#a bloody symphony | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

slytherinslut0 · 5 months

Text

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Twenty Four-Info:you and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

Tags: 18+, Dirty Talk, ANGST ANGST ANGST, Kissing, Childhood Trauma, Slight!GunPlay(very slight), More Angst, Sadism, Slight Emotional Manipulation.

Find the rest of the chapters HERE.

Your fingers glided gently across the pages of your open book, tracing the lines of text as if seeking to absorb the knowledge directly into your skin. The ambient hush of the library enveloped you, punctuated only by the soft rustle of pages turning and the occasional murmur of voices in the distance. It was a haven of tranquility, a sanctuary where you could finally turn your thoughts off and allow yourself to get lost within the words of the text.

In this cocoon of silence, you immersed yourself, your eyes traversing the lines on the page with a voracious hunger for understanding. The atmosphere was thick with the scent of old parchment and the subtle aroma of polished wood, creating a sensory symphony that enhanced your focus. But amidst this serenity, an abrupt disruption shattered your concentration. The creak of a chair being pulled out and the faint sound of footsteps approached, heralding an unexpected presence.

Startled, your eyes lifted from the text to find Mattheo seated across from you--his dark, penetrating gaze drilled into yours, his eyes narrowed with a glaring suspicion as he analyzed your features, slowly and cautiously--not daring to speak. The sudden intrusion in such a public setting caught you off guard; a mix of surprise and unease filling your lungs as you blinked, glancing around the room to ensure no attention had been drawn.

It had been two days since the events in the bathroom, two whole days where the conversations were as bland as a piece of raw fucking chicken, and yet, here he was. Without warning. You had no fucking clue what he was doing here, but the look in his eyes told you it wasn't for any particularly pleasant reason.

"When were you planning on informing me about your little friend's new companion, hm?" His voice sliced through the air like a blade, his eyes narrowing with sadism. "I mean...I just happened to stumble upon her leaving my brother's dorm, and I'd highly fucking doubt she was there for a casual browse through his book collection, wouldn't you agree?"

Your eyes widened in shock, nerves flooding through you like an icy tide, freezing your words in your throat. You had been meaning to tell him, but since the two of you had hardly been speaking, it seemingly slipped your mind.

You glanced around the room, as if searching for an escape from the intensity of his gaze, before finally managing to whisper, "Are you fucking serious right now? Why is that any bloody concern of yours?"

"I just find it utterly fascinating," he sneered, his voice dripping with dangerous intent as he leaned over the table, scuffing his chair toward you. "...the intricate web of secrets you weave, Raven...not very Ravenclaw of you, now is it?"

"How is that a secret?" you hissed, your voice laced with both irritation and trepidation. "And why would I care about Emily getting with Tom? I never had any feelings for-"

"Not talking about that," he interrupted, his tone sharp as he cut through your words. "I'm talking about everything, in a far more broad context...all of the willing little lies and deceit...all the ways you've used me, just as much, if not more, than I've used you...you even managed to outwit Tom, which is one hell of an impressive accomplishment all on its own, I'll give you that."

The oxygen in the room vanished, leaving you nearly gasping for breath. "I...outwit Tom?"

"Well, it was only thanks to his blaring review that you landed this mentorship, was it fucking not?..." he scanned your features, his brows pinching in focus. "Every calculated step you've taken, every deceptive move you've made, all orchestrated to extract what you wanted for your bloody career...it truly makes a man wonder..."

His words struck like a cold breeze, sending a chill down your spine as you struggled to process the weight of his insinuations--you were beyond startled by the pace of this conversation, each syllable from his lips landing like a punch to the gut, rendering your mouth mute.

"I..." his words had you reeling, your voice catching in your throat, your confidence shattered by his unsettling revelation. "What the hell are you implying, Mattheo?"

Your throat tightened as you struggled to maintain composure. Swallowing hard, you tried to play it off, squinting at him in an attempt to mask your anxiety. But his penetrating gaze saw through your facades, leaving you defenseless against his piercing scrutiny. Mattheo's movements were deliberate, each shift in his chair calculated to exude an air of intimidation and control. His eyes, sharp and predatory, followed your every reaction as if he were studying his prey before a calculated strike.

"I did some digging on you last night...on your background...what your parents do...since, you know, you clearly had no interest in telling me yourself..." a sinister smile played on his lips, his eyes gleaming with a sadistic satisfaction. His voice lowered to a barely audible murmur, laced with a sense of superiority. "After the night at the lake, after that little spat we had...I just...I just couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to you than met the eye...and boy was I ever fucking right.”

Letting his words sink in, he leaned back in his chair, that sickening grin still plastered across his face. As the realization of his words settled like a heavy stone in your chest, you grew increasingly uncomfortable, acutely aware of the other students nearby. Their presence, though not directly involved, added a layer of unease to the situation.

Leaning across the table, you whispered urgently, "Do you have to do this here?" The words escaped your lips in a hushed plea, your voice strained with the need for privacy and a shred of dignity. "Like at least-"

Mattheo's response was chillingly calm, his grin widening with malicious delight.

"Oh, princess, come on," he purred, his tone a twisted mockery of sweetness. "Why continue to hide the truth? Let them hear what kind of person you really are..."

Your anger surged, the intensity of your emotions making your fingers grip the book tightly as you leaned in closer to him.

"You're a despicable asshole, you know that?" you spat out, your voice edged with pure disdain. "What's your bloody angle here?"

"Never claimed otherwise, did I?" His tone was flat, devoid of any remorse; meeting your words with an infuriating calmness. "Unlike you, I don't pretend to be something I'm not."

Your eyes rolled so forcefully it felt like you were glimpsing the inside of your skull, a groan of frustration clawing at your throat. Of course, he chose this moment--a place where you had to hold back your torrent of emotions, where you couldn't unleash the full force of your anger upon him. He knew exactly what he was bloody doing here, and it was fucking infuriating.

"Enough with the games, Riddle," you snapped, the words escaping through clenched teeth, your patience stretched to its limit. "Stop being a bloody arse and spit it out already."

"Your family history," he said, leaning in so close that your eyes locked in a battle of wills, each glance a dagger threatening to pierce the other's resolve. "It isn't as pristine as one might think...in fact, I'd almost be inclined to say it's the complete fucking opposite."

Your entire body tensed, coiling like a tightly wound spring. There was a pause as you studied his face, trying to decipher exactly what he knew before responding.

"Careful, Mattheo," you retorted, your voice laced with a sharp edge. "Just because you've unearthed a few skeletons doesn't mean you've cleared the whole closet."

"Honestly, Raven, I'm just curious," his grin stretched wider, the atmosphere around him growing denser with an almost palpable tension. "How did you manage to play the part for so long? You certainly had me fooled...even managed to trick the sorting hat into believing your little fucking charade...it's quite impressive, truthfully..."

A knot tightened in the pit of your stomach, every nerve inside you screaming in turmoil. "I...I don't know what you're talking about-"

"Don't even bother," Mattheo's words cut through your feeble denial, and he tilted his head, his intensity thickening the air around you. "I see right fucking through you, now, princess...that innocent act won't work on me anymore..."

His eyes, like burning coals, seared into your skin as if trying to uncover hidden truths. The room seemed to close in around you, amplifying the weight of his accusation.

"Generation after generation of Pureblood fucking Slytherins..." he continued, his voice low and laced with feign exasperation. "And yet, here you are...apparently as Ravenclaw as they come...you've managed to make yourself so damn-near invisible that no one even fucking noticed..."

Your breath hitched, caught in the vice grip of his merciless scrutiny. The truth of his words hung heavily in the air, a damning revelation that sent a shiver down your spine. Your carefully constructed facade, your shield against the world, was crumbling, and Mattheo had managed to find the cracks, leaving you exposed and vulnerable in his piercing gaze.

"I'll admit, I feel rather idiotic for not piecing it together sooner..." he sneered, his tone cutting through the tension like a knife, hands curling into fists atop of the desk. "I guess I was too entranced by your starry-eyed facade to see the cunning Slytherin hiding beneath, even though it was right in front of my face this whole time...your biting sarcasm, your unrelenting ambition, and your overly-eager knack for deceit--classic fucking Slytherin traits, aren't they, Raven?"

Your entire being blazed with a searing heat, a tempest of conflicting emotions threatening to consume you. The urge to throttle him until he fell silent warred with a fierce desire to pull him close and lose yourself in a breathless kiss. How infuriating it was to witness his sharp wit, a talent he wielded effortlessly, yet one he seemed unwilling to apply to his fucking studies.

At your silence, he huffed, glimpsing your lips again. "Not even the stars can change the essence of who you are, princess." He whispered, a hint of mockery in his tone. "Maybe it's about time you were honest with yourself."

Your anger surged like a tidal wave, crashing against the shores of your restraint. In that charged moment, you leaned in closer, as close as you possibly could, your body practically vibrating with intensity. How dare he sit there, smug and superior, acting like he had unraveled the very fabric of your being just because he had dug up a few skeletons from your family's closet?

Sure, your parents weren't paragons of virtue, but their actions don't define you--and that was the very the essence of all this. Every choice you've made, every hardship you've endured, has been a deliberate effort to distance yourself from their toxic legacy. His derisive remarks only fueled the fire, and you practically hurled the words at him, your voice laden with disdain.

"You don't know a single fucking thing about me," you seethed, "all you fucking know is what the inside of my body feels like...don't you dare sit there and act like you've got me all figured out."

Your steps were purposeful as you pushed up and away from the table, leaving him sitting there, his words lingering in the air like a bitter aftertaste. You moved back into the library, the familiar scent of old books surrounding you like a protective barrier, but you knew it wouldn't shield you from the storm that was Mattheo bloody Riddle for long. No, that would be far too fucking easy.

And nothing about your situation with that boy was easy.

As you put your book back on the shelf, you felt his presence behind you, a suffocating weight pressing down on your shoulders as you reluctantly spun back around to face him.

"Why'd you do it, huh?" Mattheo's voice cut through the air like a razor, his narrowed eyes fixed on you as he backed you up against the shelf, his presence overwhelming. "Are you truly that ashamed of who you fucking are?"

"Mattheo," you spat, your fists clenching at your sides, the frustration boiling inside you. "Please, don't push it...if I wanted to tell you about that, I would have..."

"Yeah, you're ashamed," he sneered, dismissing your words with a cynical laugh, confirming his original point. "You're ashamed of where you come from...fuck, I always knew we were alike, but I never knew it'd be this much-"

"What the fuck is this? Some type of elaborate power-play move? Some type of big intimidation act to get me to tell you about my life?..." you snapped, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and pain. "If you wanted to know, why didn't you just ask me? Instead of fucking me every chance you got why didn't you try having a real conversation with me? Try actually opening up to me for once?"

"Even if I did..." he said, dropping his tone into a low whisper. "Would you have told me? You said it yourself that you don't fucking trust me..."

"What do you want to know, Riddle? Huh? You want me to tell you how I grew up in a mansion full of emptiness? How my parents were never around and I was left with my cold, reserved grandmother, who cared more about her fucking butler than me?...or maybe you want to know about how I was raised in a world of expectations, forced to be perfect in every way imaginable, while my parents only bothered to acknowledge my existence when it served their social ambitions..."

You paused, frowning at him, your features a near scowl. "You're sure quick to call me a rich little princess...and sure, maybe you're right, maybe I had all the material things one could ever desire...but it was never enough, could never be enough. Something was always missing, like a void inside me that nothing would ever fucking fill."

Your eyes burned with unshed tears as you continued, the weight of your past bearing down on you. "When my grandmother got sick, it was the only time she actually fucking spoke to me. She told me to be different, to break free from the mold that had plagued my family for decades. I was there with her in her final moments, the first and only fucking time she ever said she loved me. And where were my parents? Absent, as always. They didn't even show up until days after her death, showering me with gifts, as if their mere presence could make up for years of neglect..."

In an unrelenting torrent, words cascaded from your lips, each syllable carrying the burden of years' worth of pent-up emotions. Mattheo's unwavering gaze never strayed, his chest rising and falling in shallow bursts, absorbing every uttered syllable as though he never anticipated such revelations.

"Sure, maybe I was handed whatever I wanted on a silver fucking platter--but I was always alone, and truthfully, that's how I fucking preferred it. I never believed in destiny, Mattheo...the stars never whispered my name, my future...I had to shape my own path, I had to become something of my own...once my grandma passed, I was left with the butler. My parents didn't care about what I did as long as my grades were to their standards. They had no idea I wasn't in Slytherin until my third fucking year..."

You paused, your eyes catching Mattheo's parted lips, a reflection of sheer astonishment. Despite fighting to maintain composure, your voice softened with each breath, your heart pounding in your throat.

"I had to grab my own fate with two hungry hands, pulling and pushing and molding my life into something I could be fucking proud of...and then you came along, with your smart mouth and your fucking effortless charm...and you just...you forced your way right into my bloody heart, tore down my walls like you fucking belonged there." The bitterness in your voice hung in the air, the pain of your past etched into every word, your chest heaving with emotion as Mattheo stood in front of you, speechless. "Yes, I've made mistakes, but they belong entirely to me...and thats precisely what sets us apart, you went through some shit and let it possess you...I chose to fight back."

Trembling fingers betrayed the turmoil within, your entire body quivering in the aftermath of the verbal storm you'd just unleashed upon Mattheo. Only when the deafening silence enveloped you did the weight of your words become palpable.

Unable to endure the silence any longer, you broke eye contact, running a trembling hand through your hair. "I'm so sorry...I didn't mean to trauma dump on you like that, I just-"

"No," he declared, "don't you dare apologize to me...I should be the one apologizing to you."

Mattheo's interruption sliced through the charged air, his voice emerging rasped and strained, as though he had withheld words for years. Swallowing, you met his intense gaze, attempting to decipher the kaleidoscope of emotions swirling within his eyes.

"Don't pity me, Mattheo...I'm well past needing that," you whispered, your figure leaning subtly against the bookshelf, a tangible weariness emanating from your being. "Everything you've ever said was right...two sides of the same coin, the masks, the fact that we're each haunted by our own ghosts. You've always been fucking right. The only misstep was when you claimed you'd be my ruin."

Mattheo arched an eyebrow, bridging the distance between you with a measured step. "And why is that?"

"Because, little did you know, I was already in ruins," you murmured, reaching out to loop your fingers around his belt, pulling him closer. "If anything, you've been my bloody salvation...you did something I wasn't sure I was capable of anymore--you made me feel."

A tangible tension hung in the air as Mattheo's hands gripped your hips with a silent urgency, a fervent plea for your presence.

"As if you're going to fucking say that," he countered, his grip conveying unspoken desires. "As if that's not precisely what you did to me."

"Yeah?" you smirked, your voice a sultry whisper. "And what do I make you feel?"

"Everything, Raven," he cooed, lips grazing sensually over your jawline. "Hate, desire, anger, lust...among other things."

Your breath hitched, suspended in the charged exchange. "Among other--"

Before you could finish, Mattheo cut you off, his lips crashing onto yours in a searing kiss, a palpable surge of desire that eclipsed the need for spoken words. He pressed you against the bookshelf, the wooden solidity of the shelves meeting your back. His hands, with a journey of their own, glided up your sides, their warmth leaving a trail of anticipation. They found their destination on your face, gently cupping it with a possessiveness that made your heart flutter, and you sighed into his mouth, letting your hands rest at his sides.

"Everything about you is so fucking addictive..." Mattheo's confession hung in the air, a declaration punctuated by the heat of his lips tracing a fervent path along your jaw. His hand, a serpentine caress, slithered down your arm, leaving a tingling trail of warmth in its wake. "You are both hellfire and holy water...soft yet strong...and every bloody time I touch you I feel a little less war-torn, like your chaos balances out mine...I just...I have no idea what peace feels like Raven, but I have to imagine it feels a lot like you..."

"Mm...fuck, I've missed you..." a soft sigh escaped your lips as his kisses descended, exploring the landscape of your neck. Your fingers instinctively tightened their grip on his shirt. "Whatever happened to that break you said you wanted..."

"Fuck the break," he growled, desire lacing his voice. His hand ventured boldly behind your head, the other finding a home on your hip, possessive and hungry. "I want you so fucking bad...I want to fuck you right here...right against this fucking shelf...cover your filthy little mouth so no one can hear you fucking moaning for me..."

"Shit..." you mewled, gasping slightly as his hand slid around to grip your ass. "Maybe...if two people can't seem to stay the fuck away from eachother, they aren't meant to be apart, hm?"

"Maybe you're right..." Mattheo purred, nipping at your earlobe as he pressed you back against the shelf. "I've always been a strong man, Raven...but you break me without effort...you are my weakness, the chink in my fucking armour..."

"Your undoing?" you murmured, your fingers tracing over his belt.

He hummed. "Precisely."

"When are you going to open up to me, Mattheo?" You whispered, your voice a fragile murmur as though you were afraid of the answer, slipping your fingers under his belt now, gliding along its path. "Tell me all the bad things you've done...tell me what made you into the weapon you are...you don't need to be afraid...I saw your darkness from the very beginning and I'm still fucking here, aren't I?..."

"Why?" His grip tightened, breath hitching. "Why didn't you run?"

Your lids fluttered, slowly losing yourself in the warmth of his breath against your neck. His scent enveloped you; a familiar, soothing balm to the ache he'd caused with his recent request for a break. The answer formed easily in your heart, though voicing it required vulnerability, more than you'd ever expected to give.

"Because...it was a reflection of mine."

Mattheo's only response was a deep growl that rumbled through the charged space, a primal sound that resonated with desire. Without hesitation, he pulled you back into a hungry kiss, his body pulsating with pent-up energy seeking release. The intensity of the kiss mirrored the raw hunger between you, a magnetic force that defied all notions of any further separation.

As your fingers continued their exploration along his belt, tracing the contours with a teasing caress, you encountered an unexpected sensation--cold, unyielding metal tucked between the leather and his abdomen, its texture rough, and harsh. A chill ran down your spine as confusion slowly crept over you, your eyes fluttering open in slow, tentative blinks, fingers seemingly frozen in place.

Mattheo, lost in the heat of the moment, seemed oblivious to your sudden unease. The kiss deepened, his hunger transferring into the fervency of the embrace. But your focus had shifted, and your trembling fingers tentatively confirmed the nature of the cold object--something metallic, something that should not be there. You gently pulled away from the kiss, your eyes wide with realization, fixated on the metal object now halfway exposed. Dread tightened your chest as your brows pinched, flicking back up to meet his eyes.

