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sc0tters · 9 months

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It’s Captain Now | Quinn Hughes

summary: when you take Quinn out for drinks to celebrate his captains announcement you push his buttons landing you up on his bed.

request: yes/no

warnings: mature themes, p in v, oral (fem and m receiving!), minimal degradation used (slut once), swearing.

word count: 2.59k

authors note: okay so I definitely got carried away with how I wrote Quinn in this but it’s for his captaincy so I can’t get bashed for going big. Ending is a bit rushed because I want to go to sleep but I wanted this out today. Sort of felt like a full circle moment for those of you that remember the first smut I did on here with Jack and Quinn’s best friend so I figured it was only fair to do a Quinn and Jack best friend one 😭

Quinn’s brain was playing against him tonight.

You looked good in your little blue dress that barely covered your ass as you leaned over the bar counter to get your drinks.

The hockey player had to say that your strict instructions making him stay sat because this was your treat was something that Quinn enjoyed when you sent him a cheeky grin.

He knew it was wrong thinking about you like this, but Quinn knew that there was no other way for him to see you. Not after the summer.

The sound of your laugh erupted through the house as Jack threw you over his shoulder “let me go Jacky!” You groaned banging your fists on his back.

Quinn looked up from his phone as he heard the noise “can you not kill her before the rest of the boys get here?” He asked smiling as you were thrown onto the couch next to him.

Your breasts bounced in your bikini making it a sight for sore eyes “you’re no fun now that she lives with you.” Jack pointed out as he sent his brother an irritated look.

However those negative feelings were short lived as the knock at the door pulled the younger Hughes boys attention away from the way you smiled at Quinn “I’ll be back.” Jack announced making his way to the door.

The Canucks player had to say that he was surprised when you stayed on the couch with him “don’t you want to see your friends?” Quinn asked cocking his head.

You were quick to shake your head “like sitting with you,” you reached over to tap his nose letting out a giggle at how he scrunched his face “roomie,” you added using his new nickname.

After you graduated you couldn’t find an apartment in Vancouver so Quinn offered you his second bedroom. Not a single thought of hesitation went through your mind when he offered it to you because over your time in Vancouver you grew to love Quinn, in ways you shouldn’t love your best friends brother “you better not be avoiding me y/n!” Trevor called out making you both laugh from the couch.

You got up “wouldn’t dream of it ass hat!” You smiled running over to the boys as you left Quinn to watch you get pulled into a hug by the New York native.

As the eldest Hughes boy felt his heart grow green with jealous he knew it only meant one thing, that Quinn Hughes was in love with you.

You snapped your fingers in front of Quinn’s face “you good?” You asked cocking your head as Quinn seemed to come back to you.

His cheeks were red as the image of you in that stupidly small bikini was still in the front of his mind “y-yeah…sorry,” Quinn was quick to apologise as he chugged back some of his beer.

Despite the fact that you knew something was off you decided to not dig into it “how are you feeling about the news captain?” You smiled innocently as you turned to face him fully.

Quinn felt his jeans tighten as you used his new title “oh my god.” You slapped your hand over your mouth watching him puff out his cheeks.

That was his tell tale sign that he was horny and you had picked up on that years ago “what?” Quinn asked when you threw your head back with laughter.

Part of you wondered if you should really let him know “have you got something you want to tell me captain?” You teased placing your hand on his knee as he repeated his original reaction.

Now Quinn figured out what you were playing at “stop it!” He groaned growing embarrassed.

The teasing didn’t stop during the night, in fact it actually got worse. It continued all the way until you two got home “thanks for keeping me company cap,” you wrapped your hand around his arm as you used him for support as you took your heels off.

Just as you were about to walk away Quinn grabbed your hand pulling you back to him. Your body hit his chest before you looked up to him “you gotta stop saying that to me y/n.” He sighed cupping your cheek as he let the rough pad of his finger rub against the warmth of your skin.

You started to feel bad as you thought it was irritating him “not when you aren’t going do anything about the problem you’re causing.” Quinn added letting his voice float to your ear as his bulge rubbed against your thigh.

A groan left your throat as thoughts came through your head “didn’t mean to do that Quinn,” you apologised as your lips formed a pout.

He couldn’t stay mad at you for long when your hand trailed up his shorts “‘m sorry,” you mumbled palming his cock as the boy stayed silent.

The Canucks player almost drifted off into this state of peace as his eyes went hooded “should show me just how sorry you are princess.” Quinn gasped forcing the words out of his mouth.

A smile formed on your face “wanna make you feel so good cap,” you cooed bringing your lips to his. The kiss was soft as his hand locked in the back of your hair “stop teasing me then baby, fuck!” Quinn groaned feeling your hand just cup his balls.

You giggled as you dropped to your knees “do I make you horny Quinn?” You asked hooking your fingers in the waist band of his shorts pulling them down with his pants as you smiled.

His head fell back as your cold fingers wrapped around his cock “so much baby” he groaned feeling you kitten lick his tip “don’t deserve to be teased like this.” Quinn added as you looked up at him through your eyelashes.

It felt like pure torture as you drunkenly giggled before you wrapped your lips around his cock “fuck me,” he gasped hearing the sounds of your gags along with your own moans that sent vibrations through his body.

Quinn wrapped his hand around your hair as he forced your throat to take his cock deeper “so good baby.” His praise made you clench your pussy around nothing.

Your hot mouth felt like heaven around his cock “ugh Quinn,” your words came out muffled as his cock seemed to swallow them hitting the back of your throat.

All of the tension that had built up in his pants over night were now falling apart as your tongue swirled around him trying to get Quinn to that high as quickly as his whole body tensed “keep doing so good baby.” The hockey player encouraged you as you continued to gurgle around his cock.

His orgasm hit him like a truck as he almost fell over “so fucking good princess.” It seemed like the boy couldn’t settle on a nickname for you as he pulled his cock out from your mouth.

You titled your head up letting your mouth hang open before you swallow his release “god y/n,” Quinn swore he was on cloud nine as he watched you stick your tongue out now empty.

He held his hand out to help you back up “you gonna fuck me like a real captain?” You asked grinning from ear to ear.

If Quinn knew that that you were going to be such a brat in the sheets he would have fucked you weeks if not months ago “I gotta taste you first.” Quinn blurted out cupping your cheeks again as he kissed you.

His tongue slid into your mouth letting him taste his release on your tongue as he pushed you all the way back until your knees hit the pillow of the couch sending you both back onto it “you knew you were gonna get fucked didn’t you?” The hockey player asked seeing your blue thong as your dress pushed up around your waist.

Quinn let his fingers run down your stomach stopping at the fabric of your panties picking a side up so it could snap back against your skin “asked you a question princess.” He muttered pulling the underwear down your legs painfully slowly “hoped you would fuck me Quinn,” you confessed arching your back into the couch.

You should have been embarrassed with how wet you were as Quinn stared down down at your soaked pussy “you know that’s not my name tonight baby.” Quinn mumbled laying his tongue down flat as he lick a stripe up your folds.

Your hands went to his hair “sorry cap,” you were quick to apologise as he smirked to himself “won’t make that mistake again,” you added puffing your cheeks out as Quinn took his two fingers and ran them over your clit a few times before he thrusted them inside of you.

The hockey player locked his eyes with yours “know you won’t because you’re my good girl right?” Quinn asked before he latched his lips around your clit.

It was quick to make you jump forward with pleasure as you gasped “fucking hell cap,” you groaned running your fingers over your chest.

The matching blue bra was seen thrown across the room as you let your fingers trace over the stiff peaks that your nipples had formed “please let me come,” you begged knowing that you weren’t going to last long with how turned on you were when you sucked Quinn off.

He groaned sending shivers up your spine “I promise I’ll be your good girl.” You nodded to yourself as you pulled at his hair trying to get him closer to your core than he already was.

It seemed that Quinn’s brain was telling his tongue to treat you like you were meant to be his last meal “don’t stop,” you groaned grinding your hips against his face as your thighs began to grow shaky.

Knowing that he was the one causing you to let out those moans and it wasn’t that little black vibrator that you hide in your makeup drawer was a total boost to Quinn’s ego “gotta ask for it like a good girl.” He mumbled somehow having you hear his words perfectly as he went back to sucking your clit whilst his fingers get your pussy occupied.

You were surprised you could even get the words out “please let me come captain.” You begged digging your hips into the couch “I promise I’ll be your good girl as you fuck me.” Those words caused him to grunt and that set off your orgasm.

Now Quinn wasn’t a cruel man, he wasn’t going to stop you because he said no. Instead he was going to fuck you through it and make you pay afterwards “shit Quinn!” You cried leaving that as the real cherry on top of the cake as he retracted his fingers from your pussy.

You were in trouble now “get up,” Quinn’s tone was serious making you listen to him quickly “why?” You asked following his request.

Quinn glared as he reached behind you to grab a handful of your ass “you didn’t listen to me baby so now I have to punish you,” he sighed softly slapping the your skin.

It was hard to concentrate as you rubbed your thighs together trying to alleviate some of the pleasure you felt “so go get naked and wait for me on the bed.” With that Quinn sent you off to his bed room leaving you oozing with anticipation as you got rid of your your dress laying down on his bed just like he wanted you.

But of course the moment Quinn saw you he had other ideas “face down baby, ass up.” He barked causing you to roll over onto your stomach as you heard him get rid of his T-shirt as it fell to the ground.

Quinn had to admit that you being so responsive to him was earning you some brownie points “now you know how to be a good girl for me huh?” He asked cocking his head as he joined you on his bed quickly reaching into the drawer for a condom.

All you could do was nod as you tried to hold back a squeal of excitement “please fuck me captain.” You begged feeling his hands wrap around your hips as his fingers dug into your sides.

There was no doubt about it that your were ready and Quinn was done waiting. So he took his covered cock as he ran it over your clit a few times before he thrusted inside of your pussy. The angle was perfect for him as it like his cock get wrapped up by your tight little cunt “baby ready to by my dumb little cock slut?” He asked thrusting his cock at a painfully slow pace as the hockey player continued to bottom you out.

Your whimpers practically lit Quinn’s skin of fire “yes cap, I’ll whatever you want.” You pleaded just wanting him to move faster.

Thankfully for you it didn’t take him long as those words seemed to trigger a switch in his head causing him to listen to you “so fucking good.” Quinn groaned letting his lower half do most of the work as he let his one hand reach down to rub your clit “if you behave for now on you might even be allowed to come without permission.” The hockey player proposed enjoying how your ass looked bouncing against his lower torso as your pussy swallowed his cock.

It felt like he was on cloud nine “wanna be your best girl,” you cried out feeling your eyes flutter as the boy continued to bottom you out.

He managed to hit spots that no dildo could dream of “you are my only girl baby,” Quinn cooed squeezing his face like he had eaten something sour as your pussy hadn’t stopped clenching around his cock.

The sound of skin slapping only added another layer of pleasure for both of you as the room went silent with you both trying to focus on only one thing “c’mon cap please,” you begged feeling like your legs were going to give out from under you.

Quinn smiled as he used his other hand to reach down and tease your breast as he remembered you doing it early “oh shit,” you swore feeling it.

The hockey player pressed warm kisses up your neck stopping by your ear “be my good girl and come for me.” Quinn mumbled letting his hot breath fan against your ear.

That was all it took for you to come as your body dropped to the mattress as you shuddered letting your hands grab at the comforter beneath you “so fucking good baby,” he cooed helping you through your orgasm as his own was caused by that.

Quinn pulled out of you with heavy breathing as he lay down next to you, with the little energy you had left you turned to look up at him “you okay?” The hockey player asked brushing your hair out of your face.

You nodded as you let out a yawn “let’s run you a bath,” he mumbled scooping up your body like you were a child.

Your hand went to his jaw as you squeezed it forcing him to look at you “for us,” you corrected Quinn as you smiled watching him shut the bathroom door behind you two.

Now this is how you spend your first official day as captain of an NHL team.

#quinn hughes smut #Quinn Hughes imagines #quinn hughes oneshot #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes x reader #oneshots #imagines #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #nhl imagine #nhl oneshot #hockey smut #nhl smut #amber writes fics

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ggsbooks123 · 7 months

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Memory Garden

peeta mellark x female mc (Jude Slone)

summary; you made haymitch promise, if it came down to you or Peeta that he’d save Peeta. And he did. But now you’re back from the Capitol with one thing certain, Peeta Mellark is the one true enemy.

warnings: angst angst angst, mean thoughts ab peeta beloved and honestly just a lot of writing i didn’t need to do

———

Peeta did this.

The mantra floated through my head, as I yanked on the restraint again.

He’s the reason everyone you love is against you.

Another yank.

He blew up District 12

“Jude, feeling hungry yet?” Haymitch’s voice breaks the static but the mantra just quietens but doesn’t stop. My hand drops the bind.

“What do you have?” It was a better response than i’d given lately. What if Peeta tried to kill me and poisoned my portion… I couldn’t risk it. “No, I don’t want it”

He sighs, still coming towards me with the tray “I promise you, Peeta doesn’t want you dead. You know that, think”

I scowled, “I know what I saw. I know what he did. He’s a monster, Haymitch. Don’t make me, I dont want his filthy blood on my hands” He scoffed, dropping the tray onto the table next to me.

“Let’s hope lover boy comes and feeds you bevause I’m not putting up with this” And with that he leaves the room.

I glanced at the tray, tomato soup with toast coated in possibly cheese, but it’s not the delicious toast that catches my eye, the soup, it’s not red. They’ve added ingredients to make it appear more orange… Not bright orange.

A sunset.

“I still remember that Christmas he brought me that green sweater. Green doesn’t suit me” I say, the air was brisk and I hated walking in the Winter but I couldn’t turn Peeta down when he came to my door.

“I refuse to believe you look bad in anything” I scoff, glad it’s cold knowing he might take that as thhe reason my cheeks are now red. “What is your favourite colour?”

I raise my eyebrow at him “I’m sure there are better things to talk about then my favourite colour”

He watches me as we walk for a moment “I don’t see anything more important” It makes me slow to a stop, “Tell me, please. I want to know”

I look to him, his kind blue eyes and blond hair that looks incredibly soft without all those products they use during interviews, he looks beautiful.

“It used to be red but I think i’m leaning towards purple” I shrug, “It’s only fair that i’ve revealed that secret you tell me yours”

He smiles before looking up at the sun, it’s setting letting the streaks of orange paint the sky “Orange, right there. It’s the second most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen” I glance at him unsure as to why he’d say second until I see the look in his eyes.

My head snaps at the memory, cruel and unforgiving. That’s what Peeta was, and he would hurt me so I had to kill him before he tried first.

His face twists in the memory as I replay it over and over again, he doesn’t look like himself, Hatred flared in a moment that was full of pure adoration. I see it now like i’m looking through a camera at the two of us.

He looks like he loves me… Then his eyes lose their spark like a snap and he’s spitting awful words at me, one’s ill never forget.

I’ll never forget he’s the reason i’m like this.

—

The food goes cold and I go another day without eating and under sedation after I nearly come out of binding when they try to insert the needle into my arm to get food into my body.

I awake in an empty room but there’s a buzz in the air, I look to the mirror across from me. I look better than I did the first time I looked inside, I’d look better if I ate proper food but I can’t, he wants me dead and he won’t fail again.

The door hisses open bringing my attention away from my strangely hair, Katniss stands at the door, tears in her eyes.

“You need to eat something” She whispers but the room is so quiet i’m not surprised if she can hear my blaring thoughts or the alarm going off in my head.

“Get out” I spit, turning away from her. Katniss was close to Peeta, never too close for respect of me which I hated now, she should have stopped whatever was forming between the two of us. Now it’s this. “I don’t want to see you.”

“It’s been months, I thought-“ She tries to speak but she stops when my head snaps to her aswell, her eyes are searching my face. I still look awful, I know that and it seems she still hasn’t come to terms with what I had gone through. Why don’t they see it’s his fault? Always.

“He’s the reason this happened to me, Katniss. And you’re still going to side with him. If you don’t kill him then he’ll kill me Katniss, Don’t you see!” I scream, her back hits the door and it hisses open and my heart stops.

There, he is. He’s not expecting the door to open, the surprise on his face is evident as those blue eyes bore into mine and I steel myself preparing for the hatred, his attempts to end my life.

But neither happen, he watches me with nothing but sadness and his hands are empty, just slack at his sides as he takes a step forward and I’m frozen, It’s not making sense.

He keeps coming closer and my heart is beating out my chest. Run! He’s going to kill you! My head screams but he doesn’t look like he will kill me, he looks like he wants to be next to me and holding me through this, possibly the one feeding me the tomato soup like Haymitch suggested.

“Jude… Please, I’d never-“ He seems to choke on his words as a tear slips down his cheek “Come back to me” Come back and trust me so I can kill you, I hear instead. The words make me flinch, the movement is so large the whole bed moves with me, screeching.

He backs away, the door hisses open again but he doesn’t move to get out “You’re just here to kill me!” I cried, wishing him out of the room.

Get out. Get out. Get out!!!

I must’ve screamed the last time because he’s gone and finally the screaming in my head stops and I fall to the bed, the thought of food or anything fades, only the want to be far from him stays.

—

I am Jude Slone, I won the 73rd hunger games, i’m from District Twelve and Peeta Mellark does not want me dead.

I repeat in my head over and over again, as the truck rolls over cracks and bumps, my body jumps at each bit of debris we hit and I hit the metal seat hard each time but the pain is real. Which is hard to say about a lot lately.

Peeta Mellark wants doesn’t want you dead.

I shake my head, thst one was the hardest to remember and at times, it was no where reachable and all that would sustain me in that moment would be his blood on my hands.

Finally the truck pulled to a stop, I straightened my shoulders. I’d been taken by the Capital and my memories have been distorted, my first thought may not always be the right one.

With that final word of encouragement I let the anxiety slip from me as the back door opens and I’m led out. The sun blinds me for a moment, I’d only seen it for a moment when they made me leave base but only to be stuffed back in the van.

Now I could see the destruction. His fault. No, no, no. I took a deep breath, before turning to seeing the loving welcome party at the front of what seemed to be an abandoned building.

Katniss with her bow, Gale with his crossbow and the five members of their squad had their guns trained on me, including Peeta. My heart hammered but I kept upright as I took the empty gun from the guard before waltzing my way towards the group.

I am Jude Slone, I won the 73rd Hunger Games, I am from Distrisct 12 and None of these people want me dead.

“What is she doing here?” Katniss is the first to speak and though her eyes are trained on me, i know she doesn’t want me to answer.

“Coin wants her to be shown on screen, the victors fighting on the same side” A dark man, who screamed military spoke and he was the only one besides Finnick who hadn’t raised their gun at me. “I don’t like the gun”

“Cant have me fighting with my bare hands on screen” I mutter, before shaking the weapon “It’s empty”

The tension seemed to ease slightly in the group but while half of them had lowered their weapons, Peeta, Katniss and Gale hadn’t. I had to remember what I’d been like this past month, I wouldn’t trust me either.

“I don’t like this” Peeta. His words cut deep and I deflate at them before the military man waves everyone to come inside, not before a solider by the name of Jackson, she told me, quietly instructed me that i’d be restrained for their safety.

“I understand, but I’m not a child”

“No just someone who went through a lot of shit” Finnick says behind Jackson, and my eyes dart up. I didn’t know where my mind stood with Finnick, I didn’t feel like killing him but I hadn’t felt like killing Peeta a moment ago but we all knew it would come.

It was why I was being restrained in the first place. I nod at his words, unsure of how to respond before they lead me inside. The wall along the door was made of glass and I watched as the van that stopped me off, vanished in the distance.

I was stuck here and I didn’t know if I would ever leave this ruin of a city. I kept my distance from the group as they moved into the centre and I took a seat beside the window.

“We’ll have to set up an around the clock guard on her, we can take shifts” Military man said, turning to look at me. “I’ll take the first shift, Names Boggs.”

I preferred Military man but I nodded all the same, “I want a shift” Peeta’s voice is small compared to Boggs but it silences the room all the same.

