#drawing that hand was a nightmare man holy fucking shit
Text
Tell them not to cry at all
Heaven is wherever I fall
screaming crying etc when I think of Fives
clean sketch under the cut
#not fallout#kal talks#sw#star wars#the clone wars#fives#arc trooper fives#kal does an art#the clone wars fives#drawing that hand was a nightmare man holy fucking shit#ive forgotten how to draw hands#quick sketch just to get me through the day#hence this isnt really colored
19 notes
·
View notes
Text
Chaos in Threes
Daryl Dixon [ROMANTIC] | Carol Peletier [PLATONIC] • They/Them Pronouns • You three have always been inseparable since you’ve proven to the world you work better together. You, Daryl, and Carol. But there are always those chaotic moments and hidden matchmaking • ANGST/SFW • TW: Injuries / Scars / Anxiety / PTSD / Nightmares
Requested by: Anon
Chaos kind of follows these three…let’s just say. You fuck with one of them? The other two are hunting your ass down.
For example.
“Well well well…coming for your mans?” Negan smirks when he spotted Y/N trying to sneak into the Sanctuary. Or more so his saviors caught them.
“Nah. I’m actually here for a bite”
“A bite?” Negan looks at them confused before watching Y/N full on bite down on Simon’s hand, hard enough to draw blood. “HOLY FUCKING SHIT”
“YOU SON OF A—-“ Simon tried to pull them off but they weren’t budging and it took the other one knocking them out in order for them to release. “SINCE WHEN IS IT OKAY TO FUCKING BITE PEOPLE?!”
Another example
Noah had cornered Y/N aiming his gun at their head to get them to fall to their knees and surrender. He was just a kid he wasn’t going to do anything. He wanted to save his friend from the hell hospital and needed their weapon. Clearly he didn’t communicate that.
Or the crossbow aimed at the back of his head and pistol pressed into his back wouldn’t be currently happening.
“Wanna see what happens when you take them out?” Carol whispers to Noah as he instantly lowers his gun raising his hands.
“That’s what I thought” Daryl scoffs pushing past the two to help Y/N to their feet as they immediately went back down when they spotted a pack of cigarettes in a dead person’s grasp. “Score”
“Son of a bitch won’t be using ‘em.” Y/N laughs taking out a cig for them. “‘Sides. After that moment, I could use one”
We’ve got more examples
Y/N currently had the Kingdom solider in a headlock as their angry grumbling sounded like an angry raccoon trying to get out of a trash can. He tried to tap out but given Daryl’s slightly amused look when he knelt besides the two. He wasn’t going to tell them to stop until the son of a bitch learns his lesson after threatening to give Carol up.
“You look like yer about to pass out Y/N”
“He’s elbowing my lungs.”
“Then let go”
“Fine. But if he tries to hurt our girl, can I set him on fire?”
“You can’t just commit arson like that” Daryl laughs watching them release the guy as he moves away enough for space and to fall into a coughing fit.
“But come on! It’s the goddamn end of the world. Since when do the laws apply?” Y/N states watching Daryl’s face turn into one like he was about to protest but then it lead to confusion. He had to really think about it.
They would do anything for the other in their trio. Even if things changed and life is different.
~
Y/N sat on the steps of the Grimes residence waiting for Daryl to finish checking the oil to their truck so that they can pick up Carol at the Kingdom and go on a run just the three of them.
“Yknow. We can leave their place, take up one of the townhouse apartments” Daryl brought up the option randomly as both he and Y/N were still holding up in Rick and Michonne’s place ever since they first arrived at Alexandria.
“Askin’ for me to move in with yeah?” Y/N smiles feeling a bit of warmth in their chest liking the idea as the tips of Daryl’s ears turned a bright red that they couldn’t tell with his hair in the way.
“Why not” He closes the hood turning toward Y/N while he wiped the grime off his hands.
“Hey I’m not objecting. I should just say a straight yes next time” Y/N smiles rising to their feet picking up their bag along the way.
Daryl took their bag tossing it into the back when he noticed the mattress in the bed of the truck. “You sleep in your truck?”
“If I doze off” Y/N looked into the bed putting their bow in the trunk looking at Daryl being met with a confused look. “I got tired of laying on metal to stargaze at night so I asked Rick if I can take one of the mattresses in the unoccupied houses and he said sure”
“Until we recruit more people”
“Hey don’t rain on my parade or I ain’t movin’ in with yea” Y/N jokes even if Daryl’s mind ran for miles when they said such.
The first few miles was a breeze and Daryl found himself going through Y/N’s cassette collection that they’ve started at the prison. It was one of the few things of theirs that survived.
“Are you actually going to pick one or complain about the one I pick?” Y/N laughs slightly hearing Daryl grumble a bit in response before taking out a mixtape out of the mix and putting it in.
“Carol is better at picking this shit”
“Cuz she has taste” They state turning on the stereo for them to listen to what Daryl picked and it sounded like they were in a biker bar. “That’s uncanny.”
“I think this was the song playing when Merle beat up the bartender” Daryl says out of the blue as Y/N really wanted to question why ‘Bat Out of Hell’ by a band called Meat Loaf would be the right song for Merle violence. But the two were listening to the song that reminded him of his brother. Neither of them said anything.
Until Daryl ejected the cassette.
“I’d rather listen to the musical shit than this”
“I mean you want—-“
“Fuck no”
Y/N snickered to themselves before stopping at the stop sign and going into the metal box to get their go to driving cassette.
“Since when do yea obey the traffic laws?”
“…since always?”
“There ain’t no cops around”
“Ricks a cop”
“I-…Yeah”
“‘Sides. When a deer tried to outrun me, I blew through a few stop signs and ran over a raccoon” Y/N randomly states catching a confused look from Daryl. “What? I got the deer”
“Did yea even notice it was a raccoon you ran over?”
“Why?”
“Could’ve been a person”
“A person doesn’t explode like that” Y/N scoffs turning their music down a bit once they got closer to the Kingdom. “Get her attention”
Daryl took his radio out of his pack and went to chime in for Carol, but next thing to happen was Y/N pressing hard on the horn. Killing walkers drawn by it won’t be difficult. Apologizing to the gate guards, maybe.
“Jesus fucking Christ I’m coming!” Carol yells over the hand radio as Y/N takes it from Daryl.
“Would you rather have me stand on top of the truck with the music blasting and have you pretend it’s a boombox above my head?”
Silence was met. Until a buzz.
“Always”
Y/N turned the music up on their truck before putting the emergency break on and getting out. Next they climbed to the top of their truck which was easy with their window open. As the car shook, so did Daryl’s anxiety.
“If they fall off I’m punching you Carol”
“They actually fucking did it?!”
Her response was right as she stepped outside the gates to find one of her two best friends on top of their truck with their arms up.
“You pretending to hold a boombox?”
“Yeah but I’m also getting tired” Y/N swung their arms down a bit quick as they stepped back and immediately fell into the bed of their truck.
Carol quickly ran over while Daryl in a panic had gotten out the second the truck shifted with the thud and checked with her.
“You’re a fucking idiot”
“You alright?”
Two different sides. Y/N thought followed by a painful laugh. “Least I didn’t land on my bow…or my bag”
“What you’ve got bricks in there?!”
“Nah, just a scotch bottle I’m saving for a special occasion”
“Is a special occasion you almost dying in your own truck? Cuz I sure as hell could use a drink already” Carol scoffs setting her bag and own bow in the trunk before taking the drivers seat hoping speeding through a few streets would distract her. Besides putting one of her go-to cassettes in.
The three usually drive for hours, scavenging a few familiar places and siphoning gas from a few cars. One incident of Y/N beating a tipped over vending machine with a rock until it cracked open. Carol documenting the scene with the Polaroid camera and Daryl trying not to laugh at their struggle.
Once they found a small area to make camp, Carol and Daryl hung out by the fire while Y/N organized their findings so far in their truck. He fiddles with the fork in between his fingers staring down at the can of beans they found while watching Y/N’s every move. How careful they are…how gentle their hands were with the more delicate items…his mind was lost in their every move. He didn’t even notice Carol leaning into his personal space to state the obvious—
“If you love them why haven’t you said anything?” She said at a normal level which triggered Daryl to cover her mouth causing her to smack him to stop. “What? they are just as clueless as you!”
“Don’t mean yea say it out loud!”
“Maybe doing so would finally have the two of you doing somethin’”
Y/N turned toward the two once they finished what they were doing, seeing them bicker. They removed their headphones to listen given their attention hasn’t been noticed yet.
“You like them! Just fucking say somethin’”
“What if they don’t feel the same way?!”
Kind of hard not to Y/N thought feeling the heat flood their face as they sat on the open door knowing the sudden shame of their truck would make enough noise to catch them off guard. But they were quick to collect themselves. “What are you two arguing about?”
They couldn’t help the laugh that build up inside them and failed to stay when they watched both scramble.
“Nothin’ important”
“Oh it was important. He’s just a dumbass”
“Oh…so. Business as usual?” Y/N smirks watching Daryl’s expression go toward more of anger as Carol dies laughing.
Next course for the night was sleeping, Carol took inside the truck on the seats while the two took what’s left of the mattress next to their findings. Neither of them could sleep right away.
“Can I ask a dumb question?”
“So just your usual questions?” Daryl jokes getting elbowed instantly by Y/N as their smile never faded.
“Yea think we would’ve met in the old world?” Y/N questions, not being met with a response as they sigh. “I would hope so”
“How yea think we would’ve met?”
“Well…I was a bartender. It would’ve probably happened or did and we just. Never talked. But even those small glances in a crowded room…you can find who you’ve been looking for your whole life without exchanging a single word”
It was absentminded the way Daryl turned toward Y/N, bringing his gaze away from the stars and on the real constellation prize right beside him. They looked at him with every fiber of love, admiration, and desire in their core feeling the cosmic pull that drew both closer to the other.
Then the sudden knocking on the truck window startled them both out of their current thoughts.
“IM TRYING TO SLEEP LOVEBIRDS” Carol yells making the two blush to the words before straightening out.
But Y/N still took a chance and took Daryl’s hand into theirs. Letting him squeeze theirs and never let go.
Until they got back on the road in the morning.