"Mattheo," you whispered, the name carrying a weight of urgency, "what is this?"

Mattheo's swallow echoed in the charged silence, his gaze dropping to your hand, his chest still heaving from the passionate kiss. His eyes widened as the weight of your question settled in, a realization dawning on him, as if he had momentarily forgotten about the object concealed within his belt.

"Raven, I-"

He began, but you interrupted, yanking your hand back. "No-what the fuck-"

"Stop," Mattheo commanded, his tone abruptly taking on a harsh edge. With deliberate movements, he pulled up his shirt slightly, revealing more of the mysterious object nestled between his belt. The revelation hung in the air, and Mattheo, eyes now serious, asked a question that carried the weight of the moment: "Do you trust me, Raven?"

Your eyes squinted as a realization crashed over you, the rhythm of your heart shifting into a turbulent drumbeat within your chest. There was absolutely no denying it--that sleek, ominous silhouette spoke volumes. That was a fucking gun.

Frozen in a surreal disbelief, your ability to think, blink, or move was momentarily hijacked. Mattheo's hand surged upward with a suddenness that matched the shock in your eyes, seizing your jaw with a commanding force. His fingers, both firm and urgent, redirected your gaze, forcing you back to the depth of his eyes, which were now darker than the midnight sky.

"Answer me," he demanded, the intensity of his words amplified by the gravity of the situation. "Do you fucking trust me?"

The weight of the question echoed in the charged air. Your mind spun, grappling with the incredulity of the scene unfolding before you. Firearms had been a distant memory, relegated to hunting trips with a Muggle friend back in middle school. Yet, the stark reality of Mattheo possessing a fucking handgun in the heart of Hogwarts shattered any remnants of normalcy, the shockwaves reverberating through your very core.

"I-I-" you stammered.

Mattheo jostled your head in his grip, pulling you closer. "Yes or no question, Raven."

Blinking, you found yourself caught in a tempest of conflicting emotions. The tendrils of trust warred with the unsettling presence of the gun, a contradiction that defied all reason. In the throbbing silence, Mattheo's growl of frustration pierced the air. Relinquishing his grip on your jaw, he seized your wrist, directing it back toward the ominous weapon.

"Take it out," he commanded, his eyes fixed on yours. "Right now, Raven. Take it."

A whimper escaped you, your fingers trembling as they tentatively wrapped around the cold metal. With visible reluctance, you extended it out, pointing the gun down at the floor. Mattheo's grip on your wrist persisted, unyielding, anchoring you in the unsettling reality of the moment.

"I'll ask you one more fucking time," he whispered harshly, the words slicing through the charged air like a razor. His breath, warm against your face, carried an unsettling contrast to the gravity of his demand. "Do you trust me?"

Another desperate whimper slipped past your lips, the nodding of your head an almost frantic plea. "Yes! Please, I trust you. Just take it back-"

Mattheo's reply erupted as a snarl, a guttural growl that echoed with a feral intensity. His features, twisted by a crazed possession, accentuated the mad determination in his eyes as he tightened his grip on your wrist. With an unhinged sense of purpose, he directed it upward, the cold barrel now pressing menacingly against his own temple.

"Pull it," he said stoically, the eerie calmness chilling against the tension. "Pull the trigger."

Your jaw dropped, the brimming tears reflecting the disbelief that swirled in your eyes. "No! What the fu-"

"Do it," he repeated, the calmness persisting. "Go on, baby, pull it."

Sickened and paralyzed by the surreal horror of the moment, you hesitated, the sheer shock of what Mattheo was asking you to do anchoring you in a moment of profound disbelief. Your mind swarmed with recollections of the crazy things you'd done for him before, but this--this was unlike anything you had ever fucking imagined. The weight of the gun in your hand, the gravity of the situation, left your brain reeling as the stark realization of the moment seized hold of your senses.

His frustration, palpable and charged, manifested in another growl. With a menacing determination, he shifted his hand to envelop yours, forcing your finger down, the pressure on the trigger unrelenting.

You heard the click, you felt the click--and yet, nothing happened.

"Fuck..." you choked out, a turbulent blend of relief and confusion seizing your senses in a tumultuous embrace. "What the fuck..."

He blinked, his dark eyes tracing over your lips as he clicked it again. And again. The ensuing silence, pregnant with the surreal gravity of the situation, echoed through the seemingly empty library. Each breath you exhaled became a struggle, the air tinged with the weight of the inexplicable moment, your senses teetering on the edge of unconsciousness.

Then, like a tidal wave crashing over you, the realization struck with breathtaking force. "It's enchanted..."

"About fucking time you caught on." Mattheo nodded, his acknowledgement cutting through the charged air with terse confirmation. He released the hold on your hand, pulling the gun away and casually slipping it back under his belt. "This gun only serves one purpose Raven, and it's never to kill, only to protect..."

Your heart leapt. "Protect what?"

"Doesn't matter," he said, a gentle hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair away from your eyes. “You can trust me, Raven…you can always fucking trust me…”

You exhaled, a long, exasperated breath. “I know, Mattheo…”

“Good girl,” he cooed, a smirk playing on his lips as he stoically reached into his back pocket, as if on a quest for something. "Has Nott popped the question yet?"

Your cheeks flushed. "Yes.."

"Good," he replied, his other hand securing your wrist before he withdrew his busy one, placing a handful of Galleons in your outstretched palm. "Go treat yourself to a dress. Something red, something tight."

As he withdrew his hand, he leaned in, placing a hot, wet kiss on your cheek, smirking from ear to ear as he said. "I've got something I have to do tonight, so I can't stay...but I look forward to respectfully ripping off whichever lovely dress you decide on."

"Respectfully?" you quipped, a playful glint in your eyes. "I'll make sure to pick a dress that demands nothing less than the most dignified removal, then."

"Oh, Raven...I can promise you it'll be the furthest thing from dignified." He snickered, wetting his lips as he took a few steps back, slowly beginning to make his retreat. "See you then."

As he spun around, making his exit, your mind followed suit, a whirlwind of emotions from this entire encounter. Only Mattheo Riddle could master the art of rendering you utterly anxious, furious, emotional, aroused, terrified, and, finally, relieved--all within the span of under an hour. You'd never encountered a man who expertly navigated every one of your buttons and boundaries like he did, yet you couldn't deny the potent influence he held over you.

You couldn't deny that as soon as he left, an insatiable longing for his presence consumed you, an undeniable yearning for his return.

—————————

Chapter 25->

1K notes · View notes

shadowdaddies · 3 months

Text

Pas de Deux

Azriel x Reader

Summary: As the principal ballerina at Starlight Ballet Theatre, you never expected to enter into a romantic relationship with the Spymaster of the Night Court, or how it would change your life.

Word Count: 2.6k

Based on this ask. 🩶

Warnings: canon-typical violence, mentions of blood

You hissed at the pain of peeling off your pointe shoes, feet bloodied and aching from tonight’s performance. The holiday season leading up to Solstice was always a popular time for the people of Velaris to visit the ballet. As principal dancer of the Starlight Ballet Theatre, you’d been dancing two shows a day during this season, your aching muscles protesting your every step as you bid everyone a good night.

Shoving through the back door, you stumbled into the snowy street. The icy cold against your sore feet sent a jolt of pain through your body, and you stumbled, slipping along the icy cobblestone street. Your feet flew in the air, your back headed for the pavement when strong, warm arms caught you.

You huffed a nervous breath, trying to register what had just happened when you looked up to see the most beautiful male you had ever seen. Hazel eyes focused on you in concern, onyx waves of hair falling in the winged male’s face as he held you.

You blushed under his intense gaze, interrupting the trance the both of you seemed to be in in that moment. Clearing his throat, the male returned your blush as he set you back on your feet.

“Thank you, for that,” you laughed nervously, glancing up through your lashes at the intimidating male before you, his kind eyes at contrast with his guarded demeanor, the dark shadows that seemed to follow him. With a startling realization, you recognized him as the Spymaster of the Night Court.

He cracked a small smile, nodding in acknowledgment. “My name is Azriel. You were wonderful tonight,” he admitted, the blush deepening on his cheeks as he nervously rubbed the back of his neck.

“You watched the show?” you asked, surprised that the famed shadowsinger would visit the ballet.

A small laugh left his lips, a sound more beautiful than any music you had danced to in your life. “I did. I quite enjoy the symphony and the ballet as well.”

Butterflies erupted in your stomach at his words, the thought of commanding Azriel’s attention like this. The thought was apparently too distracting, a gasp escaping you as your feet slipped on the ice once more. Azriel’s arm wrapped comfortably around your waist, holding you up as you regained your footing. Only this time, he didn’t let go.

You allowed Azriel to walk you home, falling into easy conversation as you found his company to be that of a soft breeze, calm and refreshing.

Months passed as you got to know Azriel better, growing more attached and drawn to his presence every day. You enjoyed the excitement and stories he brought from his role as Spymaster, and he enjoyed your calm, relaxed personality, which always brought him peace after a trying day. You looked forward to seeing his face in the crowd at your shows, those hazel eyes keeping you grounded and secure.

Today was the weekend matinee for the Spring show, and you inhaled a shaky breath - your nerves growing as the time until curtain call shrank. Peering around the curtain, you looked to Azriel’s regular seat towards the front in search of his comforting presence, but your eyes locked with a different pair that made your heartbeat stutter.

The violet eyes of High Lord of the Night Court met yours, Rhysand lounged comfortably in his seat next to a tense looking Azriel. Your High Lord gave you a small, encouraging nod that soothed your nerves slightly. With a curtsy, you hid back behind the curtains, wondering what this could mean.

Azriel was yet to introduce you to his family, and now was one Hel of a time to do so. The orchestra struck up their tune, drawing you from your spiraling thoughts as they signaled the beginning of the show.

As the show came to a close, you mentally thanked the Mother that you miraculously made it through the performance without a mistake. What was Azriel thinking, bringing Rhysand here without a warning?

Gritting your teeth as you bandaged your hurting feet, you shrugged on pants and scowled as you stormed out the side door with a huff. Two faces greeted you, once with an amused smile and glittering violet eyes, the other grinding his jaw as Azriel glanced between you and Rhysand, anger and shame written on his face.

“It’s wonderful to finally meet you,” Rhysand purred, pressing a kiss to your knuckles as he watched you with a feline grin. “Azriel said that we are going for dinner now?”

A low growl sounded in Azriel’s throat, the spymaster practically shaking in anger, fists clenched at his sides. “I said that we,” he paused, gesturing between you and himself, “were going to dinner, Rhys.”

Rhys seemed completely unbothered by Azriel’s ire, shrugging as he picked a piece of lint from his jacket. “Well, Azriel, as you know, I have important matters to discuss with your lovely lady here.”

Your eyes widened in shock, swallowing as you turned to Azriel. He simply sighed in defeat, sending you an apologetic look. “I am sorry that I didn’t have the opportunity to tell you earlier. Rhys has something to ask of you. But you can say no.” Azriel ground out the last words with a near-threatening tone, looking at Rhys as he spoke them.

Again, Rhys maintained his casual composure as he led you into a small restaurant. The space might have felt cozy, with its small interior and green and gold decoration, but as you looked around to find yourselves the only ones inside, worry twisted in your stomach.

Rhys looked over your shoulder, flashing an impossibly charming smile at the female behind you. “Hello, Sevenda. Thank you again for allowing us to dine here this evening.”

The woman blushed slightly, nodding as she sang her praises to the High Lord, how grateful she was for the honor to serve him. Plates of food were brought out for all of you, the inviting smell at odds with the unease in your stomach.

Azriel’s hand reached for yours under the table, giving a reassuring squeeze before his focus turned to Rhysand. “Alright Rhys, get on with it. Tell her what you want from her, and we’ll be on our way.”

Rhys breathed out a low chuckle, his posture as casual as ever while he scooped generous helpings of food onto his plate, and yours. He leaned back in his seat, swirling a goblet of wine in his hand, studying you for a brief moment.

“The Night Court would like your assistance with an upcoming meeting of the High Lords,” he drawled, carefully watching your reaction. You were frozen in your chair, mind reeling with the possibilities of what place you would have in a High Lords’ meeting.

Rhys continued, setting down his drink as his tone shifted to one more serious. “I will leave it to Azriel’s discretion to fill you in on any details that I decide to leave out of my proposition, but I would like to use your extraordinary talent. You are, arguably, the most talented dancer in Prythian, and I need someone to provide a... distraction, at a gathering soon in the Day Court.”

You nodded, willing your heart to calm as you tried to focus on Rhysand’s words. “A distraction?” you repeated.

The High Lord nodded, taking a sip of his wine. He set it down, swirling his finger along the edge of the glass as he continued. “If you would agree to be the evening’s entertainment for a night, I believe that your talent would captivate our guests while we attend to... other responsibilities.”

That didn’t sound terrible. It would be considered an honor by many to be able to perform for all the High Lords and Ladies, but the unusual request still made you uncertain.

You swirled your own wine glass by the stem, making a show of contemplating his proposal. “And why me? Surely, there are many other possible entertainers, or forms of distraction,” you mused.

Rhys gave you a conspiratorial smirk, eyes shining with approval at your questioning. Leaning back in his seat, the male crossed his arms as he nodded to the Spymaster next to you. “Simple. Azriel trusts you. I have seen your skill, how captivating you can be, and that appeals to the person we need to distract. You are the best option for us to accomplish our goal without rousing suspicion. And you are one of very few whom my spymaster trusts.”

Azriel’s shadows swirled protectively around you, the tension visible in his shoulders as the male merely nodded. Turning to you, Azriel held your hand tightly in his. “Please do not feel pressured at all. You do not need to do anything that you do not want to.”

Azriel’s words and the tenderness with which he spoke them were all you needed to hear. Turning to Rhys, you gave a firm nod. “I’m in.”

Two days later, you found yourself in a private room at the Day Court Palace, slipping on your shoes as Azriel paced anxiously by the door.

“Beron will be seated front and center during your performance. The Autumn Court has an affinity for dance, so he should be especially interested in you.” Azriel practically growled those last words, his temper rising at the mere mention of the High Lord of Autumn.

Hazel eyes turned towards you, long legs striding towards where you sat on the floor. Azriel crouched down, a scarred hand brushing the side of your cheek, his soft touch at odds with the visible tension he carried. “You just need to distract Beron long enough for Eris to leave the room unnoticed so that he can meet Cassian for the exchange.”

You nodded, giving Azriel an encouraging smile as he helped you to your feet. “I will never let anyone harm you,” he swore, his voice sharp enough that he might as well have carved the promise in stone.

You leaned up, kissing him softly as you swore, “I’ll be fine.” A knock sounded on the door, interrupting the moment as Rhysand and Feyre passed through the threshold.

“Are you ready?” Rhys asked, the pure authority in his tone as he addressed you so different from how he’d been the night you met. Smoothing your skirts, you gestured for him to lead the way.

The setup was simple, but the semicircle of chairs in which the High Lords and Ladies were seated so close to you had your heart pumping. Taking your spot on the dance floor in front of them, you gave Beron a shy, alluring smile as you curtsied.

The orchestra began to play, and your body moved effortlessly to the music. Soft wisps of air twirled with you, giving you comfort that Azriel was close by and watching. Your flowing layers of skirts twirled through the air, flaring out like blooming flower petals as you glowed underneath the faelights.

The entire room was enraptured by your grace, the siren call of your dance. The musical crescendo built, and with it so did your movements, tears building in the eyes of many in the room as you embodied the emotions of the music through movement.

You had not even noticed Eris’s departure, a realization that brought a slight smile to your face as the plan seemed to be working. Then the violinist struck a wrong chord, the musicians suddenly in disarray as the melody was lost to the wind.

You continued to push through, dancing in the silence, but as the audience turned to see what was amiss in the orchestra, the air quickly grew thick with tension. Before you could blink, fire encased your ankles, your wrists, your neck, restraining you in place on the floor.

Beron appeared in front of you, a curious look on his face, as the fire grew hotter around your neck. “Would you happen to know where my son is, Little Diversion?”

Tears stung your eyes at the burn only for a moment before a blast of blue light knocked Beron halfway across the room.

“Do not touch my mate,” Azriel growled, siphons glowing as he stalked towards the High Lord. You hardly had time to register Az’s words before an Autumn Court guard stepped out from the side, drawing his sword as it cut through the air towards Azriel.

Finding the slit in your skirt, you drew a throwing knife, piercing directly through the center of the male’s wrist. He dropped his sword with a hiss, the male crumbling to the ground as Azriel turned. The Illyrian’s mouth was ajar as he watched you remove another knife from your thigh holster, flicking it into the throat of another approaching guard.

Hysteria broke out, High Lords and Ladies fighting alongside their allies, Prythian’s political leaders at each others’ throats in front of your eyes. You picked up the sword from the male you’d cut down, standing back to back with Azriel as you battled off the remaining attackers.

As you tried to catch your breath, strong hands spun you around, Azriel’s eyes intense as they searched your blood-stained outfit for any signs of damage. You let the sword drop to the ground - blood splattering as it clinked against the cold floor - and wrapped your arms around Azriel as you pulled him in for a kiss.

He held you there, arms wound tightly around you as Azriel rested his forehead against yours. “When did you learn to fight like that?” he breathed.

Laughing softly against his lips, you gave him an incredulous look. “You think I could spend my life with a Spymaster without learning how to defend myself?”

Azriel gasped at your words, drawing back as his brow narrowed in confusion. “You knew we were mates?”

You shook your head, the peacefulness you felt at odds with the chaos surrounding you. “I didn’t have to know that we were mates, to know that I am yours. Always.”

Azriel’s eyes lined with tears, your mate pulling you in for another heated kiss when the sound of a throat clearing beside you interrupted the moment.

Rhysand stood there with Helion, the two High Lords of Day and Night exuding an intimidating amount of power before you.

“Beron did initiate an attack during an agreed time of peace by his interruption during this meeting, so he will be dealt with accordingly,” Helion announced, granting Azriel a small, reassuring nod.

“Cassian confirmed the missive exchange went smoothly,” Rhys paused, looking around the wreckage of the room. “Well, it went smoothly on their end.” Violet eyes flicked to you, approval and kindness clear within them. Rhys took Feyre’s hand, his other coming to lightly clap your shoulder as he leaned in to whisper, “good night, sister.”