“Not happening” Jackson speaks up this time, confusing me on who’s in command.

“I can do it!” Peeta argued back, standing from his seat “It’s not her… The Capital killed her and whoever they sent back to us, i’ll be happy to put a bullet in its head” I flinched, turning my eyes down to my hands. Clenching them, was I dead? The girl I was? I shake my head, I am Jude Slone and I did not die in the Capital. They broke me but I am not unfixable. I am broken not unfixable.

I am unfixable.

“I’m not sure seeing as a mutt helps” Jackson declares but Boggs cuts her off

“Give him a shift, Katniss too.” There was no room for argument as Jackson nodded and began to schedule the guard clock. I wanted to be more helpful, tell them that maybe they could go an hour and they could all rest, but I didn’t even trust myself to do that.

Instead I kept silent, letting the rest of them discuss our plan while I watched the day pass by through the glass. “How’re you feeling?” Finnick’s voice from beside me makes me jump. I turn to him and he looks almost glowing, I’d heard something about him and Annie.

I knew I would feel happy for him if I didn’t feel so disconnected. Finnicks memories that came to mind now only brought warmth, nothing haunting. Which was relieving, he was a breath of fresh air.

“Away, I feel like everything’s happening and I’m not really here” I try to explain and he seems to understand. “I don’t want to be a problem, I don’t know why they sent me here… I’m not ready.”

He frowns, “I think you’re where you need to be, normally whenver Annie gets confused she asks me, and I promise you, you’ll find nothing but the truth here” I glance over to the group who had begun to seperate and close their eyes.

It must be Finnicks shift. The thought made this whole encounter turn cold but still, I took in his words as my eyes trained on the baker boy. “Peeta was the reason this happened to me… Real?”

He shakes his head, “You made Haymitch swear if it came down to the two of you that he’d get Peeta to safety” Finnick explained but my mind screamed at me that he was lying. Why would I ask that? Peeta and I didn’t get along, no, we did and we’d almost- I didn’t know what we almost did or if he hated me or loved me and it made me want to rip my hair out as my thoughts banged against my head.

He was not the reason you went to the Capital, you chose this. You didn’t want him to go through this… That felt right, staring at him now, I would never wish upon him those nights in the Capital.

“I know it must be hard. Annie went through a lot but they know that the Capital never left you alone, you were their main priority.” Finnick places a hand on my shoulder, bringing my fully to the present for what felt like the first time. “None of us blame you at all for what happened.

I forgot how long it’s been since someone had been gentle with me. Skin to skin, human contact. My body released its pressure, relaxing in my seat. “Thank you, Finnick”

He smiled before sitting up straighter, and we together sat in silence watching the night sky slowly fall upon us as the rest that were awake finally knocked off

“Get some rest” Finnick muttered to me softly, tapping my leg as he got up. I could see his eyes dropping a while ago but he still stayed and it relieved me that he was finally putting himself first.

I nodded, I would not be sleeping tonight. Each time I closed my eyes another memory would wash over me, I’ve started to get better at knowing if it’s real or not without verification.

Like the one of Peeta and Is confession of our favourite colours, it was easier to picture him smiling at me now instead of anger and whenever it did dissolve to the image it was almost too perfect, his freckles gone and the scar he got from the 75th games vanished, as did the dark circles under my eyes and the few strands out of place were perfectly flat. Too perfect.

I watched Finnick rouse Peeta and point over to me. Of course, I could only get so lucky. I heard someone clear their throat before they took a seat across from me. I didn’t look up. I didn’t know where my mind would jump to.

And he seemed to take the message, he didn’t try to speak to me either. She asks me. I promise you’ll find nothing but truth here.

Finnick was right, I couldn’t close myself off and hope I’d be able to fix myself. If it was that easy, I’d be normal again. “Finnick told me that whenever i’m having trouble differentiating real from not real I should just ask…”

I glanced up at him, in the darkness it was hard to make out his uniform but his blonde hair and pale skin were easy to spot and it made my body tingle as I registered just how close he was and I didn’t feel like wringing my hands around his neck. Relief.

“Shoot away” I raised an eyebrow “Not literally” I smiled softly at that before cycling through my head and I settled back into his favourite colour. What if I asked and his favourite was blue or something? Sunset orange was just another lie they filled into my head. Ask.

“Your favourite colour. It’s sunset orange, real? Not real?” I clench my fists, please. please.

“Real… Yours used to be red but after the hunger games you couldn’t stand it” He explained, and he was right. I used to tie a red bow into my hair everyday until my reaping now the colour reminded me of the slaughter in the 73rd Hunger games.

“But you said you were beginning to like purple… I remember that day, I told you the sunset was the second most beautiful thing i’d ever seen… And the first was right in front of me” I stiffened, though the confession didn’t shock me, looking back I could’ve seen it if I looked hard enough in the moment “And it’s killing me, bevause you’re right in front of me again but you’re like the stars I can’t reach. I… Can adore you from afar but that’s all I can do. And it feels really, really shitty, knowing we might never get through this”

He stands abruptly from his seat “I can’t do this” And he storms out, but I’m clenching my fists too tight to stop, swearing at every god to let this memory stay and not be corrupted by fear. I can adore you from afar but that’s all I can do because if I came closer you’d kill me. Was the truth.

— — —

do we want a part two?!?

part two out now!

#hunger games #books #peeta mellark #peeta supremacy #the hunger games #coriolanus snow #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark works #peeta mellark imagine #peeta #mellark #peeta mellark x reader

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cherry-leclerc · 4 months

Text

method acting ☆ cl16

genre: series - humor, strangers to friends/roommates

word count: 4.6k

*can you guess what film it's based off of? where the title originates from?

ch. one ch. two ch. three ch. four ch. five ch. six

Chapter 2

Life, as you fear, is falling apart as you're confronted with a serious case of writer's block that puts your career on the line. As a solution, you're roommate helps you plan a solo trip to the Amalfi Coast for a much needed break but it doesn't take long for you to meet a certain Monegasque who lays passed out on the beach.

“You got lost, didn’t you?”

Sticking your tongue out at Charles, you take a seat next to his broad figure as you start applying coconut sunscreen. “Would it kill you to not gloat?” You narrow your unusually soft eyes like weapons.

He playfully shudders. “Ooooh. My blood ran cold.”

Throwing the bottle over at his lap, he chuckles before lathering his tan body with the white goo. You try to not make it obvious, the way you steal glances at him. Everything makes sense all of a sudden; his odd obsession with anything that could cover his handsome features, the mysterious Ferrari, how he could go from making you laugh to keeping his mouth shut and looking down whenever anyone was around.

He had kept this from you for a reason, that much is clear, but you would still give him a chance to open up. Sliding on a pair of sunglasses, you twist your body to sit cross cross. You fold your hands over your lap. “Truth or dare?”

The brunette tilts his head with hesitance. “Y-you don’t want to take a dip?”

“Let’s lay out for a bit.” You poke him with your toe. “C’mon. Play with me.”

He sighs, pushing his hat downwards. “Dare.”

“Hmm…I dare you to…read me your last text message.”

“Easy.” Pulling out his phone, he scrolls for a bit before showing it to you.

You’re walking the opposite way. I said near the fruit stand.

Burning up, you push it down. “I don’t count.”

“You never specified.”

He wasn’t going to play easy and part of you respected that. Clicking your tongue, you extend your shiny legs. He gulps. Truth or dare? “Dare.”

“Call the last person you spoke to.”

Growing nauseous at his request, you shake your head. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

You stutter. “M-my boss called to check up on me. Wanted to make sure I was a-actually on my deathbed and not just faking it, I can’t do that.” The Monegasque squinted his eyes teasingly before leaning back against the gray rocks.

“Fine. You get a pass.” You let out a breath of relief. “But I get one of those as well.”

You felt as if you were making a deal with the devil with the way he was watching you, waiting for an answer. He might use it against your benefit, but you had no choice. “Deal.”

“Good.” Flickering his green eyes towards the crystal blue tides, he chews on the inside of his cheek. “It's your turn.”

Be smart, don’t blow it. Deep down, you wanted to ask about the simpler things. Your favorite color? What was your childhood like? Was it better than mine? But that couldn’t matter more than what information you actually needed. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

You groan. How were you supposed to get all the juicy details out of him if he kept playing it safe? Nonchalantly, he waits. “I dare you to stop picking dares.” His face pales. You feel bad for putting him in that position, but he quickly snaps out of it.

“Truth or dare?”

Swallowing a thick layer or saliva, you purse your lips. “Truth.”

“Why did you lie to your boss?”

You gape at his question as you think of a way to avoid it. All he knows is that you have a month off and chose Italy as your destination thanks to your amazing friends. He didn’t know anything about the sleepless nights of zero ideas that had you on the brink of being fired, the reason you needed this article to work. Not only would it set your career, but it would also give you the respect you so desperately looked for in everyone who looked down on you.

“She would never let me come to Italy if I told her I need a break from all the pressure, y’know?”

Waves crash noisily as he frowns. “Mhm.”

“My turn. What’s your occupation?”

“I already told you,” he laughs, brown curls flowing against the summer breeze. “I work with cars.” A gist of hope zaps your heart as you wait for the rest. “I’m a mechanic.”

He wasn’t going to tell you - he didn’t trust you. Melancholy register across your face as you rise up carefully. “I’m in the mood to swim now.”

Life for the Scuderia Ferrari driver moves at a fast pace, always on the go and traveling all around the world. At just 26 years old, the Monegasque has collected 5 wins and an impressive number of podiums, all while maintaining the longest Scuderia contract in history.

But do we really know Charles Leclerc in his everyday life? A man without any responsibilities?

Fortunately for us, I was able to sit down and speak to Il Predestinato as he he walks us through his routine for when he’s not on track-

“What are you working on? Seeing you be so quiet is bone-chilling.”

Poking your tongue out like a slithering snake, you feverishly slam your computer shut as you flip him off. “Catching up with friends. What can I say? The people love me.” The 26 year old rolls his eyes before picking up on his scribbles. Tippy toeing closer to him, you try to inspect the messy writing. “What is that?”

“Fuck, you scared me, you little gnome.” Hiding his small journal, you immediately push out your bottom lip.

“Show me! Show me! Show me!”

Clumsily, he opens it. “Grocery list.” But it's more than that. His letter isn’t easy to read, but it'll get you there. Diary entries. Blinking up at your roommate, you wiggle your brows. What’s it say? “Nothing important.” You don’t press him on it, but that doesn’t stop the curiosity from stirring inside of you. He stiffens. “Let’s go before they close.”

Pebbles crunch underneath your ballet flats as you sing softly. He smiles, content with the serene atmosphere. What song is that? Your jaw drops, stopping dead in your tracks. It takes him a while to realize you're not skipping next to him anymore. “Tell me you’re joking…”

“I’m joking.”

“Charles!” you wail as you fling your arms. “Beyond the Sea? Bobby Darin?” His face doesn’t change as he bats his eyes blankly. You gasp. “We’ll meet, I know we’ll meet beyond the shore. We’ll kiss just as before-.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

Playfully, you shiver, clutching your heart. “It isn’t good to be uncultured, Charlie.” The way you spit out his new nickname has him grasping how much he loves it - so long it's coming from you. Pulling out your phone from your back pocket, you wave your finger like some principal. “I’ll play it for you.”

The Monegasque shakes his head. “No, just sing it to me like you were.”

You sincerely don’t have a single clue where all this unknown courage comes from, but you oblige. All the way to the local farmers market, he’s grinning ear to ear. From your voice sounding angelic, to it cracking as you would try to intimidate Darin, he feels fortunate to see this side of you.

Entering the sliding doors, you grab a basket as you drag him, shoes squeaking from the sudden pull. “We’re not here for snacks, we’re here for food. Y’know - vegetables, rice, chicken-”

“I need something sweet!” you complain as your doe eyes glimmer at the sight of the Italian desserts. “If I don’t get it in my system I will die. Do you want me to die?”

“At this moment, it doesn’t sound half bad.” You gawk at his dark humor. Taking the tiny basket from you, he makes his way to the produce section. “Grab whatever you need. I’ll be right back.”

Once his back faces you, you feel your phone vibrating. “Amelia!” Your cheery friend waves excitedly. Where have you been? I haven’t heard from you for days! Wincing, you place your phone on top of a box of cookies. “I’ve been gone for five days, please relax. Plus, I’m fine. Enjoying my time off.”

Your friend snickers. “I still need updates to make sure you aren’t dead in a ditch.” Making an exaggerated face, you nod and the blonde giggles. “Don’t make me fly out there. Unlike you, I will demand a year off if needed.”

“Oh, I believe you,” you murmur, hand reaching for a box of Baci Pergunia. “How are you guys surviving without your third wheel?”

“Stop it, you,” she hisses. “Instead, why don’t you fill me in - any cute tourists?” You freeze midair, already angling your body to grab bonelle jellys.

“I’m not too focused on any of that..”

“Of course not because you’re too busy daydreaming about Grayson,” she teases. “Honey! She’s missing him, I told you!” Bullshit, Roman yells back from the kitchen.

“Will you two stop it?” you grit.

“Yes, darling,” Roman talks gingerly. “Will you please stop planning a wedding?” Your jaw drops while your friend nervously giggles. He’s joking.

“Enough about me, what are you two doing? What’s on the menu?”

The brunette’s eyes crinkle, showing off his blurry screen. “Sicilian meatball soup.”

“Lucky!” you groan. “You’re messed up for cooking your grandma’s recipe while I’m not there.” He shrugs.

“We miss you so we both decided to make an Italian dish.” She emphasizes her words as he smiles bitterly. “It’s like you’re here with us.”

“She cried for an hour or so. It was the only way I could calm her down.” Amelia bites the air at her boyfriend. He leaps back, returning to stirring the sauce. “I cook because I love you, stop that.”

You throw your head back with laughter. “Again, not dead, but I’m touched.” Hearing a bag crinkle, you look down the aisle and spot Charles making his way over. “Gotta go! Call you as soon as I can!”

“Wow, you’ve managed to grab all the snacks in the entire store,” Charles teases as he points to your stack. “Got you chips, too.”

“You’re not helping,” you grunt as you take it from him. He hands you your own basket for your treats. Cramming them all in, he examines you before clearing his throat awkwardly.

“So, Grayson’s the boyfriend?”

“Ha! I wish. He’s my boss’ son. Way out of my league.”

His jaw clenches. “Don’t think like that. Anyone would be lucky to have you.” Then, he walks away, leaving you to follow after him like a lost puppy. You’re wary around him after that encounter, so you make sure to stand a few steps behind, waiting for him to finish paying. “What are you doing?”

“Che cosa?”

Sauntering over, he reaches down to take your things. Your breath gets caught in your throat from the sudden proximity. “I got it.”

Bewildered, you start retreating all the sweets. “You don’t need to do that, you’re already paying for the other things. This one’s on me.” He scrunches his nose.

“That’s endearing, but I can’t. I’m on a diet.”

“Why?” You’re genuinely confused, and can’t tell whether he’s joking or not. “You look perfectly fine to me.”

He smirks. “Really?”

“I m-mean I think so,” you stammer. “But how would I know, I’ve never been on a diet.” Charles' watercolor eyes trickle all the way down before dancing back up. Butterflies flutter inside of you.

“You don’t need it, trust me.” A pause. “I’ll pay for your things, it’s really no problem. Though I do ask you not to blame me when your teeth rot.”

“Jerk!” you quip when he walks away, laughing loudly. You smile at the sound.

“You need to stop gobbling up all that crap, if not you’re not going to eat any of what I’m cooking,” his voice warns you. Setting the bag of gummies down, you kick your bare feet against the cabinets.

Has it been an hour? Two? You can’t remember but it sure did smell good. He had asked you to just sit still and fix up a playlist while he prepared dinner, so there really wasn’t much to do. Are you almost done? Focused on cutting up a piece of onion, he shakes his head. A minute passes by before asking again. Not done, wait.

As soon as your stomach grumbles, he wiggles his eyebrows teasingly. You chuck a carrot at him as he cackles. “Ta-da!” Inspecting the nicely done dish, you throw a thumbs up. Grabbing a spoon, you’re about to dive in before he slides the plate away. Your lips form a thin line. “Take your time. Really enjoy it - it’s flavor, it’s scent-”

“Jesus, fine. Give it before I bite your cheek off,” you growl. Glaring at him, you dip your utensil in slowly. He applauds before pulling out his phone and pressing record. “Is that really necessary?”

“You might not realize it, but this is a monumental moment.” Bowing his head, he urges you to try it. You shrug once, wrapping your lips around the spoon and let's just say - you’ve always had a killer poker face.

“Delicious, chef!”

“Putain oui!” He puts his phone away. “What did you like about it? The pepper helped, didn't it?”

You grimace. “I want my two hours back.” His smile dies down. Seriously? Yanking the spoon from your grip, he tries the colorful soup and winces at the saltiness.

“I followed step by step, why does this shit keep happening?”

The Monegaque truly does seem bummed out as his shoulders sag, glasses sliding down his pointy nose. Scooting closer, you pat his shoulder awkwardly. “You need some serious help.” He shoots a deadpan look as you giggle. “I’m kidding! It’s not that bad.” Jumping off the counter, you tug the nearest apron. “Let me try.”

It takes another two hours, but you figure it out eventually. Standing tall, you place your hands behind your back. The Monegasque eyes the food. “Now, I want you to take your time. Really enjoy it, it’s flavor-”

“Stop it,” he grumbles before diving in. His eyes open wide as you wiggle against your heels excitedly. “You can’t be real.”

“Is it good?”

He nods enthusiastically, brown hair jumping up and down. “H-how did you…” Polishing your nails, you fake a bored expression. By praying. It’s looks as if he’s deeply considering your advice for a second but when you howl out, he flushes.

“Don’t be so gullible, Charlie. Roman’s grandma taught me. I spent Christmas with him and Amelia.”

His face softens up. “What about your parents?”

“We’re not close like that.” You confess so unbothered that it has him fluttering his eyes for a while. “Don’t feel bad - I do just fine. They call me on my birthday.” Metal clinks against the porcelain plate as he huffs, firm chest rising up before deflating.

“That’s the fucking standard.” You raise a brow. Why are you upset with me? “I’m not. It’s just that it’s not fair that they treat you like garbage just because you didn’t fulfill their wish. Or that you let others trample over you like a piece of shit.” You flinch. “Y-you know what I mean…”

“Sure,” you whisper, forcing a smile. “Enjoy the food, Charles.”

He feels guilty for making you feel bad, but he wasn’t lying. It bugged the crap out of him that you floated through life thinking everything was okay. He’s never met Amelia or Roman, but he felt a strong gratitude towards the couple for treating you with genuine care. But you had filled him in on the rest; they way others would look down on you - all while you wore a miserable smile. I’m used to it by now. Doesn’t even bother me.

Charles was always in the limelight - always probably will be - but he also knows he signed up for it. He knew fake smiles like the back of his hand. Whether it was a pretty girl trying to get money out of him or sponsors trying to get close to him just for fame. If it weren’t for his friends back home, he definitely would have lost faith in humanity.

And then there was you. Someone so kind, who puts others' needs before yourself. You didn’t have to check up on him that day at the beach, you didn’t have to help him or give him shelter but you did. He thought you would be some crazy fan but when you blinked up at him like a curious expression, he could tell you didn’t know who he was.

The Monegasque felt relieved that you treated him without any special treatment, that you saw him for who he really was, not just some F1 driver. He owes it to you to make things right and apologize.

He finds you eating a pint of gelato as you stare blankly at the eggshell wall. “Did you save me some?” You jump at the sound of his deep voice. Halfway done, you respond red-faced. You can have the rest. Leaning against the table, he shakes his head. “Let’s just share.”

You’re sure you can hear Amelia and Roman bickering from how quiet it is, but don’t dare to utter a single word. It’s bad enough that he knows that his words got to you, how can you look him in the eye?

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” Peeking over at the brunette, you admire his side profile before humming. He continues. “But at the same time I don’t regret it.”

