero senses.

The lecture you had just received from Cap was enough for Kate to have shut down completely. Yelena was mumbling dejectedly and dragging her down the hall by her foot. Peter was carrying you on his back, silent but you knew he wanted to cry. The boy led his fellow spider into Kate’s room and laid you down on the bed. The separate rooms had been done for months now but you all still felt better being together. He urged Yelena onto the bed as well, who promptly slid up behind you. Kate was laid next to you as Peter rolled the two of them onto the bed.

No one spoke but you all had the words Cap was borderline yelling bouncing in your heads. “You’ll never be Avengers if you can’t handle basic training. I never thought we would bring in such a pathetic bunch. You guys are gonna get so many people killed and it will completely be your faults” You knew he wanted to stay more but Natasha had stopped him.

The hold Yelena had on you was getting extremely painful at this point, but you hadn’t noticed until Kate was watching you with a concerned look. You wanted to ask what was wrong when you finally realized you were making pained noises and Yelena’s mumbling was loud. The blonde was shaking and you could feel her tears soaking your shirt rapidly.

Peter urgently jumps up, and pries Yelena off of you. The widow is shaking and hitting her head. She’s talking so quickly and no one can understand her. Peter wraps his arms around her, whispering in her ear. Kate slides off the bed after giving you a quick kiss on the cheek. You watch as she leans forward, the two girls’ foreheads meeting. The archer holds Yelena’s face in her hands and starts talking to her. Peter’s hands are adding pressure to her sides, and both the archer and the boy are giving more pressure with their heads. It takes hours for Yelena to clear her mind.

——

The older Avengers had all left you alone this past week, needing to go on a very important mission. They had left you in the hands of Agents Hill and Coulson. The two were brutal on the recruits and left all four of you in worse shape than the Avengers usually do. All four of you were in the med bay by the time your mentors came looking for you. The disappointment was evident and you watched Kate flinch at the look Clint had on his face. “You guys really couldn’t handle a simulation? I- I have no words. I really don’t even know what to say. None of us know. A bunch of kids you guys really are. At this point we may need to reevaluate the young Avengers being launched so soon.” Clint’s voice was calmer than Steve’s ever was, but it was so much worse. He looked exhausted and simply done with the four of you.

The four of you watched as your mentors all walked out, none uttering another word. A loud beeping caused your eyes to snap over to see Kate, staring wide eyed at the ceiling. Her breathing was crazy and her heart rate was high, alerting nurses who came rushing. You were faster though and used shadows to create a barrier. A web unplugged the machine and Yelena was already sitting Kate up. Her eyes were glazed over but her breathing was normal. She didn’t say anything but laid heavily onto the blonde behind her. Holding Peter’s hand, she stared at you. Using the darkness outside the windows you created a small black hole for the four of you, floating gently. You laid your head on the archer’s chest as she hugged you close, listening as her heart rate calmed.

“He didn’t mean it Katie. He loves you. You’re such an amazing hero. He..No..Your dad..Katie he loved you so much. He loves you so much. He’s so proud of you. Our archer.” Peter is mumbling to Kate as he traces patterns on her palm.

——

It was the first training session that you were allowed to use powers or weapons. The four of you were extremely excited. It had been a long and really rough year but this was going to be the best training session ever.

The session is over before you even know it. T'challa ripped apart all of Peter’s webs and Cap buried him in a metal pile. Natasha snapped Kate’s bow and Dr. Strange trapped her in the mirror dimension, arrows nowhere to be found. Thor and Wanda had Yelena screaming, begging for mercy filling her body with their powers. Tony and Bruce had you down within seconds after releasing a chemical that blinded you, effectively exploding light into your body.

The four of you refused medical attention and made your way to Yelena’s room. Peter was last, closing the door and leaning against it. You had made your way to the couch and Kate was curled up with her head in your lap. You felt sick as the light was still leaking out of your body. Thanking Yelena who handed you a bottle of dark soda, still not having the heart to tell her that consuming dark liquids doesn’t help the light poisoning you get.

Punches against the brick wall startle you all as you watch Peter break down, “C’mon Spider-Man. COME ON. Get up. Get UP. You’re earth’s greatest. COME ON!” His hand is completely ripped apart, and parts of the brick are crumbling. Yelena and Kate get up, making sure you can still sit up straight. The two pull him away from the wall and begin patching him up.

They’re whispering to him but you can’t quite tell what they are saying. You’re watching the three of them and you know you have to protect them.

—

The fighting outside was worsening as the clock on the wall clicked loudly, the four recruits were put into a small room with a protective border set in place by Tony. They were ordered by their mentors to not move, stating that they were not ready to deal with the ambush. The single couch in the room forced the quad to mesh together. Kate was laying on the couch, arm dangling off barely holding onto her bow and quiver. Yelena sat close to the archer, holding her free hand, trying to ground herself while staying vigilant. Peter was sitting on the back of the couch, with you sitting in between them leaning your head on his knee. The two of you had the least amount of equipment, just your suits.

You sat there as the night continued, the fighting getting worse and worse. With the darkness of twilight setting in, you could feel your power starting to get antsy. Looking around your friends weren’t much better, all of them in different states of disarray. You were at a loss for words when an explosion went off so loudly that it shook the entire compound.

The fear that is emanating from your friends causes your powers to surge aggressively, and you can feel your control over it slip. The lights in the room shatter, and it causes another wave of fear to give you another surge of power. You feel in control for the first time since beginning training, and you stand abruptly.