You blushed, bidding Rhys and Feyre good night before turning back to Helion and Azriel. Helion took your hand in his, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles, his eyes sparkling. “Azriel knows where my room is, if the two of you find yourselves in need... of anything,” he purred with a wink before striding through the doors.

Azriel groaned, pulling you into his chest. Laying your head there, you allowed yourself to savor his warmth for a moment before taking his hand in yours. With a sly smile, you guided Az out the door. Gesturing to your soiled attire, you winked at Azriel. “I think I could use a bath, if you care to join me, mate.”

In a blink, Azriel had scooped you up bridal style, peppering kisses to your face while he raced to the bath. You laughed, clinging tightly to him as you looked forward to your life with the Spymaster.

883 notes · View notes

baestruly · 18 days

Text

i'll be there

( ⋫ 𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖔𝖘𝖘𝖎 ) spencer reid x reader

⤷ IN WHICH, you're stressed with work, but spencer is there to help you

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 - hurt x comfort, fluff

The caress of sweet, warm sunlight might have been a balm on your skin, had it not been for the relentless pressure trapped within your head ━━ a tumultuous symphony of pounding echoes and silent screams.

The evening sun lashed out like a fiery whip, scorching your vision as you massaged wearied eyes, only to stir the relentless ache burrowing deeper within your head.

It wasn’t just the sunlight causing you to be in distress, it was the amount of paperwork you still had to get done. Even though you’ve been trying to multitask all week, you had to do it on the plane while also managing to find leads or behaviours on the criminals while also having to run home to your apartment because you received a text from your dog sitter ━━ who you pay probably too much, to look after your new dog saying he had ripped the whole place apart. Your needs, blankets, almost all of your pillows and of course, the couch!

Your therapist had recommended you get a job because of the stress you have been under for your new job. Yeah, new. Maybe that’s why you seemed like the odd one out because everyone was so much more experienced than you were. Of course, they had to start somewhere, but you felt like a rookie beside them, especially the smartest one, Spencer Reid, only having been on the force for around a month.

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose, the voices were getting to be too much.

You’re a failure, you’ll never be as good as them! Get your head straight, you’re not thinking like a profiler, there's so much going on! It goes on and on and on━━

“Y/N?”

Someone's voice snaps you from your thoughts, all of them shattering like glass as they scrape your skull. It bled, just like the blood on the floor of that poor girl━━

“Y/N? Hey━━hey, hey, hey, what’s the matter?” His voice was tinged with a palpable mixture of concern and fear, the words tumbling from him like a cascade of worry. He was closer now, having his shaky but reassuring hand on your arm. You weren’t able to feel the warmth because of the thick knitted sweater you wore for the colder months of November.

His eyes spiralled, reading every inch of expression on your face. By now, he could’ve figured it out and profiled you on his own━━hell, it wouldn’t even take a profiler to tell how stressed out you were, goddammit. But, he waited patiently, letting you know he was here despite his efforts to stay calm to keep you calm.

It wasn’t working.

Spencer has always been the hesitant and shy type. Not when it came to his interests━━which were mostly about anything, really━━or profiling, but when it came to feelings, emotion or conversations, the poor guy was clueless.

Deep down you knew he had a good heart. You don’t think you’ve admired someone this much before, especially a friend.

You tried to stare into his eyes, but the voices in your head started again. This time, it wasn’t about the dog or your cold case, or even the bloody walls of the family home you’d visited on Wednesday.

You suddenly realized how terrified you were of dumping this on Spencer. The stress of this moment was too much, he was waiting for an answer and you couldn’t just stand there! Like that statue━━no, you couldn’t do that, not now.

“I━━I’m fine, Spencer.” You sprung from your seat, quickly pacing and turning your back to him as you picked up a few files from where you had been frantically working at your desk, giving yourself something to focus on other than the voices in your head and walls that were starting to crumble behind your eyes.

Like the crumpling statue on the ground.

You clenched your teeth. You needed to focus to get your shit done and get home in time to be able to sleep and eat! You haven't eaten anything all day?! Holy shit━━

Spencer stood in confusion and worry. His mind started scrambling thinking of ways to go about the situation. You’d think when it came to profiling he’d know exactly what to do or say that may help you or set you off, but when it came to you, the closest friend he’s ever made in less than a month, he was clueless, he didn’t want to make things worse.

Profiling was different, he didn’t know those people.

He knew you.

And he guesses that his greatest fear at that moment was seeing you in distress, and not knowing what to do that would make it better.

The girl's body lay limp in the bedroom. The throat detached like the grey, morbid statue, symbolizing nothing like the bloody corpse of who was once a bright happy girl, the soul ripped away from her.

You continued to pace around the room, grabbing your hair and clearing your throat.

“Is there━━um, anything you want me to do? I’ll do it, Y/N just are—are you okay? Talk to me.”

You stopped, finally facing him, and that’s when Spencer could finally see your face.

But your eyes were red, like you had been crying before and bags were deeply engraved under your eyes as your hair became messier each time you ran your shaky hand through it.

His heart broke a little.

“I j━━just, okay━━I have a dog, the sitters have been calling me all week!” You shouted in frustration. Spencer blinked, startled, but he listened, brows furrowing. “Now she’s not there━━and I can’t even use my bed let alone the━━the couch and━━this case has gone cold, now we have another one and there’s just so many dead ends━━“ You stopped.

Silence.

“I just need everything to stop.” That’s it, the walls be damned because you couldn’t fucking hold it anymore no matter how hard you fought. And you think it’s safe to say you’ve fought hard enough this week. “I need to just shut my mind off.”

Your voice cracked as your breaths heaved in and out of your chest, somewhat relieved to get it all out. Now that your thoughts become your words, it only makes them more real.

You couldn’t breathe at all, every inhale you took as you doubled over in panic and distress didn’t fill your lungs, which only made your eyes widen with fear as your heart thundered in your ears.

“Crap━━(Y/N), breathe with me alright? Okay, just one breath in━━" Spencer ran to your side, leading you to the sofa as he kneeled in front of you so his face was in your view. “Breathe out, nice and slow, you got it.”

Your breath shook viscously with each inhale you took, but Spencer didn’t mind, nor did he seem to care about how crazy you thought you looked right now. Instead, he nodded at you with encouraging eyes when you opened yours, trying to find balance in his presence while he slowly and gently rubbed his thumb on the side of your cold hands.

“I’m good, I’m good.” You choke out with one last exhale now that your breathing seems to go back to normal. You were still out of breath as the lump in your throat remained.

“Hey, I know, you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.” He says softly but reassuringly, eyes glistening with concern and admiration for your efforts. Your bold personality always interested him, that’s why he’d been so shocked to see you in a state like this. Although you were bold, you seemed to close yourself off when it came to emotions. “Now, you’re fine with this today, alright?”

“No, I n━━“

He shushed you gently. “I know, Emily’s got it for you for the rest of the night. You need rest.”

You weren’t sure what was happening, but you followed Spencer to his car before feeling a sense of relief to be away from the office for a moment as the cold air from outside turned warmer with every second you sat in the seat with him. It was oddly comforting, and you breathed deeply, finding it easier to control it now.

But of course, it all hit you.

“God━━Spence, I am so so sorry, shit━━"

“No! No, it’s okay, believe me when I say this, you have nothing to be sorry for.” He blinked a few times before scrunching his nose. “90 percent of people struggling do not speak up because, well, they’re scared of judgement, the other half of it being embarrassment when really, we have nothing to be embarrassed of. Everyone feels, you know. It’s basically impossible for all of us bring in our positions in this job to not be affected by the tragedies we see.”

“Wow, Spencer Reid, as a genius profiler I would’ve expected you to know not everyone feels.” She let out a breathy laugh, the skin under your eyes feeling dry from your tears.

Spencer felt better that you were trying to lighten the mood. He smiled softly looking down at his hands as he nodded. “You know what I mean!”

“Yes, Reid, I do.” You smiled back. “So, where are we going?”

“When you’re stressed out it’s better to do things that keep your mind away from it.” He starts. You knew that too. “Doing something peaceful is another effective way.”

“Sounds perfect.” You sighed a sigh of relief, leaning your head back slightly so it touched the seat. You felt reassured knowing Reid was here with you and was willing to help. Maybe all you needed was an extra hand, instead of putting more problems on yourself.

“Reid?” You say, hesitantly turning to look at him. You could feel the admiration luring out of them. “Thank you.”

He smiled, eyes thoughtful. “Of course. I want to help you.”

Although you remained seated, you encircled him in an awkward yet secure embrace, needing to convey just how grateful you were for his presence in that moment and in your life.

“Your heart━━it’s beating really fast.” You say softly once you pull away from his warm embrace. “You sufre you’re not stressed about anything right now?”

“Well━━there, uh, maybe one thing.” He stuttered, as his nervous but warm hands cupped your face, his thumb glinting across your skin much like the time back at the BAU when he held your hand during your panic attack.

“Wouldn’t take a profiler to figure it out.” You whispered, your lips softly pressing against his, delicate and soft. He kissed you as if you were fragile and his hand was the only thing keeping you together as his lips moved against yours. His hand moved into your hair, caressing your head hoping his kisses could make all your pain go away.

You could sense his smile against yours, lips stretching into a thin line of joy, as your laughter tangled messily with his. Admiration was pumping through your veins, but nothing compared to the love pumping in your rapidly beating heart, all your stress being replaced with warmth and admiration.

If Spencer became the air that filled your lungs, the very breath of your existence, you'd no longer need to learn how to breathe.

a/n: that was my first time writing for spencer so pls be nice!!

i haven't wrote in a while but i'm happy to be back! please request anything for spencer in my request box

spencer reid masterlist masterlist

also request anything!

#spencer reid one shot #spencer reid #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds oneshot #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #reid #oneshot #imagine #fanfic #spencer reid fluff #fics

274 notes · View notes

curaxu · 1 year

Text

nothing gold can stay

welcome to my writing blog! my name is adrian, and i’ve stolen the curaxu brand for myself. if you remember the original curaxu, you deserve a veteran’s discount, and you’re allowed to gently bully me over this beloved special interest.

for names, i also go by tristan or curaxu. for pronouns, i use they/them, he/him, it/its, and gol/golds pronouns! honestly anything not she/her is fair game.

i’m hoping to get this blog a bit more active! you’ll mostly see OC writing here, but i may drabble in some fics. feel free to wander into my inbox about just about anything! i don’t necessarily take requests, but if you ask me about something, you’ll probably get a bit of writing anyway!

my talk tag is #curaxu rambles, and my writing tag is #curaxu writes! my main blog is @equinoxum

CURRENT PROJECTS:

- MOONGLADE SEA; a series of drabbles and snapshots of a merfolk au. the premise is simple: Evan, a human, was saved from drowning as a child by a young mer. to return the favor, he’s started working at a rehabilitation facility for mers as an adult. the plot follows him and the pod of four mers he helps, showing the journey of the pod first meeting to the slow romance that builds between the 5 main characters.

- NEW RIVIERA SICKFICS; a few oneshots about the main cast of New Riviera, a city where some people can return from the dead. many of these people have turned to crime and less than ethical ways of manipulating the corrupt to get their acts together. even if you can’t die, crime isn’t the safest thing to do. this is really just an excuse to write whump.

- A BLOODY SYMPHONY: A D&D 5E CAMPAIGN; exactly what it says on the tin. this campaign uses Undyings (the people who come back from the dead) as a homebrew trait/mechanic. the party has been summoned to deal with The Symphony, an Undying crime syndicate that has been wreaking bloody havoc for nearly two years. but they also may face down The Court, another Undying crime syndicate, who have been ruling the city of Riviera for over a decade, and are less than pleased that The Symphony has been on their turf.

#curaxu rambles #curaxu writes #moonglade sea #new riviera #a bloody symphony #dungeons and dragons #d&d #pinned #intro post

2 notes · View notes

nina-ya · 6 months

Text

Patching up Aces Wounds

Zoro Law Sanji Shanks Ace Luffy Sabo Doflamingo

A/N: I really loved writing this one I didn't realize just how much I love writing Ace until now :') Pairing: Ace x GN!Reader CW: Drunk ace, mentions of wounds and stitching, Ace being a flirt. WC: 905

The laughter and clinking of glasses on the ship seems to blend into a lively symphony. Everyone, especially Ace, had found himself deep in the embrace of alcohol, his lively personality being amplified by the inebriation. The night sky above is stunning. The moon and the stars casting an enchanting aura upon the night.

As the night wore on, the more he drank, his movements and his critical thinking skills became more erratic. Ace had been standing on a table, boasting about his accomplishments during the battle, when he suddenly slips and falls, crashing onto the ground in an ungraceful manner, the glass in his hand shattering. Everyone seems to freeze and a sudden hush envelops the room before everyone breaks out into laughter. Ace raises his head with a dopey smile plastered on his face and gives a weak thumbs-up. Marco comes to aid him, but you interrupt, ushering Marco away, “Hey, you're drunk I got this.” Marco nods at you and leaves you with the inebriated ace. You crouch down beside him and let out a giggle. “Hey there, you okay?” He gazes at you with a lopsided grin and replies, “I’ve had worse, sweetheart.”

You let out a small sigh as you run a hand through his unruly hair. “This looks pretty nasty, Ace. Come on, let me help you out.” You say, offering a hand to him. He takes his hand and stumbles slightly as he gets up. “I'm only accepting because it means I get a chance to be alone with you” The words come out jumbled together, giving way to just how much he had drunk. “Sure, whatever makes you happy,” you say with a laugh as you lead him away from the rest of the crew. You lead him to a chair and move his hair away from his face, looking at the bloody gash on his forehead. “You really messed yourself up,” you comment as you start cleaning the cut. “What were you thinking when you got onto that table? Hmm?” Silence. He just stares at you with a drunken haze. “Ah… I see.” you said with a giggle. You continue cleaning the wound when he suddenly breaks the silence. “You’re pretty… Did you know that?

You’re like an angel.” A smile tugged at your lips at the complement, and you let out a soft sigh. “You’re drunk, Ace.” “I’m not drunk… simply… enlightened,” He retorts.

“Ahuh, okay,” you say, smiling at his drunken attitude. “Now hush up and let me fix you, okay?” you say as you prepare to stitch up his wound. “I'm going to stitch you up, now it might hurt but sit still. If you move i'll end up leaving a scar on that pretty face of yours and I don’t think either of us want that.”

He nods at you and has a soft smile on his face. He sits as still as he can as you stitch him up. You’re close enough to see every individual freckle plastered across his sun-kissed face. A constellation of perfect imperfections that just adds to his allure. In the dim light you can see those gorgeous caramel eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine. The longing gaze they held, slightly clouded by the effects of the alcohol. You are only drawn in closer. His lips, so plump and inviting, seemed to be begging for attention. The bottom lip, ever so slightly pushed out in a pout, looked absolutely tempting. A heat grows in your body as an urge in you grows, wishing to be satisfied. As you stitch up the wound, you can't help but steal longing glances at the lips, imaging just how warm and soft they might feel. You snap out of your daze as you finish the stitches.

You lightly graze your thumb over the wound. “How does that feel?” you ask.

He ignores your question and without warning, Ace wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in closer. “You know… a good friend once told me that you never know when the best day of your life is going to happen until it is already happening… and well this is in the running for the best day of my life.”

Your heart races as he holds you close. You giggle at his words, teasing, “Really? You cracking your face open in a drunken stupor, and me fixing it up is one of the best days of your life?”

The raven haired man hums in agreement. “Yep, because it means I had an excuse to get close enough to you to do this.” With that, he leans in, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. A muffled whimper escapes your lips at the sudden action. You melt under his tender yet passionate embrace. Your heartbeat quickened as his lips moved against yours. The kiss is absolutely electric, a meeting of longing and desire that leaves both of you breathless. You kiss him back with equal passion, your hands finding their way to his bare shoulders, fingers lightly grazing over the muscles.

As he pulls back, his lips still barely brushing against yours, he whispers against your mouth, “Yep, definitely one of the best days of my life.” His warm breath fanned against your lips, and you couldn't help but agree, a dreamy smile playing on your own as you reveled in the shared moment.

#portgas d ace #portgas ace x reader #ace x reader #one piece x reader #one piece #one piece fluff

526 notes · View notes

celtic-crossbow · 1 month

Text

Series Masterlist

©celtic-crossbow 2024. I do not allow for my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or placed on any other platform without my consent.

Chapter 20

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; gunshot wound; injuries; blood; allusions to child abuse; allusions to SA; poorly written smut; oral (fem rec); fingering; p in v; panic attacks

A/N: Dear gods, this one is long and full of a million feels! This will be the last chapter for a long while. It will be on hold in favor of finishing Blood Ties but then, it will be finished before any other endeavors. The song I chose for the later part of this chapter is one I recommend listening to while reading it. The lyrics and soft music helped shape this and I hope you like the end result.

Daryl was dizzy. Beyond relieved to have you latched to him like a koala but mostly just physically dizzy. Still, he couldn’t seem to summon the desire to let go. You were whimpering against his good shoulder, trembling something fierce. “We gotta go. S’not safe here.” It took another moment for your legs to begin their descent, your body sliding against his in a way that forced a grunt out of him while his face flushed. Not the time for that particular part of his anatomy to wake up. Clearing his throat, he loosened his hold and shifted his hips away from you. “Place’ll be full’a the dead soon. Gotta go while ev’ryone’s distracted.”

You nodded, nearly glancing back to where Todd had fallen, just for one more fragment of affirmation that he was gone, truly gone.

“He ain’t gonna hurtcha no more.” Daryl pressed a palm against the small of your back, and you responded, moving with him toward the door. He stuck his head out first, internally mapping a way to safety before he even thought of letting you follow. Offering his hand, you took it without a single ounce of hesitation.

You could hardly believe you were really outside. With Daryl. There was no time to revel in the victory, however. It was instant walker-dodging, trying to make it into the forest and out of sight before the living threats realized you had escaped. There would be hell to pay once they had gathered their bearings. You could only hope that you were all back behind the prison gates before that happened.

Daryl weaved through the forest with a skillful ease that you envied, though you noticed he was beginning to flag after only a few moments. His focus seemed to dwindle, nearly leading you headlong into a cluster of walkers before you tugged him to a stop behind a tree.

Pressed tightly together, chest to chest, you got your first good look at the archer. He was gasping and slick with sweat, perhaps from the run but you were hardly even winded. There was a pallor to his skin that had worry slithering around in your gut like a constrictor, weaving its way into your chest the more you scrutinized his state.