You laugh dryly. “Wow, this is some apology.”

Clearing his throat, he cages your body against the wooden furniture. “I’m serious - I don’t.” Avoiding eye contact, you stare at the sides of your bare thighs where his large hands lay. Suddenly the room feels suffocating. “You do need to stop letting others decide what to think about yourself. You need to stop pleasing everyone around you. Your parents, Eleanor, shit, even me.”

The green eyed boy begins to get blurry as your eyes foolishly well up. “I don’t do th-”

“Yes, yes you do, do that.” His accent comes out stronger than intended. You let out a shaky breath, then beam up at him. Okay, I’ll stop. He grinds his teeth together. “No. Don’t agree just because I’m telling you - do it for yourself because you want to.”

“I want to,” you whisper meekly.

His heart breaks at the sight of you answering untruthfully but does say anything else. Instead, he hauls you off the table, planting you onto your feet. “Grab a sweater and meet me by the door in five minutes.”

He’s for sure going to murder you, Amelia was right after all. Shit, you mutter underneath your breath as he pulls onto the hills. The view was great - for sure a nice way to go if that’s the last thing you’ll ever see.

Following him out, you pinch down on your denim shorts. Was it too late to run away? He left the key in the engine, maybe you could leave him stranded?

“I’m not going to kill you, you can relax.”

Blood rushes to the tip of your ears. “What are we doing here at…” You check your phone. “Two in the morning?”

“Yell.”

You quirk your head curiously. “I’m sorry, say that one more time.”

He extends his arms out, enjoying the cool breeze. “Just do it. No one’s going to hear you.”

“That sounds like something a killer would say. Can I get a ten minute head start?”

He rolls his green eyes. “Trust me, it helps a lot. My trainer has me do it all the time.” You raise your brows. “I- uh- box during my free time. My boxing trainer has me do it when I’m too stressed.”

Ignoring his slip up, you shake your head. “I can’t scream, that’s weird.” His pink lips turn downwards. “You’re going to judge me!”

“I won’t!” Covering his ears, he signals at you. “Not a thing.”

You bite down on your sweater before shaking your buzzing hands. Once and he’ll drop it. Ahh, you let out weakly before smiling brightly. “You’re right. That was great!” Turning on your heels, you begin to skip away before he tugs on your sweater, flinging you back.

“Not even the crickets heard you. Try again.”

“I did do it, you just didn’t like it.”

“I’m not letting you leave until you do it the right way.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he peacefully shuts his eyes, enjoying nature's lullaby. He seems to let his guard down because before he knows it, he hears the Ferrari engine loud and clear. “Don’t you dare leave,” he warns as he runs up to his car.

“Get home safe, Charlie!” you squeal as you step on the gas. Chasing after you, he ends up standing in front of the car as you shriek. As quickly as you can, you step off the break but the tip still manages to hit the Monegasque. You scream at the brutal sight.

Scurrying out of the car, you drop down next to him as you flip him onto his back. His pretty eyes remain closed as he lays still. Wake up Charles, I’m too young to go to jail! Do you know how hard it is to prove your innocence when you’re a foreigner? You delicately tap his cheek but his head only rolls back. You yell out in panic as you let go of his heavy body.

“Oh God, oh God, holy shit, holy fuck,” you whimper as you pace back into the red car. Squeezing your eyes tightly, you place your hands over the steering wheel as you think about what just happened. Amelia was going to kill you. Eleanor would personally write a whole article about you.

“You were seriously going to leave me for dead?” a voice interrupts your thoughts as you scream. You face Charles and he yells back at the sudden ring.

“What the shi- You’re alive!” Jumping over the console, you hug him, barely giving him room to breathe. Groaning in pain, he pushes you back. You hop off as you grab his left hand and raise up four fingers. “How many am I holding up?”

“Fingers? I have ten.”

Your heartbeat travels to your throat as you squirm. “I broke him.” Images of you behind bars enter your mind as you plead Charles to drop the charges. Amelia and Roman would travel to visit you in jail but only to demand their money back. You’d be in complete debt for the rest of your life and oh God what if the Italinas had a thing for the electric chair-

“I’m teasing,” he laughs as he rubs his head. “It hurts like a motherfucker, though, but hey, at least you let it all out.” Wacking his arm, you glare sternly.

“You did that on purpose?”

Grunting, he inches away. “I did not, are you crazy? But it helped you! How do you feel?”

You narrow your fiery eyes. “Angry…mad.” That's the same thing, he points out as you scowl. Nevermind. “I feel good.”

All smug, he leans against the passenger's seat. “I told you it would help.”

“Huh,” you let out in astonishment.

It started out with a simple argument - pesto or tomato sauce. You were leaning more towards the green paste but he held onto his end stubbornly. Honeymoon phase is over? Spinning to face a little boy with whipped cream all over his cheeks, he quirks his head. My dad always likes to say - happy wife, happy life. Walking away, you’re both left with your mouths hung open as you put the ingredients down.

“Did we just get scolded by a some little fucker?”

Gasping at his words, you smack the side of his head. He yelps. “No Charles, he basically called us old! We’re ancient!”

“Nonsense. He’s just being dumb.”

Glaring, you put your hands on your hips as you pace the aisle. “What if he’s right? What if we are on the verge of death?” He laughs. All because he thought we were married? Closing in to his tall figure, you pinch your face up. “A married couple spend their life together - growing old. He called us old!” You walk fast down the supermarket as you run wild hands through your hectic hair.

Hurrying after you, he pants. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to find him.” He comes to a sudden stop. And do what exactly? Tossing your head back, you groan in frustration. “I don’t know! Whoop him or something like that.”

The Monegasque lets out a snicker. Your face twists up. “Let’s just calm down.” I am calm, you grunt. He clicks his tongue.

“We need to do something,” you declare. He sighs. Forgetting all about your errands, you drag him out of the store. Bright eyes flicker across the busy streets as you huff. Then you spot it. “We’re going.”

The brunette squints his eyes as he reads the small print. Amalfi Club. Theme: Halloween costumes. He scoffs. “But it isn’t even October.”

But your mind is set. “It’s perfect.” Bumping against his shoulder, you beam. “Looks like we can turn back time after all.”

Ballerina for me, you cheer. And Stormtrooper for you? You narrow your eyes in confusion. “I’m sorry, how do you even know Star Wars exists? Aren’t you French?”

“Monegasque,” he corrects you before frowning. “Stars Wars is a global success. Being from Monaco doesn’t mean we don’t know anything, thank you very much.”

You shrug. “Be a tiny bit more grateful that I found our costumes on such short notice.” Yeah, yeah, he yawns. “I’m so excited!” you squeal as you finish tying your pink ribbon. You would for sure have a terrible headache by the end of the day. “Won’t you sweat with a helmet all night?”

“I think I’ll be able to handle it.”

It’s so crowded - packed - that your roommate has to practically shove you in as you yelp, arm swatting your tutu down. A cheap looking Tinkerbell gives you the death glare when you step on her foot. I can’t fucking breath! The Stroomtopper mask tilts as he brings his gloved hands to your shoulder. Do you want to leave?

“No!” A beat. “Let me just go get us a drink.”

Zipping past him, you can hear him calling after you but you choose to ignore since you knew he would drag you back to the shared Airbnb. Just water, you chime in as the bartender nods, eyeing your perky tits. Frowning, you pout somberly. “Ignore him,” a deep voice rips you away from your thoughts as you face them.

Is everyone just okay with melting their face off? The towering man wears a red jumpsuit with the infamous Dali mask. “I like your costume. I binge watched all of Casa De Papel in a singular night.” Your cheeks flush when you realize you’re rambling. He chuckles richly.

“Thought I’d look cool.

There’s an award silence as you wait. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you scrunch your nose in disgust. “You must be sweaty beneath all that,” you ponder, fingers signals to the white mask. He sighs, wide shoulders rolling back. I’m thinking I might faint. A bright giggle slips past your lips and he grins from underneath, even if can’t see. “You remind me of my friend. He would rather die than take his helmet off. He’s a Strormtrooper,” you add.

Large hands come up as he pushes the hoodie off, messy brown locks coming into view. Stubborn, aren’t we? You nod, thanking the man who comes back with your glass of water. “I should go find him…”

A heavy pant flows from the mysterious man. You’re leaving? He coughs to cover up his neediness. His accent makes your cheek burn up. “I sort of left him,” you respond sheepishly. He chuckles, finally taking his mask off, beads of thin sweat painingting his large nose. You breath hitches, waves of recognition hitting you all at once.

“Valid.” He extends his tan hand towards you. “I’m Carlos, by the way.”

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm

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dira333 · 3 days

Text

The Soulmate Theory - Todoroki Shouto x Reader

I welcome you to my probably last-ever Soulmate fic. As much as I love reading this trope, it's gotten harder and harder to write. I hope you like it. This is for @shoulmate

Trope: You share your Soulmate's pain.

Soulmates used to be a thing.

A long, long time ago, way before the first ever Quirk was documented, Soulmate bonds were just as common as Quirks are nowadays.

Your grandmother used to be fascinated by it, told you stories about her grandmother who was convinced she shared a soulmate bond even though not one case had been documented in the last hundred years before her.

It’s only natural, you’d say, that you didn’t realize you had one. After all, why would you think that?

Pain has always been part of your life.

Your wrists hurt and your legs hurt and your back hurts and your stomach hurts… all the time. The doctors cannot find anything, some even accuse you of pretending for attention. You’d gladly trade all that attention against a pain-free day.

Your Quirk’s Telekinesis and you’re so glad about it, because how else would you be able to move that pen and write that notes when your hands hurt like this?

You’re getting better at it too, threading a needle or picking up the last grain of rice with your thoughts alone.

A dull ache has settled behind your left eye after what has been the most intense pain flare you’ve ever had. All you want to do is rest.

But your mind is reeling, craving an outlet for all the thoughts inside your head.

Your restless eyes find some fabric in the corner of the room. Soon enough a few needles are working their magic, a creation coming to life before your eyes.

You might not be able to walk around most days, but at least you can still create outfits you’d love to flaunt in.

Years later

“Can you take over my student?” Kameko asks, “He wants a completely new costume.”

“What year?”

“First year. And his old one wasn’t even destroyed.”

“So? Maybe he found something out about himself.”

She huffs. “Please? I still have to finish Amajiki’s new design and you know how anxious he gets.”

“Yeah, no problem. Can you take another first year off my plate then? His name is Midoriya and he ripped it in half, it seems.”

“Oh yeah, give it to me.”

Someone clears their throat. You look up from your work into a set of heterochromatic eyes, one blue, one grey.

“Yes?” You ask. “How can I help you?”

“I’m here for my new Costume.”

“Are you Midoriya?” You point at the green fabric on your desk, or rather what’s left of the costume.”

“No, I’m Todoroki Shouto.”

“Ah,” Kameko doesn’t even look guilty at being caught. “You’re with her then. Do you need the think tank?” She points at the cubicle where you can go and plan outfits.

Todoroki looks like he isn’t quite sure, so you carefully slide off your chair and shuffle over.

“Come, come,” you wave at him, “It’s never wrong to brainstorm.”

“Are you hurt?” He asks and has the decency not to point at how you clearly favor your left leg.

“Not more than usual,” you try to joke and though he looks a little confused, he doesn’t ask more questions.

Todoroki is a quiet individual. He’s not shy, that you perceive immediately, but he makes sure to check if he’s allowed to speak before he opens his mouth.

He’s also insanely pretty, the red, rough skin over his left eye giving him even more appeal. But he’s also one year younger than you, so you keep those thoughts locked away in the back of your head.

“If you want to change the design, we can do that, no problem.” You remind him when you’ve finally found something he seems almost happy with.

“I don’t want to cause you more work.”

“If you don’t cause me any work I’d have nothing to do,” you joke and he looks at you quietly for a while. You wonder if he’s ruminating over your joke or waiting for you to talk on and sadly, you’re more than likely to ramble in a confusing silence.

You gesture, somehow now talking about the importance of fresh orange juice for the human body, a topic you didn’t even know you could talk about beforehand when your hand connects harshly with the door behind you. Your wrist catches the doorknob and the pain is immediate, sharp and cool, like you’d imagine being stabbed with an icicle would feel like.

Todoroki hisses behind you and you’d compliment him on the empathy if it wouldn’t hurt like that.

When you turn, hand pressed against your chest, he’s cradling his own hand before dropping it. “Musclespasm,” he explains quietly, offering you a hand that is covered in ice. “Do you want me to cool it? It helps.”

“I’d like to add some more details to my costume,” Todoroki approaches you with a Bento Box in hand.

You nod, unable to speak for a moment as you focus your Quirk on a particularly tough seam.

“No problem, as I said. What’s it about?”

“Could we use the think tank?”

You turn to check but it’s clearly occupied.

“Sadly not. Is it more complicated then?” You nod at the Bento Box. “Do you think it will keep us occupied during lunch break?”

“No, this is…” Todoroki hesitates for a second before holding it out to you. “It’s just something I wanted to give you. My sister made these.”

You open it with curious fingers to reveal twelve perfectly shaped cookies.

“That’s lovely, but why me?”

His cheeks turn pink and his lips curl into an adorable pout before he eventually talks.

“I mentioned that I was pleased with the changes and she told me to say thank you.”

“Aww,” you coo. “Your older sister then?”

“Yes,” the pout exaggerates, “I would have said thank you without her intervening.”

“Of course you’d have.” - “But my cookies didn’t turn out good.”

You both speak at the same time, or rather you accidentally interrupted him and he still talked on.

You stare at him now, mouth agape as you process his words.

“You made cookies for me?”

“Yes,” Todoroki nods, “I wanted to say thank you.”

“It’s my job.”

“I still want to say thank you.”

“Next time,” you joke, not quite realizing what you’re saying until it has left your lips and your brain has caught on, “just bring me the Cookies you made. It’s the thought that counts.”

He stares at you with wide eyes for what feels like eternity before a soft pink blush blooms on his cheeks.

You hide your own face in the box of Cookies, hope that he won’t hear the thunderous beating of your heart over the noise of you eating one.

They’re delicious. Of course they are.

You don’t know how or when or even why, but clearly, there’s a friendship growing between you and Todoroki Shouto. He’s stopped claiming he’s only dropping in for new additions to his costumes and in turn you’ve tried quite a few of his food creations, each one of them worse than the last.

But he’s cute and honest and real about it and you couldn’t do better if you tried anyway.

Your pain, however, doesn’t stop just because you’ve found work you enjoy or friends to spend your time with.

There are days where you cannot get out of bed. Days where strong painkillers allow you to get to school only for everything to go past you because those painkillers leave you loopy and tired, falling asleep over some costume in the early afternoon hours.

At least you’re not in the Hero Course, you think on the worst days, because you’ve seen the bruises Training leaves on Shouto’s arms and legs.

That’s before you realize that Training is the least of all his problems.

Third Year

“How are you?” You ask, because what else do you ask your Crush Slash Good Friend you haven’t seen in months?

Shouto’s got new scars, he’s grown, and he’s fought in a war while you were bedridden from pain, your mother scared out of her depths that you’d die in an attack, unable to move.

But you survived and so did he and if you can believe what you’ve heard on the news, he’s found out some things about his family too.

“Tired,” he admits, dragging a hand through his hair, “I missed you.”

You wonder how hard it was for him to admit that.

“Think tank?” You ask, slipping off your chair when he nods.

The last few days have been painless and even though you’re anxious about what’s to come after that, you can’t help but enjoy it.

When the door closes after him, you realize just how small that cubicle really is.

Or maybe it’s just that Shouto doesn’t step away like he used to do, staying so close to you that you could count every single one of his long lashes if you wanted to.

“Can I hug you?” He asks and you nod, unable to say anything, even less when he pulls you in.

He’s tall and strong, cool on one side and warm on the other and your face nuzzles into his neck like it was meant to be like that anyway.

You don’t speak for a while, just hold each other in the semi-privacy this room provides.

“I want to take care of you,” Shouto whispers at some point. “Can I?”

Somehow it doesn’t surprise anyone that you two end up dating.

Your third year is almost painless.

Sure, there are frequent days where you’re sore for no reason whatsoever, but that is nothing against the blinding pain that had tied you to a bed for weeks before.

Sometimes, Shouto pouts about that. He thinks it’s his job as your boyfriend to look after you and what good is he for if you don’t need looking after?

His friends tell you that he’s less reckless now - as if he’d ever been - making sure to keep himself safe because you need him.

You’ve met his sister, one of his older brothers and his mother, all of them nice, though maybe a bit distanced.

Emotional vulnerability doesn’t seem to come easy to them.

Shouto, however, likes to talk about his feelings in depth. And he wants to know how you’re feeling too, listening with wide eyes as you explain.

Should it be weird that you’re dating someone younger than you? If so, you’re doing it wrong.

The first(?) hint

“Do we need anything from the store?” You ask, phone crammed between your ear and shoulder as you grab your stuff from the passenger seat.

“I was going to get the groceries,” Shouto huffs on the other side of the call and you can see it, how he pouts at the thought that you’re doing it instead of him.

“I was already on my way. You can do the laundry.”

“I hate doing the laundry,” he groans and you giggle. “I know. I’m going to help you with it, don’t worry.”

“I could cook,” he offers and you giggle again, opening the door to step out. “As much as I love you, Shouto, I don’t love your cooking.”

“Fine,” he says, sounding exactly like a child that didn’t get its way, “But we do face-masks while doing the laundry.”

“Of course. I’ll call you back later, okay? I need both hands for shopping.”

“Sure. I’ll buy you more headphones in the meantime.”

There are a few more teasing remarks, a last “I love you” and then you shove your phone back in your purse and turn to where you think the shopping carts are located.

You don’t see the step in front of you before it’s too late and then you’re tumbling through the air. It happens slowly and then all at once and you’re not really sure what hurt first and what hurts the most.

For a moment you’re just lying there, face down on the pavement, trying not to puke, collecting your thoughts as if they scattered on your floor just like your open purse.

Your phone starts ringing and that seems the most manageable task so you pick it up from right in front of you and press it against your ear.

“Yes?” You ask.

“Love, are you okay?” Shouto sounds worried.

“No, I just tripped and fell,” you pick your head up from the asphalt and squint at your stuff in front of you, “in the middle of the parking lot.”

“Just after you hung up I felt a lot of pain and I just… I knew it was you.”

It keeps happening after that.

It doesn’t help that you’re clumsy, but maybe that’s for the best now, as you try and figure out this weird coincidence.

If you hurt yourself, Shouto feels the pain.

If Shouto hurts himself, you feel the pain.

It’s only after he almost gets buried by a collapsing building that you actually tell a Doctor. Or rather Midoriya unloads all the Data he has collected on the poor, unassuming Recovery Girl.

The most likely answer, as strange as it might sound, is the Soulmate Theory.

“Since you’re the first documented case in hundreds of years we don’t have anything to prove this theory. But I’m quite positive that more cases will follow.”

You blink back at her, not quite understanding. Shouto’s left hand, one of the few places of his that are not covered in bandages, squeezes yours.

“You know what that means, right?” He asks.

“Yeah. We’re most definitely never going to break up.”

His eyes widen in a way you’ve grown familiar with. No matter how long you’ve been dating, you still seem to be able to surprise him.

“No,” he presses out weakly, “I meant… That all the pain you went through as a child and teenager, that was me. It’s my fault.”

You lean down to press a kiss to the little spot above his eyebrows that has come away unscathed.

“I’m not saying it was nice, but if I could take at least a little bit of the pain you went through, I’d say it was worth it.”

You’re pretty sure Shouto would disagree, but in your eyes Soulmates are not quite as fancy as they’re made out to be.

After all, you found him on your own, didn’t you?

#my writing #shouto todoroki #todoroki shouto #shouto x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki fluff #mha x reader #mha fluff #mha #bnha x reader #bnha #bnha fluff

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oneforthemunny · 7 months

Text

blue christmas |older!dilf!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: a look at two very different christmases in eddie's life.

apart of munny's merriest masterlist which you can read here!

contains: sad!eddie. parent guilt. divorce. gina. mainly just very lonely christmas angst but some fluff at then end.