“I’m done. We know how to use our powers. We know how to use our gear. I’m breaking us out of here and we’re going to go save the adults.” You had walked slightly away from the group, shadows following quickly. “We can fight. I don’t care what the press says and frankly I don’t care what our mentors say right now. We joined this team and changed our lives. We can be heroes too. Let’s show them the new generation is here to stay.” The darkness chased you down, growing upon itself. The shadows continued to grow and flew up the walls, engulfing the entire room in a shadow.

That was the last thing the other recruits saw before they were in the middle of the battlefield. The four of you pause, looking around. All of your childhood heroes were around you, bloody and battered, fighting to the death. You felt the fear of your mentors, the fear of the aliens that invaded, the fear of your best friends who have never been in a fight before, and what hurt worse was the bright red fear coming off of the person who was always the strongest. It was all too overwhelming, and that’s when you felt your own fear. Maybe the mentors were right, maybe you weren’t hero material?

You don’t remember too much of the fight. You spent most of it protecting your best friends, trying to take as much of the pain off of them. You didn’t trust your powers yet to let go completely, you couldn’t go on the offensive.

It ended suddenly, and the aftermath was a whirlwind. You felt as though everyone else bounced back easily, but you couldn’t. The feeling of so much fear was drowning your mind and you felt like you were going to break at any point. You were sitting in one of the protected training rooms, built to withstand most magical powers, when the doors opened.

A gentle hand settles on your trembling body making you flinch aggressively, cowering away from the crouched figure. “Shh маленький.” The Sokovian settles next to you, leaning on the wall. She doesn’t make a move to touch you, besides resting her hand out towards you. “Come let me take care of you, detka.”

She watches you with soft eyes, but you can’t decide what to do. You feel overwhelmed and you can’t focus. The fear that’s bouncing through your body is taking over and you can’t control it. You're panicking now, wanting nothing but the touch of Wanda but you know it isn’t something that you normally get. The room is starting to fill with black fog as the little of control you did have slips, a broken sobs escaping your throat.

A gentle touch on your chin gets your attention, and your eyes meet Wanda’s low crimson ones. “Your thoughts are loud, little one. Come.” You feel her powers wrap you in a devil’s grip. Moving you to be sitting in her lap, heavily leaning into her. The pressure of her magic prompts you to hide your face in her neck, and her smell floods your senses. “Let me take care of you.” Your mind goes empty and you aren’t entirely sure if it’s because of how her hand is running through your hair or because of her magic swimming into your brain.

You fall asleep there in her lap, wrapped up in the safety of her arms. Her magic holds you as the blackness drains from the room. The only sounds when Natasha finds the two of you hours later are your soft snores and Wanda humming a sweet song.

Tagged as requested: @tastetherambeau and @8bitscarlet for the dare

Other Parts: One , Two, Three , Four, ? , Drabble 1

#kitmoas writes #k: like a devil #kate bishop #yelena belova #peter parker #wanda maximoff #peter parker x reader #kate bishop x reader #yelena belova x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #peter parker x you #yelena belova x y/n #kate bishop x you

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delicrieux · 3 years

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☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 24: OH...HI

after months and too much longing, you finally meet corpse in person.

─── corpse husband x reader ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: 3.8k

author’s note: we did it joe.

ultimate masterlist. ҉ myso masterlist ҉ previous. ҉ next.

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You woke up. That’s a lie, you didn’t sleep. Too much to plan, too much can go wrong and you’re...Not nervous, no, that’s not quite accurate. Excited. Yes, excited, so excited that two Redbulls and three coffees (so far!) make you jitter around the apartment like a butterfly that can’t find a flower bed to rest on.

Rae has almost had enough of your...random spurts of energy. So what if you ran a few laps, climbed a few tables, sang karaoke a bit too loud and yet another noise complaint had been issued? It arrived exactly an hour after your concert via your displeased landlord. Rae was, of course, the one to apologize because you were too busy trying on miniskirts. After that ordeal was taken care of, no sooner than Rae shut the front door with an exhausted sigh, you emerged from your room clad in your prettiest outfit. You present it to her with a bright smile and flourish.

She is not impressed.

“Will you quit it?” She questions, arms crossed over her chest. Your grin does not damper -- you’re used to such harsh treatment, having accepted her backhanded way of showing love long ago. Instead, you flick your wrists, showing off an ungodly amount of rings. You’re not certain of the exact number because you can’t count, “Y/n.” Her voice gains an edge, but you persist. Show off your shoes that have cute lil’ charms that jingle jangle not unlike the spurs on a hot cowgirl’s boots, “Y/n.” Her eyes narrow in displeasure, her stern tone making you falter in your dramatic stride down the imaginary catwalk, “Just stop.”

Okay! So maybe you’re not as used to her coldness as you thought you were. Your expression sours, and you quit the act, even if a part of you - one you barely fight off, goodness, you almost perish in that battle - wants to continue but even more annoying. As if you could somehow block her rationality with manic energy.

“What?” You ask, trying to keep the mood lighthearted despite her squared shoulders and tight frown, “I’m just having a bit of fun!” You say with a joyous little laugh, reaching for a glass of much needed water.

“No, you’re panicking.” Her words make the glass still, hoovering by your painted lips, but it’s short lived. You take a greedy gulp and it tastes fresh with a pinch of lipstick, “Look, I get it...” She shakes her head softly, “You’re meeting the guy you like for the first time, you jumped the gun straight to dating and now you’re...Anxious. It’s normal, you know.”

“But I’m not anxious.” You persist, and you really do mean it. You don’t like how she looks at you as if you’re the one that’s misunderstanding your own feelings. You set the glass down with a soft clink, heaving your own sigh, “I’m not, I’m really happy actually.” You explain softly, “It’s just...my way of dealing with it. I’m more... Worried about Corpse, to be honest.” You add, a tad quieter, “But, like, it’s all good!” You exclaim, strolling up to her and landing your hands on her shoulders, “I prepared.”