The three stopped at a warehouse to rummage through the ruins of it. In hopes for pretty much anything. Y/N also being a bit of a tech nerd, was going through every black safety box that would carry expensive tech to see if they can find anything on Eugene’s list he gave them. Carol quietly snuck up on them as she was going to ask them if they could crack open a door on the opposite side of the place when she noticed them staring at Daryl who was keeping watch of the isle the two were in.
“What did you say to him last night?”
“What I wanted to and I heard as much as I wanted from both of you last night”
“So…Can I stop trying to hook you two up together and you can just rip off that bandaid?”
Y/N was about to say something when Daryl whistles for the two’s attention indicating walkers. Carol quickly ran over to see how many and noticed that the entrance they didn’t come in from wasn’t barricaded enough for that size of a herd.
“Y/N we gotta bug out” Carol yells as Y/N quickly collected their things tossing their bag on their back as they held something in the palm of their hand that could slow their movement.
“I’ve got an idea but I need both of y’all out of the building”
“Y/N—-“
“You trust me right?” Y/N frowns looking at Daryl and his stress induced expression.
“I’m coming back for yea if you don’t come out in three minutes” Daryl scoffs quickly running out with Carol as Y/N got to work.
Working with Eugene leads to a lot of ideas. A brand new watering system for their farming plot idea for Alexandria. Or the water based fire extinguishers with reused metal from the fallen walls of Alexandria for Oceanside’s rare forest fires. New defense system to keep walkers out of the outside the wall crops at the Hilltop. Corn based gas for the cars to avoid runs out to siphon cars with limited gas.
Then well. The IEDs.
Y/N figured out how to make quick IEDs that could emit frequencies to distract walkers. But given they were prototypes. Once they placed enough in the building, they made a break for it with a few knife blows to a couple walkers to get out of their way.
“What’s takin’ them so fucking long?!” Daryl snaps as Carol watches the door seeing it swing open to show their third.
“Start the car. They’ll jump in”
“I’m trustin’ yea” He scoffs and pressing on the gas getting them forward as Y/N went in a full on sprint.
Once Y/N jumped onto the open door pulling themselves in enough to close it with the help of a speed bump. They sigh slouching over the edge only to be startled up when an explosion meant to only emit sound—-set the entire building on fire.
“WHAT THE FUCKING HELL DID YOU DO?!” Carol snaps looking in the mirror to see the fire they started.
“My calculations were wrong” Y/N yelled for Carol to hear as Daryl looks back to see the damage.
“THE FUCK I TELL YEA ABOUT COMMITTING ARSON?!”
“ITS THE APOCALYPSE I CAN DO WHAT I WANT” Y/N snaps back watching the stop sign fly past. “THE FUCK I SAY ABOUT STOP SIGNS!”
“NOBODY GIVES A FUCK ABOUT TRAFFIC LAWS”
“RICK DOES”
“Ladies ladies!” Carol yells to stop them both as she couldn’t stop laughing at the two arguing with one another. “Save it for the fucking bedroom” and that led to more laughter from the woman.
“Can we fucking open that bottle of scotch now…” Daryl groans once he slowed the truck to a stop.
The two couldn’t contain their laughter upon hearing that.
#cultofdixon#the walking dead#daryl dixon#daryl dixon x reader#carol peletier#carol peletier x reader#daryl dixon fanfiction#carol peletier fanfiction
249 notes
·
View notes
Text
Something Worth Living For - Chapter 5
Ash Williams x Female Reader
Summary: You’re in the necronomicon! But what does that mean? You and the gang find Ruby in order to find some answers
Warning(s): Language, typical Evil Dead violence and gore, large age gap, alcohol consumption
Masterlist: X
A/N: Bro, writing four plus character’s dialogue at the same time is ROUGH for me 😅 and I swear smut is coming! I’m still just building some story 😉 I also apologize for the length of this, I know its short. I have this story going and ideas for a few other ones and absolutely no motivation to execute them. Please bear with me!
Your blood ran ice cold.
“What the fuck?” you whispered, quickly shuffling between the pages. Sure enough, there was an illustration of you, inked in human blood- you were a part of this ancient, evil book. There was no way. No fucking way.
“Ash, it’s Y/N,” swallowed Pablo. “She’s in the book.”
Kelly glanced from the paper to you, comparing the likeness. “I mean, it does kinda look like her.”
“But what is this supposed to mean? I have no connection to this, how could I be in this thousand-year-old book?!”
Ash gave a quick glance back to you. “I mean, It’s not completely crazy. I’m in there too. I’m “the chosen one” or whatever. Some prophecy bullshit.”
You looked at the drawings closely. In the first drawing, you were standing at some sort of strange altar and wearing a long gown. A man stood at your side. “Well if this is me…then who is that?”
You pointed at the strange figure, handing the pages back to Pablo. He took them from you and studied them closely. Pablo quickly glanced at Ash, his eyes wide. He pointed to the strange man’s pronounced long, talon-like finger.
“Jefe, is that-?”
“Baal,” Ash growled. You could see the knuckle of his hand turn white against the steering wheel. Your other two traveling companions seemed to grow panicked, looking between each other. Well that wasn’t a good sign.
“Who is Baal?”
“He’s a demon we’ve been trying to hunt down. He’s been a real fucking annoyance if you ask me,” sighed Kelly.
“I…I’ve seen him before.”
You could feel Kelly’s eyes stare at you. “What do you mean, you’ve seen him before??”
“At the fairgrounds. When Ash and I were in the mirror maze, we got separated and I saw him…he told me he was coming after me.”
Pablo turned to you, a halfway hopeful look in his eyes.
“I mean, you only saw him once…maybe it was a freak encounter or something, yeah?”
You sighed. “Not exactly…I did have a dream the other night…he was there too.”
The other two turned to look at you incredulously.
“And you just decided to tell us now?” huffed Kelly.
“I thought it was just a nightmare, you know? You were all dead…and I heard this voice. Oh God, that voice,” you hugged yourself a little tighter. You thought about that sensation you had felt on your arm in your dream, that knife-like touch on your skin. You shuddered, realizing it was Baal’s claw-like digit.
Pablo gave you a knowing look. “Why didn’t you say anything? I’ve had those visions…it was like looking at hell itself,” he muttered.
“I thought they were just dreams…but then I saw him at the fairgrounds and…it felt so real.” You swallowed, a realization coming over you, “…this is all real, holy shit,” you breathed, taking a panicked breath. That creepy ass book was telling the truth...whatever the truth actually was.
You felt the car slow down to a stop. Ash turned around to face you in the backseat. His hand came around to find your knee in the backseat, placing a supportive grip on you. You felt a tingle on your skin underneath his touch, his hold warm and safe.
“Hey- breathe, kid. We’re not gonna let anything bad happen to you. Right, gang?”
Kelly and Pablo nodded in support.
“T-Thank you guys. Really.” You managed to calmed your breathing. “So what now?”
“I think we need to find Ruby,” spoke Pablo. “She’ll know what to do. She did write the book, after all.”
Ash immediately shook his head. “No way. I’m not trusting that bitch again.”
Kelly leaned forward. “Ash, you know I don’t like her either. But you know we’re right.”
You nodded in agreement. “Look, I don’t know who this Ruby is, but I agree. She might know more. It’s worth a shot and I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”
Ash sighed, his eyes settling back on the road. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you guys. Don’t come crying to me when she backstabs us again.”
Heading back onto the road, you all drove in relative silence for the next few miles and quietly pondered the potential future and what this all really meant.
You soon all arrived in Ash’s home town, Elk Grove. Ash parked the Delta in front of a bar called the Elk Lounge. He turned around to face you, Kelly, and Pablo.
“Now gang, I know things look a little bleak right now. But let’s take a sec to cool off a bit and regroup, yeah?”
You looked at him incredulously. “Seriously? And you think now is the time for a booze break?”
“Hey, give me a little credit. We’ll find Ruby here. Probably.”
Kelly sighed. “She has been drinking a lot lately.”
With that and little say in the matter, you reluctantly followed the trio into the dive bar.
The bar bustled with drunk patrons, the smell of beer and bar nuts immediately hitting your senses. The sound of a jukebox played faintly in the background along with the occasional ‘clack’ coming from a pool table from the corner. It honestly seemed like a place you would’ve worked, had you not worked a few towns over.
You all approached a woman sitting in a corner booth at the back of the lounge, drinking alone. You had pictured Ruby in your mind to be…a lot scarier than she looked now. She seemed sad, almost. And lost in thought.
“Alright, no time for games anymore,” Ash approached the woman and slammed the Necronomicon pages onto the table in front of her. “Y/N, Ruby. Ruby, Y/N.”
The woman with the pink highlights looked up at the four of you before settling her gaze on you. She stared at you carefully, almost as if sizing you up. Her scrutinizing blue eyes met yours.
“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.”
You could have sworn her tone almost had a hint of suspicion. It was almost like she knew you. Well, considering she wrote the book…maybe she did.
“Likewise. I think.”
You all crawled into the empty seats of the booth, Pablo and Kelly squished next to Ruby while you and Ash sat across from them.
Ruby glanced down at the pages Ash had put down. Her eyes widened.
“The pages! You found them…I hid these ages ago.”
Ash raised an eyebrow, leaning forward. “Woah she-bitch, hold the phone. You knew where they were? And YOU hid them?”
The woman sighed, shuffling through the fleshy stack. “I had my reasons…we were in love at the time. I hid the pages ages ago because I thought maybe if they were lost, he’d forget about it…clearly he hasn’t. I didn’t want to lose him.””
“Well you better start coughin’ up answers or you’re gonna have to answer to this guy and his thirst for blood,” challenged Ash, holding up and threatening his mechanical glove with a tight clench.
Ruby gave him an unamused look. She had clearly dealt with his nonsense many times.
You placed your hand over Ash’s, gently lowering his fist. “Ruby, please. I need to know. Why am I in these?”
Ruby looked between the four of you, sighing.
“Y/N is the backup plan, if something were ever to happen to me. This must all be happening because I turned against him.”
“Who, Baal?”
“Unfortunately. Talk about an ex who moves on fast,” she sighed.
“But what does it mean? What do you mean I’m the ‘backup plan’?”
“If I were ever to die or somehow unalign myself with Baal like I currently have, he’d pick a new bride to rule by his side…you.”
You felt your heart stop.
“Let me get this straight. This picture, this prophecy or whatever…is depicting me getting hitched to this demon creep?”
Ruby sighed, eyeing you quietly. “I’m afraid so.”