“Y’okay?” He lifted his chin toward you and gestured toward his own face. You hadn’t really thought of how horrible you must look, beaten bloody in a revealing set of lingerie. Hopefully he couldn’t see your blush around the bruising.

It wouldn’t have bothered you before his introduction into your life. Hell, it didn’t bother you. It had been your job, your sole purpose. You were molded to believe that you only existed for men to touch and ogle and use. Your time at the prison with kind people you had thought extinct had shown you otherwise,

“Where are we meeting up with everyone?” You leaned around the tree, the shuffling of leaves and snapping of twigs growing further away along with the symphony of groans and snarls. Three stragglers were still too close for the two of you to safely move without alerting the majority. While Daryl could traipse the landscape like a ghost, you may as well set off fireworks with each step. The hunter remained quiet. You only assumed he saw something you didn’t and tucked yourself back against the tree. He was gnawing on the side of his thumb, seemingly avoiding your quizzical stare. “Daryl?”

“Need to find a place for the night.” He was deflecting.

“Where’s Rick? Carol?” Your eyes narrowed, suspicious. He leaned out much as you had moments before and gave you a nod.

“Let’s go this way.” He took a step to pass you, but you caught him around his middle. The archer heaved a sigh and dropped his head. “They ain’t with me.” You blanched.

“You came alone?” It came out higher than you’d intended, prompting a stern shushing from Daryl. Lowering your voice to an aggressive whisper, you continued. “Why would you do that? You were—oh god, Daryl, you were hurt!”

“M’fine. Let’s get—”

“You shouldn’t be here. Not alone. I’m not worth it. I’m not worth your life. I thought I made that clear.”

“Stop that shit! Ya are worth it!” Daryl clapped back, stepping back into your space. You flinched. He wasn’t trying to intimidate you, so he held up his hands and put some space between the two of you. “You’re worth it, Y/N. Anyone that tells ya diff’rent can come talk to me.” He added softly, shifting his gaze with a nervous tapping of fingers against his hip.

You swallowed hard around the sudden lump in your throat. Without the ability to speak at that moment, he would need to accept the jerky movement of your head as agreement.

“Let’s go. Need to put some distance between us an’ them ‘fore nightfall.”

You were crouched behind the bush, not moving a single muscle. If you could possibly stop breathing, you would have. Daryl was in his element, crossbow leveled, eyes laser focused. You never got the chance to hunt with him. You were certain that, after this, you would never let him go without you again.

There was so much to learn. The way he followed trails, the slightest disturbances on the forest floor you weren’t able to see. He knew what he was following, knew that it had an injury. All from something on the ground that looked like nothing more than a thin layer of leaves and sticks to you.

The click swoosh of the crossbow still startled you but was easily brushed off. Shouldering his crossbow gingerly, Daryl retrieved the rabbit by the ears and returned to you, holding it up slightly as if seeking your approval.

“Ain’t the turkey I was trackin’ but it’ll feed us.”

You beamed at him. “Bird or bunny, I don’t care. I’m just hungry.” You had eaten a little with the Governor but hardly enough to satiate the hunger that caused your stomach to cramp. Daryl hummed with a nod and looked around somewhat aimlessly.

“Need to find someplace to hole up for the night. Gonna hafta go outta the way a lil’. They’ll be searchin’ the routes back to the prison.”

“Do we even know the way back?” You asked without thinking. The look he shot you was almost comical. “Right. Stupid question.”

“C’mon.”

The two of you walked for what felt like hours, your feet scratched and aching, the stockings catching and tearing on almost everything. The irony wasn’t lost on you, the first time he’d rescued you and where you were at that moment. Both times found you in skimpy attire and ending up without shoes. At least now, you weren’t afraid that he was set on raping or beating you.

“Hang on.” You couldn’t take the discomfort for another second. Daryl stopped immediately and looked back with concern that was quick to shift into something else, his cheeks reddening. You were shimmying off the garter belt entirely and discarding it along with the stockings, leaving only the bustier and thong. “Much better.”

“Didn’t, uh—didn’t grab anythin’ extra this time. Sorry.”

“You could always give me your underwear again.” You teased, watching the blush deepen and spread to his neck and ears.

“Stop.” He grumbled. Turning on his heel, he took a step and paused, without looking back. “Do ya—if ya really need—”

“No.” You laughed, not at him but the situation. “Keep your drawers. I’m good.” The man grunted and continued on in front of you. If someone had told you all those weeks ago that you’d be goading a handsome man about his underwear, you would have laughed at them. Well, you probably wouldn’t have since at that point, you’d forgotten how to laugh. You would have been shocked to say the least.

Everything was so vastly different now. New challenges and emotions to navigate your way through. The more profound of each of those being Daryl. Your feelings for him were strong and mostly unfamiliar. Desire, you’d felt that before, once upon a time. You could recall it from your life before. But you wanted him. In every way.

Every way.

Not just physically. And oh, did you want that part of him. This was heavier than that, so much deeper. A vast ocean that’s depths were terrifying but held beauty that called to you. Daryl was complex but beautiful. He was the first breath of spring as winter melted away, the scent of reawakenings and new life. He was that moment when the ominous darkness of a storm parted just enough for the blue sky to peer through. Dangerous, lethal but offering tenderness and safety behind his minaciousness.

You wanted to know his heart, hold it and keep it safe. You wanted to see his soul, wanted him to bare it to you willingly and tell you his secrets, his inner wars that he had battled alone. You wanted to fight them for him and let him rest. You wanted to touch his scars, show him gentleness where someone had marked him with cruelty.

But you would want forever.

You weren’t what Daryl deserved. He was worthy of the world and you could only offer him a chasm, dark and damaged and unrepairable.

You could want until the end of time.

You were dismally prepared to do just that.

God, he was exhausted. If walking for hours wasn’t enough reason, carrying himself as if he wasn’t suffering was wearing him down quickly. Hunger and thirst were turning his stomach inside out, but he couldn’t stop. He had to get you somewhere safe. Then he would rest. Actually rest. He still had water from the river and preparing the rabbit would be easy enough, allowing him to sit and give his tired, aching body a break.

“Daryl?”

He loved how his name rolled off your tongue. Focus, Dixon! “Hmm?”

“You, uh—are you okay? Really?”

He hesitated. He didn’t want you to worry. Causing you more stress after what you’d been through would be selfish. He just needed to find shelter. Anything would do at this point as long he could barricade it and there could be a fire, either inside or out. The weather was mild, the changing of seasons from summer to autumn. He would only need the fire to cook the rabbit.

“Daryl?”

Oh. You had asked him a question. “M’fine. Just tired.” You made a noncommittal sound, making it obvious that you knew something was off. Damnit. “Shoulder’s buggin’ me. Ain’t no big deal.”

“Maybe we should stop for a while.”

He had to admit, it was tempting. The problem was that if he stopped, he wasn’t sure he could get back up. “Nah, m’good.” As Dixon luck would have it, his body chose that moment to betray him. Daryl stumbled, the dizziness overwhelming him. He tried to lower to a knee, but as the ground shifted and drew closer, he tilted and his injured shoulder took the brunt of the fall. The desperate noise he heard was dampened beneath the onslaught of pain, the only indication that it was coming from him being the burn in his throat.

“Daryl! Goddamnit, you’re bleeding.”

Your face hovered over him, blurring in and out of focus like a camera steadying for the perfect shot. The canopy above you served as a stunning background for an image he would try his damndest to commit to memory. The trees acted as umbrellas, issuing the perfect amount of the bluest sky and filtering the light to a flawless dapple. It presented an ethereal halo to your already faultless beauty.

“Daryl. I need you to get up.”

There was an urgency to your tone that he couldn’t seem to react to, his brow knitting. When he tried to question, he wasn’t sure his mouth was even moving. Then you were gone. There was an overwhelming impulse to panic with your sudden absence. Daryl grabbed at that feeling and held on tight, using its influence to force his body to cooperate. He rolled onto his uninjured side, back protesting. A rucksack and crossbow do not perform adequately as a pillow. With a grunt, he lifted his head.

You were fending off four walkers on your own with his knife. No, you were driving them back. Daryl kept his eyes on you as he endeavored to make it to at least a sitting position. You kicked one back, unable to take it down before you cut off another that was getting too close to him. They could smell the blood, thick and coppery in the air. Jesus, how badly had he torn the wound?

He couldn’t fire the gun, even if it would be more effective. It would alert both the living and more of the dead. Maneuvering the crossbow from his back was painstakingly complicated, but soon enough, he was using his legs to hold it in place while he pulled the string back. He was only briefly ashamed of the whines and whimpers he couldn’t manage to stifle, his shoulder throbbing something awful. With the string captured by the latch, he was quick to load a bolt, trusting his ability enough to lift and fire with minimal aim.

The walker you were grappling dropped in a heap, your wide eyes seeking out Daryl. Before he could blink, you had thrown yourself at the next closest corpse, leaving the two that brought up the rear. By the time he had managed to load another bolt, you had pulled the knife from one skull and were stabbing the next. You were angling yourself towards the last one when a bolt zipped past your face and impaled itself through the walker’s eye.

With the immediate threat neutralized, Daryl let the crossbow fall from his grasp and fell onto his back, grimacing when the lumpy rucksack reminded him of its presence. A jolt of pain in his shoulder brought on a gasp, his hand instinctively going to rest on the throbbing area and coming away red.

“Are you okay?” You appeared over him again with those big, worried eyes. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he felt annoyed. Angry, even.

“M’peachy.” He answered flatly. Against every instinct, he sat up again, swatting away your hands when you silently offered to help. He avoided looking at you. The naked concern in your expression would only serve to bring on guilt that he couldn’t process on top of physical pain.

Finally on his feet, he shouldered his crossbow and scooped up the rabbit with a grunt, walking without speaking. You followed behind but at a distance, your untrained footfalls loud.

He wasn’t truly angry, not at you. It was his own selfishness behind his irritability. How badly he wanted to let you fuss over him and touch him. The way he wanted to touch you. He knew very little about your life before Jazz and the club. Hell, you didn’t know much, couldn’t recall many things before the trauma that had taken so much of who you were. Would you ever reclaim anything from your past, despite the hell you had lived through? How many pieces were missing? Could he help you find those parts of yourself?

The answer was no.

He couldn’t even piece himself back together.

Still, he knew what he wanted. And that scared him. He wanted you, broken or whole mattered little if at all. The unfamiliar territory he was treading drove him into retreat, battling to keep the bricks from reassembling into the walls you had torn down with such a small amount of effort.

Love wasn’t a word he tossed around carelessly. It had taken months to admit he felt any sort of affection toward the group he had allied himself with, despite what he had been willing to endure for them. What he felt toward you was so much different, reaching significantly farther than the responsibility he had claimed to be the justification. He knew what his useless, battered heart was trying to tell him but he had never followed it before, relying on experience and self preservation to guide him through a life he felt was sometimes meaningless.

You deserved so much more than what he could ever offer you. You, with your damnable kindness that should have been, by every right, snuffed out by the unspeakable cruelty you had endured. All things considered, you still worked tirelessly to find yourself or some semblance of who you were meant to be. It was admirable and only made him want you more.

That just wasn’t him. It was so far away from what he knew of himself, or thought he knew. But being around you brought out a sense of comfort and acceptance he was too scared to embrace or appreciate. Getting comfortable, feeling safe, would only lead to disappointment. He had learned that with his mother and even more so with his father. Just when he thought Will Dixon could change and be the parent he had needed, Daryl would only receive another wound, another scar, another reason to never trust anyone.

Then you challenged all of that.

You were a breath of fresh air amidst the decay he was accustomed to even before the turn. The calm of the forest after a hard rain, when things were still and he could immerse himself in the tranquility before the life that dwelled there ventured out to return to normal. You radiated the warmth the sun gifted during the bite of winter’s cold. You were everything that gave him solace when he had run scared as a child, convinced that there was no goodness in the world.

You were everything he was not.

And because of that, he couldn’t reach out to you in the way he wanted. He would only break you down when you deserved to be lifted onto the highest pedestal.

You had been broken enough.

And you could shine without him.

You watched Daryl wear himself down to the point you thought his stubbornness would have him crawling rather than accepting your help. He hadn’t spoken a word to you since the walkers, even when the two of you needed to hide from another group of the dead. He refused to meet your eyes, pressing himself so hard against the tree that shielded you both that he would hiss in discomfort just to keep from touching you.

What had changed so drastically since you had left with Jazz? Why did he even come find you if he didn’t want you near him?

You were just about to attempt to talk to him when the small shack came into view. It wasn’t exactly a cabin but someone had lived there. A garden, long dead, was surrounded by short, broken fencing. An old generator was on the rickety porch-like structure with parts and rusted tools scattered around it. It was a dilapidated building but would serve the purpose.

Some of the visible tension melted out of Daryl’s shoulders. He was quite clearly exhausted and in pain. Before he could even begin to engage in anything strenuous, you jogged to catch up, holding up his knife where he could see that you still had it.

“I’ll check out the inside while you start a fire and take care of the rabbit.” You were trying for authoritative but it, of course, came out as a question. The hunter stopped halfway to the rotted wooden steps and angled his head toward you. Tired, blue eyes narrowed, studying as if solving a puzzle.

“Fine.” He huffed, dropping his bag but keeping his crossbow. He carried at his side, a silent reassurance that he was ready should you need him. Careful to avoid the weak spots, you were slow to make your way to the door. It was barely shut, hanging at an angle but maybe there would be something inside to push against it. With your hand flat on the wood, you started to open it. “Tap on it.” Daryl called quietly but loud enough for you to hear.

“What?”

“Tap on the door. The window. Just make a lil’ noise ‘fore ya go in.” He sounded exasperated but continued with his task. He probably thought you didn’t notice him watching you from the corner of his eye, finger hovering beside the trigger of his weapon.

“I doubt there’s anyone home.” You mumbled. He still likely heard you. Inwardly sighing, you tapped the blade of the knife against the doorframe. At first nothing happened. Just as you rolled your eyes and pushed against the door, something fell into it from the other side, the snarls and scratching making it obvious. When you looked back at Daryl, eyes wide, he was smirking at the circle of rocks he’d be using as a firepit.

When you sighed this time, it was one of determination. You could hear only one walker. That didn’t necessarily mean it was the only one, but if things went the way you planned, it would be simple to take out however many were inside. You were mindful of how you held the knife when you threw yourself against the door. It took two times to push the door open enough for the walker to come around it.

“The hell ya doin’?!”

“I got it.” Careful once again, you backed down the steps. “Come on.” The walker fell over the top step and tumbled, giving you an opportunity to glance at Daryl. He was aiming the crossbow, but the fact that he hadn’t fired when you both knew he could easily take it down meant that he was giving you a chance to do what you were attempting.

On its feet again, the dead woman followed you clumsily. You led her away from the structure, past the old garden, and then stopped to allow her closer.

“Y/N.” A clear warning.

“I got it, Daryl.” He should know. It was he and Carol who taught you. He had also told you that everyone fucks up sometimes. For you, this would not be one of those times. You lunged for it just before it could reach you and too quickly for it to grab you, plunging the knife into the walker’s eye. You pulled as the body fell, making the retrieval of the weapon a piece of cake. “Told you I had it.”

Daryl tried for a scowl but the twitch of his lips was evident even from a distance. So you grinned at him, prideful of what you had done. It probably wouldn’t have been a big deal to Carol or Michonne, but you were new to it all. You’d take a win where you could.

“You couldn’t drag it and neither could I.” You said in passing on your way back to the door. He grumbled something close to yeah, I could’a but you ignored him. The left shoulder of his shirt was saturated. You needed to sit him down and take a look. You weren’t very knowledgeable but you could at least put pressure on it until it clotted. Maybe? Did it work like that?

The little shack was clear of the dead now, the woman apparently living alone. You gave no thought to how she had died or how long she had been there. Inside was a simple set up. One room, a bed in one corner. Full size with some sort of furs as blankets. It was large enough for you both to sleep as you had before but given his change in demeanor, he was likely to want the floor.

There were iron kettles and pots stacked on a corner, along with an open med kit. Crossing to investigate, you glanced out to see Daryl crouched down and skinning the rabbit. The kit had a few bandaids, some Tylenol, and an opened square of gauze. Never knowing when you would need even the smallest of things, you removed the gauze and kept the rest, placing the small box on the bed.

A dresser sat in the other corner, two of the drawers broken and partly open. The woman had been just about your size. Maybe there was something you could use so parading around in front of Daryl with your ass out was no longer an issue.

“Bingo.” You smiled. The sweats were at least clean. They were a little baggy. Maybe she had looted them from somewhere else. It didn’t matter, really. A long sleeved flannel with most of the buttons missing was in the same drawer. There weren’t any other shirts, to your dismay. Pursing your lips, you decided to see how you could make it work.

The bustier had left red indents in your skin. You nearly moaned with relief while removing it. The flannel was actually missing all the buttons but you could work with it. You rolled up the bottom and tied the two ends together beneath your breasts. It was an odd crop top that made some of your lesser scars visible but nothing was hanging out, so winner winner chicken dinner. You grabbed the most comfortable looking of all the mismatched socks and walked toward the door.

You could smell the fire, your mouth watering at the thought of rabbit. No seasoning but beggars could not be choosers. First, however, you wanted to check the walker for shoes. The clothes somewhat fit so maybe shoes would too. “I’m gonna check to see if the—”

The socks fell to the porch, forgotten. Daryl’s forearm was red and blistered, the skin practically melted away from being too close to the fire. You grabbed his uninjured shoulder, thankful that was the side closest to the flames so you could simply roll him away. He had landed face down, unmoving when you spotted him.

Now lying on his back, you could clearly see his chest rising and falling. He was alive. “Daryl? Can you hear me?” Your hands cupped his face, the skin cool and clammy. That was good in one sense: no fever. It could, however, mean he’d lost too much blood. His shirt was sticky with it. You carefully peeled the fabric away from the wound, finding it open and still bleeding sluggishly. There were loose butterfly sutures with most of Hershel’s stitching popped or missing. “Idiot.” You sniffled.

Lifting his shoulder as high off the ground as you could manage, you let him come back to balance on your thigh and leaned to see the exit wound on his back. It was mostly fine, just one end where the skin was torn and puckered. You could work with that.