And it’s true! You had spent the night scouring the depths of the internet. Read every WikiHow article on how to deal with someone with extreme anxiety, how to not make things painfully awkward, and how to talk to boys (just in case. The last time you stumbled upon that particular article was way back in middle school when you had a crush on that one guy you saw in your school’s cafeteria every now and then. Naturally, that led you down the rabbit hole, and according to WikiHow’s How To Tell If A Boy Likes You guidebook, you found out that he was absolutely enamored with you because he glanced in your direction, like, two times. Safe to say that love story went nowhere. The point still stands).

So you forward all of this information to Rae, nestled in her bed whilst she lazily folds her clothes; clarify that you know that nothing much can happen, and that this whole situation is delicate, and that you must tread carefully because you don’t want to overwhelm him. She pauses her actions, glancing behind her to watch you staring idly at the ceiling, so peaceful, so thoughtful. And it’s not the eerie calmness you had displayed during your murderous spree in the last Among Us game, no, it’s just...quiet understanding.

“I’m actually impressed.” She says. You merely hum, counting the dust slowly descending in the cascading light, “You’re not as clueless as I thought.” Your lips quirk into a shy smile at the compliment- “Or as tactless.” - and turn downward just as quick.

“That implies that I’m always tactless.”

“You are.” She states and you sit up, a soft frown pinching your brows, “Not like, in a terrible way. You just...don’t think about your actions. Or the repercussions. You just know that you can get away with everything.”

“And I can!”

“That doesn’t actually mean you should do something just because you can. You know I’ll always support you. Literally everyone will always support you. But I’m not gonna coddle you. You’re just...a lot. Online and especially in person. But the fact that you’re actually taking this seriously and taking his feelings into consideration is...well, the bare minimum, but still, good job.”

...Much to think about. You don’t like thinking, it makes your head hurt. Though, that could just be the lack of sleep. You cross your legs and plop your head in your hand, tired eyes blinking owlishly, “Do you...think I should change what I’m wearing?”

Prompted by your question, she gives you a careful once over, “I mean, it’s signature you.”

“Signature me is a hoodie and some sweatpants.”

She smiles, “Then go change. Your outfit is a bit distracting for just...Hanging out indoors, no? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind either way, though.”

“I just...” You bite the inside of your cheek, mulling your words over. Truly, the last time you were so attentive was when you went Psycho Mode in Among Us, which, to be fair, wasn’t that long ago. Perhaps there wasn’t a chance to let your mind dull - it’s almost as sharp as your butterfly knife, “I figured that if, like,” You vaguely motion with your hands, “if I be, like, all over the place, and wearing something cute, he’d be, like, distracted? And less anxious? No...awkward silence?”

“First meetings are always awkward, it’s natural.” She chimes, “I mean, if you’re so nervous-”

“I’m not nervous!”

“-then just don’t overthink it. I know it’s easier said than done, but you’re you, and Corpse is Corpse, and he likes you for who you are, and even if it is a bit awkward, I’m sure it’ll, like, blow over in a second. It really doesn’t matter how you look, Y/n.” She grins, “Plus, it’s not like you’re greeting him in your underwear or something.”

You will not admit that that was your plan B, not when you just landed in her good graces. You nod, “...I’ll go change.”

And so you do. Pick out your cutest hoodie and some sweatpants. Put away your jingle jangle shoes with a broken heart, instead of them donning your fluffiest socks; slip off some rings because they keep falling off of your fingers. It’s almost like all of those transformation scenes in rom-coms that are still popular for some reason, except you’re hot before and after, so there’s really no transformation at all.

Now you wait. Just wait, all other activities are excluded from this. Rae comes back to find you sitting on the edge of your bed, back straight, hands neatly folded on your lap. She compares you to a Sim’s character and you allow her. After mercilessly mocking you and snapping a few pictures - for blackmail, you assume - she helpfully informs that she is leaving because she doesn’t want to get in the way, but your psychic abilities which you acquired just now tell you that she simply doesn’t want to witness this train wreck. Not that it’ll be a train wreck, it would be if you were nervous, but you aren’t.

You just aren’t. You fidget with the rings adoring your hand; toy with the hem of your hoodie; bounce your leg up and down. It’s just caffeine, okay?! Fuck this, Twitter time.

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[ADDING A MUSICAL INTERMISSION, LISTEN TO THIS IF YOU WANT (I WROTE THIS CHAPTER WITH IT IN MIND)]

The waiting commences, only now it somehow feels more intense. The sun is setting, and you really want to be one of those cute girls that fill their camera roll with pictures of the sunset and the roseate sky, but your hands are trembling and holding up your phone feels like too much of a hassle. You’d rather just sit there, alone in the apartment, in the pin-drop silence, extremely uncomfy and tense, as if waiting for the end of the world.

A notification sounds off and your life flashes before your eyes. Hastily, you check it, a sticky mixture of delight and something else, something unpleasant constricting, making your stomach churn. He’s here. Holy shit, it’s happening. You order your anime plushies to stop fucking panicking, they’re like, totally embarrassing you at the moment! You wonder if they have their own little group chat, but instead of Totally Spies it’s called Total Embarrassment. Yikes, okay, that was harsh. After a good scolding, and a heartfelt apology for getting so heated, you smooth down the non-existent wrinkles on your modest outfit, and quickly waddle over to the electronic apartment thingie something something... you unlock the main door, okay!? This is for some reason feeling very not cash money, so you break out in a little dance number.