“Well fuck that guy,” Kelly spoke up. “So what do we do?”
“I’m afraid there’s not much you really can do. There’s no stopping Baal. When he wants something…he gets it.” Ruby took the glass of whiskey in front of her and downed it in one sip, wincing as she swallowed the amber liquid.
An awkward silence fell across the table. Was this really all hopeless? Was your destiny written for you?
Ash was the first to break the silence. He slammed his fist on the table. “Well I gotta plan for Baal. I’m gonna find ‘em, take my chainsaw…and shove it right up his ass.”
You glanced at the man, thankful for his optimism. “I appreciate that Ash…but if what Ruby says is true, I’m getting sold as some sort of bride slave to an evil demon. I don’t think we have much of a say in the matter...I mean, it’s inked in fucking blood,” you gave a heavy huff, frustrated. “Fuck, I mean- I just don’t get it. I’m just a nobody bartender from bumfuck Michigan…why me?”
“Don’t you see, Y/N?” Pablo reached across to you, resting a supportive hand on yours. “You are special…you just don’t know it yet. There’s a reason the three of us found you that night. There’s a reason we’re all here together.”
Your head was spinning. This was all way too much for you.
You gave Pablo a polite smile, thanking him quietly. You slid out of the booth, the group eyeing you closely as you head to the bar top.
“I need a drink.”
-
Chapter 6
#ash williams x reader#ash williams x you#ash vs evil dead#evil dead#ash williams#evil dead fanfic#ash williams fanfic#ash williams reader insert#pablo simon bolivar#kelly maxwell#bruce campbell
60 notes
·
View notes
Text
These Violent Delights chapters 32 & 33
Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions
Chapter 32
Kathleen rolled over, moving from one end of Juliette’s neatly made bed to the other. She was the maids’ worst nightmare. There were plenty of chairs for her to occupy in this house, but whenever Juliette left her room, Kathleen came wandering in to take ownership of her bed.
I’m confused over what the issue is. The maids would have needed to come in to make Juliette’s bed, regardless of who was in the bed anyway.
Like she’s not smashing dishes and letting wild animals poop all over the halls. It’s a fucking bed. It shouldn’t take more than five minutes to make it again.
“This is absurd!” Rosalind shouted suddenly. “We do not have the right to go killing Secretary-Generals as we please! Juliette cannot pull you into this as she pleases!”
I get that it’s absurd, but like… so is an incurable madness caused by a monster sending out insects to burrow into the brain.
“You don’t get it,” Rosalind hissed, rushing forward. She stopped right in front of Kathleen and clutched at her shoulders. “Juliette will never face the consequences to anything she does. We will. We feel every goddamn part of this city when it breaks—”
I’m sorry, but this is where you’re going to draw the line? HOW MANY FUCKING HORRORS HAVE YOU SEEN YOUR COUSIN COMMIT AND THIS IS WHERE YOU’RE GOING TO DRAW THE GODDAMNED LINE?!
This city was teeming with monsters in every corner. She would be damned before she let her own sister stop her from putting down at least one. Kathleen walked out of the room.
Chapter 32 summary: Kathleen gets a coded message from Juliette asking for her to come and to bring weapons. As she gathers a couple of guns, Rose confronts her sister.
The entire thing is as I said: it’s fucking dumb that this is where Rose is going to draw the line between acceptable behavior and not. Also, it’s weird that Rose is choosing to take a stand now.
Chapter 33
“For now”—Juliette released him, extended her hand—“I suppose we have a monster to find.”
Chapter 33 summary: Juliette and Kathleen meet up with Roma, Ben, and Marshal at the newspaper office. Kathleen is set to make a distraction to clear the works out from the first floor, while the others go on up to the second to kill Zhang.
However, in his office as they confront Zhang, he only comments that Larkspur is a “charlatan” before they kill him.
As they go downstairs, Kathleen runs over to them to ask why they failed to kill Zhang, which confuses them since they did. Kathleen says that the madness is still going on and that she saw the monster leaving out the window.
They go outside, where the police start to show up. Roma and Juliette tell the others to get away and to meet back up at some restaurant, but the two of them stay because the police should know better than to mess with those two heirs. Which they do.
But then Juliette won’t move and she decides that now is a really amazing time to have a crisis of faith. And I get that it’s upsetting to realize you murdered an innocent man, but like… Holy fucking shit. NOW IS NOT THE TIME FOR THIS.
Roma comforts her… by shoving his tongue down her throat. Which is also fucking shit timing, mate.
#These Violent Delights series#These Violent Delights (TVD 1)#Chapter 32#Chapter 33#Juliette Cai#Kathleen Cai#do you even know how the world works?#HEADDESKING#i'm done goodbye#not everything is about you#shitty people are shitty#Roma Montagov#bad timing
1 note
·
View note
Photo
Oh, you definitely have my number in that I enjoy a compelling narrative when it comes to a villain! I very much do! That's why I got lured into being an Anakin Skywalker fan, because I genuinely love the story centered around him and the themes of it and relate to it the most.
However, when you ask me what my favorite "oh they're here to ruin everything ♥♥♥" villain is, it's also Anakin Skywalker.
These two things go hand in hand for me, that Anakin's compelling story is what made me love Darth Vader so much--imagine picturing Anakin Skywalker's sulking face underneath the death's head mask! It's hilarious! And accurate!
Yes, I love that Anakin's issues are Vader's issues and vice versa, that one cannot be disconnected from the other in my mind, but there's an entire area of hilarity that’s just
ANAKIN SKYWALKER IS DARTH VADER
and
DARTH VADER IS ANAKIN SKYWALKER
I LOVE HIM! I LOVE HIM!!!
I LOVE DARTH VADER!!!!
WHENEVER HE SHOWS UP IT REALLY IS JUST TO RUIN ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING!
LOOK AT HIM!! HE IS ON FIRE AND STILL GOING!!!
HE LITERALLY WALKED THROUGH FIRE JUST TO GET TO A BOUNTY HUNTER!!!
THIS IS WHY YOU (AND EVERYONE ELSE) CAN’T HAVE NICE THINGS, ANAKIN, BECAUSE YOU GO 150MPH ON EVERYTHING AND ESPECIALLY THE EVIL, TERRIBLE THINGS!!!
AND I LOVE THAT HE WALKS THIS BALANCE BETWEEN GENUINELY TERRIFYING WHERE HE’S BREAKING A DAM TO FLOOD AN INNOCENT VILLAGE AND IT’S A HORRIFIC ACT
BUT THEN HE’S MAKING THIS POSE:
THAT IS THE MOST DRAMATIC POSSIBLE POSE HE COULD HAVE STRUCK WHILE ABOUT TO KILL A BUNCH OF INNOCENT PEOPLE JUST TO DRAW OUT A JEDI AND FORCE HIM TO FIGHT SO HE CAN STEAL THEIR KYBER CRYSTAL.
OF COURSE HE RUINS EVERYTHING LOOK AT HIM.
IT’S NOT THAT HE DOESN’T HAVE MORE SERIOUS MOMENTS, TOO.
LIKE I’M NOT SURE THERE’S ANY MORE ICONIC MOMENTS IN STAR WARS COMICS THAN THIS LINE:
FUCKING CHILLS.
LEGITIMATE, GENUINE TERRIFYING WALKING NIGHTMARE.
I CAN’T EVEN MAKE FUN OF THIS MOMENT, IT’S TOO WELL DONE AND TOO AWFUL, VADER REALLY IS SHOWING UP TO RUIN EVERYTHING HERE AND IT’S INCREDIBLE.
I love his compelling narrative as well, but man sometimes THOUGHTS GO BRRRR when the trash lord shows up and HOLY FUCK HE REALLY IS HERE TO RUIN EVERYTHING AND HE’LL DO IT AND IT’LL BE TERRIFYING.
LOOK AT THAT!!
THAT’S FUCKING SHIT YOUR PANTS LEVEL SCARY!!!
OR THAT TIME IN JEDI: FALLEN ORDER WHERE HE JUST CASUALLY RIPPED APART THE ENTIRE BAY TO FLING PIECES OF IT AT CAL?
AND THE ONLY WAY TO STOP HIM WAS TO DROP THE ENTIRE OCEAN ON HIM AND HOPE YOU BOUGHT ENOUGH TIME TO ESCAPE?
Vader is my fave because of so many different reasons, many of them thoughtful and engaging storytelling and the themes that are central to all of Star Wars, but also because that guy ruins everything and I LOVE HIM.
718 notes
·
View notes
Text
That Hum of Night
Fandom: Overwatch
Pairing: Hanzo Shimada x fem!reader x Jesse McCree
Words: 4k
Warning: NSFW! 18+ only. Definitely PWP, wet dreams, BDSM dynamics, Dom Hanzo and Jesse, Sub reader, dirty talk, humiliation/degredation (verbal and otherwise), praise kink, nipple play, dry humping, rope bondage, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, orgasm delay/denial, vibrator use, unsafe sex, creampie, oral sex/cunnilingus, come marking, aftercare. No y/n.
Author's note: cross posted to AO3.
There was nothing but heat. No up, no down, no world at all outside of the bodies pressed against yours. Your legs parted to make room for them, urging them closer still with every whimper and moan rolling off of your lips. You were hopelessly desperate, open and dripping for anything that would fill you. Fingers lazily fucked you open, joining a writhing tongue inside of your pussy. Hanzo and Jesse were everywhere all at once, sating your hunger as quickly as it appeared. Their mouths claimed every inch of skin they could find, the hot flash of teeth and tongue on your neck leaving you to gasp for air. You thrust your hips forward, shame long abandoned to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your body. Please, you begged, just at the precipice of orgasm. Suddenly, deft fingers latched onto your aching clit, hard and punishing; you rocked with them, winding tighter and tighter until-
You woke up.
Slowly, the world came back to you, trickling in like a leaking faucet. Your mouth was dry; your heart pounded in your ears. You felt overheated, damp with sweat where you were sandwiched between Jesse and Hanzo- oh shit, Jesse and Hanzo .
“Sweetheart?”
And there was Jesse.
He was leaning over you, lit up by the moonlight filtering in through the curtains. Bracing yourself, you looked into his eyes, surprised to find concern instead of the amusement you expected.
“Are you alright, darlin’? It looked like you were having a pretty intense nightmare, there.”