Fourteen Years Before

“Hey, have a good one, Munson!” Phil waved a gloved hand, locking the body shop for the night. “Have a Merry Christmas!” Even Christmas Eve held its fair share of wrecks, cars breaking down in the snow, plenty of business even on the holiday.

“Yeah, you too!” Eddie waved back, hands shoved deep in his utility jacket, heavy and warm for the colder months. His hands fiddled around with the cigarette carton in his coat pocket, pulling out his keys with the cigarette, letting it hang from his lips as he slid into the truck.

The roads were empty, cleared of any traffic on his way to his apartment. The twinkling lights in the yards, strung merrily and proudly for all to see mocked him, a dull reminder of what wasn’t waiting for him at home.

Home. He used that term loosely.

The apartments were cheap for a two bedroom, close to Brielle’s school and Eddie’s work. Gina had got the house in the divorce. Eddie didn’t want it, couldn’t afford it on his own after she’d cleared out what little he had. His thumb rubbed over his ring finger out of habit, meeting the calloused skin there instead of the gold band he wore for eight years.

Eight years. Eight Christmases spent with Gina, with Brielle. They were far from perfect. He and Gina usually fought from Thanksgiving to New Years Eve, but at least he had a tree. At least it was decorated, and there were presents under the tree.

At least he wasn’t alone.

Eddie’s heart ached, a jabbing pain that spread through his chest, leaving his throat stinging with an uncomfortable burn. He knew the divorce was the right thing to do, when your seven year old asks Santa for her parents to stop fighting, it’s time. Still, he didn’t think it would hurt so badly, that it’d be this lonely.

That he’d miss it this badly.

Maybe he should have toughed it out, should have ignored Gina so he wouldn’t be sitting here, in a pitifully empty apartment, in a deafening silence, nursing a beer on Christmas Eve.

Eddie had put up a ‘tree’, a lighted spiral cone shape he found at a second hand store, after Brielle commented on his lack of decor. “You don’t like Christmas anymore?”

She’d made him an ornament in art class, which he couldn’t hang on the spiraled lights of the tree, so he taped it on. She was happy with it regardless, grinning and telling him about how her art teacher let her make two. “Since you and mom are divorced.” Eddie’s stomach turned. There was something so sickening about hearing his little girl say those words in such a cheery tone. Made him feel like a complete sack of shit.

Eddie looked at the clock on the stove, flashing bright, green numbers back at him. He worked later than expected, it was nearly eight, but knowing Brielle she was far from ready for bed- Santa's coming tonight. Eddie’s chest tightened at the thought- he was missing that.

He grabbed the phone, punching in the numbers carefully, he knew them by heart. The phone rang, and rang.

“Hello?” Gina’s huffy voice came over the other line.

“Hey, Gina.” Eddie said awkwardly. “I, uh, I just got home. I was gonna talk to Brielle if she’s still up.”

“Yeah, she’s still up.” Gina huffed, and he could practically see her eye roll, snarled lips. “You were supposed to call at seven.”

“I know, I know. I just- I got busy at work. Had to stay overtime.” Eddie ran a hand down his face, knee bouncing.

“Great. She’s gonna be even more wild now. She’s already losing her damn mind- Brielle, get out of your stocking or I’m throwing it away!” Gina pulled the phone away, shrilling. Eddie’s lips curled, hearing the cackle in the background, she was his daughter.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-” Eddie started.

“-Just, whatever. Don’t get her fucking wild, Eddie, I swear to God.” Gina snapped. The phone rustled. “Here.” Gina’s voice was muffled, before the phone settled.

“Hello?” The little chirp on the other end had Eddie’s heart swelling.

“Hi, Munchkin.” Eddie grinned softly, voice lilting higher. “Merry Christmas.”

“It’s Daddy!” Brielle shrilled. “Hi, Daddy. Merry Christmas.”

“Are you still up?” Eddie sighed softly. “You’re supposed to be asleep. Santa’s coming soon, Brie.”

“I’ll sleep in a little bit.” Brielle huffed lightly, she sounded like her mother. “When are you comin’ home? I saved you one of the Snowman cookies before Santa eats them, and I have reindeer food to put on the roof. It has glitter in it this time so they can see better.”

Eddie paused, words choked around the lump in his throat, heart sinking low into the pit of his stomach.

“Daddy?” Brielle asked, pulling the phone back. “I think it got undone-”

“-No, no, I’m here, Brielle.” Eddie’s voice was tight, hand pressed into his eyes. “Um, I-I’m not coming home tonight, remember?” A ragged breath shook out of his chest, and he hoped she didn’t hear it. “I’m coming to get you tomorrow afternoon, and we’re going to Grandpa’s.”

“Oh,” Brielle’s tiny voice was filled with disappointment, it tore Eddie’s heart right out of his chest. “Even on Christmas?”

“Yeah, baby. Even on Christmas. Remember me and mom told you, you’d get two Christmases. One with each of us.” Eddie tried to keep his voice steady.

“But not together?” Brielle muttered, a complete turn around from her previous excited tone.

“No, not together. I’m sorry, Brie.” Eddie pulled the phone away, taking a deep breath in to keep his emotions in.

“That’s ok.” Her tone told him otherwise.

“But I’ll see you tomorrow, ok? And you can tell me all about what Santa brought you, and then we’ll go to Grandpa’s and you’ll have even more gifts to open.” Eddie hoped his tone was convincing.

“Ok.” Brielle muttered sadly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Daddy.”

“Yeah, you will, I promise.” Eddie swallowed the lump in his throat, nose burning with tears. “Good night, Brie. Dream of those sugar plums, alright? Love you.”

“G'night. Love you.” Brielle repeated solemnly.

The phone rattled for a moment, Eddie clearing his throat lightly. The line settled for a moment and he waited for Gina’s voice. A harsh dial tone came instead.

Eddie tried to ignore the hurt that pounded in his chest. He felt grimy, gross, and disappointed in himself. He felt alone, most of all.

Shaky fingers punched the buttons on the phone, knee bouncing as he lit a cigarette, pulling the ashtray closer to him on the kitchen table. “Hello?” Steve Harrington’s accommodating tone came through the line, a loud screech of children’s laughter in the background.

“Hey, Steve.” Eddie cringed at the shake in his tone, swallowing. “Sorry to bother you, I, uh, I just wanted to-”

“-Daddy! One present, please?”

“Yeah! Just one! One!”

“Hang on,” Steve huffed. “No, ok? Mom said no, and you know she’s the boss. You better stop, alright? It’s not too late to get on Santa’s bad list. I’ll call him right now and tell him to skip the Harrington residence-”

“No!” A chorus of cries in the background made Eddie smile, his chest aching even more with an unfamiliar feeling.

Tiny stampedes of feet cleared in the background. “Sorry, it’s a zoo over here, Ed.” Steve snorted lightly.

“Yeah, no, I get it.” Eddie laughed lightly, stopping himself gently. “Well, actually, I don’t. That’s, uh, that’s actually why I was calling.” Eddie exhaled deeply, rubbing his forehead. “I, uh, I just called Brielle, and she’s-”

“-Steven! I need help in here!” Nancy’s voice pierced through the phone, sharp even in the background.

“Fuck. Hey, Ed, can I call you back? We’re trying to make cookies, and they’re decorating the baby.” Steve sighed. “I’m telling you, these kids are insane. I’m about to rip my hair out, and I still gotta make a fuckin’ dollhouse.” Steve’s voice dropped to a low whisper.

“Yeah, no, I get it. Don’t worry about it, man.” Eddie felt his waterline flood. “Go be with your family.”

“Alright, I gotta go. Merry Christmas, Munson.” Steve hummed over the line.

“Merry Christmas.” Eddie muttered, the dial tone cutting him off again.

He leaned back in the dining room chair, cigarette burning between his fingers. Alone.

Present

“Eddie!” You called, wrangling the squirming one year old in your arms, Delilah was determined to get to the shiny presents, squealing and cackling. She was just crawling, thankfully, toddling but not as sure, but she was fast.

“Ed, get the phone!” You yelled, the trill of the landline Eddie still had around filled the house. Brielle in front of you, in pajamas that matched her little sisters, phone dangling from her grasps.

“She’s gonna open a present tonight.” Brielle giggled, recording her sister happily.

“Yeah, or tear the tree down.” You grumbled, rolling your eyes. “I told you a candy cane was too much.” You glared at Eddie playfully. He’d snuck her tastes of a candy cane earlier at your parent’s house, laughing at how her eyes lit up.

Eddie grinned, snagging the phone off the hook. “Hello?”

There was a silence, the tiniest hitch of a breath on the other line. Eddie frowned, looking down at the caller id. “Hello?”

“Is Brielle there?” The huffy, snide of a tone that he’d know anywhere. Gina. Why she was calling him on Christmas Eve, he wasn’t exactly sure, but he had an idea that it was due to Brielle’s silent treatment towards her after Gina’s rage filled rant about Lilah’s birth.

“Hello, Gina. Merry Christmas to you.” Eddie clipped, eyes rolling. “Yeah, she’s here.”

Gina paused, and Eddie could picture her even now, nails tapping against the table furiously, anxiously. “Well, can you- can I talk to her?”

Eddie’s head turned, his gaze meeting Brielle’s. She shook her head, brows raised nearly in offense at the suggestion. “Uh, Gina, she-she’s kinda busy right now-”

“-Right.” Gina scoffed, tone harsh but Eddie could hear it, the traces of hurt lingering in the defensiveness. “Guess she likes the child bride more than her actual mother-”

“-Alright, Gina.” Eddie huffed. “You have a good one. Merry Christmas.”

“Wait!” The shrill in her tone, desperate and alarming.

Eddie waited, holding the phone back to his ear. Gina huffed, taking in a deep breath. “Can you… Can you talk to her?” Her voice was small, quiet. “Just-Just tell her I want to see her, and I have gifts for her, and-and,” There was a pause, a shaky breath. “Tell her I miss her and I love her?”

Eddie’s chest ached for her sympathetically. He knew she deserved it, that Brielle was probably in the right with her cruelty. Still, Eddie sympathized with her. The bitter loneliness of being alone during the holidays.

“Yeah, Gina. I can do that.” Eddie nodded slowly, his voice dropping. “I’ll, uh, I’ll tell her.”

“Thanks.” The word was clipped, drowned in disdain and followed with a sniffle.

“Have a Merry Christmas, Gina.” Eddie sighed softly, hanging up the phone with a final click.

He turned back to the living room. You and Brielle were still desperately trying to distract Lilah from the shining ornaments with her toys, rattling and shaking them in front of her so she squealed, only to turn back to the tree.

Eddie smiled, scooping up the baby, tossing her in the air gently so she screeched in laughter. “She’s never going to sleep.” You grinned warmly, starry eyed watching Eddie cuddle your baby.

“Nah, she’ll sleep in a little bit.” Eddie shrugged, snuggling her close to his chest. Delilah turned into his touch, face pressing into his chest, rubbing her face sleepily into the soft cotton of his Christmas pajama shirt that matched with his girls.

His brows shot up, grinning triumphantly. You snorted, rolling your eyes lightly. “Alright, Santa. What kind of cookies do you want?”

“Whatever kind you wanna make me, bunny. ‘M not picky.” Eddie hummed, rocking Delilah against his chest gently.

“I bought the Snowman sugar cookie ones.” Brielle smiled brightly. “I can make them.”

Eddie’s chest filled with warmth, looking down at the tiny girl in his arms, heavy lids pulling shut with sleep, knuckling at them. The lights on the tree seemed brighter and brighter as the years passed. A real tree this time, filled with ornaments and memories hanging on the branches, room for more as the years went on.

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lovebugism · 8 months

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Spoooooky request, what if the gang went to a haunted house and everyone made fun of reader for being scared, but Steve holds her hand and walks with her 👻

thanks for requesting angel! i switched it up a bit and did a sort of second part to this fic! you def don't have to read it but it'll give some context :D — you're still getting used to the world post-vecna, but it's easier with steve holding your hand

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

The haunted house off Fifth Street looks strangely familiar. Two stories, faded cornflower paint job, boarded up windows. It looks like a dollhouse from hell. It looks like the goddamn Creel House. It’s like some kind of sick joke.

It didn’t take Hawkins very long to recover from last spring. Mostly because it was just an earthquake to everyone else. No one died, nothing was ruined beyond repair. To the rest of the town, it was just a minor natural disaster — an inconvenience more than anything.

No one knows that a thirteen-year-old girl killed the monster trying to end the world. No one knows that the local freak nearly died saving a bunch of teenagers. No one knows that one song, one heavy metal guitar, and one good memory just narrowly saved your life.

It’s secrets all of you are gonna have to keep for the rest of your lives. It weighs you down accordingly.

“Am I crazy, or is that…?” Robin trails off, freckled chin tilted towards the velvet blue sky as she gapes at the artificially rotted house. It glows a sickly green color on the outside. The windows light up red every now and then, in time with the screams echoing from the upper story.

“Yeah,” Nancy answers, breathless and equally dumbfounded. “I think it is.”

A beat of silence falls over the group of you. It doesn’t feel so heavy with the surrounding chatter. The crowd continues to bustle around you on the street, falling over themselves with laughter and lingering fright. They have no idea the ghost story they grew up with nearly destroyed the world.

The bitter realization makes your chest ache. Steve seemingly understands this and gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. You wonder if he can feel the way you tremble.

Eddie scoffs a cynical laugh from the other side of you. A pink, sadistic grin tugs at his lips, almost as wild as his curls billowing in the autumn breeze. “It’s basically kismet then, huh?”

Steve shoots the boy a half-hearted glare, then deflates because he realizes he can’t really be mad about it. Those damn demobats might’ve taken a pound of flesh from his stomach, but it’s nowhere near the feast they made out of Munson.

“C’mon on, dude,” he murmurs quietly with a subtle nod down at you.

“What?” Eddie snorts. “If I don’t laugh bout it, I’ll start crying, so… Take your pick, man.”

Steve wants to tell him that there’s no shame in crying. That he’s done it plenty of times since the fall of ’84. He’s cried for you, for himself, for the kids who will never get to be kids again. He figures it’s better than letting it all build up until you damn near explode.

But now’s probably not the best time for that talk. Or any time, really. He’ll get you to get all serious and sappy with Eddie about that another time, just like you did for him.

“I’m gonna, uh— I’m gonna go get the tickets,” Jonathan murmurs with his usual Byers mumblings.

He wasn’t around for the whole Vecna ordeal — just the weird shit in California and the secret lair thing in Nevada. He feels like he can be a bit braver about the whole thing for the four of you.

Nancy brushes a kiss to the boy’s cheek before he leaves. She does that a lot now, with Jonathan and all the rest of you. She always feels like she needs to say a proper goodbye and I love you whenever someone leaves. Just in case the world decides to end again.

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Steve mutters to you, gaze twinkling with sincerity but stern still. “You know that, right?”

He knows that you know, but he feels the need to say it anyway. Mostly because he knows you were already scared of most things before everything went to shit. You’ve always been delicate, tender, like an open wound. Now, you can’t step outside without shaking. You’re always shuddering with the distant fear that the curse might return and no one will be there to save you.

Steve knows this, too. That’s why he holds so ardently to your trembling hand. It’s a silent reminder that he’s there, that he won’t let anything happen to you again, that he’ll always be around to save you when you need him.

“Oh, my god,” Robin groans, eyes wide and head tilted back. “Leave her alone, Steve! She’s fine!”

You know she’s just trying to be supportive. She thinks Steve’s coddling you because you’re quiet — that he’s sticking up for you because he thinks you can’t stick up for yourself.

He is. And you can’t. But still, she’s only trying to help.

Steve looks to his left to glare at her. They seem to communicate telepathically for a moment. His eyes soften again when he turns back to you. His deep cinnamon gaze swims with a honeyed concern, a silent “Are you fine?”

You nod. “I’m okay,” you tell him, mustering a soft smile that wavers at the edges.

He doesn’t believe you, not completely, but he doesn’t press it any further.

Jonathan returns with the ticket stubs. They’re black and blood red. You take the one he gives you with hesitant, clammy hands. He seems to notice how terrified you are without you having to say a single goddamn word.

“I’m not a huge fan of these things either,” he confesses with a thin-lipped smile. A light-hearted way of telling you that you’re not alone in the fear you keep hidden (very poorly hidden, you figure).

You smile back at him, but it doesn’t quite meet your eyes.

Your fingers fidget with the paper stub — maybe a distraction for yourself or maybe to hide how you’re too anxious to stay still. Steve figures it’s a bit of both. ‘Cause he knows you too well and not a thing gets by him. There’s nothing about you that he doesn’t notice.

He turns to face you completely while everyone else gets their ticket. He keeps his wedged between his middle and forefinger as his hands curl around the outsides of your elbows. He’s serious, but still soft — gentle, but still firm.

“Babe—”

“Stevie,” you interject with a similar tone. “I’m okay.”

“You heard her, Stevie. She’s fine!” Robin retorts, curling her maroon-tinted lips into a smirk. She scoffs out a laugh and gestures up to the fake haunt across the street. “This shit is basically for kids. No one’s dying here, alright?”

You know what she’s doing. She’s sticking up for you and taking the piss out of her best friend at the same time. It’s nothing new — hell, it’s her favorite hobby. She’s got your back now the same way she had it in that house last spring.

But still, her words sting a little.

Because she’s right. This place is for kids. And you still feel a bit like you’re dying.

Steve knows this, too. He knows everything about you. Even the stuff you wish he didn’t.

His sneakers scuff against the pavement when he turns to Robin. His eyes narrow in a challenging squint as he crosses his arms over his chest. He doesn’t look quite as intimidating as usual in his fluffy, cable-knit sweater.

“Well, you know what? I’m scared, actually. I don’t wanna do it, okay? You got me, Rob.”

The girl grins something cynical. She shakes her head all slow, like she’s just caught him in some kind of lie. “I knew it. You little baby.”

Steve lets her tease him. It’s not like he isn’t used to it by now. He just rolls his eyes and bears it, lets her laugh about it with the rest of the group as they head towards the haunted house.

You watch with an attentive gaze while they head inside, flinching softly when you hear a thunderous boom and the sound of their screaming a second later. It leaves you secretly grateful that you hadn’t gone in behind them.

A wavering sigh tumbles from your lips, a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Steve exhales a gentle laugh from beside you. He smooths a wide palm up your spine and down again. He leans over to press the side of his hip against yours.

You cross your arms over your chest to make yourself as small as possible while you glance over at the boy beside you. You look at him so far beneath your lashes you’re basically peering at him from the corner of your eye.

“Thank you,” is all you say. It’s all you need to say.

Steve shrugs with a plush, crooked grin. “’S okay. I know you’re too sweet to say no, so…”

“I wanted to do it,” you confess, clearing your throat when your voice breaks.

“I know.”

“I guess I’m not… as used to everything as I thought.”

“I know,” Steve repeats. His hand curls around your waist and makes a home in the very center of it. He pulls you closer with the urge to melt into you. His brows raise, eyes sparkling when his smile widens. “But that’s why I’m here, though, right? We’re gonna get better together.”

You nod up at him, smiling more sincerely now.

Arms still crossed, your hands ball into fists to fight the urge to smooth a hand through his hair — to push back the rogue chestnut strands hanging over his forehead.

You hesitate, so he beats you to the draw. He swipes a golden hand over his head right before he leans down to kiss you.

He smacks a sweet peck to your smile. A bright light flashes with another thunderous boom a moment later. You flinch and pull back. You swear you hear Eddie screaming, “jesus fucking christ!” from the upper story. You forget to be scared.

You didn’t think it was possible. The whole getting better thing.

Steve makes you feel like could be.

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #st drabbles #stevie drabble #event: fictober!