The doorbell does not sing that shrill, unpleasant tune; rather, there’s a soft knock on the apartment’s door, and you pause your shuffling, your renegade, and perk up at the imposing future hidden behind a slab of wood. Your heart beats a melody all on it’s own, and it’s loud, uncoordinated, like a musician that’s still familiarizing themselves with their instrument. And there’s that knock again, as uncertain as you’re feeling, and your clammy fingers latch onto the lock and turn it and now there is no more hiding - such a possibility is no longer an option; no more sporadic dances or sitting in disheartening silence and letting your thoughts weight you down.

You’re not quite sure what you were thinking about before you saw him in the threshold, head tilted slightly, fluffy dark hair obscuring the bags under his eyes, hunched, one ringed hand clutching onto the strap of his duffel bag, the other frozen mid-air, ready to knock one more time lest you didn’t hear him the first two. No, truly, you can’t, for the life of you, remember what all the fuss was about.

“...Oh.” It’s a soft sound, so quiet, but not surprised, rather...relieved. Faint shimmers of a smile reach you, hidden behind a black face mask - the panini chic! You must stan a respectful king - but there’s something about the way he looks at you that makes you question it’s sincerity. He fails to return your gaze, rather choosing to stare somewhere over your shoulder. His eyes seem unfocused. Apprehensive. A wild thought occurs to you that he expected you to trick him somehow, and wild thoughts invade the land of your mind often, but never in such a way. You clutch the handle just a bit tighter.

His hand retreats to his side, up to his mask and you think he’s about to unhook it but he stills, and there’s panic there, as if he had been moving unconsciously, as if he hadn’t realized what he’s doing. He plays it off by idly scratching his cheek, muttering an equally quiet, “Hi.” to fill the silence.

Finally, your WikiHow knowledge can come in handy, along with your common sense, “Hey, pretty boy.” You mutter, pulling away from the door, “Make yourself at home!” You slide to the kitchen, your socks acting not unlike ice-skates cutting through the Arctic frost covered ground. You hope that with you occupied and not watching him as closely he’ll feel slightly more at ease.

You’d like to hug him. Kiss him, definitely. But if he’s so uncomfortable that he can’t bring himself to shed his mask in your presence, then there’s really nothing you can do.

You hear the door shut and lock behind you as you pull out two glasses from the cupboard, humming a song you can’t quite recall the name of. You ask him if he’d like something to drink - it was a short flight, yet a flight still, and planes always make you thirsty, and there you go talking his ear off. You end abruptly, but smoothly, like a true diplomat; if he notices, you have no way of knowing - he doesn’t provide even a hint. He’s hard to read, and literature was never your best subject. But you’re trying.

He sets his duffel bag down on a nearby chair, “I, uhhh,” His voice is raspy and low, another indication of a pathetic lack of sleep, “I...got you something, uhh, I dunno-dunno if I should...give it now, or?” He sends you a questioning glance, but it doesn’t linger. Your offer of drinks is momentarily forgotten, though you hardly mind.

You grin, “Sure! I love gifts, gimmie gimmie.” You make grabby hands, and he snorts, and it would’ve sounded endearing if he didn’t sound so fucking tired. He unzips the bag, and you pad your way to him, mindful of personal space (something you, in most social situations, chose to pretend does not exist). You note his hands quivering lightly, just like yours had in the agonizing wait, but he hides it well. You wish you could hold them. You’re afraid to try.

He pulls out a black hoodie and you recognize the custom art on it instantly - it’s his merch. He presents it in awkward flourish, murmuring a “Tadaaaa” under his breath; your heart skips a pleasant beat, and you have to bite down on your lower lip lest you smile appears too big. The fabric is soft under your fingers, and you accept his gift with a dramatic bow, and he turns his head away with another little laugh. You’re chipping away at the ice around him; it’s a slow process, but it’s worth the effort.

Truly, your own hoodie is shabby in comparison - icky, how could you have ever worn such a thing in the first place?! You’ll have to do extensive research in fashion magazines and Printerest so such a slip-up may never happen again. You discard it hastily and put his on instead; it smells like washing detergent with hints of cologne, one you instantly pin point belonging to him, “It’s, uhhh, it’s mine? I hope you, uhh, I didn’t have any spare ones, so-I hope you don’t...mind.”

He’s finally looking at you, but he’s still tense, still hesitant, and you shake your head softly, “No,” You admit, “I like it even more now.” You pull on the hood, toy with the strings and yank them quickly; your face is concealed, save for your nose, “Comfy.” Your commentary is unmatched, best of it’s kind - eloquent and effortless, much like yourself.

Another small laugh reaches your ears, and it sounds a bit livelier than the others had been. Success!

“Stop that.” He says gently, and you see moving shadows; his hands loosen the strings and your face is revealed to him once again. He’s close now, and he doesn’t move away; his hands come to rest on your shoulders, warm even through layers of fabric, “I came all this way to see you, don’t hide your face from me.”

Your eyes narrow playfully, your finger rapidly tapping away on his clothed cheek, “What’s all this then? Hm? Hm?” Instead of swatting your hand away, which you figured he’d do, he complies and finally tugs that fucking mask off. Your breath catches in the back of your throat and you halt your ministrations - truly, seeing him smiling on screen is nothing compared to him smiling in person. You can’t quite contain yourself any longer - your excitement might burst out in another dance number otherwise - as you throw your arms over his shoulders and pull him flush against you. He’s quick to return the embrace. Maybe it was all the encouragement he needed.

“Wow,” He mumbles, only slightly offended, “so I finally show my face to you, in person, and you just-...you just look away?”