The medical kit inside was useless. You could only pray he had the sense to bring something with him. You dumped the contents of his bag in the ground, nearly sobbing at the sight of a kit from back home. You could at least pack the wound and dress it. Grabbing the small red bag and the canteen, you scurried back to his side. You’d have to fetch more water from somewhere after cooling the burn and cleaning his shoulder but you’d cross that bridge later.

At that moment, Daryl was priority one.

The first thing he heard was the cracking and popping of a fire, the smell of smoke and meat wafting into his nostrils. It simultaneously made his mouth water and his stomach turn. There was a groan, deep and drawn out. A walker? No. That was coming from him. Where the hell was he? His damn brain was foggy, clouded over from pain. Exhaustion threatened to pull him back under but the shuffle of leaves gave him just enough adrenaline to flinch away when someone touched his face.

“Easy. It’s just me.”

“Y/N.” He croaked, curling his lip at the sound of his voice. His mind began to fill in the blanks, memories sliding into place to form a timeline that ended where he was now, by the fire with right arm and left shoulder bandaged. The sky was a watercolor painting of purples and oranges, the sun long out of sight. “How long I been out?”

“Here.” You pressed the canteen to his lips and while he drank, he used his right hand to take over holding it. “A few hours.” He watched, head tilted, as you reached behind you to turn the rabbit on a spit. “I had to, uh—I had to leave you once to get water. I’m sorry.”

“Still here, ain’t I? Don’t gotta apologize.”

You took the canteen and replaced the lid. “I’m sorry that I covered you with leaves and put a dead walker on top of you.” You weren’t meeting his eyes. Shit. Had he been such an ass that you were afraid of him again? “I didn’t know what else to do. When you fell, you burned your arm. Between that and your shoulder, I used it all. I had—”

“I ain’t mad, Y/N. Jesus. Calm down.”

Your shoulders dropped. “If you’re not mad, then why are you acting different around me?”

“Let’s talk—let’s talk inside. After.” He gestured to the fire. “You’re gonna burn that.” He was glad he had at least finished prepping the rabbit before face-planting, made things a little easier for you while you were stuck watching over his dumb ass. You drew your bottom lip in between your teeth. You wanted to say something but swallowed it down with a tight-lipped smile and went back to the fire.

To be honest, he had pushed back the conversation because he wasn’t sure what he was going to say to you. He could blame his physical state, the blood loss and exhaustion. Then he’d be lying to you more than he already had. To tell you the truth would be to admit that he was no better than the men who had tortured you. Sure, there were feelings involved, something you appeared to have as little experience with as he did.

Nothing good could come from this. Maybe he needed to come clean just so you could understand why he needed to distance himself, if only until it all passed. Feelings were fleeting, nothing was forever.

“Here.” You were offering him a skewered portion of meat. “Try to eat. If we need more water, I know where to go.”

Daryl nodded his thanks and lifted the food to his mouth, stopping short to watch you seat yourself near the fire, drawing up your knees. The soft glow of firelight burned warm against your skin, flickering flames casting shadows that made the bruises and lacerations appear that much darker. You had cleaned yourself up while he was unconscious, changed into fresh clothes and shoes that had likely been inside the home. Even riddled with injuries and in oversized clothes, you were fucking beautiful.

Finally forcing himself to tear his eyes away from you, food was eaten in silence, the fire extinguished shortly afterwards to avoid drawing any unwanted attention. The hunter was impressed with how you were handling yourself with such minimal instruction from him.

“What?”

“Nothin’.” He cleared his throat, continuing as you went about gathering everything to move inside with only the moonlight guiding you. “Just—holdin’ your own out here. Don’t need me ‘round no more.” The statement was both fond and bitter, just another confirmation that he’d be doing the right thing by stepping away once you were safe.

You had stilled, but then carried on, leaving him for a heartbeat to deposit everything inside. Then you were crouching in front of him, reaching out, ready to help him inside. Your hand lifted at the last second, warm palm coming to rest gently against his cheek. He was leaning into the touch before he could stop himself, allowing that brief comfort even if it was entirely self-serving.

“I think I’ll always need you.” You smiled, gentle and sad, like you were reading his mind. “I’m okay with that.” Maybe you were, but he wasn’t.

His entire commitment to you from the beginning was to make you self reliant, let Carol help you figure out how to be a person again, and while training you hadn’t gone exactly how he’d planned,—he was never supposed to be involved—he was proud to say that you stood more of a chance now than when he had met you. He could step back and let Carol take over. Daryl never had a problem disappearing, he’d been doing it all his life. Hiding from his father, jumping from town to town with Merle. He could do it again. Even if it meant he’d have to leave the prison, the people he cared about, to keep you safe and give you a chance, he was willing.

You reached for him again and he swatted at your hands, using his right arm to balance while he got his feet beneath him. The burn ached beneath the bandage and Carol was likely to throttle him the moment they got back for how messed up his shoulder was, but it had been worth it. They would likely see the smoke from the factory, investigate from a distance, and return to the prison, either convinced that you and he were among the dead or they would keep a sharp eye out for your return.

He was ready to be back, if he was honest with himself. Take a few days to heal properly and then head out for a while on an extended hunt. Maybe he wouldn’t need to leave permanently. Maybe this would all fade as he hoped.

When he felt your hand between his shoulder blades and caught your eye, the myriad of emotions visible there even in the dim light reminded him that hope in that world was futile.

You indicated the weak points in the steps and followed him inside, closing the sad little door before shooing him away from the dresser.

“No way. You’re not pushing this with your bad shoulder. Go lie down.” When he remained there with a incredulous expression of you’re kiddin’, you squared your shoulders and looked every bit as scary as a wet kitten. “Go on, get.”

He exhaled a laugh through his nose and pressed his good hand to the top of the dresser only for it to be popped like a kid reaching for the cookies before supper. He found he was a cross between offended and impressed. “Listen, pipsqueak, I—”

“No, you listen, you stubborn mule.” Daryl’s mouth snapped shut, eyebrows shooting upward. Impressed, indeed. “You damn near killed yourself to get me out of there. I fixed it all up the best I could but I bet Hershel and Carol are gonna lock you in a cell regardless when we get back. So the more you rest, the less time you spend in solitary confinement, capiche?” You leaned your weight against the piece of furniture but stood up again with an angry pout. “And don’t call me pipsqueak!” He filed away that nickname for later. Would there be a later? No, he couldn’t think about that right now.

“Fine.” He huffed and let his hand fall away. He didn’t move just then though, quite frankly enjoying watching you struggle with the task on your own while he unlaced and removed his boots. You grumbled and cursed but finally succeeded, turning to him with a victorious, high-pitched hmmph. Daryl shook his head and turned toward the bed in the corner, a small half-smile gracing his features.

The mattress had two blackbear furs on it. No pillows but it was unlikely that you gave any more fucks about it than he did. Utilizing his good arm, he snatched the edge of one fur and dragged it off onto the floor, toeing at it to spread it out.

“Daryl?”

“Hmm?” When you didn’t say anything, he turned, finding you in the middle of the room, wringing your hands with one of the saddest expressions of trepidation he’d ever seen you wear. Fuck. He knew what was coming.

“Why are things different now?” You were staring at the bear skin as if it were still a living creature that was driving a wedge between the two of you. “Are you mad at me for leaving? I just wanted to protect you like you protect me. I couldn’t stand the thought of—”

“Told ya I ain’t mad.” Daryl interjected when the words just kept tumbling out. “Weren’t happy ‘bout it, but I get why ya did it.” I would’a done the same. The hunter kicked at the edge of the fur even though it was already laying flat. You sniffled and his head snapped up. “Nah, Y/N, don’t cry.”

“We slept in the same bed before. Why can’t we now?”

He inwardly groaned. Why was this a big deal? Did you just need comfort? Stupid. Of course you did. You’d been through the wringer. He was so emotionally ignorant. Selfish. “Ain’t a big deal. I’ll sleep on the bed.” He bent to retrieve the fur.

“Why don’t you want to? Are you—I know you know what they did to me. I’m—disgusting.”

Oh, fuck no. “Don’t say that. Ain’t your fault what they did.” He was crossing the distance before he realized his feet were moving, stumbling to a halt in front of you, just barely restraining from dragging you into him. “Things are—just diff’rent.” Your big eyes were shining, wet and full of questions.

“Different how then?” You reached for him. He wanted to retreat but he couldn’t seem to get his legs to cooperate. “How can I fix it?”

His face twisted into a grimace, turning away from you and then back in the same movement. “Ya can’t cause ya didn’t do nothin’ wrong.” You were hugging him around his torso before he could stop you, your warmth seeping through his shirt for his chilled skin to soak up. “Y/N, I can’t.”

“You can’t what?” Goddamnit. Why was this so hard?

“Ain’t it obvious? I need to let ya go.” And his damn voice cracked. He still hadn’t made a move to hold you. If he did, he wouldn’t be able to do what needed to be done. He felt you shift, now looking up at him again with your arms still firmly wrapped around his sides. And though he scrambled to grasp a single sliver, the anguish in your gaze shattered the last of his resolve.

The back of his knuckles stroked your cheek before he hooked a finger beneath your chin to hold you as you were.

“Daryl?”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the effort. “Wanna—can I kiss ya?” Your face crumbled, the tears you had been controlling finally wetting your cheeks. His hand fell away. “M’sorry. That was stupid. Don’t know what I was thinkin’.” He tried to step back and give you space but your hold kept him immobile, your head shaking back and forth.

“It isn’t that. It’s just—” Your breaths were shallow spasms, chin wobbling. “No one’s ever asked me before.”

His heart didn’t just ache, it broke. The idea of doing anything you hadn’t consented to was nauseating. For all the hell he’d been through and cruelty he’d seen, he still couldn’t fathom hurting someone like you purposefully. No one had asked before kissing you? Did you mean before the turn? God, the urge to just hold you was dizzying, to protect you without ever letting you leave his arms.

You worked hard to get yourself under control, straightening to look at him as steadily as you probably could manage. “Ask me again. Please.”

His heart was hammering. He knew you could hear it. Tongue sliding across his bottom lip, he leaned down until your noses were almost touching. “Can I kiss ya?”

“Yes.” Your eyes flitted to his lips and back to his eyes.

This was what he wanted but now he couldn’t seem to remember how. Still, he’d rather it be a clumsy disaster than leave you questioning. He leaned in closer, parting his lips slightly to make his intentions clear even though you had consented. His lips pressed into yours, mirroring the way you opened in invitation. There was a tentative sweep of his tongue, grazing your own. You relaxed with a contented sigh that traveled down his throat, rattled his spine, and cradled his heart. He wasn’t just taking what you were willingly giving, he was learning.

You wanted this.

He had never been so wrong but he wasn’t exactly built for picking up any cues you had given him, intentionally or not. He felt himself begin to tremble, suddenly void of any semblance of confidence.

When your fingertips brushed over the nape of his neck, pressing gently to pull him closer and deepen the kiss, he shivered involuntarily. It was a slow dance of pent up emotion, gradually charging the air around where the pair of you stood. His own hand lifted to the side of your neck where his thumb brushed back and forth over your jaw. It was only when his lungs began to burn that he pulled away, his forehead resting against yours while you both panted.

“Is this what you want too?” You shrank into yourself timidly and awaited his answer. He chuckled breathily and ignored the pain so his other hand could cradle your face as well, using both of his thumbs to sweep away your tears that still fell uninhibitedly.

“Yeah, pipsqueak. S’what I want.”

“Don’t call me pipsqueak.” Your tone was breathless, eyes hooded, your arms winding around his neck.

He kissed you again. Hands moving to your waist and then around to your back, bending you slightly to curve over you. Your hands slid to his chest and curled into his shirt as best they could while being wedged between your bodies. The second kiss was no less gentle but held no reluctance. He’d laid all the cards on the table, against his better judgment, never expecting to be rewarded.

The fear of hurting you in some way was still very much present, a lingering warning in the back of his mind that he chose to ignore in favor of licking into your mouth, stealing another taste. And then another. And another. You were intoxicating, one indulgence would never be enough.

There were no objections from you when he maneuvered your bodies to turn, never parting during the journey to the bed. He didn’t allow the back of your knees to meet the mattress, but instead used the hold he maintained around your middle to lift you up and lay you back. He was leaning over you, mouths still moving together only to part for you to crawl backward and further onto the soft surface.

There was the smallest flicker of panic that he had taken it too far, that you were trying to escape, but then you were reaching for him. Your fingers pressed gently into his ribs as soon as he was within reach and allowed you to guide him over you, opening your legs to allow room for him. Daryl hesitated, noticing the fine tremors in your hands.

He leaned in for a chaste kiss on the corner of your mouth and then sat back on his knees to grant you a bit of space. “Ain’t gotta do anythin’ ya ain’t ready for.” His pants were already tight, the strain on his groin nearing an unbearable yet delicious pressure that might have been just enough to both give him relief and cause him embarrassment.

He was far past the point of no return, prepared to give you everything or nothing at all. Whatever you needed or didn’t. His hand was resting just above your hip, thumb brushing back and forth in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

“Just tell me what ya need.”

You were scared to the point of panic, waiting for the inevitable pain that would accompany his baser instincts to take what he wanted. But this was Daryl. Training aside, he’d only ever shown you gentle touches that were fleeting and reluctant, to just as much appease his own anxiety as well as yours.

The reasonable part of you knew he’d never intentionally hurt you. The part of you that had been traumatized so purposefully had been conditioned to submit and bear the burden of agony to ensure he was satisfied. It was almost enough to send you spiraling into that dark place where you could hide. Maybe it already was. Your chest felt tight, breathing was becoming difficult. You felt like you would shake into pieces, each fragment bearing witness to the disappointment he’d certainly let show.

“Hey.” His raspy voice was just as gentle as the whisper of his fingertips that were now caressing your jaw. “Ain’t gonna hurt ya. Nothin’s gotta happen. We can just lay here.”

You swallowed hard enough to hurt. “But you want this.”

A deep red began to rise on his cheeks, spreading down his chest and up to his ears. “Yeah, I do. Don’t mean m’gonna take it from ya.” His voice was strained, uncertainty working its way in even as he tried to maintain control. His tender touches carried on, fingers carving a soft path down your neck and over your collarbone but skipping your breasts entirely. Then he was rubbing his palm up and down your bare side, below where you had secured the flannel. His skin was still chilled from blood loss. “Can I—will ya let me try somethin’?”

What could he possibly want to try? The act itself was simple for him: undress you, enter you, chase his pleasure. He’d be gentle, you knew that, even if you needed to constantly remind yourself. You found that even suffocating under the weight of your fear, you ached to feel him inside of you, wanted to make him feel good. He deserved to feel good. So if there was something he wanted to try, you’d allow it. Chewing on your bottom lip, you nodded.

He returned the gesture and slid his palm over your abdomen, bringing it to rest on the front of your sweatpants. “Just say the word an’ I’ll stop.” The need to fight back the dampness in your eyes presented itself once more. Your exhale shook but you nodded again.

Bringing his injured arm into the movement, he dipped his fingers below the elastic waistband and paused, glancing at you for what you assumed was an opportunity to stop him. You said nothing, curiosity intertwined with apprehension while you watched him.

Daryl was slow to drag the article of clothing down your legs, taking the time to delicately pull each foot from the ribbed cuffs before dropping them to the floor just beside the bed. Easy to grab in case you changed your mind maybe? The cool air against your skin—your scars—was more than a little jarring but you forced yourself to keep still.

He was careful when he finally touched you, just above your right knee where a faint, raised imperfection resided. The permanent reminder of James, a regular client with a malicious enjoyment of knife play. There was no pity in the way he looked at your skin, just a reverent understanding. You had seen his scars. He was comprehensive of the callousness that one human could show another.

Now that he was touching you so intimately while you were spread open before him, you remembered that neither of you had anything to make penetration any less uncomfortable. You were used to it, you supposed. Some men just used your blood and some used lubricant provided by the club. Others just drove in dry. There was also the lack of condoms, dental dams.

Daryl’s other hand came to rest on the inside of the opposite thigh, his rough palms kneading the flesh of each, while he looked back and forth between them. Ever so slowly, he slid his hands below to rest centimeters away from where your ass curved into your leg. He simply left them there and bowed over you, pressing his mouth just above the waistband of your panties.

You gasped. His lips were chapped but soft and warm, in direct contrast to the coolness gripping the backs of your thighs. Regardless, it wasn’t the feeling of his touches that surprised you, it was the result of those touches.

There was a rush of heat at your center that seemed to whittle its way back and forth to your stomach, the muscles of your abdomen twitching against Daryl’s mouth. Your clit was beginning to pulse. You were no stranger to arousal, or so you had thought. Maybe that was another part of you that had been chipped away because nothing that you could remember felt like this.

“This okay?”

With a sharp inhale, you looked at him, only then realizing your breathing had picked up. Daryl was completely still, waiting with a patience you had only seen a few times since you’d known him.

“Y-yeah.”

Eyes on you, he lowered his head and pressed an open mouthed kiss to a scar parallel to your navel, his fingers squeezing the soft flesh of your thighs. Looking at him, watching him watch you felt too intimate. The back of your head pressed into the pillow, your own hands coming to rest on either side of your head.

Daryl was already doing more for you than any man while you were at the club. What he seemed to be doing was comforting you, showing reposeful attention to each mar littered across your skin. Once he had completed that particular endeavor, he switched to doing the same to the smooth areas in between.

You bit back a whine when he relinquished his hold on your thighs and slid his hands to your hips, slipping a finger beneath each strip of fabric across your hips. Before he could ask permission, you shot upright, forcing him back.

“Wait!”

“Yeah, okay!” His hands came up next to his head, palms out. “M’sorry, was gonna ask.”

“No, I know. It’s not—it’s just—” you had started shaking your head as you sat up and hugged yourself tightly, a whimper escaping unchecked. “Todd, he would cut me if I didn’t behave or didn’t perform. He was so angry over his brother but Jazz wouldn’t—he wouldn’t let Todd kill me. So, he cut me instead.”

Daryl muttered a quiet Jesus and raked his fingers through his hair. You knew he was working it out, flaming fury burning in his blue eyes when it all clicked.

“I’m sorry.” You ducked your head away from his anger. Nothing was directed toward you, but the actual heaviness of his rage was frightening.

“Nah, ya don’t say sorry for that. Ever. Ya hear me?” His left hand was squeezing the bandage-covered burn on his right forearm, using pain to ground himself. You knew the method well. “Wanna bring his ass back so I can kill ‘im again. Slower.”