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buckrecs · 1 year

Note

ur account is my absolute go to!!! any chance u could rec biker!bucky fics 🥺🥺🥺

Biker!Bucky

masterlist | req masterlist

ONESHOT

Wanted by @jadedvibes

You consider ending things with Bucky after seeing a girl come on to him, but it's not that easy, and you get a hard reminder about who he really wants in the clubhouse bathroom.

Best Friends? Nah. by @wicked-mind

Classic best friends don’t realize feelings for each other until someone points it out.

Business as Usual by @world-of-aus

Not My Babe by @avecra

After a nasty break up to a nearly two year relationship, you find yourself dragged to a bar by your best friend, though a familiar blue-eyed biker makes the best of your crappy situation.

rough around the edges by @wndalovebot

Let Me Love You Old School by @mysecretlittlelibrary

Bucky meets you at a diner and plans to sweep you completely off your feet.

The Bogeyman and Other Monstrosities by @pellucid-constellations

As the local biker club president, Bucky Barnes had a reputation for being tougher than nails and feared by many—he’d never be caught dead at a halloween street fair. Too bad his best girl always got what she wanted.

Waiting Game by @buckychrist

You knew being associated with one of the most notorious and dangerous biker gangs in the city was bad, let alone scandalously dating their kingpin in secret, but you never thought you’d have to face those consequences. Until now.

Home by @all1e23

Bucky runs into his ex at a winter carnival the MC is helping host, but she didn’t come alone.

Whatever It Takes by @sgtjbuccky

Bucky Barnes knows the way to drive you up the wall in frustration, fed up with it, you show him that you know how to play just the same.

deny me by @drewbarymore

In which you feel like Bucky’s ashamed of you.

Drunk, Dumped and Empty by @green-eyeddragonfanfiction

After a nasty breakup, you go out drinking. After an absolute creep hits on you, you’re saved from a concussion by a mysterious, kind man, who reveals himself to be Bucky Barnes. The bar you’re in is a bit suspect, but you never expected him to be head of a biker gang.

yayo by @sergeantxrogers

“I need you safe. I need you here, and I need you safe, and I need, God please, I need you to let me in, baby, just let me in and I promise I’ll make it all better,” his broken voice pleaded through the door.

Drabble by @fandoms-writings

Biker!Bucky x tattooed!reader

hot and cold by @bucksfucks

you & bucky had never gotten along, but when your ex-boyfriend ransom turns up at the same bar you’re at, bucky goes to every length to protect you.

How To Get Away With Murder by @empyreanwritings

Bucky was always good at helping you clean up your messes, which is why he doesn't bat an eye when you show up on his doorstep covered in your abusive boyfriend's blood.

Hush by @buckysknifecollection

Bucky finds a stray kitten but he doesn’t know anything about cats. A friendly librarian helps him out.

little favors by @onceuponastory

Since Bucky saved her from her shitty boss, Y/N hasn’t seen him again. For a while, she gets closer and closer to giving up hope. Until he comes back. And this time, he’s asking for her help.

SERIES

Swallow by @all1e23

Since he was fifteen years old, Bucky Barnes has only been sure of two things; the club should be the most essential thing in his life, and he’d burn it all down for you.

Delicate Edges by @wkemeup

Your family’s beloved flower shop was not the only thing you inherited when your parents passed. Trapped under a mountain of debt to the Hydra club, you bear the cost of your father’s desperate bargain. It’s only in moments when the charming Bucky Barnes walks into your shop that you can forget the cruelty of the biker clubs of this town. But a war is brewing. The border is crumbling. You're trapped in the middle. And Bucky will stop at nothing to keep you safe.

For The Best by @metalbuckaroo

Bucky is tired of waiting for you to realize what you're doing. He does the only thing he can think of to break the cycle.

White Horses by @whitewolfbumble

Kicked out of school and exiling yourself in a town time forgot, one little incident lands the sights of the locally infamous Avengers biker gang square on you. Wild horses run faster and there was no chance to turn back now.

Howlin’ For You by @invisibleanonymousmonsters

When Y/N gets an unreal deal on her first home, she wonders why her neighbor scared away all the other buyers. Despite being cautious, she wonders why the town has given Bucky Barnes a bad name.

Brotherhood & Bullets by @rookthorne

The 107th motorcycle club has been the protector of their collective hometown for many, many years - shouldering all the bloodshed and loss that came with it. Little did you know, you'd become the President's own twisted version of an angel on his shoulder; the tips of your angelic wings tinged red by your own demons.

Stars & Stripes, Studs & Spikes by @buckyismybicycle

The crew has always been tight, but you and Bucky are best of friends. When Bucky sees Brock's mark on you, he nearly loses it and wants to end Brock for good. But, there's something more important - keeping you safe.

call me baby by @cherryrogers

Returning to Brooklyn for the summer after a year of travelling from city to city, you hadn’t expected to find your best friend, Peggy Carter, hopelessly in love with a biker, and when she decided to introduce you to the rest of his club, you hadn’t expected to fall for one either — that was until you met one with pretty eyes and a habit of calling you baby.

Masterlist by @angrythingstarlight

Masterlist by @metalbuckaroo

#bucky barnes fic rec #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes smut #winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #biker!bucky #bucky barnes modern au #biker!bucky x reader #bff!bucky #best friend!bucky #bucky x florist!reader #neighbor!bucky

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cultofdixon · 7 months

Text

Falling for you…wasn’t meant to hurt

Daryl Dixon • She/Her Pronouns • The two of you grew close because the universe thought you were meant to be. But Daryl agreeing to let you help him find Carol’s daughter, he didn’t expect anything bad to happen • ANGST/SFW • TW: Impalement / Injuries / Anxiety / Restlessness

Requested by: Anon

“If you’re gonna go search for the kid, don’t go alone.”

“Fine” Daryl made his way toward the camp outside the farm house as Rick gave him a confused look.

“Who are yea takin’?”

“Y/N” He states without a second thought in mind as Rick quickly grabs his shoulder stopping him.

“You sure that’s your best option?”

“I trust her more than you, Rick. She’s more than the best choice” Daryl retracts from the man continuing his way over to the tent city they have going on as Y/N’s was on the side closest to Daryl’s.

________

“Who’s that?” Merle elbows his brother to look at the woman seated on top of the RV.

Daryl looked over trying to get a good look at her face but when he couldn’t. He gave up and told Merle not to go there knowing damn well his brother was going to holler at her.

Then later in the night, Daryl went over to the camp fire they always have going when dinner was made from whatever he and Merle caught. He went to get him and his brother some dinner only for the woman from the roof of the RV to hand him two prepared plates before he could ask somebody to.

“It’s Y/N by the way”

“What?”

“My name. I’m the “who’s that” from the other day” Y/N gave him a small short lived smile before looking down at the book laid in her lap.

Daryl stood there a bit awkward while holding the plates as he cleared his throat to get her beautiful E/C eyes to look up at him.

“Daryl”

Her smile shot back instantly making his heart beat quicken.

“Don’t be a stranger, Daryl”

________

“Do you trust Rick?” Y/N asks Daryl as he was getting one of the Greene’s horses strapped with a saddle.

“Don’t know yet, more than Shane if it came to that though”

“Ugh. In those terms I agree…I just. Don’t understand how he’s so blind to their nonsense” Y/N frowns looking over to the camp while Daryl did his thing but his attention seemed to always fixate on her when she didn’t seem alright.

“Ready. Least I think I got this shit on right”

“You ride a horse before?”

“Uh. No, shouldn’t be too hard”

“If we had the resources like the old world, I’d tell yea to wear boots. So your feet wouldn’t slip from the stirup” Y/N stared watching Daryl get on with ease extending his hand for her as he kept his cool when her smile practically shot him. “Don’t do anything too crazy, cowboy”

“Wouldn’t dream of it” Daryl chuckles lightly as his mind was running miles at everything she did, even if it was the smallest thing of wrapping her arms around his waist. “Alright, let’s get”

God I really hate horses Y/N thought as she held onto Daryl for dear life wishing they went on foot.

I can’t focus On the other hand, Daryl’s mind raced having her this close.

But a good thing can’t last forever in the end of the world.

________

Daryl cared, but he also didn’t. In the moment he didn’t care about anybody else except her when he returned from Atlanta to find out a herd was crashing through.

Not that she needed any help given every walker that came toward her, met the short end of the stick.

Once the horror show came to an end and many were mourning, Y/N dropped her axe before falling to her knees and trying to wrap her head over all the happened. Her mind was flooded until she felt hands carefully take a hold of her face. Her eyes instantly locked onto his piercing blues.

“Are yea bit?” Daryl frowns waiting for her to answer as she shook her head, bringing a whole wave of relief. “Alright, c’mon. Let’s get yea cleaned up”

________

They can handle anything

Daryl jolts awake in a bit of a haze feeling the pain in his side realizing he was impaled by his own arrow. But given the racing situation at hand, it didn’t remain in his side as he quickly pulled it out while scrambling to get his crossbow in order to shoot the walker getting dangerously to Y/N’s unconscious form.

The second he landed the shot, Daryl dropped his crossbow rushing the best he could over to Y/N and rolling her onto her back noticing the branch embedded in her side.

“Fuck” Daryl frowns removing his shirt wincing when he agitated his injury and wrapping it around her middle to secure the branch. “Wake up, wake up, WAKE UP” he didn’t meant to shout so loud at the last part but it got her to jolt awake wincing in pain immediately. “Sorry. I’m sorry”

“W-…What a way….t-to wake a dying p-p…person” Y/N scoffs wincing more feeling the branch move when she took a breath.

“Y-Yea ain’t dyin’”

“H-Hurts…though” Y/N finally got a deep breath in, exhaling slowly feeling his fingers press against the pulse point on her neck. “Mm still here…”

“Yea better be by the time we get back”

Y/N couldn’t even wrap her head around that thought. Of making it back alive. She thought she was going to die there or on the way back, but given how hard Daryl was trying and the anxiety laced in his voice. Even with how much he’s talking…she’s not going to feed into the seeds of doubt and let him try, hell…she’s still trying.

“Can’t move yea too much…gonna have to go the long way”

“H…How’d we even…?”

“Stupid goddamn h-horse” Daryl winced to his pain when he tried to get up so he could help her up. Y/N carefully pressed her hand to his injured side getting another wince out of him and when she removed her hand she saw the blood.

“You can’t die for me” The first clear thing she’s said since the fall and Daryl didn’t know what to say. The anger that always laid dormant in him at times, started to peak out when his mind raced to the conclusion that he’s not going to listen to her if she starts talking about leaving her behind.

“F-Find something”

“What?”

“F-…Find ah…” Y/N laid back again in the dirt looking around locking onto the walker he had killed to keep her from getting bitten. “S-Stop the bleeding. T…Ta…Take his s-shirt”

He would listen to her direction but find himself yelling at every moment she closed her eyes. They were both weak, but he’s the only one capable of getting them out of there.

Daryl took the shirt and secured it to stop the bleeding on his side. Then he decided to take the dead’s pants thinking if he could climb up from where they fell while Y/N was wrapped to his back, then they could follow the same tracks that got them there instead of trying a whole new route. But that meant having to cut the branch shorter and warning her was the easy part.

Feeling her nails dig into his arm as he used his knife to shorten the branch on either side…listening to her scream in agony and the blood continued to seep through his shirt that was supposedly secured around her. He was in hell.

Y/N tiredly watches the creek disappear as Daryl carries her on his back taking his sweet ass time climbing.

“Gonna get Hershel, to check on yea.”

“You…”

“Me? Me what? Me too? Yeah no shit. None of’em out there are gonna let me walk around bleedin’”

“…s-someone needs to care”

Daryl was reaching the last stretch in climbing when she said that. He was confused on what she meant but when he finally got onto the main path pulling the rest of her up and beside him. Y/N had gone unconscious again. She wasn’t finished and he wasn’t happy seeing her eyes closed.

“Come on” Daryl shakes her at first, trying to keep the yelling at a minimum because the only thing it’s going to do is draw more sickos toward them. But he wasn’t getting anything immediately. “Y/N?” His fear started to get him as he gently brushes the hair out of the way of her face shaking her head carefully. “Please. Please. I can’t lose you. I can’t.” His voice cracked, his tears were threatening to spill over.

It took a second but she tiredly opened her eyes reaching forward and grabbing a fist full of his tank top.

“Tired…” She sighs feeling his hands rest on her face. “Sorry”

“You’re not allowed to die, alright? I’ll kill yea if you do”

Even in a weak state she couldn’t help but laugh to such.

Soon they were on their feet, Y/N’s arm draped over Daryl’s shoulders as he kept her up the best he could while they made their way back.

“Walkers!” Andrea yells catching everyone who was outside’s attention.

As Rick, Shane, Glenn, and T-Dog grabbed their guns and made their way to the walkers given there was only two. But Andrea decided to take the hunting rifle and get ready to take at least one of them out.

“Andrea don’t”

“Shut up Dale”

Y/N groaned touching her side to see the fresh blood coming out as she gave Daryl a worried look while he kept a stern one. He wasn’t stopping. Then her anxiety got the best of her right when the four approached them aiming their gun.

“That’s the second time you aimed that thing at me” Daryl huffed.

“Oh my god Y/N” Glenn frowns noticing her injury then they all were startled by both Y/N shoving Daryl off and her falling back when the shot rang through. “Holy FUCK!”

The group that rushed over surrounded Y/N as Daryl weakly looks up from his fallen position noticing her unmoving form. He couldn’t quite pick out what they were saying as he tried to get himself off the ground. Eventually T-Dog approached him with an extended hand.

“C’mon man. We gotta get you checked out”

“Is she—-“

“She’s still breathing” T-Dog reassures him as he got Dixon back on his feet bringing his arm around his shoulders. “The hell happen?”

“Goddamn horse” he scoffs feeling his anger bubble inside himself when watching Shane carry Y/N sprinting toward the house.

Daryl found himself at the dining room table letting Maggie do his stitches while the room that once had Carl, now had Y/N being worked on by Hershel with help from Patricia. He anxiously waited and winced every now and then when Maggie pulled a bit too tight on her stitches. She’d apologized immediately.

“Yer dad is good right?”

“Yes. For someone who originally only worked on animals” Maggie states applying the bandage as Daryl immediately got up leaving the house and approaching the camp.

“Who the fuck fired?”

Everyone grew tense with the tone he took as it was obvious given her avoidance to eye contact when he brought it up.

“Who. Shot. Their. Gun.”

“Andrea” Glenn blurted as Dale smacked him in the arm. The guy was nervous. He wasn’t about to lie for her.

“I’m sorry Daryl! You two looked awful and from afar—like walkers. I had to protect—-“

“FOUR OF YALL CAME TOWARD US. WE DIDNT NEED SOME TRIGGER HAPPY BITCH TAKE CARE OF IT” Daryl snaps as Rick stepped between them pushing him back gently keeping mind of his own injuries.

“Look. You’re upset. We all are. We’re worried about—-“

“Nah. She wouldn’t have gotten hurt if you had just trusted me to take care of business by myself. I shouldn’t have taken the one person I care about in this goddamn apocalypse” Daryl clenched his jaw moving his gaze to the floor. “I’m leavin’ if I lose her” he whispered.

“Daryl”

The two quickly turned to Maggie as she kept a relaxed expression but the tension in her shoulders struck Daryl’s anxiety.

“We need you”

Daryl quickly ran toward the house and barging into the room noticing the branch was still in Y/N’s side.

“Why the fuck haven’t—-“

“I stabilized it but she woke up, screamed at us wondering where you were—-“

He didn’t say anything all he did was instantly to go to her side noticing the color that left her face from the blood loss, and the bullet graze on the side of her face.

“D-Daryl. It h-hurts” She whined with tears streaming down her face as Daryl held her hand trying not to fall apart.

“He’s gotta take it out and access yea, sunshine”

“P-Please. Don’t leave”

“Wouldn’t dream of it” Daryl states giving Hershel a look for him to get started as he watches the doc move the bandaging showing the branch that still needed to be pulled out. His heart was pounding in his chest holding Y/N’s hand knowing in a split second he’s going to have to hold her shoulders.

Which happened to be now. Hershel started to pull the branch out and Y/N tried to fight Hershel wanting him to stop but he kept repeating “almost there”. Daryl brought his hands to her shoulders pinning her down as Patricia held her legs down to keep the movement at a minimum. She clawed at Daryl’s arms crying in pain as he knew he would be hearing her screams whenever something went wrong in the future.

Once the branch was removed, the blood poured in new places that weren’t where the clamps were. Leading Hershel to apply pressure immediately while Patricia scrambled to get what they needed. Daryl relaxed but tensed instantly when Y/N’s breathing slowed…slower than normal.

“Goddamn it” Daryl frowns holding Y/N’s face shaking her slightly. “Come on come on come on!” He shouted startling everyone as Hershel took notice and quickly checked her pulse while Patricia kept the pressure.

“Son, you know CPR?!”

“What?! Nah. No she don’t need it. She’s just—-“

“You need to do it or she’ll die”

Then the sound went out in his head. Daryl instantly started to do CPR and tried his best not to instantly break her ribcage with the pressure he was building up to. His shoulder was grabbed when Hershel finished his work and checked her pulse. He did good. Daryl did good.

“She’s gonna be unconscious for a while” Hershel states, about a few hours later as it was now the evening. Daryl hasn’t left her side and he mainly said that in hopes he’d get up to walk around a bit. But he didn’t want to face anybody. “She lost a lot of blood and it’ll take a while—-“

“Use mine”

“Pardon?”

“I’m fucking universal. Take some of mine to help her”

________

“He seriously did that?” Y/N questions Daryl as the two were sitting alone in the room they were sharing at the CDC.

“Got a lot of money out of it”

“But that’s not safe. Taking three pints? How did you not go into shock?”

“Who said I didn’t?”

“Daryl, I’ll fucking kill you if you ever gave me your blood”

“Huh?” Daryl was confused on what she meant and Y/N was getting at, if the situation asked for it. She wouldn’t want him to bleed himself just for her to live. “You ain’t gonna lose a fuckton of blood. Won’t let it happen”

________

Three pints. Fucking moron.

But Hershel only took one a day and gave it to Y/N, letting Daryl take the couch in the living room to recuperate after each transfusion. He had to be a human blood bag, Hershel couldn’t calculate a pint so he had a cut off period. Meaning 3 pints could’ve been less than what was taken.

Daryl didn’t have to give anymore and found himself back in the chair beside the bed staring blankly at the window seeing the group take advantage of the luxury of the Greene farm. Part of him knew it wasn’t going to last. Something in him was leaning toward that, but he wasn’t going to lose her if something bad were to happen.

He flinched to feeling something as he brought himself to cross his arms turning toward her thinking it was just a breeze. But when he noticed her open eyes and extended hand, it was her.

“Holy shit. Holy SH—“ Daryl cut himself off when Y/N brought her finger to her lips to shush him as he leaped out of the chair dropping to his knees directly beside the bed dropping his head onto the bed. She instantly wrapped her arm around his shoulders as her other hand carefully reached over to run her fingers through his hair. “Thank god. Thank fucking god”

“Dar…your arm is bruised”

“Don’t…don’t worry about it, sunshine. I had to do what I had to do”

A sigh escaped her lips making him turn his face toward her as she gently caresses his face watching him relax to her touch.

“I’m always going to worry about you”

“Y/N…you almost died” His voice cracked as her expression saddened gripping the back of his shirt tugging at him. Daryl got the idea as he pulled himself up letting Y/N wrap her arms around him as they both kept in mind their injuries.

“I’m not going anywhere…has to take a lot to take me away from you”

“I love you…I loved yea since I first met you…”

Y/N held onto him with the strength she had feeling Daryl hide his face in the crook of her neck.

“Falling for you, wasn’t meant to be literal” She giggles feeling him pull away so he could get a good look at that smile of hers that he missed so much. “I love you Daryl”

The tears came back when he brought his lips to hers feeling her gently wipe away his tears not breaking the kiss they shared. She returned her arms around his shoulders parting from him to bring him close once again.