“I’m hugging you, dumbass.”

“...Touche.”

Things fall into place after that, like a dozen puzzle pieces fitting together. He won’t let you go - he doesn’t want to. You put on some music, something easy and indie and that doesn’t require too much effort to listen to, as the two of you contemplate what to eat. Cooking by yourselves was dismissed due to the unstable relationship between yourself and cooking utensils. The stove and you had had a falling out recently, but this feud had started long ago, back in pre-school, with only short intervals of friendship. He listened to your extensive explanation absolutely enraptured and only moderately confused.

So you settled on ordering pizza from Domino’s. You have no trouble calling or receiving phone calls, because you have no trouble doing anything, and he admitted that he only really calls you because he gets too anxious to do more, so you’re tasked with ordering the food. You accept this mission with pride.

You stand tall, gazing out the window into the wild California domain: massive buildings and towering eucalyptus trees, bleeding skyline and the sun slowly getting swallowed up by the ocean. Corpse looms behind you, with his arms snaked around your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder, looking at you through the corner of his eye. You wait patiently for the underpaid, overworked staff member to pick up, and once they do, you have the audacity to grin brightly and chirp, “Hi! I want pizza.”

Conversations flow smoothly, and you make hot chocolate - because you are hot and you crave chocolate - and he insists he wants one too, because you want one, and you don’t hesitate to overflow his cup with whipped cream and an ungodly amount of miniature marshmallows. A premature heart attack, just for him. Whoever said romance is dead has clearly never met you. When the doorbell chimes, you’re astounded that an hour flew by so quickly.

After the delicious meal, the movie night must commence. So what if you watched 10 Things I hate About You yesterday, you insist that you have already forgotten the plot. You lead him to your room and he tries not to stare, but can’t help himself. Pretty boy in a pretty girl’s room. His eyes linger on the massive posters of Chrollo on your walls, and you sense his displeasure rolling off of him in waves.

“What?” You huff, fluffing the pillows, “You don’t like my husband?”

He jabs his finger into his chest, into the spot of his heart, “I’m your husband.”

“Side hoe, then-”

“-No.”

You didn’t lie when you said you love to cuddle, or that you’re clingy. It’s a good thing he’s just as clingy as you are, because when he lays down and you latch onto his side. He doesn’t complain, rather wraps his arm around pulls you close. His thumb draws lazy circles on your side; with your head resting on his chest, you feel each rhythmical rise and drop.

The opening credits play on the projector, the room dark enough for your pile of plushies to look like a whole fucking human just standing in the corner. A ghost! Sucks for it, you’re not scared. You feel safe. Protected. So comfortable in Corpse’s hold that you’re honestly wondering how did you manage to be so long without him. To think all of this started when Sykkuno followed you on Twitter. What a lucky accident.

“Can I ask you something?” Your voice cuts through the bopping 90s soundtrack and Julia Stiles’ voice. He hums. You take it as a yes. Tilting your head upwards, you find his eyes again, a thorn of displeasure picking you as you note that that apprehension you had seen previously is still very much there, “...You really wouldn’t date me if I was a worm?”

His chest rumbles with a laugh and his lips split into a grin, “I would.” He presses your side for emphasis, “I really would.” He repeats, reassuringly. You, however, are not convinced.

“But I’d be a worm.”

“I know. We’d... roll around in the dirt together, or something.”

“But you’d be human.”

He frowns softly, “Why couldn’t I be a worm, too?”

“Those are the rules.”

“What kind of shitty fucking rules are those?”

“I dunno, it’s like the Thanos snap or something. I just turn into a worm. I’m the only one.”

“That’s fine.” He smiles, “I’d take you out on a fishing date or something.”

Shocked, offended, and heartbroken, you hit his chest and pointedly turn away with a pout, which he finds very funny for some reason, but you fail to see the humor anywhere except the movie. Despite the fact that he’d sacrifice you for a fish, you smile shyly and close your eyes. He did say you would take a nap together, and if he really thought you’d stay awake for movie night, well, then he’s just an idiot. You had decided you would fall asleep as soon as he was next to you. It’s a miracle you managed to stay awake for so long.

“...Sleeping already?” You don’t appreciate his teasing tone.

“’m not sleeping...” You murmur, “’m resting my eyes.”

“Sure.”

You’re not quite certain (of anything, really) how much time drifts by, but you’re nearly lost in unconsciousness, in the warm, nice feeling that comes along with him like a cloud. Perhaps he thinks you’re asleep, he has to, else he wouldn’t say anything at all, “You’re stuck with me now, you know.” It’s such a soft admission, riddled with the same notes of anxiety that always prevail in his speech; with the same hopeful sincerity he had been gazing at you the whole evening.

Moving your lips is such a hassle, but you manage, “’m...stuck...” You mumble, “’m...stuck...what are you doing step-”

“No!” He laughs, and your lips quirk into a lazy smile, “No, no, no. Just no. Do you talk in your sleep?” You fake snore at that, loudly, “You’re like a little dragon.”

“...Fuck you.”

“Fine, a kitten, then.” That’s better. You feel something chapped, but soft, press onto your forehead, “Goodnight, Y/n.”

God, you’re so fucking happy. Does he know how happy you are? How happy he makes you? But you’re too tired for screaming and flailing around, too tired to even crack an eye open. You want him to know all the same, “...like you.” You whisper, but you don’t know if he hears you over the movie, “...I like you.”

His reply is instant, breathless, “I like you too.”