You weren’t sure there was anything you could say. It was done, the moment was over. You gave him a nod and began to draw up your knees but his hands were quick to stop you. With a quizzical stare, you said his name.

“Got scars too. Sure ya saw ‘em when ya patched up my shoulder.” His hands remained on your partially bent knees, grip firm but trembling. Maybe it was a terrible time, probably the worst, but you felt compelled to be truthful.

“I saw—I, uh, saw them before that, Daryl.”

“Shower. I know.”

Saucer-sized eyes snapped over to him, your body going rigid, cheeks burning with shame. “You—knew?” Daryl hummed an affirmation. “Do you wanna talk about them? Your scars.”

He shook his head slowly, no. “Not yet. This ain’t ‘bout me.” The archer sat back on his heels. “Just, ya know, wanted ya to know that I get it. We got scars. Seein’ ‘em ain’t gonna change anythin’.” Maybe bringing up what else you had seen that night wasn’t such a great idea. “Ya good?” You gave a quick nod. “Get some sleep. I’ll keep watch.” Not where you thought things were headed. You weren’t ready to stop just yet. Shaken, but not beaten.

You moved quickly, pulling your legs beneath you to rise up on your knees where he still sat on his. Your hands bracketed his neck and your mouth was slotted over his, relieved he didn’t freeze. Quite the opposite, he pulled you flush against him with an arm around your waist and the opposite hand on the back of your head. Your chest was heaving when you angled your chin to pull away your mouth, leaving your face close, your nose nuzzling his. His eyes were still closed.

“Please don’t stop.” If he wanted to—really wanted to— end things there, you wouldn’t try to persuade him otherwise. You held onto hope that the hard bulge pressed against your stomach meant you wouldn’t even need to try. When his eyes opened, the blue that was always giving a glimpse of the kindness he tried to hide was a mere thin line around lust-blown pupils.

Maybe he wouldn’t notice your deep, steadying breath but even if he did, he was possibly just too enamored with watching you lie back, your nimble fingers untying the front of the flannel. With one last glance at Daryl, unmoving and patient with his hands balled into fists on his thighs, you spread open the shirt. More scars adorned your breasts, but while Jazz’s clients would curl their lips and scoff, the archer's eyes raked over your flesh with what you could only be described as unabashed wonder and appreciation.

Clinging dramatically to your sudden burst of bravery, you straightened your legs on either side of his hips and hooked your fingers into the straps of the thong to drag the fabric down, keeping your thighs pressed as tightly together as you could manage while lifting one leg and then the other. The white material hung from your left ankle, your knees bent and closed just above where Daryl remained sitting on his own.

“Y/N.”

“Please don’t try to talk me out of this.” Hands resting on your thighs, you dug in your nails, the slight burn providing an anchor against your fear. It was becoming increasingly more difficult to maintain composure, but that didn’t matter. Whether that night or a year into the future, you would need to battle these demons. “I just want to feel something—real.”

His eyes flashed up to yours, an understanding there that needn’t be spoken. Your wounds and his had been inflicted so differently but your scars were the same; a map of your lifetime, of bravery and endurance among such suffering.

“Alright.” He rasped after another moment of silence. His hands lifted from his lap to hover just above your knees. There was a twitch in his clenched jaw, a spasm of pain from his shoulder but nothing more. The pressure he applied to urge your legs flat was barely there, a slight encouragement that lacked any demand. It was awkward but you somehow succeeded in keeping your thighs together.

Daryl’s fingertips began easing into the space just above your knees to urge your legs to part, not making it far before he stopped. His jaw worked back and forth, teeth gnawing on the inside of his bottom lip. While you wanted to spread yourself open, you couldn’t seem to find the nerve.

Not until his next move.

His gaze remained on your thighs while he worked slowly to pop open the buttons of his shirt, one by one. There was a shadow of a moment where you considered stopping him; telling him it wasn’t necessary. He seemed to think it was. Quid pro quo, maybe; ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.’

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you feel more at ease.

The archer shrugged the shirt from his right shoulder, then gingerly slid it off the left. You avoided staring after the initial glance. It wouldn’t do to make him feel more exposed than he was. You couldn’t, however, erase the image of his naked torso. His skin was dirty, caked with dried blood from the wound, but he was beautiful, ruggedly handsome with tanned skin pulled over whipcord lean muscle. You had always found jealousy in the ogling stares of the prison women but you understood. To be the one he was sharing this much of himself with was dizzying.

He didn’t make a move for his belt, crawling toward you instead, the press of his knee where your legs were sealed together was gentle in its attempt at prying you open. You parted them, a little more confident without him staring down at your mutilated flesh.

Daryl held his weight above you on his right arm with the slightest tremble of exertion. He must have seen you glance over, worry etched in your eyes, because then he was shaking his head with a quiet s’fine.

You tried to recall when you had lost your virginity, but couldn't seem to pull up a face or name or even a clear memory, but you wondered if it’d been something like that. Two hesitant individuals with the knowledge of the other’s desire for them but completely clueless when it came to implementing that into some sort of action. Like horny, inexperienced teenagers. You would have chuckled if the dark reality of justification wasn’t hovering over your bodies like a dense, suffocating fog.

You flinched minutely when Daryl dipped his head, hot breath wafting over your exposed nipple. He made no further attempt, looking up at you from beneath his lashes, seeking consent and it made your eyes sting. Your fingertips grazed over a scar on his temple with the slightest curiosity of where it came from, but dismissed it in order to splay open your fingers against the back of his head and pull him toward your chest.

You gasped at the first flick of his tongue, the touch so foreign that your body didn’t seem to understand how to react. Gooseflesh prickled across your chest and down your arms, your other hand jolting upward to join the first, unintentionally holding Daryl in place, silently pleading for an encore.

He didn’t disappoint. Shifting over, he briefly pressed his lips to your sternum before his tongue circled your other nipple, drawing the pebbled nub into his mouth. The slow, tenderly executed motions had your lower belly burning with a feeling your traitorous body had experienced while a stranger fucked into you despite your unwillingness.

The archer didn’t remain where he was for long, moving to drag his tongue down your torso and dip it into your navel. There was a full bodied shiver, your legs instinctively spreading wider. You didn’t even realize it until his open mouth was against the skin just above the tuft of hair at the apex of your thighs.

You felt the familiar stirring of panic and you tilted your chin toward your chest to look at him, finding him staring right back. His lips remained stagnant against that spot, his dark gaze searching your face for permission. It took two deep, calming breaths, both worryingly difficult to achieve before you nodded. His mouth was against the beginning of the scars that he would soon find on the ruins of your cunt. But then he did something unexpected.

He closed his eyes.

At first you thought he was avoiding a disgust that would dampen his desire for you. Then he was touching you, mapping out each jagged line with the tips of his fingers, neglecting not a single one.

He was allowing you to acclimate to the new experience.

You couldn’t remember ever being touched so tenderly, or a man ever willingly exploring your most sensitive area beyond driving their dick into your dry entrance. Daryl had yet to even delve between your folds, his attention solely on conveying acceptance of your imperfections. The fear of rejection and anticipation gave way in a rush of wetness you hadn’t realized your body was capable of, a physical indication that you appreciated what he was doing.

Your hands were still loose on the back of his head, making it possible to speak your consent and insistence without words. Your nails scraped lightly over his scalp for your fingers to tangle in his hair, urging him onward and asking him to open his eyes and see you. Despite his valiant actions to bring you comfort, you needed to witness his reaction.

He was slow to peel open those pretty eyes, still dark with desire. You laughed around tears when there was the flash of arousal in the pools of blue. He was seeing the whole of you and not just the desolate ruins. He was appreciating what you were offering him. There wasn’t a single scrap of hesitation or disinterest. His tongue was parting your folds to taste you, but then his eyes widened and he reeled back just enough to put a couple of inches between your hot, slick slit and his mouth.

“M’sorry.” He was apologizing for his naked desire that had propelled him to touch you without seeking permission. But you weren’t even remotely upset, hadn’t even considered anything beyond the scorching trail his tongue had left in its wake. You could do nothing but whimper and card your fingers through his hair, canting your hips upward in silent pleading for him to continue.

And continue he did.

Daryl dove in like a man starved and you were the finest meal he’d ever had, his tongue lapping at you while his large hands pressed against your inner thighs to spread you wider. He had only just begun and there was pleasure like you had never before felt, that you didn’t even know was possible.

When he gave a satisfied hum against you and latched his mouth over your clit, the wanton noise that left you was positively pornographic. Your hips jerked and your grip on his hair tightened. No wonder the clientele had never made this a priority. What would they get from this beyond perhaps the enjoyment of the mewls and breathy moans that you couldn’t seem to stifle? None of them wanted that.

But Daryl was drinking it up, his tongue working your sensitive bud harder and faster with each sound you offered him.

When you felt the tip of his index finger circle your opening, there was a jolt of fear; an anticipation of pain but he wasn’t moving. Once again he waited patiently for your approval, but all the while, his tongue continued its assault. Your mind warred with the desire to be filled by him in any and every way and the terrifying inevitability of the pain you had been led to believe was the norm.

In the end, your undeniable hunger for him prevailed. “Please.” You panted, grinding your hips against his face. The feel of stretching around his thick digit wasn’t anything like you were accustomed to, the gentlest of burning, molding until he was fully inside. Your inner walls fluttered around the intrusion with a stuttering of your hips. It felt so good that you began to question if it was really happening at all.

When Daryl moved his finger, pulling it back to drag over your insides, you watched his eyes roll with a deep groan against your clit. There was a tightening within your belly that held a promise of something delicious but Daryl seemed to be enjoying what he was doing just as much—if not more— than you were.

He kept the action slow and deliberate, allowing you to adjust not only physically but mentally as well. You had been denied pleasure, something you were sure he deduced from your tears over his request to kiss you. It wasn’t until you moaned his name and rolled your hips against his hand that he doubled down in his efforts to bring you to your high.

He worked at your clit with wanton abandon, sucking and licking and grazing his teeth over the swollen, stiff bundle of nerves, all the while pumping his finger in and out of you with a gentle, deep push and pull that directly contradicted his vigorous onslaught with his mouth.

God, you had never felt so good.

“Daryl.” You whined, writhing and tugging on his hair. He chuckled against your slick cunt. Goddamn him, he actually chuckled. “I don’t—it feels—hhhnnngg—”

“Easy, pipsqueak.”

“Don’t call me th—oh.” He had slowed down, languidly brushing his nose over your clit while thrusting his finger deep and curling it against a spot inside you that made your toes curl. You couldn’t remember the last time you came or if you had at all. Daryl pulled almost all the way out of you before pressing his middle finger against your drenched hole, requesting to join the other but not advancing it further.

God, you appreciated his need for consent but at the same time you wanted to shake him and demand he keep going.

Instead of responding verbally, you angled your hips and pushed down against him, taking both fingers inside you, your velvety walls pulling at his digits to suck them in deeper. You weren’t cognizant of anything anymore, only the rush of urgent need to feel that knot in your belly twist tighter.

“Fuck.” Daryl whispered before circling his tongue around where his fingers disappeared inside of you. When he began thrusting into you after your desperate whining, it was still at an agonizingly slow pace. You understood why he was being so gentle.

Because no one ever had.

And, though your body begged for the alternative, you needed to feel it that way, feel valued and cherished and worth pleasing.

Daryl made you feel that. He ignored his own needs. You had definitely noticed the way he continued to shift his hips, holding himself carefully away from the mattress. Was he truly that aroused by pleasuring you?

The train of thought derailed when he sucked hard on your clit, flicking the end of his tongue over it while it was drawn from beneath the thin hood of flesh by the suction of his mouth. His left hand shot up to your hip with a pained grunt to keep you immobile for the moment, your whines and whimpers morphing into shouts and moans. Daryl released the small bud and pressed his tongue against it, and when you looked down, you found his gaze on you with an intensity that drew that coiled knot inside you even tighter, threatening to snap it loose.

“Please, Daryl—I don’t—I need—”

“S’okay, pip. Just let go.” His tongue pressed against you again, a firm stimulation that when combined with the twist and curl of his fingers inside you brought a sudden heat from deep in your lower abdomen. It engulfed you, centering on the now vehement circling of Daryl’s tongue on your clit. Your body vibrated, your hips rolling now that he had removed his hand in favor of keeping one shaking thigh pressed down while the other sought it out to squeeze and hold him in place.

You were mumbling, then shouting, random words in incoherent sentences. His name and a plea and a call to a god you didn’t believe in, desperate and overwhelmed. You had never felt pleasure like this, never been allowed to drown in an ecstasy that another person could draw from you.

You had definitely never orgasmed before; regardless of your trauma, that feeling would be something you would surely remember.

You were clueless as to how long you were under the spell of complete and total bliss, falling limp with your bare chest heaving. You didn’t even feel the tears until Daryl was hovering over you, his thumb catching the moisture before it could run across your temple.

“Y’alright?” You hummed, still weightless and floating in the space between reality and wherever it was the archer had sent you. He smirked, his hand still against your neck with his thumb sweeping back and forth over your cheekbone. “Think ya need to sleep some now.” Just like that, you were completely lucid, sitting up to pull him into a feverish kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue, a profound sense of intimacy but you felt another pulse run through your cunt, centering at your clit.

“Please.” You whispered against his mouth, feeling how his breath trembled. As you met his eyes, they were rising away from your lips and looking back at you. He studied you, seemed to be peering into your very soul. He urged you back down when next his mouth slotted over yours. Your hands slid from his shoulders and down to his hips, pulling and guiding him until he was nestled between your thighs. He still wore his pants but his erection was undeniable and likely painful by that point. He wanted you and not in the same way all the men before him did. Daryl wanted you as more than just a hole to be fucked. He wanted you and all your splintered parts and defects. He wanted you but was willing to wait to have you. It only made your desire for him increase tenfold.

“You’re sure ya want this?”

“Yes.” You replied without thought or hesitation. “I want this and I want it with you.” Deft fingers were already sliding from his hips to his belt buckle, working it open while he peppered sloppy kisses over your neck and shoulder.

“Won’t last long.” He mumbled against your collarbone. There was a sadness to his tone. Did he really think he could disappoint you?

“You just made me feel so good, Daryl, and you did it without hurting me. You made me feel—” Loved. The word never made it off your tongue, but you shifted his focus with a nibble against his throat. “I’ll take whatever you’ll give me.” Button open and zipper down, you caressed your way around him and pushed the denim, along with his boxer briefs, down over his ass. Kneading your fingers across each buttock, the muscles twitching. With the combined use of your hands and feet, you managed to get his pants down to his ankles, leaving him to kick them off.

You didn’t look, but you could feel. His cock slid back and forth in your nectar with his hips lazily rocking, his mouth on your breasts. You couldn’t suppress the whine that climbed up to press against your teeth. You needed him inside you. It was never like this before. You were terrified of any man being near you in such a way, but there was little more than residual fear there. Nothing of Dary’s doing. You struggled to slide your hand between your bodies but the archer caught your wrist and brought it toward his mouth to kiss your palm before he guided you to rest it beside your head. He did the same with the other hand.

Sex like this was different to say the least. He wasn’t rushing to penetrate you, or rutting into you like you were a bitch in heat. Even with the heated weight of him nestled against your labia, he didn’t go into a frenzy. It went against everything you had been taught was normal. But that was just Daryl, wasn’t it?

Always showing you that the truth had never fit into Jazz’s narrative.

“Hey.” The archer brushed his nose against yours. “Thinkin’ so loud, you’re makin’ my head hurt.” When you had taken too long to articulate a response, his lips descended onto yours once again, moving with such care while you followed his lead. His tongue swept into your mouth, tangling with yours. If you weren’t careful, you’d get drunk on the taste of him. Maybe it was too late and you already were.

He balanced on his right forearm to ease his hand to your breast, cupping and weighing it, rolling your hard nipple between his thumb and forefinger with a firm squeeze. You arched into him as far as you could beneath his weight, mewling his name with a whisper of more, please into his mouth. You wanted so badly to touch him, to spur him onward. Each time you lifted a hand, he was catching it and lowering it back down.

By the time he decided to reach down, line himself up, you were a panting, squirming mess, caught somewhere between anxious anticipation and lingering doubt. A whimper shook just behind your lips as his tip nudged your slick entrance. He was hesitating, staring at what he could see of you and himself from where he balanced atop you.

“It’s okay.” You soothed, hand trembling while he allowed the comfort of your fingers gliding through his hair. “I want this.”

“Don’t, uh—” he began, his throat working to swallow around the words that were trapped there. “Don’t want ya to do anythin’ ya might regret.”

“Who in their right mind could ever regret the chance to be with you?”

The look he fixed on you was nearly devastating, wide, shining eyes that were radiating disbelief. Carol and the others had worked so hard to help you realize your worth. You wondered, dimly, why they hadn’t spent as much time convincing him of his own. There was sudden disappointment that you didn’t know him from before, that the two of you didn’t find one another before things went to shit. You would have gladly spent every single minute of every single day showing him how amazing he was.

Daryl had dropped his head, any view of his face hidden behind his fringe. Was there anything you could do for him? You wanted this—needed it, craved it—but that all consuming desire was easily pushed aside and replaced with the want to show him gentleness. You’d pull him down to rest with his head over your heart. Maybe you could even find the words to explain why he’d hear it galloping behind your ribs, how it was more than a baser need, how it wasn’t sexual in the least. It was simply the effect of having him that close to you, offering you a part of him that none of the women at the prison had ever even been considered to receive.

You gasped, nails biting into his bicep as he began to breach you. It burned, and with that sensation came the shock of knowing that a stranger had been fucking you only hours before, but this was still pushing your body to its limit to accept Daryl. He stopped once the tip rested inside, for both your benefit as well as his own. He was already twitching, possibly not physically able to go further without spilling inside of you. Would he? You could almost feel the cum leaking around him to spill out of your cunt, wanted to experience how it would make your body soar. However, there were very valid concerns that would make that unlikely.

“Y’okay?” His voice was strained, gravelly, and unfortunately for Daryl, your body reacted by involuntary squeezing him. He keened, a low noise in the back of his throat. In lieu of a reply, you dragged up your legs and pressed your heels against the curve of his ass, pushing him deeper. His head fell onto your shoulder with a grunt. “Goddamn—”

Your cunt wrapped around him in a perfect mold, so tightly that you could feel the vein that ran underneath his cock. Gasping and moaning, you let your knees fall outward and pushed against him with your heels until he was fully sheathed within your warm, fluttering walls. And then you were lost in him. The first thrust was more a roll of his hips, driving so deeply inside of you that you could feel him nudging your limit yet still carving his way further. It was amazing to immerse yourself in the chasm between pain and pleasure, without a sense of foreboding weighing heavily to suffocate you. Daryl was your safe place, and now that you couldn’t seem to tell where you ended and he began, you could draw upon that ardor and submit to him completely.