Wait- nightmare?
“You nearly pushed me off of the bed,” interjected Hanzo from behind you, voice betraying his worry. It was only then that you noticed the rumpled blankets, piled up where you had tried to kick them off. Shit.
In response, you simply rolled over and tucked your flaming face into Jesse’s chest, unwilling to correct their conclusion. Jesse allowed this for a moment, but soon took your chin in hand, forcing you to look at him. “Hey, now, you don’t have to hide from me–from us. There’s no shame in bein’ a little shook up by a bad dream, sweetheart. Hell, even I get scared by what my brain decides to cook up sometimes,” the man said, sealing his words with a kiss to your forehead. You felt a tiny bit of guilt gnaw at you as he settled back down onto his side, bleary eyes watching yours for any sign of distress. But it wasn’t really lying, right? How would they ever even find out?
“Come here,” said Hanzo, snaking his arm around your waist. You went freely, fighting a shiver as you felt his familiar body conform to yours. “You are safe, my love,” he whispered, “in this bed, you are safe.” With that, your boyfriend pressed his lips to your neck, ghosting over it as he had in your fantasy. Your body reacted accordingly, hips rolling forward and a gasp hitching in your chest. You slapped a hand over your mouth, but it was too late; the room was fraught with tension, none of you daring to even breathe. Well, fuck.
“Sweetheart-”
“I-”
Silence once again.
“Do you need us to sleep somewhere else, darlin’? It’s alright if-”
“No!” you exclaimed, eyes wide. Jesse searched your face for the truth, scrutinizing your awkward expression. You avoided meeting his eyes, shifting under the weight of Hanzo’s arm. Slowly, the cowboy seemed to put two and two together, lips pulling together into a dimpled smirk.
“Hanzo, I don’t think our baby girl had a nightmare."
Kill me, kill me, kill me, you chanted inside of your head, feeling Hanzo’s grip tighten as he caught up to the idea. For a split second, you considered actually lying, dismissing it just as quickly when you saw Jesse's smirk turn devilish.
"Is that true, beloved?” Hanzo asked, breath warm on your ear, “Are you trying to hide something from us?”
This time, you couldn’t suppress your shiver. Damn, Hanzo and Jesse knew just how to play you.
“You naughty little slut,” admonished Jesse, “Let’s see how wet you are under those panties of yours.” Lightning-quick, the man reached under the covers, hooking his fingers into the offending piece of fabric. Viciously, he tore them down, yanking your knees forward in order to get them all the way off. Your breath caught in your throat as he brought your panties into the hazy light of the bedroom, showing off the soaked inner lining.
“Well, would ya look at that? Our baby girl made a mess of herself, Hanzo. What should we do about this?”
Holy shit, you were going to die, right here in this bed.
“I think,” spoke Hanzo, voice gravelly, “that we should make her clean it up.”
And fuck, if that didn’t make you even wetter. Jesse considered you for a moment, eyes gaining a ferocious gleam as he noticed your quickly-growing arousal. Without preamble, he pushed your underwear into your mouth, wrapping them around two of his thick fingers. Instantly, you began to suck, tongue working around the cloth. Jesse pushed deeper and deeper in response, nearly activating your gag reflex. As it was, your eyes swam with tears, barely able to make out your boyfriend’s face turning deathly serious as he concentrated on you. Hanzo, unwilling to be left out, began to knead his hands into your flesh, pulling your sleep shirt up in order to play with your quickly hardening nipples. His scorching-hot mouth then sank onto your skin once more, lavishing your neck with kisses. You could hardly think, hardly breathe. Desperate sounds came from deep in your chest, muffled by Jesse’s unrelenting fingers.
Minutes, or maybe hours, flew by before your panties were taken from your mouth. You drew in a greedy breath, panting from sheer desire. God, how much more could you take? You were positively soaked at this point, aching with a need for friction. You knew better than to try and seek your own release, yet you still gasped when Hanzo snatched your hands away from your throbbing clit, reprimanding you with a harsh bite to the shoulder. A hoarse cry tore from your throat, reverberating loudly in the dark bedroom.
“You,” drawled Jesse, “have been a bad, bad girl, princess. First, you made a fucking mess of your panties, which you tried to hide from us. Then, you went and played with your tight little pussy even when you know you’re not allowed to. I think you’ve earned yourself a punishment, slut.”
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck , that could mean anything. Punishments from Hanzo and Jesse were rare, but you knew you were in deep, deep shit regardless. And if his predatory grin was any indication, Jesse knew exactly what you were thinking.
“Hanzo, put her on her back. I want her begging by the time I’ve finished tying her up.”
With that, your world was disoriented, your view changing to that of Hanzo’s face right above yours. You felt more than saw Jesse getting off of the bed, quickly distracted by your other lover smothering you with a savage kiss. You did your best to reciprocate, but you were no match for Hanzo’s overwhelming influence. You could feel his hard cock pressing into your thigh where he straddled you, covered only by his cotton briefs. Before you could even think about moving your hands towards it, though, they were captured once more and pressed up above your head; holy shit, Hanzo moved fast.
“What a little whore,” Hanzo spoke, finally allowing you to draw in a breath, “So desperate for cock, you poor thing. How did you ever survive before we came along?”
Jesus Christ.
Hanzo, satisfied by your stunned silence, turned back to the task at hand, finally tearing off your shirt and sucking hickeys onto your bare chest. His goatee was coarse against your feverish skin as you rose up to meet him, writhing beneath his iron grip. You threw your head back, only opening your eyes when you felt Jesse grabbing your now-unoccupied wrist. In his other hand you saw a length of red rope, a frequent addition to your bedroom activities.
“Color?” Jessie asked, momentarily abandoning his dominating façade. Hanzo paused as well, considering you like he might consider his bow; serious and straightforward. You sucked in a deep breath, stomach swooping in anticipation when you croaked out a confident “green”.
With that, you were pulled back into Hanzo’s blazing inferno, hands and teeth and tongue setting your skin aflame. As Jesse maneuvered your wrist into a complicated cuff pattern, Hanzo took hold of your nipples once more, rolling one between his fingers as the other was caught between his teeth. Christ above, it was like someone had injected fire straight into your veins.
“You likin’ that, baby girl?” Came Jesse’s voice, off to the other side now and distinctly smug. You sent him a glare, tempered by the heady sensation of satiny rope being pulled against your sensitive skin. Jesse merely winked back, his roguish attitude written all over his relaxed-yet-confident posture. With one final flourish of the cowboy’s fingers, your hands were firmly tied to the headboard, spreading out to either side of you in a comfortable stretch of your shoulders. Before you could get too settled, however, Hanzo was moving his rough, calloused hands towards your hips–with a jerk, you were pulled flush against him, his erection just barely grazing your sex. Two forearms planted themselves next to your head, decisively caging you in.
“Jesse, tie her up like this. I want to make sure we have plenty of room to fuck her without restraint.”
God. You couldn’t believe Hanzo’s mouth.
“You got it, boss,” Jesse replied easily, taking your ankle in his hand. Heat curled low in your gut as your legs were spread wide by the cowboy’s unyielding grip, exposing you to Hanzo’s hungry gaze. The heat multiplied as Hanzo adjusted his hips, your own twitching up to meet him halfway. Yes, yes, yes, you thought, nearly salivating in anticipation. Slowly, ever so slowly, the archer began to roll his pelvis against yours, finally giving you the friction you had been craving. It was heaven; it was perfect. Hanzo steadily began to increase his rhythm, grunts of pleasure growing louder and louder along with your punched-out gasps. The man loved to do this with you, spending hours grinding on you as you cuddled to watch a movie or even as you were falling asleep in his arms.
“That’s it, beloved. Can you feel my cock? Do you want it?” Frantically, you nodded, head swimming in a slurry of arousal and desperation. “Then beg for it, you whore.”
Fuck. You could barely think a coherent word, much less say them–but you tried anyway, panting a quiet oh and yes and please as sweetly as you could. The archer only gave a noncommittal sigh in response, clearly unimpressed by your performance.
“How disappointing, Jesse; it sounds as though our little whore doesn’t want to be fucked after all,” came Hanzo's patronizing voice, sinking low in your stomach–the man never made empty threats, especially in the bedroom. A teasing slip of Jesse’s hand set you to begging, words tumbling past your lips before you could even process them. “God, please, please, Hanzo, fuck, Jesse, please, fuck me!” you cried, pleading your case in a way that could make a porn star blush. After a moment of stunned silence, all three of you came back to your senses.
“Fuck,” Jesse snarled, chest heaving. “Fuck.”
In a flurry of motion, he was tying you off, finishing the cuff on your other ankle; then he was diving towards you, capturing your mouth with his in an animalistic mix of lips and teeth. Small, possessive noises issued from the cowboy’s throat, buzzing on your tongue like the bubbles of a sweet champagne. A scorching hand burned down the lines of your body, setting your newly-formed bruises alight with sensation. You shivered in anticipation–you wanted, needed Jesse and Hanzo inside of you now.
All thinking stopped, however, when deft fingers finally reached your oversensitive clit; you jackknifed upwards, breaking your kiss with Jesse. Your hips bucked under Hanzo’s weight as you gulped in air, starving for oxygen and touch in equal measure.
“That’s it, slut,” Jesse said, voice rigid. His eyes were positively wild, stormy with need from where he was hovering over you. A glance at Hanzo’s face revealed much of the same. You imagined that this is what it must feel like to be a ship in a storm, to be something so small in comparison to nature’s unparalleled power. You opened your mouth in silent prayer as Jesse’s fingers laved over your sopping cunt, dragging them over your lips like the pages of a book. Without warning, he slipped two thick fingers inside of you, stretching you open while working his thumb in small circles over your clit. Oh, God. Your dream couldn’t even begin to compare to the actual feeling of Jesse’s hand, moving in and out with enough force to rock your whole body. Lewd noises filled your ears, setting off yet another round of sparks fizzling through you. A familiar surge of pleasure began to crescendo in the pit of your stomach, drawing out more breathless whimpers from somewhere high in your throat. However, just before you could reach your orgasm, Jesse’s thumb slipped from your throbbing clit, leaving you to clench around his fingers to no avail. Fuck, fuck, no! Just a little more...
Your eyes opened to meet Jesse’s face, finding that his impish smirk had slipped back on.