Good, you want to say, and maybe you do - can’t tell anymore. Sleep takes you too quickly.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos - @fairywriter-oracle - @tsukishimawh0re - @ofstarsanddreams - @bbecc-a - @annshit - @leahh19 - @letsloveimagines - @bellomi-clarke - @wineandionysus - @guiltydols - @onephootinfrontoftheother - @liamakorn - @thirstyfangirl - @lilysdaydreams - @pan-ini - @mxqicshxp - @tanchosanke - @yoshinorecommends - @flightsandfantasy - @liljennyx3 - @bingusmode - @unknown-and-invisible - @sinister-sleep - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat - @mercury--moon - @peterparkerspjsuit - @unstableye - @simonsbluee - @shinyshimaagain - @ppopty - @siriuslystupid - @crapimahuman - @ofthedewthesunlight - @mythicalamphitrite - @artsyally - @corpsesimpp - @corpsewhitetee - @corpse-husbandsimp - @hyp-oh-critical - @roses-and-grasses - @rhyrhy462 - @sparklylandflaplawyer - @charbkgo - @airwaveee - @creativedogs - @kaitlyn2907 - @loxbbg - @afuckingunicornn - @fleurmoon - @yeolliedokai

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse husband x reader #corpse x reader #corpse husband x y/n #corpse husband fanfic #corpse x y/n #corpse social media au #corpse husband social media au #social media au #myso #make you say oh #reader #xreader #imagine #imagines #fluff #wtf i have never been this soft no one hmu

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sugawara-sweetheart · 3 years

Text

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔦𝔰 (𝔪)

❥oikawa tōru x fem!reader

❥summary: your new husband, oikawa toru, is the epitome of hell

❥warnings: forced marriage + abusive parents, forced isolation, yandere-ish and controlling behaviour, emotional abuse, dubcon/noncon, ill-prepped sex + blood, sacrilege, breeding kink + babytrapping *if i have missed any please let me know!!!!!

❥word count: 3.2k

your funeral dress is your wedding dress. a white gown that should be black, a bouquet of bright flowers that should be wilted roses, the knife slicing into the cake that should be cutting right through your heart and a forced watery smile and happy tears that should be mourning sobs as you feel every last fighting part of your soul collapse.

you should’ve known it was coming. it’d been your reality for months leading up to it, coming to terms with the darkness enclosing in on you. the first time you saw his face it was a photograph on your mother’s phone, a little smile on her face.

“this is him. isn’t he handsome? you’re a lucky one.” you can’t deny that he isn’t. tall with an athletic build, warm brown eyes and silky hair, skin bronzed from the Argentinian sun. he was supposed to be every girl’s dream- a star volleyball player with a luxurious home, paparazzi and journalists clinging to his every word, sponsorships and photoshoots and a charming character everyone glorifies.

but not you. maybe it was his superficial smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes or the heavy instinctual twinge that settled in you when you stared at his face, but you didn’t like this man. the very sight of him made your stomach turn and as you turned to your parents with pleading eyes, you begged. anyone. anyone else- you didn’t care about money, about their job, about them but as long as it wasn’t this man sending shivers down your spine. but they refused. badly. angry snarls and bitter words burned in your ear, heavy threats and viciousness that you were really left with no choice. the only thing you could do was hold back your stinging tears as you forced yourself to read sports magazines and articles till your teary eyes were sore and bloodshot, trying to pretend that you could love this man. that you could force a lifelong commitment of marriage, be his wife. the woman he’d lie in bed with at night, the one he woke up with, the one he was going to be intimate with but also show to the world. he was the man whose kids you’d be forced to bear, who you’d be bound to for life.

the first time you meet him is on your wedding day. oikawa tōru.

he’s the perfect charm, but in between the ceremony, the speeches and the dance you don’t get to speak to him alone till you’re in the hotel room. your wedding gown is stiff, the corset cinching your waist till it’s painful, the lace sleeves beginning to itch and a thick lump resides in your dry throat as you settle at the end of the bed. how superficial is this glorious honeymoon suite of a luxurious hotel with the baskets of fruit and chocolate, the complementary champagne with the congratulatory greetings card. all fake. all a facade concocted by your parents and oikawa- and how he’s able to smile at you so sweetly as he loosens the tie of his tuxedo, like none of this is wrong, utterly confuses you.

“you must be tired.” his smile is all wrong, even the little crinkle in his eyes, his saccharine voice. it makes your blood run cold and you want nothing more than to curl up in on yourself, to get away from him as much as possible. but you can’t. he’d find you, or your parents would find you and drag you back. there’d be nowhere to go. no escape. “would you like me to help you undress?” he steps forward but stops suddenly when you raise your hands in protest, a look of surprise etching on his face.

“i can undress in the bathroom.” is all you say as you walk across to the hotel suite away from him.

you inhale sharply, locking the bathroom door and pressing yourself against it, wishing there was more than two inches of wood separating you and that man you’re forced to call your husband. shivers run down your spine as you gaze at yourself in the mirror. y/n oikawa. you’re his now. you stare at the unfamiliar figure until tears blur your vision too much and you can’t see yourself anymore.

you stop in the doorway when you return to the main suite, your throat growing dry as you stare at oikawa lying on the bed. he beams at you, eyes sparkling as he takes in your figure and you’re suddenly feeling too exposed in the silk nightdress your mother prepared.

“come on,” he smiles, winking cheekily as he pats the space next to him. “i don’t bite.” your legs shake as you stalk towards the bed, swallowing at its size. you’d never thought that a spacious king-sized bed would be too small, too suffocating when you have oikawa staring at you, a strange gleam in his eye that gives you a harsh sense of unease.

you’re tense when you lay down and oikawa props himself up, smiling as he rakes his eyes over you. it’s horribly scrutinising- it’s like being under a microscope as he picks you apart with just his sugared smile, orbs narrowing and his smile seeming so wry.