Submission was something you knew well, but this was different. It was a conscious choice made out of desire and not fear. You were ready to willingly drown in him and let him decide when to pull you up for air. Another roll of his hips saw you breathing his name, your hands roaming over the broad expanse of his back, over the raised and uneven skin. The archer growled next to your ear, sucking on the lobe before progressing with intentionally wet kisses and nibbles over your jaw before claiming your lips.

He was so gentle in his movements, allowing both of you what you needed while still reminding you that sex could be enjoyable. No one had ever made love to you that you could remember. Maybe before the end of the world, but that no longer mattered. The memories could stay buried for all you cared. You wanted this, there in that moment. With Daryl.

“Need ya to tell me you’re okay.” He murmured with his lips brushing over yours. His sporadic presses into your body became a rhythm, continuous and deep, but just as slow and steady. The heat in your belly was already simmering just from the drag of him inside of you, feeling him twitch and swell.

“I’m okay, yeah. I’m okay.” You managed, encouraging him to bare his neck to you with a gentle nudge of your cheek against his jaw. His moan cut off, hips stuttering when you bit down on skin over his pulse. There was the slight taste of copper on your tongue. He groaned and grabbed at your hands, one at a time, to push them back down on either side of your head, lacing his fingers through yours. His grip tightened with every languid thrust, only to loosen when he pulled back his hips. His face was buried against your shoulder again, choking off moans and failing in the attempts to hold back the whimpers, he was throwing gasoline onto the fire inside of you. “I’m—I think I’m—” Your chest arched and pressed against him, his left hand releasing yours to move down and cradle your lower back, angling your hips to allow him to carve his way impossibly deeper. You could feel him moving in your lower belly, each push back into you prodding a spot that had your toes curling.

You began to orgasm before you could even warn him, so lost in the colors and shapes of a different reality while your cunt clenched around him so forcefully that he grunted your name and squeezed your hand. You knew you were shouting but could do nothing to stop it. It just felt so sublime, so right. Dary was still at your ear, panting and grunting through clenched teeth. He was hanging on by a thread.

“Y/N, m’gonna—fuck, m’gonna cum.”

He slipped out of you so suddenly that you whined, twisting your other hand free to encircle both arms beneath his, holding him close and steady as he spilled onto your throbbing pussy. His chest was heaving, the frequent puffs of air so warm against your skin. His muscles were taut beneath your palms, rippling while he rode out his high with lazy thrusts, his cock brushing against your groin. Then he was still, collapsing on top of you but cognizant enough to shift his weight so as to not crush you.

The room was quiet then, save for the heavy breaths. It was damn near eerie but entirely forgotten when the archer pushed himself up on his elbows, his eyes tired and glazed over.

“Did I hurtcha?” It was almost a whisper, as if he was trying to avoid someone overhearing and catching you both naked and sweating.

“No.” You smiled and pulled him back against your shoulder. “Not at all.” It took several more minutes before your own breaths had slowed to an even cadence. Daryl had all but melted into you, sated and sleepy and vulnerable. It felt like an honor to hold him in such a way, coaxing out the stress and despair so that his muscles relaxed and he felt safe enough to close his eyes. One hand rubbed across his back, pausing with each twitch or sharp inhale. Your other hand was busy cradling the back of his head and combing your fingers through his hair.

“Daryl?”

“Hmm?’’ When you angled your head to look down at him, you found yourself smiling. His eyes were losing the battle to stave off the call of sleep.

“Thank you.”

But he was already out, the exhaustion from the last few days pulling him under with relative ease. As you held him close, you felt your own eyes grow heavy. One of you should really have stayed awake and kept watch, but sleep was relentlessly dragging you down.

With one last kiss into Daryl’s hair, you closed your eyes, feeling the tears sting but you were too tired to fight them off.

“Thank you.”

143 notes · View notes

anisespice · 9 months

Text

“ the fuck-it list ” || hq! pt. 3

one || two

synopsis: there’s a list going around consisting of hot guys on campus that are deemed “fuckable” with theories as to what they’d be like in bed. it’s all fun and games until somehow your boyfriend ends up on this list.

pairing: various x gn!reader [ osamu, sakusa ]

warnings: cursing, suggestive language, MDI. literally can’t be bothered to think of anything else, but feel free to let me know lol

notes: sooo i lied <333 i’ve decided to give suna his own chapter later on (srry suna lovers !!!!) i just wasn’t satisfied with how his was turning out, and it was the only roadblock delaying my progress soooo figured we’d just put a pin in his for now lol especially for those who were FROTHING for these two in particular (this for y'all ✨) hope you enjoy :)))

notes ii: nobody LOOK AT ME, this took me an embarrassingly long time lol. i’m not familiar with them, personality-wise, but i tried ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

notes iii: this one’s got atsumu written all over it LMAOOO

tagged: @daedaep69 , @ahahadumbo , @viktoryn , @mdsb , @ourgoddessathena , @ushygushybaby , @hyori2 , @lumpywolf , @fantasycantasy

“Aht-CHOO!”

The bowl of popcorn nearly flew out your lap when you shrieked bloody-murder, body in fight or flight from the abrupt sound happening moments before a jumpscare in the movie you were watching. Head on a swivel, you soon realized the culprit wasn’t a psycho-killer in a ghost mask, but your darling OSAMU with his lawnmower of a sneeze coming through your front door.

You exhaled, relieved, but scared shitless. After pausing the movie, you glared down the hall leading to the door. “Seriously? You had to do that with your entire chest?”

Osamu sniffled, then muttered. “…Y’supposed to say bless ya before scoldin’ at your sweet and thoughtful boyfriend, y’know…”

“Aw, bless you, my love. And, fuck you.”

The brunette snorted, no doubt rolling his eyes as he toed off his shoes. Coming down the hall to soon reveal his handsome face, illuminated only by the bright tv screen, Osamu held up a large plastic bag filled with something greasy and delicious as the smell traveled up your nose. He grinned smugly at you intently eyeing the bag. “Fuck me, huh?”

You immediately doubled down, waving your hands. “Waitwaitwait I didn’t mean it like that. I meant it as in…fuck you’RE so sweet and thoughtful, and I love you so much..?”

Osamu hummed, taking off his ball cap to place it on your head. Shaking it a little by the brim, he winked. “Nice save, darlin’.”

He made way for your inspace kitchen to get dinner assorted with you trailing not too far behind. Your eyes eagerly ate up the widespread of all your favorites displayed on the countertop, practically hanging off his back since there was barely any room for the both of you in the tiny space. Popcorn long forgotten, your stomach sang a symphony for some real food, Osamu saving you the trouble of eating instant noodles for dinner yet again.

And without you even having to ask him for any of it, too.

Your gaze eventually locked onto the former volleyball player, eyeing him up with a newfound hunger that he was quick to pick up on while he popped a piece of fried chicken in his mouth. Looking down at you with a raised brow he patiently waited for you to voice your thoughts, a boyish grin growing on his face as he chewed.

You blinked. He blinked back, then chuckled lightly. “We communicatin’ telepathically, or somethin’?”

“If we were, you’d know I wanna suck you dry right now.”

Osamu.exe—E R R O R.

Man straight up inhaled the little that was still in his mouth, hurling him into a fit of hacks as he turned away from the food to fight for his life at your sink. Coughing up what he could into the drain with you behind him hitting his back for support, you couldn’t stop the evil, little laugh from slipping out seeing this as a form of karma for the scare earlier. Osamu fixed you with a weak glare once he calmed down, reaching over to pinch your cheek. “A warnin’ next time, would’ya?…”

You winced, but mirth still swam in your eyes. “Your only warning would’ve been your pants around your ankles-”

“Oi, quit that.” He gently grabbed your jaw to squish up your mouth, though it didn’t repress the cheeky grin you wore. The brunette did his best to remain unfazed, but the flush across his face was evident, your words clearly effecting him. “…Jeez, at least ask me how m’day was before ya slut me out. Soundin’ like all them thirsty-ass comments floodin’ my socials all damn day.”

Osamu let go of your face to grab plates from your cabinet, leaving you standing there, dumbfounded. Pursing your lips, you crossed your arms with a raised brow. “‘m sorry…the what flooding your socials?”

He busied himself with fixing your plate, nonchalantly recalling the very incident that occurred the other day, “That dumb fuck-list or whatever, mixed up me ‘nd ‘tsumu in their little post. Had his ugly mug front ‘nd center, but had my name attached to this long-winded thread ‘bout me basically being better in the sack than him. Shit’s wild.”

“The fuck-what now?” Osamu handed over a healthy plate full of food, you absentmindedly took it but made no move to eat. He started fixing his own, acting as if he didn’t just delay your appetite with this information. “Y—…you’re joking right? There’s no way something like that exists.”

“Oh, t’s very much real. Read it with my own eyes,” he licked the spoon he used to spread sauce across his chicken. “What, ya sayin’ ya haven’t heard of it? Seriously?”

“You know I don’t care enough to keep up with the trends that go on around here. And with good reason, clearly. What’s even the purpose?”

He shrugged. “Beats me. But it’s got ‘tsumu givin’ me the silent treatment, so maybe it’s not that bad after all.”

“Pfft. He’s pissy because some random on the internet said you’re the better lay? How would they know?? You’re both happily taken, and I wish a bitch would.” You smugly declared, bringing your food to the living room.

Osamu grinned at your possessive tone, trailing behind you holding plate and soda cans in either hand. “Damn straight. But, wasn’t just some random, babe. We’re talkin’ millions.”

Had you not already gotten situated on the couch, you would’ve surely spilled food all over yourself. Jaw nearly to the floor, you blinked up at him, bewildered. “Nuh uh.”

“Yuh huh.”

“Holy shit.”

Osamu took his usual spot next to you, large frame nearly taking up most of the couch. With bellies empty, knee knocking against knee, and elbow nudging elbow, the brunette hummed contently as he soaked in his favorite atmosphere—Your voice, your warmth, you. Though too busy monologuing about the absurdity of such a thing going viral to notice his fond gaze, Osamu silently listened to every word as he began eating from his plate. Although, all that mushiness is soon pushed to the back of his mind when the next sentence fell from your lips. After you eventually found said post to see it for yourself, needless to say you had some…hot takes.

“How could someone write this and not cringe? I mean, I love you ‘samu, but a Dom? If only they knew how nervous you were our first time, it was so adorable.” You giggled, tossing some chicken into your mouth. “You are not that guy.”

Osamu’s chewing paused. Your laughter eventually died down.

You didn’t feel his stare earlier…but you were definitely feeling it now, Mr. Krabs. Suddenly, the same dread you got when anticipating a jumpscare resurfaced. A sinking pit in your stomach like a rabbit stumbling upon a fox—Cliché aside, you fucked up. And you knew it in your bones the second your eyes locked with his, void of fondness and full of hunger despite his plate being half-eaten.

He swallowed the bit in his mouth, then spoke. “Sure ‘bout that?”

You mouth moved, floundered even, but nothing would come out. And Osamu didn’t rush you either, if anything he gladly watched you struggle while he continued munching away. “I—..I-I mean..I was just saying. Because…y’know, you never…we never really-”

“Mm. Jus’ cause we usually take things slow doesn’t mean you can’t get a hole fucked into your mattress, sweetheart. Keep tryin’ ya luck, ‘nd ya just might. Finish eatin’ first, though. Ya gonna need your energy.”

SAKUSA couldn’t give a flying fuck about the list. He would literally walk away from someone mid-conversation if said topic got brought up. And don’t think that you’re the exception, either—Man parked and got out of his OWN CAR during the drive back to his place, refusing to get back in until you dropped the subject entirely.

“Omi-”

“No.”

“C’monnnn.”

“No.”

You giggled, “I won’t talk about it anymore, I promise.”

He had his back to you as you spoke through the rolled down, driver’s side window, trying to ‘pspspsps’ him back into the car like a stubborn cat. Sakusa knew he was being ridiculous, but he just couldn’t stomach anymore nonsense. Plus, there’s a bit of suspicion on his end whenever it came to talking about the accursed list—Sakusa saw it as a bad omen.

Anyone who talked about it within his circle, be it teammates or personal friends, miraculously found themselves posted up the following day like fresh meat on the market. Once he caught wind that not even taken people were spared from being thirsted over, his disdain merely amplified, as did his precaution.

“Baby, I’ll burn some sage back at your apartment to scare away the bad energy from my filthy words. Would that make you feel better?”

Sakusa huffed, looking over his shoulder to give you a good ole stank face—One you barely paid any mind to as you batted your lashes at him. He glitched. Had it not been for the mask he was wearing, you’d see the harsh flush that spread across his face. Too bad his neck was exposed, giving him away as you grinned knowingly. But, you weren’t about to distract him from the issue at hand, you temptress.

“Don’t patronize me. Besides, you didn’t say it at my apartment, you said it in the car. Would completely defeat the purpose.”

You blinked.

There was no stopping the laughing fit you fell into when his words eventually processed, borderline cackling. “I-I’ll sage the car then, how ‘bout that?”

The ravenette squinted, marching up to the car to stick his head in before pulling his mask down so you could see his heavy frown through your tearful hysterics.

“You’re laughing. You’ve doomed me to becoming targeted by perverts, and you’re laughing.”

“‘yoomi, PLEASE.” You wheezed, waving a hand at him for mercy. With a couple stuttered intakes of air, you did your best to pull it together. “Don’t you think…you’re being a little paranoid?”

Amusement colored your features when you made eye contact with the outside hitter. Sakusa rolled his, tugging his mask back on before re-entering the car. “We’ll see how funny you find it when we can’t be seen together in public anymore.”

“And why not?” You raised a brow, still giggly.

Sakusa buckled in, taking the car out of park. “Because. When I do get posted, I won’t be leaving the safety of my room until that shit gets banned.”

“Oh my god, honey, I promise. You’re worrying over nothing. If you were gonna be on the list, don’t you think you would’ve by now? I mean, c’mon, even Hinata got on it before you. Majority of your teammates did!”

“That’s exactly my point. I’m the only one left.”

The two of you continued a playful back and forth pretty much the whole drive, more so you teasing him than anything else. After a while, having had your fun, you gave it a rest much to Sakusa’s relief. “Can still burn some sage, if you want-” “You’re not funny.”

Your evening continued on as normal, him taking a shower while you busied yourself by looking for a show the two of you could binge. Although, even after the discussion from earlier had been dropped, your boyfriend’s words still echoed in the back of your mind like a mantra. ‘I’m the only one left.’

As much as you’d hate to admit, though never to his face, your over-suspicious companion had a point. Without the safety net of his more extroverted teammates being in the spotlight of rabid fans, what’s delaying the swarm of unsolicited desires now? Even with his sourtude, Sakusa was an attractive individual—The dark curls that frame his face perfectly, his piercing pools of obsidian that shred through you like paper, the beauty marks above his brow, his THIGHS. And those were just surface-level things.

Being one of the privileged few who’ve seen all layers of Sakusa, you couldn’t blame them for wanting to explore deeper into who he was beyond that cold exterior…in more ways than one. Who better to fill those burning questions than some horny randos with too much time on their hands?

But, he’s made it this far without issue, what’s there to worry about now?—*Bzzzzt*

You jolt slightly, the harsh vibration coming from the sofa table breaking you out of your thoughts. With a short glance at your phone, the lit screen revealed an incoming call from Sakusa’s cousin, Komori. You exhale a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding, reaching over to grab the device and answer it. However, as your thumb hovered over the green button, a small part of you couldn’t help but wonder…why would he be calling you?

You shook your head, answering the call before your mind could wander. He probably just wanted to catch up, make small talk. A smile graced your face as you happily greeted him, “Mori! Hi, what can I do ya for-?”

“Has he seen it?? Am I too late??”

You froze, blinking widely in stunned confusion. Your silence must have been loud enough for the man to grow more anxious, calling out your name to regain your attention. “Uh…has who seen what?”

Komori exhaled, in what you could only assume was relief. “Thank God…you sound blissfully unaware. That means there’s still time. You’re at his place, right?”

You blinked, eyes looking around as if he could see you.

“Kiyoomi’s? Yeah, I am. He’s in the shower at the moment if you were trying to reach him. Is everything okay?”

Now it was him who turned silent. You waited with bated breath, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt as you wracked your brain for every worst case scenario…but a small part of you already had an idea.

“It’s the complete opposite, I’m afraid.”

‘Kiyoomi Sakusa. 6’2ft of ?????. An enigma. We had to take our time this one. This tall, personification of a hand sanitizer bottle may appear to be disgusted and disinterested, but once you get past those disinfectant defenses of his…Lady in the streets, but a freak in the bed. Why else would he keep so clean all the time? It’s ‘cause he’s hiding an absolute FILTHY ANIMAL behind his mask (literally and figuratively) you cannot convince me otherwise. Definitely a Hard Dom, would degrade you for making a mess all over him even though he’s the one to blame; THRIVES when you get messy for him tho. Firm believer that he’d spit in your mouth, both as punishment and a reward. He won’t make much noise, you’ll think he’s doing taxes while deep in your guts, but just watch his face; homie is EXPRESSIVE. Aftercare could go either way, but he’d probably focus more on getting the sheets changed than cleaning you up. 7/10.’

You clenched the phone in disbelief, eyes watering due to the sexual word-vomit burning them the more you read on. It didn’t even take you long to find the dreaded post you were convinced would never manifest, refreshing the page multiple times just to confirm its existence. “Shit. I really did doom him to being targeted by perverts…”

“Huh??” Komori voiced. You merely brushed it off.

“Nothing,” you sighed. Taking the conversation out on the balcony in case Sakusa overheard, you had Komori on speaker as you attempted to do damage control. “Do the others know about this? Oh God, does Atsumu?? Knowing him, he’d surely jump at the chance to tease Omi with something like this.”

“Dunno. Just found out myself, and you were the first person I thought to call.”

You looked over your shoulder, peeking inside to see if the outside hitter was roaming around. There didn’t appear to be any movement, but there’s no doubt he finished showering by now.