“I ain’t letting go, sunshine”

“Good…”

#cultofdixon #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction

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lunasfics · 8 months

Text

You Remind Me of Lilies - Damian Wayne

Summary: "You remind me of lilies.” He paused, eyeing you with curiosity, “And why is that, beloved?” You smiled, “You just do, all different colors of lilies mean different things, and I can trace each one back to you. Every time.”

pairing: older! Damian Wayne x gn! Reader

word count: 611

warnings: none

a/n: saw a picture of lilies and got the idea to write this <3 my formal apology for the jason angst lol, i hope you like it! - luna <3

reblogs are appreciated!

The moment was a quiet one. The two of you were sitting on the grassy patch, the soft cloth from your earlier picnic providing comfort beneath you. Damian held your hand in his as he looked forward, eyeing the patches of lilies scattered across the meadow.

You looked at him, his brilliant green eyes glazed over with the soft peachy tint of the sunset ahead. The soft breeze swaying his hair ever so slightly, his smooth olive skin was kissed by the soft pink and orange hues of the fading sun. He turned to you, his gaze catching yours. His lips quirked up into a soft smile.

“Why are you staring at me?”

“You remind me of lilies.”

He paused, eyeing you with curiosity, “And why is that, beloved?”

You smiled, “You just do, all different colors of lilies mean different things, and I can trace each one back to you. Everytime.”

A soft shade of pink spreads over his ears and cheeks, he scoots closer to you, the hand that was holding yours letting go and snaking itself around your waist. You leaned into him, relishing the moment. The soft sounds of the grass rustling in the breeze, a blue hue slowly washing over you as the sun sets further. The temperature cooled slowly, the warmth of the sun dissipating, you brought yourself closer to Damian.

“Tell me about the lilies.” He spoke softly, you almost didn’t catch it. You smiled.

“Well, white lilies mean purity, tranquility, and humility. Red ones signify love and affection, pink symbolizes youth and joy, and orange ones represent happiness, love, and warmth.”

He spoke softly, “I don’t know that I’m any of those things.”

You turned to look at him, “Nonsense, you’re all those things and more.”

He met your gaze, smiling softly, the sun was gone by now. However looking into his sparkling green eyes, seeing the small crinkles at the corners from his soft gaze, they could’ve fooled you into thinking the sun was shining on just the two of you.

He leaned and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“I don’t think I would be anywhere near where I am today if not for you. I love you.” He spoke softly. His voice is gentle, tender.

You were so proud of him. Truly. He'd graduated from the Robin title, taking on his own identity, he'd started attending Gotham University with you. He'd opened up, made friends, he'd come so far. And it was all him. As far as he has come, these kinds of soft gazes, tender words, and warm touches were the kind that he saved only for you. It made them all the more special.

“That's all the product of your effort, Dami, not me. I love you too.” You leaned your head back on his chest, his arm wrapped securely around you.

The two of you stay like that for a moment, a comfortable silence washing over you like a warm blanket of serenity. The bees have stopped buzzing, the sounds now replaced with the distant songs of the cicadas, and the soft sounds of the crickets.

Damian broke the silence, “I used to think you were too good for me. That I didn’t deserve you. This. Even now when I look at you it’s as though I am seeing the stars for the first time.”

You met his eyes, gazing into the now darkened shade of green, “You deserve everything good in this world.”

He held you closer, kissing you softly. He pulled away, speaking softly, “The sun is down, we should get going.”

You shook your head, “Let’s stay just a little bit longer. This is nice.”

He smiled and nodded, “As you wish, beloved.”

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theyhavetakenovermylife · 2 months

Note

Hi! Can I request MM! Raph with a fem s/o who is very opposite of him, like she's kind, dresses very girly, oblivious, kinds like opposites attract. Where one day, reader is getting flirted with but doesn't understand it, and Raph is js getting jealous/protective??

Don’t Flirt With My Girlfriend (Fluff)

MM!Raphael x reader

A/N: Of course you can! I’m thinking jock Raph with his girly yet a little nerdy girlfriend. I don’t know why, but I just find it cute❤️

Warnings: Raph being jealous, and reader being oblivious to unwanted flirting, but nothing too bad❤️

Whoever said that opposite attracts, had no idea how right their words were. When they first uttered those words, they would have had no idea that such a thing as you and Raphael would ever come to happen.

You and Raphael was the stereotypical high school love story. Well… except the fact that Raph was a mutant turtle and considered a hero in the city of New York City , but that is not very important. Raph was a jock, part of Eastman High’s wrestling team, currently testing his waters in the school's American Football team, having played a few successful games. And though he might be big and strong with a quick temper, he didn’t do too well in his studies, lacking behind for quite some time. But that was how he first met you - his opposite in so many ways.

You were sweet, calm and always so happy, yet drawing very little attention to yourself. Well, at least not by sound, but quite a few had their eyes on you. Often dressing in dresses with pretty floral prints in light colors, such as pink, baby blue, light green and soft light yellow and purple, you were the stereotypical girly girl. And not only that, but you were in the same math class as Raphael, which was how you finally got to talk to him, when your teacher asked you to become his tutor.

Becoming Raph’s math tutor meant that you and jock would spend much time together, both at your place and his. And as time passed and the two of you got to know each other, neither of you could help the crush that you were developing. However, it was during this time that Raph learned something very important about you - you were not good at reading his flirting. He could send you all sorts of looks, or say all kinds of sugary sweet things, but you didn’t seem to understand what he was trying to do or say, which was a little frustrating to the young mutant. However, he decided to do his best and follow your tutoring, believing that was a way to get closer to you. When Raph later passed a math test, after you had helped him prepare, he decided to ask you out, and the rest was history.

You and Raph quickly became the couple of Eastman High that everybody knew of. No matter if it was wrestling or football, if Raph did good in his sports, he would make a show of running to you, where he would place a firm kiss to your lips, telling you how much he loved you, before running off to continue his game. That was enough to let the whole school know that you were together. That you were with Raph and that he was with you. Only a fool wouldn’t be able to understand that. Unless some poor soul hadn’t been there to see that. That is where Anker came into the picture.

Anker was an exchange student from one of the Scandinavian countries, having decided to study in the US for a year. That was how Anker found himself in the same English class as you, sitting just a few rows behind you. And it only took him a few days to develop a small crush on you, not knowing about your mutant turtle boyfriend of a jock. Which is why he decided to walk up to you after class, in the hopes of chatting you up.

As you stood by your open locker, getting a hold of the books you needed for your next class after the break, Anker came up by the locker beside you, resting against it as he began talking to you. You smiled a friendly smile to the exchange student, answering his questions as politely as possible, not noticing the way he kept eyeing you every other minute, or how people passing looked at him, as if he was crazy. If Raph saw this, he might as well count his days. But you were totally oblivious, believing that Anker was only trying to be friendly. An exchange student trying to make new friends.

“So”, Anker continued, changing the subject. “What are you doing this weekend, (Y/N)?”

“This weekend?”, you repeated deep in thought. “Well, this Saturday I’m spending time with my family, and Sunday I’ll be studying for Monday”.

“So you don’t have any plans on Friday?”, Anker asked, not noticing the mutant turtle whose eyes was piercing through him, as he walked up to the two of you at a fast pace, his gym bag almost falling off his shoulder. “Would you like to go to the cinema with me on Friday then?”

“No, sorry”, you answered, still not aware of your boyfriend as he was making his way to you. “I already got plans for Friday”.

“Plans?”, Anker asked in confusion. “With who?”

“Me!”, Raph spat at the exchange student, making the boy jump in fear. Not just by Raph’s sudden presence, but by his appearance. No one had told Anker that the mutant turtles were studying at Eastman High. Raph wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close to him, while staring daggers into Anker’s soul, his anger fuming underneath his skin. “I know what you’re trying to do, and you can quit it right now. Don’t flirt with my girlfriend, buster!”

Anker looked more than just a little unsure, before quickly making his exit, feeling Raph’s eyes burn the back of his neck all the way to the end of the hall, until he was out of sight.

“I’m sorry, Raph”, you finally said when Anker was gone, already feeling horrible. “I had no idea he was flirting with me”.

“It’s okay, babe”, Raph said, wrapping his other arm around you, hugging you tightly against him, feeling his plastron underneath his jersey. “It’s not your fault. You’ve never been good at recognizing flirting, so I don’t blame you at all. But if he tries on anything, I’ll punch his face so hard that he’ll-”.

“I don’t think that’s necessary”, you interrupted him, putting a soft hand against his cheek, feeling him lean against it. There was no doubt that having you in his life had helped Raph calm down immensely, having an easier time cooling down from his more temperamental periods. Just like now. The feeling of your warm hand against his face calming him down. “But thank you for looking out for me, Raph. Otherwise I might unknowingly have gotten myself into something dumb”.

“Anything for my girl”, Raph smiled, leaning down to press a kiss against your forehead, causing you to smile like crazy. Even you were able to understand how sweet that gesture was and what that meant. “Are you still up for our date on Friday?”

“Of course I am”, you said, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling his face closer to yours. “I’ve been waiting ever since last Friday for another diner date”.

Raph chuckled at that statement, finding your enthusiasm adorable. “Gosh, you’re cute. Gimme a kiss, babe”.

You giggled, before standing on your toes as Raph leaned down, your lips meeting together in a sweet tender kiss before you pulled back, looking deep into each other’s eyes with bright smiles.

“Eating together at lunch?”, Raph asked.

“Of course we are”, you answered, kissing Raph one more time, before the two of you made your way towards math with your hands entwined.

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riordanness · 4 months

Text

i think he knows - [l.laurence]

wordcount: 1.3K

requested: no (but i am working on all my requests)

warnings: maybeee a wonka reference (my bad)

I lay side by side with Jo March, our hands intertwined, staring up at the clouds.

“You’re kidding, right?” Jo laughs. “That is definitely not a giraffe. It looks like a flamingo.”

I wrinkle my nose. “No way. It looks closer to a melted chocolate bar than a flamingo.”

She nudges me and laughs again. “Whatever.”

I sigh and close my eyes, my spare fingers playing with the blades of grass we’re lying on.

“This is the life,” Jo says quietly, as if she can read my thoughts.

“Mhm…” I reply, feeling sleepy and sun sick. We’ve been out all morning in the hot summer sun, and the effects are finally catching up on me.

“You know what would make today better, though?”

“What?” I’m barely paying attention now, my sleepiness wanting to take over.

“If Laurie was here.” Jo says it like it’s poetry.

I’m immediately awake. I sit up. “What did you say?”

Jo looks amused. “I said…that today would have been better if Laurie was here with us.”

I try to downplay my reaction with a shrug. “Yeah, that would have been nice I suppose.”

“Oh, y/n,” Jo teases. “Don’t try to pretend you aren’t head over heels in love with him.”

I look at her sharply. “Jo, don’t talk about such things.”

“It's true, though,” Jo insists. “Isn’t it?”

I look away. Of course it was true. Laurie Laurence was the one person I could never imagine not having in my life. I needed him like I needed air in my lungs. He was my sunlight, my happiness, my joy and my energy and my smile. He was my everything.

“Maybe it’s true,” I whisper. “But it’s not important. I will never matter to him the way that he matters to me.”

Jo is quiet for a while, her eyes narrowed as she stares into the deep blue nothingness of the sky.

I lay beside her, in comfortable silence, as my thoughts drift, as always, back to that boy with the laughing green eyes, unruly but beautiful dark hair, and that smile that fills me with everything I need.

I first met Laurie through the others. I’m lifelong friends with all the Marches, and being an only child, my days tend to be lonely. Marmee has me over as much as humanly possible. Sleepovers, performances, club meetings and dinners, walks and piano lessons, days at the beach, sketching in the garden, dances and dumb adventures. I do it all with those four girls.

Then one day, a boy joined in on our fun.

At first, it was nerve-wracking, doing all our usual antics in the presence of a boy. But I soon learned that Laurie was anything but judgemental, and better than that–he was amazing fun.

We became best friends.

Now, everything I did was with Laurie, or nearly everything. I’d spend every second with him if I could.

It’s like there’s magic in his smile.

“Laurie!” I shove open his front door, yelling up the stairs.

His curly head pops over the stairs, grinning down at me. “Hey, you.”

I squint up at him. “What are you doing? I thought we were going out today. You promised we’d go ice skating.” I wave my skates at him to prove my point.

Laurie winces. “I’m sorry, y/n. I know I did, but–” He makes a face. “I’ve got a cold and Grandfather forbade me to leave my room.” His features turn mischievous. “In fact, I’m risking his wrath just being out here in the hall.”

I roll my eyes at him. “Well, I guess I’ll have to come up there and entertain you then.”

“You’ll get sick!” Laurie shakes his head at me.

“Too late,” I say, as I drop my skates and coat at the door, and dash up the stairs.

Laurie watches as I hop, skip, and jump at the top stair, as I do every time (because he did it first, and I like to do everything he does). He stares at me with a small smirk on his face.

“What?” I ask, coming to a stop only a metre away from him. “It’s fun doing that at the top of the stairs. Like a little celebratory moment for conquering the staircase once again.”

Laurie laughs under his breath as he shakes his head slightly. “It’s nothing, my dear y/n. Hop at your heart's content.”

I shrug and head into his room, a lage, ornate chamber full of antique paintings and old books and clothes strewn all over the floor.

“Oh, my,” I say disapprovingly. “Laurie, you really need to tidy this place up a little if you want to get any better, you know.”

“I know,” Laurie sighs, falling sideways onto an armchair. “But I just don’t have your work ethic, y/n. I love being lazy and useless and spending my time doing silly, worthless things.”

I click my tongue. “Don’t be ridiculous, Laurie. I know you. You have it inside you to do great things with your life. You just have to want it enough, and to work hard for it. You can do it. I believe in you.”

I wander around the room busily, picking up dirty laundry and discarded books, and straightening the bedsheets. I can feel Laurie’s eyes on me, but it’s not an awkward feeling. If anything, it’s comforting. Being around him, everything is easier, safer. My words come out of my mouth easily. I don’t worry about saying the wrong thing or coming across as too blunt or anything like that. They can come right from my heart, because I know him better than anyone, and I see what Laurie is capable of.

“And you know, you can always–”

“Y/n.” Laurie gets to his feet.

My voice dies, and I frown at him uncertainly and I drop a small stack of books onto his desk.. “Yeah?”

“You know how the other day, um, you and Jo were hanging out in the gardens, watching the clouds?”

My eyes narrow a little, but I nod slowly. “Yes…? How did you know about that?”

Laurie doesn’t meet my eyes, rolling his tongue around in his mouth nervously. “I might’ve been spying on you?”

My hands are instantly on my hips as I give him a look. “Laurie Laurence.”

“I’m sorry!” he says immediately, holding his hands up like he’s surrendering. “I just… well, I heard what you were talking about.”

I try to think back. What would Jo and I have been talking about that was so important he’s bringing it back up now? I didn’t think we were discussing anything that exciting, except…

Oh.

My face goes slack, and my mouth drops slightly open. “You-you mean–”

Laurie nods and gets to his feet. “So it’s true?”

I want to lie, to shake my head and laugh it away, but my reaction has already made it obvious. I slowly nod my head yes, once, then twice.

Relief floods into Laurie’s features. “Oh, thank goodness.”

“What?” I ask, but my question is lost when Laurie attacks me with a hug.

“I love you, y/n,” he says softly into my hair. “I’ve loved you ever since Jo first introduced me to you that day in the attic. You might’ve been shy and wearing that silly costume; a battered overcoat and tattered suitcase, but I’d never seen a prettier girl. You help me be a better person, you’re always so encouraging and kind and hard-workig, and I just… I really love you.”

He pulls away, holding my shoulders and gazing at me.

I’m in disbelief, staring up into his eyes, my mouth still open.

He laughs, ducking his head a little. “You don’t have to say anything, y/n. You said enough the other day.” He pauses, licks his lips a little. “Y/n, can I kiss you?”

I can’t help but to smile. “Of course you can.”

His mouth meets mine, and it’s better than anything else in the world.

#timothée chalamet #laurie laurence x reader #laurie laurence #little women #fanfic #timothee chalamet imagines #timothee chalamet x reader #laurie laurence fanfic

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richea · 2 months

Text

Inomata’s Design Notes & Memories - Destiny Cast

Some notes:

I’ve linked images of each thing she references below.

Unlike the first batch of Eternia characters I previously posted, these were in Japanese. And unlike the Destiny 2 ones I translated, she talks about her experiences with the characters in the game and not just her design processes!

The book in question is this one.

What I think about most when designing characters is their colors and the components to their look. The characters are displayed as such small sprites, so in order to be able to differentiate them from each other, I give each of them a specific color palette and unique accessories to each of their outfits.

Stahn’s thing was his scarf. I also made sure his shoulder pads, gloves, and boots looked huge.

Rutee is supposed to be a thief, so I made her look a bit like a ninja. I didn’t want her to look too girly, so I gave her shorts and exposed her navel. For colors I went with red and black, since that’s a distinctive palette. Whenever I’d do boss battles, she’d always be joyfully picking 2 gald off the ground instead of healing my very low HP characters (laughs). I thought about removing her from my party to prevent this, but then I’d feel bad, and it just made me think “this is all part of her plot” (laughs).

Philia is a priestess through and through. I went for white and green to give her an earthly feel (laughs). Her glasses and braids were a strong request from Namco. I came up with designs for her, but they didn’t have the glasses or braids, so they were repurposed for the priests in Straylize Temple. It was the basis for Philia’s design as well as Elraine’s in the sequel. Philia has her eye on Stahn, but he eats too much and he oversleeps. I feel like they’d work out better if Philia was more the assertive type herself (laughs).

Woodrow is an archetypical handsome man, so I didn’t have much to stress about when designing him. He’s a king, so I wished he had a stronger atmosphere behind him. I almost never used him when playing the game though (laughs). When you break into Dycroft, I thought, “it’d be really cool in a narrative sense to use him here, but he’s just so weak”. But you get special dialogue if you take him along, so I went “tsk” and brought him anyway. “Just stick to the backlines and don’t die” (laughs).

Leon’s really easy to draw, so again I didn’t have much to stress about when drawing him. He has a princely vibe to him, so I gave him white tights, but everyone was taken back by it! I thought, “is it that weird?” and ended up making them less tight fitting (laughs). He acts a bit snobbish, gets seasick easily and refuses to eat vegetables, so he really crosses off a lot on the “young master” list. He’s also really fun to use in battle (laughs). He has a really low defense stat but he hits fast, so it’s crucial that you string your combos together. When paired with Stahn, if you can isolate your bosses in the far side of the screen, they go down quite fast. Then I see the popup that Rutee’s picking gald off the floor again and I just use healing items on him (laughs).

I wanted to make Chelsea cute and small, so I based her image off of little birds. I gave her a palette of pink, green and blue, and made her hair look like a cockatoo or parrot. Her bloomers look like a paper lantern and I find them quite cute (laughs). Her life story makes me want to cry though. She’s fine and all in the first game, but in the sequel, she’s still wearing those bloomers from when she was a kid, living all alone on a snowy mountain. And if you go through her drawers, you can take something that Woodrow gave to her. I felt so bad, I thought “even though it’s so out of the way, I’ll go buy all the items you need!” (laughs). Then she makes all of these bows for you, but by then, I’d already enhanced my weapons a lot… But I felt so bad that I never Refined them and thought, “I’ll keep these on me forever” (laughs).

Johnny’s original idea was “troubadour,” but as the story progressed and I gave him his hat and all sorts of plumes, he came out a bit comical (laughs). He’s a really fun character to have in your party though, and I fell in love with him right away. I love that his tone-deafness does physical damage to the enemies (laughs).

With the Swordians, they have the will of humans and I wanted to incorporate that into their designs, but it didn’t seem to fit so I went for something more inorganic. Berselius alone has a creepy aura to him, and when Destiny 2 came around I thought “But his owner is such a nice person! Is it really okay for him to have such a creepy design?” but then I thought well, maybe Harold just likes things that way (laughs).