“you’re a very beautiful woman.” he finally speaks. it sounds like a lie. so horribly sweet it’s sickly and you have to resist the urge to flinch when he reaches out to twine a stray lock of hair around his finger. “i’m so happy i chose you.” your mouth tastes sour and your body feels icy as he releases your hair, trailing a finger down your throat, along your collarbone. he hooks it under the flimsy strap of your dress and that’s when you can’t control the panicked squeal that escapes you.

“please. n-not tonight.” oikawa looks half surprised, half stunned at the sudden bout of emotion you release.

“fine.” he smiles, but it doesn’t fill you with relief when he releases your strap, grazing his finger back along your collarbones and throat. it lingers too long on your neck, his brown eyes piercing into you and your stomach drops when you realise he’s not looking into your eyes.

you finally realise why you feel so uneasy when he stares at you.

he looks at you like you’re prey.

it’s anxiety-inducing, living with oikawa tōru. even after the honeymoon when you finally return to his home, you’re in a constant state of unease. you don’t seem to be able to sleep well, staring at the dark ceiling for hours with your body tense, even way after oikawa’s breathing falls slow and steady. your appetite has dissipated, your tightly-knotted stomach now churning with nausea and every time you hear that silky, saccharine voice and feel his coarse fingers tracing along your shoulders- his favourite way to make his presence known- you can’t help but start, heart pounding against your rib cage. you’re certain he’s noticed- his eyes are sharp and perceptive- but a part of you wonders whether he enjoys it, whether his wide smile is out of sick entertainment.

but he isn’t a bad husband, which seems to confuse you the most. it’s strange living in a new country with the hot sun beating down on you, unfamiliar language surrounding your ears and no friends or family for company. the only person you have is oikawa, and he knows it. his hand grips yours tight whenever you leave the house, and it only ever is with him. he talks a lot but he never tells you the important things. he doesn’t tell you important words you may need to know like ‘help’ or ‘police’ or ‘phone’ but instead laughs when you ask about them, waving a dismissive hand. he points out the best department store for the finest clothes and makeup but raises an eyebrow when you ask where the closest train station is, amusement glimmering in his eyes.

“and why would you need to know that when i’m here, y/n?” he taps the tip of your nose and a sour taste lingers in your mouth as you hold back the nasty words you want to spit at him. how humiliating.

oikawa becomes all you know. your day is empty spent in a luxurious home, looking beautiful in the pretty yet stiff clothes your husband buys you, painting your face in the makeup he fills your draws with yet you have nothing to do. the maids who clean your home and leave the food in the fridge don’t look at you as they work and the gardener barely gives you a second glance, leaving you feeling invisible with only your alienated thoughts filling your mind. the silence is deafening yet lonesome, that when the front door slams shut and you hear oikawa’s footsteps against the marble hallway floor, you’re rushing to greet him with your cheeks burning.

you’re never happy to see him. no, your life would be a thousand times better if he hadn’t ever been forced into it, but you still run like a dog at a bell whenever he comes home from a long day of training, his tanned skin and brown locks wet with sweat.

“tōru!” you breathe, and hearing his soft voice, his sadistic chuckle, breaks the suffocating silence you’re confined to. maybe he enjoys it. maybe he enjoys seeing your face lighten up with human contact because when he opens his arms and pouts his lips to press a kiss to your forehead you don’t resist.

but he’s not your husband because you want him to be. just when you think you’re okay with him insisting on kissing your cheek or feeding you the fruits he bought home from the market or pulling you into his arms when you’re watching a television show in a language you don’t understand but he knows perfectly, your skin crawls and you remember that you hate him.

your voice cracks on the first phone call home back to your mother. her cheery, almost proud voice rings in your ears, not knowing she was part of the reason why you feel so numb, so broken and so trapped.

“mum, i don’t like it here.” you tell her quietly, playing with the thick telephone cord. “please let me come home. i don’t like him.” she laughs at you, an awkward titter that has tears stinging your eyes. you’re tired.

“give it some time, you just need to adjust. stop being ungrateful.” she scoffs and you can imagine her rolling her eyes, her tone mocking like she’s speaking to a child. “he’s a good man.”

an icy coldness runs over your tensed body when you hear the shuffle in the doorway and you turn to lock eyes with oikawa. his brown orbs look so dark, his brow furrowed slightly and even though a smile stretches across his face, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“ah, y/n-chan,” he beams. “tell your mother i said hi.”

oikawa isn’t quite the same after that day. if it didn’t already feel like a noose was hanging around your throat, it definitely felt tighter, like the life was being squeezed from you. suddenly oikawa is everywhere, weighing down on you but it’s heavy, oppressive, cruel. you can expect your phone to call every hour, the picture of himself he set on your phone flashing up on the screen like clockwork with the same mindless questions. he knows you have nothing to do, no one to speak to, no life except the moment he gets home and infests your space with his existence. but he was sweet before, even if it still made you shudder. now he was nasty.

disapproval is etched on his face as he watches you get ready in the morning, your hand shaking as you apply lipstick when you see his eyes pierce into you in the reflection of the mirror. it makes your heart race, cold sweat dampening your palms as your stomach churns in anticipation from what words would fall from his lips.