Exhaling, you began sifting through your contacts. “We need to do whatever it takes to make sure he never finds out about the post. I’ll text everyone I know to help flag it down, but I’m not sure how long it’ll take before-”

“Who’re you talking to?”

Startled, phone nearly tossed off the balcony, you turned toward the sudden appearance of your freshly washed boyfriend, towel around his neck and adorned in lounge wear. Komori held his breath, as if he also were caught in the act even though he could easily escape with a mere press of a button. “Um…your cousin.”

“Okay, but…why’d you come out here? You wouldn’t have disturbed me if you took the call inside.” Sakusa raised a brow at your stiff posture, perplexed but concerned. “Something the matter?”

“No!” You winced at your own volume. His eyes widened slightly, making you nervously chuckle. Clearing your throat, you attempted to play it cool. “No, uh…just wanted to get some air while catching up with Komori, that’s all. W-why d’you ask?”

Sakusa squinted at you. “You’re jumpy.”

“J-Jumpy? Me? Uh.. that’s because…” Searching your brain for an excuse, luckily Komori had your back with his quick thinking.

“B-Because! We’re talking about the list! And t-they figured you wouldn’t wanna hear us, so-” SLAM!

Before he could even get the rest of the explanation out, Sakusa had already closed the sliding door. You and Komori shared a sigh of relief. You watched Sakusa’s back retreat into the living room as he sat on the couch, flickering around for something to put on to pass the time.

Just as suspected…still paranoid.

“That was close…”

“Super close. Think he bought it?”

You groaned, hesitant to take your eyes off him. “Won’t matter if he decides to check his phone at some point…”

It didn’t appear to be anywhere in sight, hopefully charging in another room. But, there was no point in wasting time worrying about that. You had some flagging to do. And as long as he had no reason to look at it, you’d be fine.

Sakusa, now bored with you occupied by something else, couldn’t help but to watch you longingly from the couch. You were speaking so animatedly, using your free hand to gesture, pacing back and forth. He frowned—How can that stupid list be more important than snuggling up with him? Yet another reason to hate it.

Exhaling through his nose he leaned back on the sofa, remote in hand as he looked for something to help pass the time. However, before he could get very far in his search, his phone rings.

Confused, he reached into his pocket. Instantly, his mood went from neutral to shriveled when he read the caller ID—Miya.

He had half a mind to ignore it, but knowing Atsumu he’d probably just keep calling until the inevitable happened with him turning up on his doorstep. Sakusa gave an annoyed huff, reluctantly answering the phone.

“Better have a good reason to be calling me this late, idiot.”

“Oh ho ho. Believe me, Omi-Omi. You’ll wanna see this.”

Back on the balcony, after the sixth time flagging the post for misinformation and harassment, you suddenly felt a shift in the atmosphere that wasn’t there moments before. Halting your frantic thumbs, you slowly looked up from the screen as a cold chill ran up your spine; something didn’t feel right in the force.

You weren’t sure what made you turn back to look inside the room, but the moment you did…it was like the world had gone into slow motion—Komori’s voice faded into the background as he called out your name, drowned out by the sound of your heart pounding through your ribs at the sight of Sakusa on his phone, face contorted into what could only be described as pure humiliation as he stared into the endless abyss while on his knees.

Probably should’ve burned that sage when you had the chance.

#🍁wasabi #‼️PT. 3‼️#*posts it and runs*#hq #hq scenarios #hq smut #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu smut #hq osamu #hq sakusa #the fuck-it list

728 notes · View notes

eelnoise · 5 months

Text

seraphim

roronoa zoro x afab!reader c/w: bloodlust, consensual bloodplay, zoro bites, you scratch, religious themes, body worship, slight breeding kink, piv sex, creampie, manhandling, praise, post-murder sex (reader and zoro just killed a bunch of marines), public sex a/n: ? idk what even to say. i like my men bloody and i like when they bloody me. this is a rewrite of a previous fic which you can find here so if ur like "ive read this b4..." its because you kinda have banner by the lovely @buggyandthebartoclub!

Zoro isn’t a religious man.

No, he finds the very notion of reverence visceral.

Though as he turns back toward you, he’s dumbstruck. You face away from him, pulling the blade of your sword deep from the torso of a fallen naval officer and watching as the light fades from his eyes. Both of you had emerged victorious after a merciless and surprise assault from a group of marines in the middle of an open town square on some island that neither of you can remember the name of, where a large statue stands tall in honor of some long-forgotten hero at its center.

The scene is heavenly, you there - surrounded by the wages of spilled blood that pools beneath your feet, the remnants of singing steel permeating the now hallowed ground upon which you stand. There’s a certain beauty in chaos, and never has Zoro felt it quite as clearly as when he watches you tear into your foes with reckless abandon. The image makes him shiver - not in fear or revulsion, but something far more primal, deep within his gut.

He’s speechless as he observes you wiping the excess carnage from your blade, a sensation akin to delight igniting in his veins and fixated on you like a hawk. It’s beautiful, truly, a stunning vision that he couldn’t even dream up.

“Well, we took care of that little rat problem, hm?” Your words are heavy with pride and exertion, but the sound of your voice only spurs him from a daze that he didn’t even realize he was in.

Then you turn to him, visage tattered and torn and stained with crimson. Zoro’s mouth goes dry, and words fail him, tongue tied tightly in a knot that he can’t seem to unravel. You’re immaculate, and for the first time in his life he’s fighting the urge to exalt, to sing your praise, to deify you.

He mutters something that’s beyond your field of hearing as he continues to stare at you like a starved man would a feast. Zoro’s seen you wield that blade countless times, watched on as you cut down enemy by enemy without effort or ailment, but never have you looked as angelic as you do now. Standing amid a symphony of battle and gore, covered from head to toe in splattered blood that’s both yours and that of the deceased around you, the look of delight and self-satisfaction twinkling in your eyes as you grin at him from across the square, fuck, it’s all too much.

You’re right, of course, the two of you can and did handle these sin and sinew wrapped rats with ease, but the more pressing matter is the effect that you’re currently having on his heart. Zoro takes a step forward, taking in the beauty of your face, bloodied and bruised but not conquered.

Curiously, you leer at him, head tilted in question as you sheath your sword along your back, taking note of the lack of the usual snarky remark from the swordsman. “Zoro?”

His eye flickers to yours, lips parted in what could only be described as awe. He looks at you as if you’re a muse, descended from on high to grace him with your presence, one that’s stunned him into near silence. “Yeah?” Zoro manages to reply quietly, tone raspy and voice a barely audible whisper against the breeze - a timbre you only hear from him when he’s injured or exhausted, a weak and feeble inflection that almost has you questioning if the man was actually hurt.

Zoro’s jaw visibly tightens, his one open eye alight with the same burn that he eyes an opponent with, expression twisting into one that you know all too well. The face he only makes when -

He wants you.

Your war-torn, bloodthirsty appearance has overwhelmed Zoro, the innate desire etched on his expression like a fool in a daze. Lips twisting into a devious smirk, you’re keen on taking advantage of this rare opportunity of power that you’ve been given over him, and you know exactly how to proceed. With a step toward him, you do something he doesn’t expect, something that has his nails digging into his palms.

You lick blood from your lips.

Zoro’s blood blazes, a carnal, raw emotion swells in his throat with urges he cannot fight - will not fight. Ever a man of action, he’s upon you faster than you can react. Large, calloused fingers envelop your waist, pulling you close in an instant and slamming his lips onto yours in a starved, feverish, messy kiss. The metallic tang of blood on his tongue mixed with the taste of you drives him increasingly wilder each second you stay locked together in the embrace, hastening him further into devoted bliss.

You writhe as he leaves your lips to trail down your neck, lapping up the viscous liquid that coats your flesh in his wake. Zoro is fully prepared to kneel at your altar, to partake of and rejoice in each beautiful proverb that befalls from your sweet tongue, to bathe in every hymn you bestow.

Zoro's hands roam over your body, feeling the contours of your curves beneath the fabric of your torn clothing, tracing the delicate lines of your collarbone and shoulders before coming to rest on the small of your back, holding you firm against him. He feels like he could drown in this moment, in the warmth and passion that courses through his entire being.

Zoro grins wildly, a feral expression on his face as he feels the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips, the heat of your breath against his neck, and the sound of your voice washing over in melodic harmony. He wants nothing more than to revel in this moment, to lose himself completely in the intensity of the connection that you share.

“You wouldn’t believe how good ya look like this,” He growls into your skin, his chapped lips dancing across your collarbone and up to your shoulder. “I feel like I shouldn’t even be allowed to see ya. Feels…” words wane into a series of open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder and into the crook of your neck, deeply inhaling the intoxicating scent of blood, sweat, and battle on your flesh, “...wrong.”

“Doesn’t seem to be stopping you,” You purr, allowing a soft, pleased sigh to slide from your throat when he adds his teeth to the wet assault upon your skin, gently nibbling and grazing at you in a manner that grows hungrier and more sporadic with every passing moment.

“We both know I ain’t much of a rule follower.” Zoro’s husky voice is hot on your ear, his warm breath sending a jolt of longing right through your nervous system. The hand low on your back begins to wriggle its way through tattered tendrils of threads that once made up your shirt, fingers spread wide as it skims up your pliant softness, tracing along your waist and up between your shoulder blades.

Zoro's touch isn’t quite tender, a clear indication of his burgeoning lust you suspect, but there's honesty, sincerity in his newfound charge. He knows that you aren't fragile, the evidence fresh and red around you speaking well enough on its own, so why stay the hand that plys the sword?

Men fall to their hands and knees in prayer to gods they’ve never seen, begging for mercy and crying out for deliverance that will not come.

But you - he can see you, he can hear you.

He can touch you.

Taste you.

You're divine. A paragon of a twisted and bloodied form of justice. It's you that's stupefied him, luring him into a deistic high that has Zoro practically foaming at the mouth with innate desire.

His painfully hard cock strains against his thigh with means to worship you wholly, to partake in his own ideals of perverse, distorted devotion. He breathes in your salty-sweet scent once more and groans in longing, the taste of your crimson essence on his lips makes him feel like an offering to an idol., and every drop that drips down his chin only serves to heighten his senses even more.

He looks up at you through an eye glazed over with depraved adoration, and all he can think of is how good you look, how delicious you are on his tongue, how much he wants to please you, be consumed in your immaculate presence, and to offer himself up as a sacrifice to the darker and more nefarious desire within him.

The urge to claim, to take what he wants from you and find salvation surrounded by your benevolent hold. To act upon the impure aspiration that pulsates in his mind in ways that would make even the most vileindividuals gawk. He yearns to clean the blood from your sacred, championed skin, a lust filled ritual to send you both into sacramental euphoria.

He’s in a frenzy, feeling and touching each curve and crevice across your body while pulling you impossibly closer to him. Before Zoro can even think, he’s sinking his teeth into your shoulder, overcome with enlightened debauchery and biting down until that deathly addictive taste of your blood is fresh on his tongue once more - a testament to the depth of his obsession and the power of your shared experience.

The pain burns hot, but brief - quickly dissipating away into a cry of raw pleasure, a moan so salacious and so absolute that Zoro feels the very last of his will slipping through his fingers. He laps over the decently deep mark, his saliva mixing into the cuts like kindle to flame and earning him another woefully delightful wail of exasperation.

He thinks himself safe for the interim, that he’s pulled some sense back from the brink - until you say the one thing that shatters him to pieces.

“Do that again.”

He doesn’t deny you, and without hesitation he obliges by drowning his teeth back into your shoulder, pressing deeper into the wound and savoring the way your blood flows across his lips and into his mouth, painting his face red in the process. He grinds his hips against yours in a primitive display of dominance, while his fingers dig into your flesh with bruising force as you dig your nails into his back through his sweat and blood damped shirt.

Despite the danger posed by your actions amidst the threat of more marines, there is something undeniably beautiful about this dance of life and death. In this fleeting moment, Zoro and you find a kind of transcendence - a place where boundaries blur and limits vanish, leaving only pure, unadulterated passion in its wake.

His lips return to yours, and soon enough you feel yourself being whisked off your feet. The open air of the square leaves little room for privacy, but you know he doesn't care. Zoro walks with you in his arms, lips locked together in a messy, bloody, passionate kiss, your legs tight around his waist before he eases you down onto the lip of nameless hero's memorial upon which he plans to ravish you.

Zoro releases his hungry attack on your lips and rips the remnants of your shirt in two, leaving you bare to him as if an offering of communion. To feast upon your body, to drink upon your wine.

You gasp, wincing just a little from the shock of the fresh air upon your chest. “Zoro-” you begin, his name emanating from your breathless lungs as you watch the fabric fall to the ground around you.

“Y’can have mine,” He replies, leaning forward to pull one of your nipples into his mouth. “After I’m done with ya.” Zoro’s mouth suckles greedily, teasing your sensitive nub with his tongue before biting down hard enough to make you squeal and arch your back, but not draw blood.

His free hand traces down your side, finding respite upon your inner thigh and squeezing tightly onto it, growling as the fresh wound on your shoulder trickles down your chest and right onto his lips and eliciting an absolutely lewd groan from Zoro as he laps it up.

He gazes up at you with an intensity that borders on madness, his eyes burning with an unbridled lust that has you keening. “Ya taste so fuckin’ good,” he growls between his assault on your chest, “God, I can’t get enough.”

“Then take as much as you want.”

And fuck, he does. In an instant does he pop his lips from you to slide your pants away, somehow careful enough to not rip them to shreds - something you’d have to thank him for later. Without even removing his swords from his hip, let alone his own pants - Zoro simply rushes to undo the clasps and push the waistband down enough to free his length, thick and leaking, to bounce out against your pelvis.

You can feel it even through your underwear, warm heat radiating from what you desire most in this world at this moment. Zoro looks at you, gaze lingering on yours as he slides the fabric shielding your sex to the side and grips your hip with one hand and his cock in the other. He teases it over your slickness tantalizingly while sliding it between your folds and inch by inch are you filled so wonderfully, stretched and stuffed so marvelously full that each tense or twitch of him inside you makes the edges of your vision blur and has you wailing in pleasure.

As soon as your hips are flushed against one another, he gives you but a moment of adjustment before rutting his hips into you quickly, a rhythm so ruthless and wild that leaves you able to do little more aside from gasp out breathlessly and brave his savage ruin. You’re not even sure when your nails crept up his shirt, or when they burrow sharply into his shoulder blades until they’re etching down his back, the crescent shaped lines running his skin raw and bloody, scathing scores fueled by ferocious, crude passion.

He folds you then, one of his hands coming to grip over both of your wrists to pin them above your head as an arm forces your thigh downward. Zoro leans over you, your ankle now bouncing wildly next to his ear while he plows into you at a newer, deeper, more luscious angle.

Skin slaps against skin in company with brazen indulgence, a foul yet righteous lament for the fallen mere feet from you. From this more cramped position, you’re all but forced to keep eye contact with him - and he’s looking nowhere else but at your face, enraptured by every sound and move you make as you squirm in his hold.

Your desperate pants mix, leaving patches of sweat to pool between your chests. Zoro’s increasing gasps and snarls of ecstasy ring loud in your ear, the sounds echoing through you like a quake and causing you to flutter around his cock. He hisses, harsh and shrill in your ear and with a throaty grunt he pulls out of you, letting your legs fall to the stone pavement and releasing his grasp on your wrists to firmly twist you by the shoulders, spinning you around and sprawling his hand on your lower back to shift you forward into an arch.

He’s sinking into you again, fingers tight and stinging at your waist and burying himself fully inside of you once more. There isn’t even a moment given for reprieve, the man continuing to fuck you as if he hadn’t even left your dripping heat and making you cry out in hypnotizing delight.

Zoro smacks your ass, relishing in the ripple effect in your pliable flesh left in the wake of his blow. “Shit,” he exhales, adjusting his machinations of impurity to wrap his arms around your waist and lifting you from the ground, holding you in place mid-air and thrusting into you with less and less fluidity by the second. “Feel so fuckin’ amazin’, always do but god damn do you feel so fuckin’ incredible right now.”

You reach back to lock an arm around his neck seeking any leverage to keep yourself upright amidst his onslaught. You’re moaning something incoherent, words neither of you recognize due to the lust-filled haze that fills your minds, feeling the pull of release pit low in your belly as his balls slap against your clit at a rapid pace.

Delirium bids its toll upon you, tears prickling at your eyes as the climb to your closely approaching high reaches its limit. Drool slides down your chin and onto your neck, and in an instant Zoro catches it with his mouth, once again dissenting on your flesh and gnawing his incisors into your neck - sucking and biting with brutal obsession and marking your angelic skin in devout defiance. The growing familiarity of the warm flow of blood trickling from the bruised indents in your skin makes you crack, flying over the edge with a scream of his name.

He doesn’t slow as you ride out the waves of pleasure coursing through your body, still slamming into you a breakneck speed. You twitch and twist in his arms, the hard beating of his cock keeping a state of hyperstimulation over you, the whimpers and cries of weak will and breathless joy beginning to tip him over the edge.

The only thing in Zoro’s fogged head is his need to flood you with his spend, to pack you to the brim with his cum until it drips out of you and onto the stone below. He doesn’t even care if you’re bred full of his brats after this - if anything it would show just how he reveres you, claiming you as his own personal magnificence.

His jaw tenses, still attached securely on your neck, as he cums. Loud groans and grunts and sighs of relief vibrate against your skin, Zoro’s dick leaking and draining into you as your walls milk him for all that you can manage.

A few final, slow motions and he slides out of you, gently placing you on the ground and instantly rolling his shirt from his shoulders to hand it to you. “As promised,” Zoro says, a deviously weak grin on his face, moving to wipe his brow after you’ve taken the clothing from his outstretched hand. “Want me to patch ya up when we get back?”

“If you don’t mind, yeah.” You reply as you toss the shirt over yourself gently, minding the wounds that line your body as you do so.” Would rather not be asked any questions I don’t want to answer.” Zoro nods, chuckling softly before helping you clean up, using scraps of your ruined shirt as makeshift bandages and rags before he lifts you into his arms for a third time, though this one with the intention of carrying you safely back to the others - a soft apology for his brutality on your flesh, but one he knows he doesn’t need to say.

#😳#one piece x y/n #one piece x reader #op x reader #one piece x reader smut #one piece smut #zoro roronoa x you #roronoa zoro x you #zoro roronoa x reader #zoro smut #x reader

339 notes · View notes