“Awww, darlin’, ya look so sad,” the man teased, crooking his fingers just to make you whine. “Don’t worry though, we’re just getting started…”
Equal measures of excitement and dread shot through you at his words. Hanzo and Jesse, while loving boyfriends, knew exactly how to push every single one of your buttons; in short, they could be assholes. Beautiful, sexy, lovable assholes. Paying your trepidation no heed, Jesse withdrew his hand from your hole, leaving you empty and shivering. Jesus, you were a mess.
“Wanna taste?” Jesse asked–but he wasn’t talking to you. No, he was offering his hand to Hanzo, who regarded the cowboy with relentless heat in his gaze. A silent something passed between them, before Hanzo was leaning in and taking the slick digits in his mouth, staring into Jesse’s eyes the entire time.
“Good, right?” Jesse said, voice gravelly once more. Hanzo simply hummed in response, before withdrawing once again. Another tense moment slipped by, in which it got harder and harder to remember how to breathe. Jesse’s eyes flicked downwards, then back up to Hanzo, seeming to ask a question; nearly imperceptibly, the archer nodded, drawing in a short breath when Jesse’s hand moved down to grasp the hem of his underwear. You bit your lip as Hanzo’s cock was revealed, red and leaking at the tip. With just a touch of Jesse’s fingers, precum was dripping onto your stomach, increasing your own arousal tenfold. Leisurely, the cowboy began to jerk Hanzo off, grip loose and taunting.
“Look at our girl, Hanzo,” Jesse commanded, swiping his thumb over the other man’s cockhead. “Look at how fuckin’ desperate she is for you”.
Hanzo’s eyes snapped to yours, and you felt the full weight of his attention crash down on you– fuck, he looked feral, lips pressed in a snarl and dark hair falling just past his chin. You couldn’t help but look away, feeling suffocated by Hanzo’s gaze; however, a metallic hand grasped your cheeks, wrenching your head back to look at your powerful lovers above you.
“Eyes up here, slut,” Jesse reprimanded, “I want you to watch him as he ruins that pussy of yours, understood?” You nodded. “Good. And don’t you fuckin’ dare cum before I tell you to, or else I’ll edge you for a week straight, got it?” Another nod, and he finally relinquished his hold on you, leaving a dull pain that you hoped would flower into bruises.
As you were told, you kept your eyes trained on Hanzo’s face, watching his eyes flutter as his cock was guided to your entrance. Once, twice, he slipped out, before he was slowly pushing in, inch by inch. God, he filled you perfectly. Finally, as Hanzo sank completely into you, Jesse relinquished his hold, stepping away to admire how the archer curved around you like a great beast getting ready to devour a meal. Arms shaking, Hanzo fell onto his elbows for support, hot breath sweeping over your face. He was close enough now that you could see beads of sweat beginning to form on his brow. You were the only one who got to see Hanzo like this, aside from Jesse–it was a fact that never seemed to get old, no matter how many times you had joined him in bed. Equally as tantalizing was the slide of his cock inside of you, beginning to move in short, calculated thrusts. Instinctively, you clenched down, earning a warning glare from Hanzo–but you were already in trouble, weren’t you? What would be the harm in doing a little teasing of your own?
Staring Hanzo in the eye, you purposely flexed your muscles once more, feeling a hot rush of slick slowly drip out of you. In a momentary lapse of control, Hanzo buried his head into your shoulder, letting out a strangled moan. You couldn’t keep from responding with a shit-eating grin, putting Jesse’s own signature smirk to shame. However, your expression dropped as you caught Hanzo’s thunderous face, towering over you as he rose back onto his hands and knees.
Oh, shit.
“You. Worthless. Whore. ” the man hissed, jaw clenched, “It seems as though you need to be reminded of your place.”
With surgical precision, Hanzo bottomed out inside of you, pausing for just a moment before retreating once again. Another thrust, and it was clear that your self-control would be pushed to the limit; already, you were falling apart, legs shaking from the sheer effort it took to hold back your orgasm. But Hanzo took no mercy on you, setting a steady rhythm that had you moaning helplessly. Fuck, this was getting difficult-
“Jesse, bring me the vibrator.”
God fucking dammit, you thought, your stomach dropping. Without so much as a stutter in his hips, Hanzo took the wand from Jesse’s outstretched hand, watching you intently as he nestled it right next to your clitoris. Your eyes flickered between the two sights, drinking in the sheer power your lover held over you. Then, with a click of a button, you were straining upwards, feeling as though you were being wrenched straight out of your body. Another click, and the vibrations grew even more intense; you longed to bury your hand in Hanzo’s hair, to scratch your nails across his muscled back, to do anything but sit there and take it. Each breath you drew in was cut off by the next, a staccato beat matching the rhythm of your racing pulse. You were close, so close that you could taste it on your tongue– shit!
“Did you really think I would let you cum, slut?” Hanzo asked, still thrusting in and out of your hole without care. Your whole body shuddered helplessly, hypersensitive after being denied once again. As you attempted to catch your breath, Hanzo reached down and twisted your swollen nipple, forcing you to lock eyes with him.
“I asked you a question, whore; answer me,” the archer commanded, practically growling, “Do you think you deserve to cum on my cock?” As if to punctuate his question, Hanzo slammed his hips forward, fucking you hard enough to pull against the ties at your ankles.
“Fuck! No!” you screamed, on the verge of tears. Your voice was wrecked with desperation, hoping beyond hope that the teasing would be over soon. However, you were soon at the mercy of the vibrator once again, letting out a whine at the feeling of it on your tortured clit. Hanzo sped up his pace, sitting up on his knees to watch every inch of your thoroughly marked body writhe underneath him. “That is right, you cumwhore. You do not deserve the honor of an orgasm at my hand. You are lucky that I am willing to fuck you in the first place.”
The vibrator was shut off once more, and you humped against it frantically, reserve long abandoned. “Go ahead, you stupid whore,” Hanzo encouraged, “Humiliate yourself. I want to see how pathetic you look when you cry.” A sob flew from your lips as the toy buzzed to life, only to be shut off seconds later, then turned on again, a sadistic pattern that made your hips jump and stutter on Hanzo’s cock. You could feel the archer’s perfect rhythm begin to falter, signaling his quickly-approaching climax; his moans burned hot on your skin, sending wave after wave of throbbing pleasure through your trembling body. Finally, you felt Hanzo seize up, almost uncannily still in the wake of his orgasm. Scorching cum flooded your hole, arousing enough to make your battered walls flutter with desire. A few heartbeats later, and Hanzo was crashing back down over you, gulping in air like a dying man. Tenderly, he pressed his sweaty forehead against yours, love and awe written in his furrowed brows and slackened mouth. As he breathed against you, you could feel your own hitching breaths slow, agonising desire fading just slightly into a dull roar.
Two pairs of hands whispered over your body, freeing your limbs from their confines, massaging the marks imprinted upon you by the ropes. You felt yourself float away just a little, untethered by chaste kisses pressed to your cheeks and soft hands stroking your thighs. Hanzo’s shifting body weight brought you back to the present, where Jesse was taking his place between your legs; Hanzo unceremoniously flopped to the side, grace all but forgotten in his post-orgasm haze. Your eyes opened slowly to see Jesse looking down at you, positively fit to burst with quiet affection. You smiled back, tensed and eager all the same.
"Ya did so good, darlin'," Jesse said, tone far softer now, "So good for us. Are ya ready for your reward?"
The praise melted into your skin, smoothing the raw edges that had been so expertly laid bare by Hanzo. With a simple nod, Jesse leaned in to kiss you once more, as slow and saccharine as honey. You embraced him in return, palms gliding over the coarse and ruddy plains of his cheeks; you felt like you were glowing from the inside out. Like a wave drawing across the sand, Jesse retreated, hands whispering down to your thighs. The rest of his body followed close behind, settling down between your legs with practiced ease.
"So beautiful, sweetheart," Jesse praised, "I can't wait to make you cum."
And there it was again, the knife's edge of hot desire. Almost subconsciously, you weaved your hands through Jesse's locks, giving them a tug. Jesse groaned deep in his chest, rekindling the flames in your gut. Your cowboy was so responsive. You pulled his hair again, set alight as Jesse muffled his moans into your sweat-soaked thigh.
“You’re gonna kill me, darlin’,” Jesse threatened, kissing his way towards your drenched pussy. A witty retort died in your throat as his tongue flattened against your swollen lips, lapping at the obscene mixture of cum and slick slowly dripping out of you. “Fuck,” you breathed, struck senseless by the hot-wet pleasure of Jesse’s plush mouth. An answering groan rang in your ears as the cowboy finally dipped his writhing tongue into your hole, drinking in the lewd slurry with feverish dedication. Your hands tightened into fists, pulling Jesse further and further in until his nose was pressed flat against your pussy. You whined; a sharpness ran through you along with pleasure, heightening each in a whirlwind of sensation.
Breathless, Jesse pulled back for a moment, sucking in air like a drowning man. In the low light, you could just make out the shine of your slick soaking the cowboy’s goatee–holy shit, that’s hot. Then, with fervor, Jesse was back to it, making you yelp as he latched onto your clit. You ground against him, his tongue sending shockwaves up and down your body; you were shaking with the oh-god-too-much of it all. Every inhale was a battle. Every movement made you see stars. Then, finally, finally, Jesse tore himself from your body, looking you in the eye as he said, “Cum for me, sweetheart."
You felt the command flow through you, breaking down walls and crashing into your nervous system. Jesse bent his head and sucked your clit hard, bringing you to the very edge once again. Mmm-hmm, mmm-hmm, he encouraged you, nearly whimpering; he was bucking his hips, and fuck, fuck, fuck, shit! You were cumming into Jesse’s mouth, vision whited out by a dazzling starburst. Your legs crashed into the cowboy’s face, pinning him to your gushing pussy as you rode out your orgasm; your whole body was spasming, uncontrollable with pleasure. Then, like a puppet cut loose, you were limp, releasing Jesse from your death grip.
The cowboy shot to his knees, ripping his boxers off as fast as possible; his flushed cock was bared, aching and practically dripping precum. "Fuck, babygirl," he moaned, hand flying, "I'm gonna-fuck, I'm gonna cum!" A final groan, and Jesse was falling off the edge with you, release streaking against your rolling abdomen--followed quickly by Jesse actually falling on top of you.