#seines translation #tales of destiny #tales of destiny 2 #mutsumi inomata #tales design notes #inomata mutsumi

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birb-boyo · 3 months

Text

LU BACKROOMS???

This is basically me describing backrooms based on the Chain, one on the safer side and one deadly and how to survive them :]

@trippygalaxy @vio-starzz @mushr0oms-and-m0ss @shadowlinktheshadow @raven-does-artstuff-894 @treasure-goblin idk who cares about this but I spent all day on it-

Time

His first liminal space is fairly safe. You can’t die unless you do something diabolical.

His safe room like would be basically like this

You fall down somewhere, probably on your walk home, but you pick yourself up and see that this is very much not the side of the road. This is a grassy field.

There weren’t many grassy fields where you lived. And even those fields were no where near as expansive as this one.

Upon looking around, you see a giant wall and a drawbridge. You start walking to it, thinking that you somehow fell hard enough to pass out.

You reach Castle Town and get weird glances from many. While you’re scouting the area, you spot a little boy in green picking up random dogs. You look at him weird when he puts one dog down and chases after another one.

The boy catches you staring and with one glance, you’re suddenly in that big grassy field again

So yeah, if bro looks at you, you get set back. After a while, this space will easily drive someone insane. This is because no matter what you do, you will meet him, and you both will meet eyes, and you’ll be sent back to the beginning.

So in a way, Survival Rate: 98% but it’s gradual and you might get out of there before you go insane

For his “You’re most likely gonna die” room

I wanted to incorporate Majora’s Mask into it, saying that the masks are hunting you.

There goal is to capture you and bring you to Fierce Deity. He thinks that you killed Link.

But you didn’t because this little kid who told you that he was who the deity was looking for is literally following behind you-

This kid could be regular young Link or Ben Drowned, though it would change the survival rate massively

Survival Rate for young Link: 67%

Survival Rate for Ben Drowned: 15%

This is because the only way to stop being hunted and/or not die is to present a piece of Link to the deity when you’re eventually caught

If it’s Link, he’ll accept it and call the masks off and you’ll be free to move on to the next hell or, if god loves you, you’ll go home

If it’s Ben, you better be fast on your toes because you’ll be hunted until you die or get out of there.

I want to also want to add that the masks don’t just pop up out of no where when they find you.

You know how you have to follow the music in order to learn Saria’s Song? Don’t do that. You’ll be caught

When they emit the Song of Healing, run, Link/Ben will be right on your trail and even if he wasn’t when you stopped running, he’ll always find you even if he leads a mask to you

I forgot to mention that Link/Ben will give you hints as to how you need to give Fierce a piece of his tunic or hair or something close to it

Also that Link/Ben physically can not get close to FD as they are, as the boy says, “part of the same soul”

Twilight

Idea given from @tiercel13 and @link-posting

That whole game has this unsettlingly warm ethereal quality where it's like- you're comfortable but uncomfortable at the same time and it's so weird

But basically I would say somewhere like a large field that's in perpetual twilight. You've never seen it before but it feels safe and familiar, like you've been there a thousand times. Still, there's something just slightly off, and it prevents you from ever being able to truly relax

It’s a village, deserted in the canyons, it’s wooden houses crumbling with time and weathering

Survival Rate: 100%

I think we all expected this one but you’re being hunted. It’s just you, the flora, the fauna, and a big wolf trying to kill you

It’s Wolf Twi but it’s not wolf Twi. Like, that’s the Blue-eyed Beast alright, but that’s definitely not Twilight. That’s a Wolf hardened by the need to survive. A need to eat.

The thing about this room is that it’s very survivable, but only to a select few people

For people who know how to manage in the woods, who know how to make fires without lighters, who know how to properly cook wild animals without utensils and iron, for those who are experienced in the wilds, they have a much easier time surviving this

But for those who are always inside and have little to no outside knowledge, you’re cooked almost immediately

This is a genuine hunt. This wolf can hear god knows how far, this wolf can track you with even the faintest scent

The only reason why the survival rate is as high as it is, is because it hesitates.

That’s how many survive their first encounter with the wolf, the wolf hesitates to take that final bite

I feel like the only real way to get out of here if to survive for a certain amount of time

Survival Rate: 52%

Warriors

Another idea by @tiercel13 because they are so big brained

For safe it's the castle barracks but they have a completely nonsensical layout

there's random doors where they shouldn't be and some of the actual ones are gone, there's things in the rooms like it's just been vacated but a layer of dust covers everything

It must be vacant right? Those shadows that lurk behind the corners are just you going crazy right? Nobody is here. Nobody is here. Nobody is here. Nobody is here-

Survival Rate: 87%

Idea given by @hyrules-feral-hero

You got claustrophobia? That’s too bad, you’re stuck in a fairy bottle now

You don’t get ripped apart or anything like that

Your death will be slow and painful

Conserve oxygen? There’s no reason to, you’re not going to be set free :)

Survival Rate: 0%

Sky

I feel like being blunt with this one

Safe space is just a vacant Skyloft

No one is around, just the occasional keese and Remlits and rapid Loftwings flying about so watch your head!

It’s peaceful and welcoming and airy but empty.

I imagine that this would bring about some sort of uncanny valley feeling, but that is probably the wrong word for it. Because who lived here? Why are these birds so big? Why are these raccoon cats so aggressive at night?

Survival Rate: 100%

Get Silent Realmed😌

Basically just that. If you don’t know what the Silent Realm is, it’s basically a thing you do in SS where you have to get 15 tears

You have to get 15 orbs, if you step into waking water or a spirit’s light or take too long to get one of the orbs, the guardians will be after you

The guardians are what make this space dangerous. If they catch you, no matter how insignificant the gash was, you will die

You can get these guardians off of you when you get the next tear, but until you get all of them and retreat back to where you started, you are at the mercy of the guardians

Survival Rate: 73%

Wild

Picture this, you just woke up in this weird place so naturally, you ask someone where you are.

“This is Faron woods, are you a traveler?”

“…sure…?”

“Great! I can’t really leave this stable with my condition, so could you do me a favor and give this to my wife?” The old man asked

“…what?”

“She lives over in Hateno, up passed the Dueling Peaks!” He shoves a note in your hands

“Sir I-“

“Thank you so much! Here’s your pay for your kindness!” Upon inspecting what he had given you, you see that this is a bare diamond

You were bringing this man’s wife this letter.

Survival Rate: 85%

Evermean forest, good old homicidal trees, need I say more?

Survival Rate: 95%

Wind

Imagine chilling on a boat with your grandpa but your grandpa is the boat.

Yes, the waters are expansive, you haven’t seen an island in days if at all, but this boat is keeping you company, telling jokes, soothing your nerves

Maybe you should be freaking out that this boat is talking, but his voice is nice so what can you say?

You start to joke around, singing dumb sea shanties, he chuckles with your antics, but keeps moving forward.

The sea is vast, but at least you’re not alone

Survival Rate: 98%

Imagine this: You’ve just been dropped in this random place. Now you’re on a random raft in the middle of the sea

Suddenly, the wind isn’t strong enough to push you forward and you’re on top of a tidal wave

Your raft finally gets back on steady water, but now there’s a shadow looming over you

You turn around and you can even comprehend how big it is

It’s probably the Kraken btw

Survival Rate: 0%

You’re cooked 100%

Hyrule

I’m realizing that a good bit of these rooms are in the woods, well, Rulie’s is no better🤷🏽‍♂️

Except these woods don’t have anything trying to actively murder you and eat you

These woods have things trying to help you

Little floating glowing grandmas if you will😌

As soon as you fell into these woods you smelled sugar and sweets, you were still very discombobulated from your fall and now you were suddenly in woods?

Soon enough, you’re swarmed by lights of different colors, they ask you if you’re alright, if you’re ok, what is someone like you doing here

Then they guide you out of the Fairy woods, whether that means that you end up in another room or go home is up to god

Survival Rate: 100%

Idea given to me by @tiercel13

A neverending cave slowly circling further and further down. The deeper you go the more it seems to close in, the air seems thicker, and the voices of people you almost recognize begin to echo off the walls, crying for help

This room, similar to Time’s “safe space” is mostly a “you’re going to go insane” rather than “that thing is gonna fucking kill you” :)

Survival Rate: depends how sane you were when you entered

Four

Imagine going on a wild goose chase for coins kinstones in a field with all the pieces hidden in tall grass

Survival Rate: 100% but it’s hell

This is gonna make some people mad but let me cook rq

You guys know Poppy Playtime? The Smiling Critters that chase you? That one clip from the Hour of Joy when they were eating that one guy alive?

That, but Minish :)

Survival Rate: 0%

As you traverse these woods, you realize that there are no animals in the wake. No rabbits, no mice, not even a wolf.

But this forest is littered with the bones of those lost animals.

So basically for backstory, minish got overpopulated and that meant they ate meat religiously. It was enough to feed, but soon enough, they ran out of food and now they’re hungry again

There is no survival here

There are too many Minish and you are locked in their woods

You can here their chittering and chatting, but if they spot you, you’ll only know by the dead silence of the forest

You can try breaking the bones you find on your path, opening the middle so they can smell the marrow rather than your flesh

But you only have little time and some bones are thick

And- wait…who’s bones are these? These are Hylain bones-

Legend

There are so many choices with Legend…

For his safe room, you’re just chilling on the walls. Not in the walls, on them. Your image is planted on the wall. You can move freely, you’re just glued to the wall, 2D

You’ll probably use this to scare the weird people who live around the house who’s walls you currently inhabit.

Survival Rate: 99.9% (Someone played too much and the family who lived there destroyed the house)

You guys no the movie Us? It’s basically that

There are different versions of you running around and they kinda really want you dead-

Survival Rate: 65%

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comfortless · 4 months

Note

hi angel! i have to tell you that ‘All That You Don’t Want’ was incredible- such a lovely, sweet tale! i keep revisiting it! would you consider writing a second part? or even a role reversal?

Roach Head

lich! König x fem necromancer! reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. abduction, injury, mentions of insects (reader is the world’s worst necromancer), forced proximity, pining, violence/regicide, major character death, questionable morality, fluff, smut, a lil angst.

notes: i am so sorry you have had to wait so long, anon. ): though… i doubt that i will ever write a continuation of ATYDW, take this sickly sweet… (almost) role reversal, instead!

wc: 6.7k.

It’s an odd thing that, after finally having the blindfold removed, the first thing you notice are the cobblestones beneath your bleeding palms. Not a single one is in disarray; not cracked or crumbling from being used as any other common footpath. No, each stone is in it’s place, lain complete with not a single splintering crack or a sharpness to it from being broken. All pristine and smooth beneath your stinging scrapes.

Just like the cobbles, the air feels untouched here. There’s no stink of manure or spoiled food from the cramped streets of the inner kingdom. There are no roars of fighting men nor the baying of beasts, a lack of giggling women batting their eyelashes to lure those with jingling pouches of coins into brothels. You can’t even detect a breeze. Twisting onto your side, your eyes catch on the extending limbs of sturdy trees, and oddly… not a single leaf flutters or moves. The air is still.

There is only the absence of everything.

You should think it a blessing after your abduction, after being thrust into the back of a dusty carriage drawn by two massive horses.

You could almost swear you had seen the devil in their dark eyes, hellfire deep in those dark pits and you had known assuredly they would be chauffeuring you straight into the darkest circle of Hell. That was, until a thick, rigid cloth was tied around your head, forcing you into complete darkness. Your assailants had done well to bind you and leave your aching body only capable of wracking with sobs against the hard wood at the bottom. Every jolt of the wagon had caused you to flinch, to scramble as best you could, resulting in an array of bruises and your still bleeding hands from fighting at the ropes.

There had never even been a chance to fight back; you never even saw them. Even now as you raise your throbbing head to glance about, there’s no sign of the men that have left you here, in this silent place. Your heart almost seizes in your chest when you realize you can no longer even hear the cantering and whinnying of those dark, stoic horses.

You know that nothing good comes from silence.

It’s one of the first things that you came to learn as a fledgling witch. Quiet rarely ever bodes well. The prey animals in the wood all scurry to hide amongst fallen leaves and well-packed nests the very moment that a predator draws near, and you, still green with your admittedly lackluster talent in reanimating were little more than a fawn in the eyes of any beast.

A groan leaves your parted lips as you force yourself to your knees, ignoring the incessant sting of bruises and how your vision blots from even the barest of exertion. Your binds must have been cut free when you were abandoned here, you realize, as you twist around to crawl.

That’s when you see it— the glory of what lies before you.

Rather than being dumped into some desolate street for the vultures to find and pick apart like any common carrion, the men with their frightening steeds had left you at the steps leading up to a beautiful castle of sorts. The stone bricks and marbled towers above you, spirals of darkened blue shingles descended into gilded turrets, the rampart casting a shadow over all that settles beneath. There’s a flag there, too, positioned just outside of the wooden door leading into the heart of it all. The rich, blue fabric is torn in places, the tassels frayed, bare white thread visible near the paling center making the crest practically invisible.

Something draws you to it, that singular rotting thing in this bright, sterile void. Your feet move quicker than your thoughts as you pad up toward the flag, eyelids squinting as your palm dances over the canvas. The strangest thing happens as you finally make out what remains of a wolf’s head amongst the rips and splintering threads— the wooden door begins to move. It’s not one of those fancy, well crafted ones with those mechanisms you couldn’t fathom in the King’s keep, this one has to be pulled open from the inside.

You watch, lips pursed as the door continues to slowly creek open until finally, you can make out the small courtyard beyond it. A fountain, long since dried up sits at its center, and even with what you imagine must be little care in such a desolate place, the plants are all in bloom; petals of vivid blues and gentle purples fill your vision.

Amongst them, stands a shadow of the purest black, from the opaque veil shrouding his head to the soles of his boots. The cloak he wears is heavy, finely stitched with that very same blue crest embroidered into its chest, the stitching in equal disarray as the flag adorning the stone wall.

You’ve seen specters before. They haunt the kingdom in every nook, crawling over the tops of buildings, invading your dreams with threats of what will come to you if you don’t reanimate something, give them any body to inhabit and puppet so that they might just have a taste of the pleasures of being human once more. Greedy, malevolent things that make you feel ill from a mere glimpse.

This one is entirely an unknown.

He does not crawl from your gaze with the gait of a wary spider, he stands rigid, daring even as those eyes like sapphire lock onto your form. Not a word is uttered between the two of you, yet you feel a pull, one that curls at the bones tucked into the flesh of your legs, pushing and pulling you past the threshold as though an unseen dog were nipping at your heels. You don’t fight it. Your bare feet cross over smooth stone and your stare remains wistful on the figure until he simply strolls away.

That’s it. That’s all it takes before you’re snapped out of your trance and the wooden door swings heavy and violent behind you, closing and locking without a hand to guide it. Then it’s back to the nothingness, the silence.

You should be very, very afraid. In a panic, even as your hands flatten over the wood and you realize that there are no handles from inside at all. You are entirely trapped here, short of finding a way to carve through it or climb up the rampart and risk snapping every limb on your descent. Thing is— you are not afraid, at least not enough to do anything so rash.

A calm settles here, electric and tickling as it feathers unseen through the cool air.

You stay in that courtyard for a long time, admiring every flower and shrub, some you recognize and others you do not. The empty fountain is not empty at all; you find that the marble ring is filled to the brim with riches— gold coins, shimmering stones, all twinkling beneath the yellow glow of the sun overhead.

Inside of the castle is more or less the same, each corridor bathed in the glow of soft candlelight, highlighting paintings in gilded frames that must have taken months to complete, treasures you have only ever heard of seated on polished wood and fine metals. Like walking through a dream. Though your hands itch to pocket something, anything to take back with you when you find the will to escape, to free yourself from the reality of your little shack at the corner of the market that you share with a dozen other witchlings, you don’t touch anything at all.

Following a branch to your right, vast and equally laden with treasures, eyes darting from one shiny thing to the next until the tightly woven, ornate rugs beneath the soles of your feet wind to an end and you instead find your footing on smooth stone tiles.

You find yourself in the throne room, where the specter sits, lofty yet misplaced upon the soft, rolling velvet. That pull, like a lead drawn too tight, pivots you forward, one foot before the other until you’re kneeling at his feet. The figure remains still, watching you with that somber, unrelenting stare even as you reach up to take his gloved hand into your own, kissing along each knuckle until the hand coated in blackened leather moves to cup your face.

This is no king, you know it in your very bones. The dark veil stained by teardrops tells you everything, of a life trodden by deceit and pain untold.

“I know what you are, hündchen.”

The voice startles you, a rasp, alive only in the way that fire lives, crackling and swaying with each lilt. You must have flinched back, the spell weaved around you broken with all of the subtlety of a lightening strike, your elbows dig almost painfully into the rough tiles below, eyes locked to the veil.

Your own voice doesn’t come for a time. When it does, it comes tight; meek and quivering, almost absent entirely as though your own body refuses to bring a ripple to the quiet that has engulfed you.

“Why have you brought me here?”

The feeling that curls up in the hollow spaces within your chest when this enigma pulls you to your feet with a sudden curl of his hand over your wrist feels familiar. It’s not unlike how you felt when accidentally resurrecting that old mantis found dried beneath your bed. It had attempted to chew through your hand, but being so small it hardly seemed a threat, just offensively waving it’s front legs at you until you scooped the critter up and locked it up tight in an old trunk. Some strange tide of wonder, and it takes a moment for you to push it down enough to realize that… the specter is still stood before you, his grip still tight, not saying a word.

Why it brings a swell of warmth to your face should have you questioning your taste in men rather than what he may or may not have done.

“Sorry, I just—“

“You are hurt, hündchen.” He interrupts, turning your wrist over to inspect the flecks of dried blood littering your palm. It’s not the worst injury you’ve ever had, in fact, you had very nearly forgotten it even existed— just a few scrapes from a rope tied far too tight.

You shake your head, biting back that surge of… something, that furry something that crawls from the fluttering organ behind your ribcage and down into the pits of your stomach. That feeling is also familiar, you felt it the first time you laid eyes on that pompous, boy-man serving as heir to the throne in the castle, at least, until he turned his head to look at you and your ilk with thinly veiled disgust.

If the specter sees scum before him, the veil does well to conceal it.

His eyes seem to only light up the more he appraised you, rubbing his thumb over your scrape with such a gentle touch that a shiver rips down your spine.

“I see…”

He guides your wrist back down to your side, delicately trails his fingertips up to your shoulder and… that’s it before he draws away and steps right past you. That’s all the touch you’re given and you find yourself, humiliatingly yearning for it. There should be nothing but contempt scraping at your skull and yet you feel treacherously endeared by this strange, strange faceless man living in this lonely castle.

The risk of this being some bewildering trap weighs heavy on your mind; you’re far more intelligent than some scrappy undead insect, begging to be tossed into a dusty crate, after all. You had heard of the way other lands treated necromancers: shunning them, chasing them from villages, and in far more dreadful cases— leading them to kneel before a headsman for decapitation.

You center yourself, force your mind to conjure up any evidence of some magical foul play only to be left with the knowledge that these feelings are entirely your own.

This man does not have the sticky aura of one dripping magic from his palms like thick globs of honey. He seems almost vacant, devoid of even anything making him human, while you stand transfixed and lacking even the sensible reaction of fear.

You can only find comfort in his gentle hand, in his stare like an unholy flame.

So, when he guides you to what is to be your dwelling you mouth does not part to argue. You’re led to a room larger than the entirety of the cluttered home you shared with the other witchlings. Everything within is worth more than even you, and something about it stings, sharp and sudden like ant’s venom seeping into skin.

From the canopy bed, draped over with thick velvet curtains to protect from the chill of a winter’s night to the neatly polished wood of varying furniture, it all feels so rich— so foreign.

“You didn’t have to prepare all of this for me… I don’t even… why am I here?” You’re rambling, searching every corner of the room with a flitting gaze as if some small patch of dust will provide you with the answers.

Your specter only laughs as he nudges you towards the bed, now your bed, the motion only sending another question to the forefront of your mind.