“red lipstick makes you look like a whore. i don’t want people thinking my wife is a slut.” he spits. you don’t hesitate to wipe it off.

there’s always more. humiliating you with harsh jokes and only speaking in spanish when you meet his teammates, leaving you alienated as you try to cling to their words, try to laugh along when they sneer and chuckle at you, oikawa’s laugh always ringing the loudest. chastising in a cruel, sneering tone over the simplest of things leaves you anxious and wary, hands trembling whenever you intend to do just the slightest, most natural of things because you’re aware of his heavy gaze piercing into you, scrutinising you for faults, leaving you scared almost for whatever harsh words will be spat from his lips this time. your comfort was little before, being forced into being the wife of a stranger you didn’t want in your life, but now all of that had been diminished. you aren’t just unfortunate now. you’re trapped.

“i bet you feel so lonely here.” his words cut through the silence one day, eyes fluttering open and locking onto yours. and with his head in your lap, your fingers forced to run through his hair like a puppet doll, you can’t look away, you can’t ignore him or the smirk tugging at his lips. “having no friends, no family, no one except me.” he chuckles but you’re not sure what’s the funny bit. “your parents don’t call much do they? and your friends forgot about you when you left japan?” he shakes his head a little, eyes sparkling with cold amusement. “you really don’t have anyone to care about you except me, right?”

your throat tightens as his words ring in your mind and you realise he’s right. it doesn’t matter if you hate him, if you feel sick and trapped and hopeless when looking at him and his cruel smile, you really do have no one but him. there’s nothing to do but be his.

the scent of vanilla hangs heavy in the bedroom, orange candlelight illuminating but it’s anything but romantic or peaceful when you’re pinned onto the mattress. oikawa’s legs are on either side of your body, trapping you in with his hands pressed against your shoulders. it hurts, his nails pierce into your skin and your throat is tight, barely being able to breathe in the warm, thick, perfumed air that lingers.

“i’ve waited long enough.” he groans, slowly rocking his hips against you. your silk nightdress is bunched at your waist, your fingers gripping the cloth as his stiff, hard cock glides against your folds. you can’t deny that you’re getting wetter, each brush along your cunt building sensitivity as you shudder. oikawa looks drunk, his eyes growing heavy-lidded and cheeks flushing with a pink glow, a brief smile tugging at his lips between breathy sighs. “you’re my wife. this is right.” it stings when he pinches your chin and traces his fingers on the soft skin of your face before his lips meet yours.

it’s the first time you’ve kissed him. his lips are too much and you cringe at the feeling of his tongue sliding against yours, forcing itself between your lips and invading your mouth. you mewl, but it’s laced with discomfort as your back arches off the bed, but you have nowhere to go with oikawa weighing you down. “my sweet wife.” he purrs, resting his wet lips agsinst yours and curling his fingers around your throat.

“tōru,” you hiss when his cockhead meets your entrance, your sweating hands gripping the cloth of your nightdress tighter, heart thumping against your ribcage. “w-wait-”

“be a good wife to me, y/n-can.” it sounds sweet, like a gentle plead but his fingers tightening around your throat and the cockhead almost nudging into your hole gives you no choice. “God of creation, in the beginning, You told adam and eve to be fruitful and to multiply and to have dominion over the animals here on earth.” a shaky cry falls from your lips as he slowly slides the weeping head of his cock into your tight hole. it burns, the stretch stinging even with the first couple of inches and your walls clamp tight, a distressed groan escaping. his hand releases your throat, the skin pulsating and bruised, to travel down to your chest, pinching your nipples sharply through the thin fabric, making you wince. “father, i pray that in our marriage we continue to be fruitful and multiply.” his words ring in your ears, sounding so distant like your head has been plunged underwater. it burns, his cock forcing itself into your cunt and ripping through the flesh as deep groans fall from his lips. “let us do this physically with children who are blessings that come from You.” his fingers pinch your nipples harder, pain rushing through you. your throat tightens. the tears are hot streaming down your face. “let us also do this spiritually by birthing ministries that You have called us to birth and by making disciples that You have selected.” his moans are heavy gasps, eyes rolling to the back of his head when he sheaths the last few inches of his throbbing length into your tight pussy, his chest pressed against yours and his breath hot and heavy as it ghosts your lips. “a-amen.” orange candlelight orbs and his brown eyes glimmer through your tears as he grips your face, tugging it to face him as your cunt aches with the searing pain. “say it, sweet girl.”

“a-amen.” his lips press against yours, swallowing the weeps that fall from your lips as he starts to rock his hips into you.

the pain never fully dissipates. scarlet bleeds out onto the pristine bedsheets, dyed in the candlelight. his shadow flickers on the walls as he fucks into you, chanting your name with deep groans and heavy-lidded eyes rolling to the back of his head, harsh fingertips pinching and swirling your clit. your bloodied, torn walls cling tight to his cock, your own moans muffled as you bite your trembling bottom lip, trying to bury your face into the pillow as he pounds into you but there’s no evading his hungry kisses or the bites he traces down your throat.

“cum for me.” he coos and you shudder as his tongue darts out to lick up the silvery tears that roll down your cheeks. “cum for me right now.”

beaten down into submission. his wife. your orgasm is forced from you, bloodied slick drooling from your pussy as he swallows your moans, his hips snapping against yours faster and groaning as your walls clench around him.

“i’ll give you my cum.” he murmurs against your hot, bruised skin. “i’ll fill up your pussy with my cum, make you nice and swollen with my child. then you’ll always be mine.”

you cry out when his cum floods your pussy, so deep and warm and sticky, filling you up entirely as you whine. your hands tremble as you lift your dress, horrified to see the pink globules dribbling down your thighs when he pulls out.

you’re frozen when he lies beside you, wrapping his arms around your shaking body and pressing tender kisses to your shoulder. “you’re such a sweet wife to me.” he murmurs. “i’ll never let you go.”

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