"Holy shit," you laughed, "Get the hell off of me, you jerk!" A gargled mess that might have been a "no" was your only response for a moment, before the pile of sweat and various sexual fluids that was your boyfriend rolled off of you. You couldn't help but giggle at his dramatics--god, you loved your idiots. A moment of silence permeated the room, until you yawned; oh yeah, it's like three A.M...
"If you two are done, I believe it is time for some aftercare," said Hanzo, sounding equally as tired. With his help, you got up, only to fold in half from the sore feeling radiating through your pelvis--fucking fuck, you forgot how much of a bitch this could be. Seeing your discomfort, Hanzo scooped you up, carrying you to the en-suite bathroom. You heard Jesse follow you in, fetching a second set of sheets from the linens cabinet. Carefully, you were set by the toilet, Hanzo turning to allow you some privacy. After finishing your business, you were escorted to the shower, where the archer tenderly cleaned you off. From there, things got blurry--you vaguely remembered the smell of arnica cream, the feeling of a soothing wipe on your swollen lips, strong arms carrying you to bed, and a tender kiss placed on your forehead. Then, you were off to sleep, dreamless and peaceful.
A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Likes are appreciated, reblogs/comments keep me writing! Let me know what you thought, your favorite passage, or even what time you're reading this at (bonus points if it's 1 A.M. or later). Toodles! ʕ•́ᴥ•̀ʔっ
#Jesse McCree#Hanzo Shimada#Jesse McCree x reader#Jesse McCree x reader smut#Hanzo Shimada x reader#Hanzo Shimada x reader smut#Jesse McCree x reader x Hanzo Shimada#mccree x reader#hanzo x reader#Smut#nsft text#nsft#fem!reader
447 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Visit
I glance at my phone. 30 minutes. 30 minutes in this chair waiting for the doctor. 30 minutes in a freezing cold examination room wearing nothing but the disposable gown the nurse told me to wear. Now, I’m normally quite patient, but I begin to worry that they may have simply forgotten about me. I sit up straight, ready to leave the chair and ask for the nurse, when my new doctor comes into the room in a rush.
“Hey, Hey! Sorry, sorry. My last patient meeting went a bit over. That alright?“ He grins and verdant eyes sparkle. The man was dreamy. I could say nothing beyond nodding in agreement.
“Great! Glad to hear it” he beams. I feel an explosion of warmth within my chest and stomach and can’t help but smile back.
”Thank you so much for understanding. I’m Doctor Ryan! Good to meet you.” I readily shake his hand. Firm. Sturdy. Calloused.
“Okay great, so we’re just gonna run through your vitals, and… says here you noticed an odd mark show up near your penis?” I flush bright red in embarrassment at the mention. Unperturbed, he continues without skipping a beat “Hmmm.. we’ll definitely want to get that checked. Probably harmless, but could be something bad… I know the nurse probably covered most of these questions and took your vitals, but [he smirks] just wanna sure we get everything checked correctly, alright?” Damn it. Doctors always have a such way with words, I can’t help but melt in their arms. I feel a numb happy sensation wash over me and again nod in agreement. He was cute, too cute. God. Of course, whatever he thought this appointment was, he was completely off. Most likely picked up the wrong sheet or something, cause I only came for some immunizations.
Still, the man has me spellbound. I comply with his every whim as he continues running through his normal questioning. In every word, he further puts my will to sleep, with every phrase he draws me closer. To me, his every sentence has progressively slowed the world around us. Not that I’m complaining. I am adrift, motionless in his pool of questioning, sandwiched between warm ocean and sunlight. For a short few moments, I am at peace. I was practically sleeping by the time the second round of questions finished. I feel a warm hand on my shoulder and break my spell slightly and I focus in on his beautiful face. “You okay there, bud?” More nods his way.
“Awesome. Let’s get started then.”
———
The physical was.. something else. We start with just an examination of my body. Pale, scholarly eyes remark on my every blemish, my every curve. It would be a nightmare in any other scenario, but in the secure glance of my doctor, I knew I was safe. Still, near his radiant heat, I could not help but get just a bit flustered. My answers are short, odd, my heart rate jumping to his vicinity.
He wiggles his stethoscope in the air. “We’re just gonna get your heart rate okay?” My mouth is hanging open and drooling slightly, but I nod. Really, it’s all I can do. Stunned to obedience. He just spoke so confidently, so assured in his examination. His tone was out of this world. It’s bright but resonant, like each word reverberated his command in my chest. His voice was no less potent. Sound-waves embrace the air with sweet honey, but an undertone of audible trust. I couldn’t bring myself to say anything else, still caught in this man’s spell. Now, a handsome man gets me feeling the same way a doctor often does. But he was both. I can manage nothing beyond a smile and continue nodding “okay.”
I moan at the touch of the stethoscope. It was ice. Penetrative, cold ice, but in his expert hands, it felt like gift from the man. I imagine the metal is a piece of him, precious metal, precious silver embedding itself in me. I want it in me forever- uh, the man, not the stethoscope.
He grunts. Fuck. “Sorry” I say sheepishly. That moan was definitely audible then. Further embarrassment floods me, only tempered by by the tingling sense of relaxation I felt in being examined by this man. He takes the odd outburst in stride, giving a half smile before continuing. “Believe it or not, you’re not the first”. The man was a professional through and through.
---
In the middle of making sure my reflexes were still functioning, his face winces, and his upper lip trembles, immediately breaking my illusion. He lets out a quick gasp “Ah.. I.. aahhh” barely audibly. I watch as his knuckles grasp the sides of the cushion in my chair desperately, going white in the process. For the first time in our entire session, the haze cast by this man’s being is broken entirely. I feel the dullness in my mind clear as I take note of the oddness from what had just transpired. His mouth goes wide and his face scrunches up into an emotion that I can’t quite place between pain and pleasure. Maybe both? In any case, before I can even investigate further, it relaxes immediately. Emotionless.
Then, his eyes twitch before going glassy. Doctor Ryan looked like he was about to throw up. Pleading eyes stare into my soul, but the rest of his face remains blank. I am shocked beyond shocked at this point to do anything beyond stare in disbelief while a shit-eating grin slowly paints his face. His eyes blink back to lucidity- now focused on me, and single tear pools on the corner of his left eye and drips down his cheek. He stops it with his thumb before it can drop further, before nonchalantly wrapping plump lips around it. In a slight suction noise, when he pulls the thumb out his mouth in what looks to be a deliberately seductive manner, staring intently at my face the entire time. What the fuck.
Immediately, he returns to examining me, making no mention of what had just occurred. This time though, his movements seem just a bit erratic, a bit unrefined. I also catch brief glimpses of that same cringing face every time he moves to the next step in his examination, like he was pulling long-forgotten memories from what should be a fairly standard procedure. He repeats the physical, this time going over my every part much more slowly. Any touch, any connection we had seemed to linger just a bit longer than needed. He almost seemed... Interested? Nervous? Whatever case, with every movement, and every step, his hands get a bit steadier, actions more confident. Whatever just happened to him seemed to be over. I am intrigued, if a bit scared. He was acting suspicious. Too many things seemed to line up for me to dismiss this as just normal checkup. In lustful wishes, I invoke whatever I can, hoping I’m correct. I try to sneak a peak at the outline of his admittedly large penis in his scrubs. Absolutely Flaccid. Odd. Disappointing, to say the least. Whatever this weird, hot doctor was doing, he wasn’t getting off on it.
When he gets to my lower body, he abruptly splits my knees open, spreading my legs wide. Another moan almost escapes me. Thankfully a veil of disposable fabric separates my doctor from my now semi-erect penis. Unthankfully, I can’t help but tent the gown full mast when his ice cold hands begin to trace and snake slowly around my inner thigh. I look at him in shock and he just beams back at me like the past few minutes had not just happened. “Hmmm… great legs…” My face goes crimson and I scream internally at my own inability to control my own body. “Okay, your -hNnggg-ah cha-chart, yes. Apologies for the outburst… your chart seemed to mention some concerns about your penis? Let’s take a closer look” He states, looking up at me with a half-smile.
“No- er, I think- ah, you got the wrong-” I can barely stammer out a response in the raw stimulation of Doctor Ryan grabbing and gently examining my cock and balls. Pleasure bloomed wherever his fingers glided over. This was a mental battle I could not win. Mind versus body. I was fighting myself, my own urges. He makes gentle cupping motions around my balls, back and forth. I look at him in bewilderment. There was no way this was just for a normal examination. He smiles pleasantly, “just checking for anything out of place… so far, so good”. Mystery solved, I guess. He slowly wraps thick fingers, encircling my cock in an embrace. Not solved. Not solved. I am rock hard. He gives a short chuckle. “Well, at the very least, your nerves appear to be working…. Blood flow looks good as well…Nothing out of the ordinary so far”. I am beet red at this point. Fuck me. I can’t even compose myself in front of this man.
Then, Doctor Ryan gives it a tug. FUCK.
“Holy shiiiiiit” I moan out. I turn my head away as my body quivers and gives in to a moment of divine pleasure. Betrayed by my own senses. A second, higher pitched moan escapes my now open throat, barely audible, while the a tiny bit of clear fluid spills onto the doctor’s unflinching hand. I can’t bear to look this guy in the eye. I need a new fucking doctor.
“You know, this is completely natural. Absolutely a normal human body response. Don’t worry about it” he says absentmindedly as he continues. “If anything, at least we know you can still produce, so it doesn’t look like there’s anything to worry about”. He mumbles happily. Outside my sightline, I swear I hear a licking, slurping noise. His hand, looked a bit wetter than before too.That being said, my brain has shut down from humiliation. At this point all I can manage is a blank nod.
“Well, good news- you’re perfectly hea- Oh! Actually, do you mind?” He begins to unbutton his coat and then proceeds set it on the table beside me. “You know it’s always a bit hot and stuffy in these rooms”. My eyes can’t help but visually eat at the feast before me. Bare chest and stray hairs poke out from his scrubs. The sleeves are taut around his massive biceps. Despite the objectively unflattering material, it can’t help but conform slightly to his muscular physique. It was pretty clear before, but it was definitely fact now. My doctor was hot as fuck. Something about his last question eats away at my my brain. It wasn’t hot at all. The room is cold, dry, sterile. Hell, this whole hospital is. It’s like he has me back in a trance though. Words smooth as silk, body like sculpture. He had a power over me, so I nod in compliance without even acknowledging how absurd the previous statement was.