Were you bought? Meant to warm some peculiar stranger’s bed without even the grace of having the knowledge to prepare?

Perhaps your concerns should have drifted as to why you were not entirely opposed.

“Sleep.”

The simple command leaves you stifled entirely, all confusion and tentative excitement dispelled in an instant.

He wants nothing from you, only to extend a foreign cup spilling over with generosity to one who would not admit it was ever even needed.

You find yourself nodding your head, unaccustomed to the kindness of a forgotten thing like him. In truth, you’re unused to anything but bickering between the other ladies in the witch’s house, the cobwebs stretching without end caking the ceiling, the scuttle of crawling legs over your flesh as you pulled your threadbare blanket over your body to shield you from the cold. From stark poverty to this… it claws at your eyes, steels your mind— man or ghost, it mattered not; your heart sang while your mouth remains pressed into a stiff line.

When he leaves you, your body cloaked in the softest gown you’ve ever worn, burrowed beneath sheets of the finest silk, that unknown thing in your heart seems to spill over, rushing through your veins like honeyed wine.

You dream through the eyes of someone else that night.

A woman kneels at your feet with tears in her dark eyes. She hasn’t slept, the thick, dark patches just above where her cheeks rise make it evident, and she’s pleading with the you who is not you; this woman tells you that she wishes to go home, that she could never be a part of what you are or are not.

Even in dreaming you feel your jaw tighten, sure that your nails have splintered from the shooting pain in your fingertips as your hands tighten over the hard wood of your seat. The not you speaks for you, his voice coming warbled and distant. You can not make out the words, but seeing how this pleading woman’s face seems to morph into an expression of terror, you’re grateful to not know what’s been said.

Nothing becomes of her. You watch as she strolls away, unharmed. This other you, however, is. It’s the tingling of so many unseen legs parading through your chest; spiders in a downward course to burrow in the shadow of your belly. The discomfort rings out as you feel this body rise from its seat, out to the courtyard with a fountain. The flowing water subsided the clambering of spider limbs inside, just enough for this body to pull a ring from its pocket and cast it down into the clear water.

You watch the ring seat itself at the marble bottom, the gentle flow of water causing small ripples to crest over that tiny band of silver until you wake.

Confusion twists itself into curiosity as you free yourself from the sheets, padding out of your room still only adorned in the thin, white fabric of the gown. Morning light filtering through each window of the castle carves a path where the candles have long since been blown out. The only darkness here is with your captor, all tall and shadowy, and you find yourself considering the fact that perhaps you’ve been sucked down into some strange afterlife, one where you and this specter would remain in a silent stasis for all time. You find that you don’t entirely hate the idea, either.

Most of the rooms in the castle are dull. It’s not that there isn’t plenty to look at, but a cluttering of what’s expected, all gold and ornate, only proves to bore you. There is little mystery to be found in riches.

None of it is of importance, anyway. It’s him you’re seeking out, and oddly enough, you find your specter in the courtyard staring down at the cluttered fountain. He shifts in place as you take to his side, fingers curling into loose fists momentarily before he offers you a small greeting by way of running a hand along the back of your neck, petting you as though you truly were only a puppy.

You shiver beneath that warm touch, seem to melt against him before collecting yourself enough to straighten up.

“I did not sleep well,” he says quietly, the look in his eyes tells you that he dreamt through your own. He had seen the decay and filth of the king’s city, perhaps even those angry, little things that you brought back to bite and sting and pinch.

“I didn’t either.”

You recognize that faint, strange smell when you move just a step closer to him, like dust and forgotten things. Not quite rot, but similar, a comfort for you as it’s all your fate has ever allowed for you to know. Yet, this is not one of your reanimations. Only a man.

A man, only, like you; touched by the rot.

The realization crosses your face by way of a widened glance, a sharp intake of breath. It stings again when he turns away from you, drops his hand back to his side.

“Will you walk with me, hündchen?”

“Sure.”

It’s no less strange pacing along at his side than roaming about the castle with no idea where he is. The specter still feels worlds away, even as your arm brushes over his, your fingers occasionally ghosting over his gloved hand. While the vivid blue of globe thistles and hydrangeas entertains your vision, that patient stare of his remains trained on you, even as the quiet settles over the garden once again.

In a way, you feel as though you’re being courted, even as the questions remain scurried and fluttering in your mind. The ghost, the man, whoever he is, refuses to sate that curiosity of yours even as you bring it up to him again. Why? He only responds in an almost boyish laugh that pulls at your heart, infuriating and delightful all the same.

You share a meal, something you’ve no idea how he managed to scrounge together or had the time to prepare at all. He’s been at your side all morning, yet the fruit pastries and tea are served warm as you seat yourself across from him at some grand, oak table. That sparked tingle of magic does not feather off of him as it does with your sisters, but you know without a doubt that he must have it. You glower at him a bit, lips pursed and brow pinched as he sips at his tea, not beneath but through the fabric of his black veil.

“You will have to explain what’s going on at some point,” you huff, pushing your plate away as if to make a show of it. No more accepting his gifts, even if your stomach growls in protest. “Especially if you’re trying to court me.”

It’s cute how wide his eyes go at that, his cup of tea nearly slipping from his hand. The surprise wears off almost immediately, his eyes narrowing in what you imagine must be amusement as you’re left feeling a bit humiliated. Your gaze flits over to the candles adorning the table as you nervously drum your fingers against the lap of your dress.

“Court you?”

“The gown, the walk, the food… is that not what this is?”

“Nein, hündchen…” He pauses to sigh, setting the cup against the table with a dull thud. “It’s better that I did not.”

You think to question him further, but hold back the words bubbling in your throat, sullenly picking at the food on your plate instead. It feels like courtship, would look like courtship to anyone else, but then again… you’ve never quite experienced it for yourself, either. You’re no noble lady, and it feels a bit silly to imagine yourself roaming a place like this with him as your suitor. For all you know, he could be some king from a neighboring kingdom, only offering you respite out of pity after falling from that wagon.

More likely, all of this is just some strange dreaming.

When your lunch is thoroughly picked apart on your plate, the cup emptied, you shift out of your seat and offer him a curt little bow of your head and move towards the door.

— — —

Your days are filled with him— the drab specter you’ve taken to calling König, King, simple and befitting a name as you can give to one without one. No one else lives here, at least that you can see. Not even the rats or scuttling insects you were used to dare to take up residence within this castle. Yet, you remain taken care of and well-fed. You walk at his side every morning and part ways after minimal conversation in the evening. It’s so simple yet odd it almost makes you feel uneasy.

The dreams remain through the eyes of another. Some are combat, and you don’t care for those, looking down to see blood on steel and settling with the odd sense of guilt that you’ve killed someone, even when the you who is not you does not seem to pause. In fact, he often laughs in those dreams, drinks his wine from a golden goblet while he polishes the thick mace in his lap, trousers stained with blood that is not his own.

Others are dreadfully dull. You watch as knights with long swords and silver plates circle around you, your muffled voice shouting demands of what you can only imagine must be tactics and plans for a war you would only ever be apart of in the late hour with your eyes closed.

Your unease nearly doubles on the fourth night, when you wake with a start, pulled from a dream where you see that same woman from the first wailing over a bloodied corpse to find König looming over where you rest. The curtains of your bed parted with what little moonlight filtering inside bathing him in an unearthly, bluish glow. As usual, he doesn’t breathe a word, only stares as you slowly peel back your sheet to sit up and face him fully.

“Is something wrong?,” you ask in a whisper, rubbing your palms against your eyes as you force yourself to pull through the haze of sleep.

“Du bist schön wenn du schläfst,” he hums. “Even having a nightmare.”

“You said you were not courting me.”

“I’m not, hündchen.”

He offers you a hand that you readily accept, hardly having time to marvel over just how cold his skin feels without his glove before you find your cheek pressed to a broad chest. Your breath catches in your throat, heart hammering with the urgency of a cricket’s song.

“You didn’t sleep well either?”

“Nein.”

“Maybe we could sleep together?,” you offer with a laugh that sounds stiff even to your own ears.

You expect some other quip about the status of your peculiar relationship, not a sigh, not the way König gently lowers you back into bed and climbs in to follow, not at your side, but rested with his head over the swell of your breasts. You’re almost certain your rib cage will bruise by the pounding in your chest this infatuation burdens you with.

He hums contentedly at the contact, props his chin up on the valley between your breasts.

“Warm,” he murmurs.

You reach to pull the blanket over you both without a word, staring up at the velvet curtain as you try to force yourself into a state of calm indifference.

It lasts for all of a single breath; König shifts, stroking over the fabric of your gown, bunching over your hip. His touch makes you shiver, too cold, as though he doesn’t have any body heat at all. Your arm settles over the expanse of his back, pulling him just a tad closer as you relax into the feather-stuffed mattress.

“Ja… I like this.”

“I do too...”

So, you sleep, so intertwined with one another that your body heat melts away the frigid touch of his own flesh with no discernment for where you end and he begins. Your dreams are absent in his presence, replaced by a solace you’ve never known as a comfortable stillness settles over you both.

When morning comes, an unhurried sun casting a dull glow through the arched window in the room, you’re pleasantly surprised to find him still here. You’ve shifted in the lack of dreaming, finding your positions opposite to when sleep had taken its hold; your head rests on König’s chest now, comfortably slow. He doesn’t feel as cold, though…

König does not breathe.

You hurriedly rise, throwing the covers off of you both and shove at him with a panicked urgency, desperately searching for any sort of reaction from him to ensure he hasn’t passed away in his sleep.

It’s not a corpse’s silence that you’re met with but an annoyed huff of breath as he grabs at your wrists and tugs you back down.

“Was..?” Your specter only sounds annoyed as he gazed down at you, keeping your trembling hands steady in his unyielding grip.

“You weren’t breathing! I thought…” You trail off, the words catching in your throat as you realize just how ridiculous that you sound. Of course he wasn’t dead. Even if he were a reanimation, no magic in the entirety of this kingdom would allow him to retain so much of his soul.

König only laughs at that, closes you in an embrace that sets your pulse racing again as he carefully maneuvers you below him. When he had become so familiar mattered not, you wouldn’t dare to complain. It’s achingly comfortable, brings a sigh from your parted lips as you fall back into that perfect, placid state of contentment.

“Hündchen… you worry too much,” he huffs, caging you in as he relaxes with his face pressed back to the divot between your breasts. “So many questions… too many concerns, ja?”

“I would not fret so much if you would just explain a few things.”

“Geduld.”

Though you do pout, make a show of your irritation by exhaling heavily, his tone harbors a calm finality. You’re not so sure that any reasoning for all of this would matter much at all anymore; whether it be a dream or some gentle corner of an afterlife you’ve found yourself tucked within, you only find that you never wish for it to end.

— — —

This dream is worse than any before it.

You feel your vessel’s emotions tenfold; a clamor of disquiet and rage, vicious and searing. The air is still and silent but heavy with the scent of iron. From the blurred view that you’re granted, the shapes of cadavers are easy enough to tell, all lain twisted in glistening pools of their own blood.

Your vessel isn’t moving, though you will your thoughts to encourage him to do so, he remains in place, a pillar destined to topple.

You don’t want to see it, yet waking eludes you.

The sounds of hurried footsteps fill the quiet, a shout to your right that you do not even have the capability to turn towards. Cursed are hissed, warbled and unfamiliar, only recognized by their venom. You know that this is the end, a brutal, grisly one for your counterpart and for these dreams in their entirety.

When wicked steel carves it’s way into your vessel’s middle, you feel how tightly he clenched his jaw to bite back a howl of agony, take the subdued, shooting pain spreading through him as though it were your own. Try as you might, you can not wake; forced to be a voyeur to this stranger that you’ve grown fond of’s gruesome demise.

The vessel’s head is tugged forward, forced to kneel at the feet of the brute who has buried a dagger into his side. A sneer paints the man’s face as your counterpart’s veil is thrown away, and you recognize it— that same shroud of black, stained with imagined tears as it falls to a small heap onto a bloodstained floor.

König.

You wake with a start in a haze of utter confusion, catching your breath as the truth of it all crawls down to settle someplace within you. A cold sweat settles over your skin, bringing with it the rise of slight goose pimples and an incessant tremble.

The specter is just as you had suspected in that brief moment between bonding and sleep, dead and long-forgotten; a corpse made man again. This isn’t some silent kingdom, but a well-preserved crypt.

It hurts.

You wash your face in the water of the small basin at the corner of the room, change from your bed gown into a dress of a drab gray. Even to yourself, mourning a truth that’s been glaring you in the face since your arrival feels misplaced and odd, but that horrible sadness does not subside.

At least, not until you pry your door open to find König waiting just on the other side. He cocks his head at you, gaze softening in a silent understanding as your hand is fitted into his own.

The morning walk is less quiet this morning, a single dove could be heard cooing, hidden beneath the green of some sprawling alder’s leaves. König speaks to, explains some without giving all away. He tells you what he can remember, the details of his failed courting of the foreign princess with dark eyes and a petrified stare, the plot against him that dwindled out into a curse that’s left him here, but never an estimate for how long.

You listen in a perplexed silence, clutching his hand just a bit tighter as each questioning cobweb is swept away with a low voice droning out a story better left untold.

When he finishes, with your free hand sifting it’s fingers through the petals adorning a hydrangea shrub, you think to tell him one simple truth: “I can’t bring you back.”

It startles you when he suddenly pulls you in, resting his chin atop your head and curling those broad arms over your shoulders. The embrace is tight, a certain desperation in his touch as though he almost fears the thought of you pulling away. Strange from a man you now knew had not even feared his own death.

“Nein. I just want to be understood.”

And you do understand, perfectly, as only one also touched by the rot could.

— — —

There’s never a night that you don’t find yourself asleep with König mere centimeters away, if there is any gap between at all, anymore. He feigns his breath until you’re fast asleep, takes to playing human enough to not worry you any further, even after you explain that it doesn’t, not any longer. Always, you wake to his head buried against your chest, listening to the fragile beating of your heart until you stir to wake him. Your hands rove over his veil, but never question what he hides beneath it. You already know without seeing— the wicked, sprawling scar from where his head was once wrenched from his body.

A necromancer and a lich, of all things. If the bards in the King’s city were to ever know, your story would be passed from tavern to tavern until it became little more than the stuff of myth.

The thought occurs to you when you wake, huffing a drowsy little giggle as you repeat your morning ritual, fingertips grazing over the dark fabric obscuring König’s face until heavy eyelids languidly part to focus his attention on that mirthful expression painted across your face.

“I have changed my mind,” he declares some moments later as he nuzzles in the divide between your neck and shoulder, unhurried and gentle as he always seems to be with you.

“Hm?”

“I will court you.” A statement that would make most with a better grasp on the disparity between what’s living and dead flinch back in horror. Though, where most would consider corruption, you only take it as further confirmation to your mutual devotion.

“You already have been.”

He falls silent at that for a moment, trailing a cold path of chaste kisses along your jaw, lazy and soft to a point you can feel the grin beneath his hood.

Finally, he hums in agreement.

“Then I should have you, hm?”

He drags a palm down your thigh to your knee, the pad of his thumb bunching up the fabric of your gown as he presses against you, tracing small circles.

Your mouth feels dry when you part your lips to speak once more. The words falter, engulfed in a far more desperate flame; someplace far off, in the back of your mind you can hear them echo, bouncing from cavern walls.

“Hündchen..,” he rasps quietly. Maybe he’s thought it too, that this should be far more innocent, but the way he furiously tugs your undergarments down to your ankles belies his interest far more than some ideal, ancient telling of courtship would ever allow.

“You want to..?”

König laughs, whether it’s at your words or the surprise on your face, you didn’t know. Despite your nudity, he doesn’t look at you down there, his eyes remain locked on your face. There’s something wild and uncanny about them, something bordering on madness. His breathing is heavier, as if he’s fighting back the urge to bury his head in your cunt and breathe you in, and you’re almost certain that after all of your yearning he could bring you to ruin from a puff of breath alone.

He echoes your question with barely contained amusement, until you breathe out your consent. You sound just uncertain enough to prompt him to pull away briefly, raising up to look you in the eyes as his own narrow in search of any signs of apprehension. Finding none, a heavy palm meets your chest to push you to lie down in full as his head dives between your thighs without hesitation.

The feeling of a wide tongue slipping over your slit prompts an immediate reaction— a sharp cry that has you slamming your palm over your mouth in an effort to not break the peace settled over this place.

Every lick is slow and deliberate, a far cry from enough stimulation to properly get you off. It’s as if he’s doing this to prepare you rather than bring you to ruin. His tongue thrusts into you at a languid pace, fucking you open with heady muscle rather than the cold touch of his fingers. For that you’re grateful, but it just isn’t enough.

König huffs another chuckle against your sex when you whine and buck your hips, desperately searching for a friction that just isn’t being supplied. His hands press against your hips to hold you in place, the pads of his thumbs circling against your abdomen as he tries to set you at ease.

“Be patient,” he mumbles as he raises his head, bottom lip slowly raking over the hood of your aching clit. You find it difficult to comply, but in a way you feel fortunate to even experience this much. Who else could say that they were being fucked by the tongue of a titan and be believed? His lips close around your sensitive bud, tongue languidly circling over it, kissing you there as gently as he can manage. The very moment a moan is pulled from you, breaking the silence of his concentration he tears back to lick far further down than you were prepared for, before climbing over you instead of allowing you a release.

The taste of you lingers on his tongue when your face is pushed beneath the veil, an urgent probing as he thrusts the muscle into your waiting mouth, sampling the mixture of your saliva and slick. A palm is splayed over your thigh, forcing you to open yourself to him despite the strain.

He proves he’s less patient than he pretends to be; that’s all of the preparation that you get.

A breath later you feel yourself speared open, the girth of his tip slipping into you with involuntary resistance. Your gasp is met with a keening groan from his open mouth, quickly stifled as he bites into the side of your neck. Each thrust is shallow, the head of his cock spreading you meticulously until you’re nearly in tears from your own impatience. His body temperature is far cooler than your own, and you feel as if you’re more of a mess than you’ve ever been prior as his own precum mixes with the arousal already freely dribbling past your swollen labia.

You kick your leg out, force your hips in a different angle to push him in deeper only to have his grip tighten and his teeth dig into your flesh. Again and again, until you’re a babbling mess beneath him.

“König… please..,” You manage to choke out, voice small and barely audible over the obscene sounds pulled from the wetness of your cunt.

Immediately, your pleading is answered with a slam of his hips, the thick cock forced to its hilt inside of your pulsing walls. König’s head lolls back, his free hand curling over your hip as he grunts. He isn’t making love to you, but fucking into you like a man possessed. A palm fitted over your mouth wouldn’t silence the obscene sounds of sex, nor the bed creaking beneath your combined weight as he pumps into you; each drag is pure rapture as he fills you entirely.

The repetitive spearing of your sweet spot brings you to a near-painful orgasm, trembling cunt only sucking him in further with each pulsing wave of bliss. The quiet is forgotten entirely as you whine out your praises between wanton moans and breathy cries.

He kisses you, proper and sweet when he comes. The thickness of his seed floods you, spilling out onto the sheets below as he fucks it back into you, his pace never slowing until the throbbing of his cock comes to an abrupt end.

The hand holding your leg in place retreats to gently brush your cheek, his thumb grazing beneath your eye until you reach for his wrist to pull it down to kiss over his palm. He returns your kisses with a breathy laugh before pressing his forehead to your own, kissing from the tip of your nose down to your chin.

“I do understand,” you whisper against cool flesh.

“Ja… because you were made for me.”

You don’t disagree.

This morning is the first you’ve caught sight of a breeze, gently pushing at the curtains lining the bed, the first you’ve heard of any semblance of life beyond yourself. When your eyelids flutter shut, relaxation prying away any residual tension, you almost think you can hear the pounding of a second heart— one you can only think to wish together with your own.

#könig x reader #könig x you #konig x reader #konig x you #cod fanfiction #könig #konig #and now i sleep for 40hrs farewell everyone everywhere

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