“So, as I was saying... the good news is your vitals are all in line.” He laughs kindly, patting my stomach “Maybe eat a bit more protein every now and then”. The voice is warm and reassuring. My brain relaxes to the end in sight to this half dream-half nightmare. I start to get up to get changed before I realize the entire reason for the visit.
“Hey-er, wait! My Immunizations! I needed to get some immunizations done for my-“
“Oh?” He cuts me off, eyebrows raised. Intrigue paints his face.
Then he leans in close, head right up to my ear until the parts of chest peaking from the hospital gown touches the stray hairs poking out from his scrubs. Until we share warmth in that cold examination room. He breathes alongside me in rhythm as he exhales.
“You…don’t need any immunizations. I do… well, I did, anyway. It’s too late for him now...But we do have something planned, for you-we’re gonna try an experimental processss. A brand new… test…just for you...” He whispers. He pauses as he continues to breathe and I feel the hot, damp air emanating from his mouth coat my ear. “We need to test you for... stimulation.” Dear God. That last word he draws out in a far, far different tone than before. It neither clinical nor polite, and it hit like a brick. There was raw emotion in that last word. Raw lust. He cups the other side of my face pulling my left cheek to touch his. Like his chest, it’s quite warm. I’m flush with redness and confusion. I gulp nervously.
His tone returns in its warmth and politeness, contrasted by the intimate position we are in. “Hmmmmm salivating...mmmm... Quite a bit actually. You’re either haven’t eaten… or… you’re hungry for something.” I can’t manage out anything coherent amidst the sensory overload. He continues confidently, “C’mon... I’m your primary care physician? Let me take care of it. Let me take care of you...” He sticks his hand down his own pants, scratching to readjust. With our chests together, I am brought to our present moment. A moment in paradise. When he ebbs, I flow. Like a dance, my chest caves in with every exhale as his puffs out. He does in turn. We were partners. His scent pours out unconfined, unfiltered by distance, concentrated in our proximity. Like rainfall and crushed grass. I could live in it. With our cheeks pressed together, I feel his every movement. Every word spoken drawn in by my inhale. These would be mine to keep. This moment was ours and ours alone. He brings up the same hand, now a bit slimier to take a whiff before shoving that sweaty, funky smelling hand right to my face. I can’t control myself and start inhaling my hot doctor. I lick the man’s hand clean. Delicious.
I continue lapping it up in silence before he finally breaks it to speak. “Mhmmmmm... that’s the stuff... Maybe if we feed you enough of this hot doctor’s cum, you’d pick up on some of his residual intelligence and figure who’s really running this man.” My eyes light up, and the pieces finally all click together in my head. I chuckle.
“Good to see you too, Ben.”
———
“Leave it to humans to take something so beautifully sensual and twist it. He’s a bit too good at compartmentalizing. In many respects… It’s fucking hot. But, you know, when he’s in this work mode, he sees you as nothing more than sack of meat. We’re not getting anywhere with him without a little push”. Without warning, Ben pulls the doctor’s pants down and fiddles with his new dick- still flaccid. Jesus Christ it’s huge.
“Look, even this... appendage. Yes that’s an atypical response. I mean look at me, look at this new body we acquired. I’m swimming in this human’s hormones.” He wraps his hand around and begins pumping it. “But see here, it’s still all clinical in this head. I can only get inside him so far. We need something to end this human’s resistance. We need something extra to break him out of this trance. We need raw emotion.”
Just then, the door comes wide open. It’s Austin.
As he closes the door behind him, I see his face more clearly. It’s Austin’s body, but its pilot is undeniably Ben. Austin had a certain swagger to him that my little alien buddy just can’t quite replicate.
Ryan’s mouth opens wide and I watch as his true form exits from my doctor’s mouth and shoot strait into Austin’s welcoming nose. I watch as the doctor goes lucid. His eyes go wide and he stares at me in horror before attempting to escape. Before he can, he is pinned to the ground by the far larger Austin. “Cmon man, smell this fucking body. Feel something”
“If you can’t… we’ll do it for you. We’re going for a wild ride.. relax and enjoy it.” Austin’s eyes roll to the back of his head, and I watch as he gives a crazed grin, jaws open unnaturally wide. His tongue sticks out, his head is bright red, and pulsing silver courses through now-prominent veins. Damn. My Doctor looks at me with one last pleading glance, but all I can do is moan “I want you mine.”
Doctor Ryan lets out an involuntary scream when he notices the changes in Austin’s face, which only work to his disadvantage as a pulsating, semi-solid mass of silver falls into his open maw. Austin sticks their mouths together. Using his tongue, he maintains a steady passageway for Ben. Using his lips, Austin keeps the doctor’s pried open to forcibly receive the precious silver. Their heads bob back and forth as more and more of the slimy mass falls into doctor. I watch as a massive lumps outline themselves in his throat, then his chest, before disappearing into the depths of his body. I notice a little bit pool and spill out the corner of his mouth. When the process is over, Austin’s body falls limply to the side. I stare at the messy pile of silver goo still smeared over Ryan’s drooling mouth. Should I?
I lean over, giving my dream man a kiss. My eyes flutter at the prospect. Ugh, he’s perfect. I feel the every contour of the face of man who would soon be ours, before sucking up the excess silver an a bit of his drool in my mouth. No use putting this stuff to waste.
In a flash, I feel ecstasy. “Jesus fucking christ” I moan, as I feel a burst of energy from within. The parts of silver which were Ben settle into me, surging me with power and I feel his thoughts reverberate in my mind. In that split second, I also feel the vertigo of looking from two bodies at once. I feel the immense pleasure of controlling two bodies at once and the parts of silver which were Austin become immediately apparent. Goddamn what a fucking power trip. Austin was mine. A quick rush of stolen confidence from my previous tormentor floods my insides and I welcome my updated sense of self. Fuck yeah. Took a part of him for me. He’s never getting this back. I stare at his body and will it up. My dominion, now. While his head still hung unconscious, I move my fingers and tingle in delight as I watch his hands follow. The moment is fleeting though, and I feel the disappointment as my vision recedes back to my singular one.”Hope you liked that” I feel Ben state in my head. “Just a taste. This piece of us you’ve ingested... I think it’s best you keep it. I find this setup beneficial to us both. We can keep in constant contact this way. You might find some residual power left over Austin too, thought probably not in the way you think… at least… not yet.“
Before I can question him in my head, the doctor’s body shivers awake and then spasms before letting out a primal scream. Ryan’s looked... bigger? Almost swollen. His body occupied the same space they did before, but there was a larger presence to him. His muscles pump up, obviously riled into a frenzy. “Just a little attitude adjustment, and...Goddamn easy mode, Fuck!” He faces me. His eyes are rolled to the back of his head and silvery veins pulse all over his body. Seconds later, he settles and his eyes return to focus me. “Fuck yeah, you wanted this doctor, right? Bro, you know my bod’s way better. Fuck it though, I don’t care as I’m a part of the ride. Remember your fucking promise.” He states through gritted teeth. Unnatural coming out of the normally Angelic Doctor Ryan.
“Your Doc’s too nice though, right? You… Ben… you deserve better. I’ll make us better for you. Look how much fucking bigger, how much more of a fucking man we are with some Austin mixed in....” I am speechless, but he’s right. The doctor now exuded a dominating presence. In any other circumstance, I’d be frightened and compliant. In the presence of Ben, I felt safe.
“Thank Ben he brought us inside this man. Mmmmmm his brain is delicious… I feel so much smarter inside him. We’re gonna fuck him up. Make him better, like you did to me. Twist his head. Make him want your cum almost as much as I do. Make him want to spread more Ben around…. Mmmm speaking of, I feel him inside me. He’s squirming into us both out and goddamn it feels good.” Ryan’s body moans Austin’s moan. “I can’t wait for you to learn how to do this... to put yourself inside me-Please! Fuck! Learn it faster! That... part of me you stole… I feel good as part of you, right? You like it in you, right? Pure fucking jock. Take good care of it…more where that came from”. It was definitely my doctor, but between the behavior and facial expressions, undeniably Austin. Well, post-Ben Austin.
“I-Arrgh” I watch curiously as the doctor’s body shivers. “Ben’s... ready for you.” He winks as his eyes briefly roll to their sockets and roll back. Austin-er Ryan’s demeanor immediately changed ”Had to do a little arranging inside this doctor. We just need one final piece. Ryan’s body ready to receive its new masters. I need you to put as much cum inside this man as you can... I really like this one, his position is useful. But his mind... it’s so vast. He’s no Austin...It’s gonna take a lot more of our genetic material to tame it.”
Austin-er Ben does pushups on the floor. He clears a few hundred before wiping his sweat all over his scrubs. Of course, despite channeling Austin’s very essence, this body is not nearly as buff or as muscular as his so I watch as Ryan is forced to push up and down beyond his limits, tears streaming down his eyes, hands and legs shaking in protest, forced smiling all the while. Previously crisp scrub are now stained, damp in Ben’s body’s perspiration. The smell this weird, hybrid mix emanated was unique. Of course, it still had the cleanliness I’d expect from a doctor. Fresh cologne and nature- exactly what I’d expect from the healthy, professional man which had previous examined me. This man before me was not the same man as before. Because, interwoven was the musk, the testosterone, the pungent stink of our deranged puppet Austin. It was altogether divine.
“Look at this.” He states with a sneer as he does a bicep flex. His damp scrubs hug his muscle tightly, almost breaking at the seams. The bicep is throbbing. “I feel this body crying in pain and exhaustion. From his mind though... do you know how muscles are made? Tiny tears regrown stronger” A pulse of silver darts through his veins, immediately returning it to stillness. “What wonderful new information. We’re gonna use that. Fill into these layers with a bit of Ben, and a bit of you”. He starts laughing now “Doc Ryan here doesn’t call the shots…This isn’t his body anymore… It’s ours.”
With that, Ben lifts my gown and sticks his drenched head near my already-hard cock. Fuck he’s warm. Our sweat and scents mingle and I feel my inner thighs go moist in the perspiration in the air.
“Austin, to the forefront. Combined effort. We need him body and mind. Let us create a new Ryan,” he states. My doctor slowly wrap his thick, plump lips over my dick. Moment’s later, the man’s wet tongue slides forward. I shudder. A bit tickles in a spot just below the head and I squirm on the spot. Jesus fuck, oh- oh fuck, he’s good- he’s really good.
My shaking hands are sloppily held in place. I move them reflexively in the onslaught of pleasure. It’s like Ryan’s body was made for this. Absolute Heaven. I let out a loud moan as I continue to squirm in the confines of my position. Ben had commandeered some control of Austin’s unconscious body, and it stood there, just over me, holding my hands in place and body. Its eyes were rolled back, mouth drooling. Bits of spit dribbled to my forehead. I paid them no mind. Basically an extension of my own bodily fluids at this point anyway. Besides, whatever made Austin, Austin was mostly inside Ryan now, helping Ben add a wonderful new addition to our collection.
Ryan’s sensual motions, His body expertly bobbing, beckons mine. Erotic symphony. I can do nothing beyond quake in my seat. I hold for as long as I can but it’s too much. This was it. First, I moan. Then, I scream. FUCK. Goddamn bliss. Sweet Release. Pure Ecstasy. I am reduced to babbling internally as I release more and more of myself inside Ryan’s welcoming mouth. Using his powerful chest, he creates a slight suction, greedily taking as much of my cum inside as he can. The body begins to choke for air, but I feel Austin and Ben smile instead and continue inhaling my cum. Their eyes only relayed one word. More. There’s not much else I could have done anyway, because I continue to spew load after load inside the man. It’s the best I ever felt, the longest it’s ever been and the most I ever given. I sit in extended euphoria, paralyzed in bliss. Logic aside, ethics aside, this was my new order. Our new order. In my mind I strive to continue on, to bring more to this light. So many delicious fucking bodies in this town. So many new ‘me’s destined, yearning for my control- even if they didn’t know it yet. That last bit might have been some of Austin’s megalomania in me.
The phone rings at Ryan’s side and he picks it up. Someone patches in a call.
“Doctor are you alright? We heard some odd noises“. I watch Ben in alarm. He cracks his head to the side, cock still in his mouth, and veins coursing in silver fluid display prominently in his temples. He switches demeanor almost seamlessly back. In contrast, like strings cut, Austin’s body falls over me, unmoving. I didn’t mind. I inhale his jock essence as I listen in.
“Yewph- Iw- Ehem.. I’m quiw ahwigh, *gulp*… ahhh yeah.. Apologies, Nancy this appointment is taking just a bit longer than expected. I’ll be ready soon- just need a little more time with this one.” Every word again resounds warmly, calmly, politely in this man. When Ben channels Ryan, it’s like I’m hearing the same person who examined me earlier. He was ours. I glance his way and a bit of my cum is still on his lips as he continues his conversation. He happily draws it to his mouth with a finger and sucks it clean. My cock is drenched in the doctors sweat. Fucking hot. Ben found us a real catch. “Dr. Ben” ends the call and mentally, he’s back to our present situation, back to huffing in breathless pleasure, as he continues sucking the any residual mess in me clean. He gives me a wink as he finishes.
Ryan then stands over to Austin, and, in a reverse of the process from earlier vomits out the same silvery mass, now slick with streaks of white, back into its container. There was significantly less this time. From the still open mouth of Ryan, I watch the tiny man emerge, giving me a motion that indicated he was smiling. “I’m staying in this one a bit longer. Driving this particular specimen gives me a pleasure not wholly physical.” The mouth slowly closes and Ryan’s eyes show life again. He smiles. I look expectantly at the two of them. They begin making out. The sounds are sloppy and I can’t help but get a bit jealous. Taking note, they both stop abruptly before giving me a wink. The both speak at once while Ryan begins stripping stark naked.
“Can’t help it...You should come and stay in this room for a while. My next patient’s got quite a body we can utilize, based on this man’s memory. You still got some cum left in you? I can’t expand further without it” I nod happily. If Ben thinks he’s cute, we had to at least try. What am I saying? I can produce like a motherfucker, took part of my bully inside, made it mine. I may not look it yet, but I was alpha now.
“Austin, strip down, I need some new clothes, and yours are a better fit.” Austin’s face cringes and I watch as his normal personality returns. Normal was a stretch, because he was far more subservient now than he was before this all began. Ben then looks at me with a toothy smile as he walks over to my pile of neatly folded clothes and digs out my underwear. He nonchalantly strips stark naked and then proceeds to put on my underwear. “This is a tight- Hmph!” He struggles to get each thick leg through “-ah, your clothes...Mmm! So tiny”. This results in my hot, nearly naked doctor wearing my underwear tightly. It’s pulled to its seams as it’s forced to constrict and hold together the doctor’s massive package. I watch as his cock begins to get hard, only to be restricted by the fabric. He moans at the setup. “Ayyyyeeee fuck! Fuck yeah. It feels like you’re in here, squeezing this host’s cock and ass. I’m gonna make sure he wears this forever. I’m gonna make sure this imprints our scent into this man. Look at me. Look at this muscle. Ryan..mmmmm.... all the brains and brawn in the world couldn’t help you. Every time he gets hard on, I want him to be wearing this. I want his penis to scrape this, to be bound by it, forever a reminder of who the real Ryan is now.”
Ben’s new doctor personality switches back. He politely gestures to his pile of clothes, still freshly warm before looking at me. “If you’re gonna be my assistant, you’ll need to look the part,” he states with a kind smile. I eye the warm pile, almost steaming in the residual heat. Ryan’s body licks its lips. Ben again. “Wear it. This man is ours, forever. Take ownership of that. Of those clothes. There’s so much of your genetic material embedded inside this particular specimen, at this point these are your own as much as it is his.”
I rush over to put the scrubs on, to feel the residual heat in my doctor Ryan envelop me. I relish in it. Still warm and moist with his sweat. It was like I was wearing the man myself. Of course, it fits loosely over me, and I barely pass as an assistant. He leans over to me. “smell it” he whispers. “Smell yourself. I like you better this way”. He’s right. I smell so fucking alpha in this getup. Ben then begins putting on Austin’s clothes, which are a much better fit.
In contrast, Austin is forced to wear the remainder my clothes, which he creepily sniffs first and ends up with it fitting way too tight and revealing on him. I gesture to offer the scrubs I just put on instead, but he immediately declines in a huff, “No... I’m fucking better this way. More... complete” He moans “This was the way I was meant to be... yours... wearing this makes me feel like you’re here inside me, wearing your own clothes. I belong like this...This is your body, it misses you, and he doesn’t feel whole until you’re back home.” He pats himself. “I can’t wait for you to become this. And I’m not fucking taking no for an answer either. One day, I’m putting you where you belong- inside me so we can never be separated again. Moving around feels empty when you’re not in here doing it for me”. What the fuck did Ben do? The guy, my previous bully was horny just being near me. It felt amazing.
I silently thank Ben. Whatever Austin was rambling on about turned me the fuck on. I smiled. That piece of Austin I ingested earlier- I think his shitty vocab’s been rubbing off on me. Regardless, Austin was right- wearing him, controlling him from the inside was where I belonged. I deserved it. Deserved him. “Wait for us at home- we won’t be long” Ben instructs Austin through Ryan in a fatherly tone. Austin complies, leaving the room, staring longingly at me until he no longer could.
Ben puts on his coat. “Well then, that’s settled. I hope your cock is ready, human, we have a full schedule of bodies to possess.“
-End of “Ben Pt. 2″-
A smarter version of me would have split this into two parts. Also, preemptive apologies to anyone in a medical profession.
532 notes
·
View notes
Text
Ch 4: A thorn in the sky
Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3
@snowwhite-andtheknight
_____
For a man who’s just told him to make it convincing and not to hold back, Izana’s looking a little too horrified. A little too genuine in the way he pales and shrinks back into his chair.
And all it’s doing is encouraging Obi to lay it on thicker.
“I’m so sick of your bullshit!” Towering over him, like a cat does a mouse, he snarls into Izana’s face, just loud enough to carry through the station. Just loud enough that those who’ve already hushed their conversations and stopped shuffling through papers to see what the commotion’s all about, now openly gape at Izana’s office. Pull cell phones from their pockets to text those who are off today, or to snap a quick photo of the Chief getting a strip taken off of him.
Izana’s jaw ticks. Obviously needing great amounts of self control, not to fire back at him. To sit back and take it. Let this play out like he wants.
“You sit in here, like a king might his throne, and you don’t give a flying fuck about the rest of us!” He shouts. Fingers curling into the armrests of Izana’s chair as he leans in a little closer. Draws inspiration from all those loansharks who used to swarm in his nightmares. Recalls his highschool years, when he made damn sure no one would fuck with him, or Suzu. “All you care about is fucking that board member.” He bares his teeth. “What’s that bitch’s name? Haki?”
“Watch it.” Izana hisses. Eyes betraying very hot, very real anger.
It would seem he’s hit an actual nerve with that one.
Oops.
He’d had a suspicion about them, but he’s never been able to confirm anything until now. Almost seems a shame he won’t be able to harass Izana about it anytime soon. Maybe he can find a way to get a note to Kiki and have her do it in his stead.
Hah. To see the look on Izana’s face… knowing that Obi’s somehow behind Kiki shoving her nose in where it doesn’t belong, but being unable to go after Obi directly would be priceless. He’d be so ticked.
Still, he does feel a little bad for calling Izana’s girlfriend a bitch. Especially when he doesn’t think it’s necessarily true. He mouths, “Sorry, sir.”
Izana nods his head slightly, as if to say ‘apology accepted’ and then whispers, “It’s time.”
Obi swallows hard. Suddenly overwhelmingly nauseous.
All eyes are on him now. Most, wide with disbelief and horror. Each and every one of his coworkers, eating this shit up with a spoon.
Izana’s right. It’s time to wrap this up.
“And you know what?” A heavy and sickening dose of adrenaline floods him. Makes him jittery. His hands shake and his stomach ties itself into great acidic knots. “I’m fucking done!” He shoves away from Izana’s chair with a cry, “Years of my life I’ve wasted, taking orders from a marble-faced piece of shit like you and I-”
“Detective,” Izana plays along. Reaches for him, like he means to calm him down and ask him to reconsider. “Perhaps we can-”
“Fuck you!” Taking his badge - heart in his throat and fingers not wanting to let it go, or follow through with what he promised Izana - he trembles and chokes, “I QUIT!”
With one last longing look at the little piece of metal he’s worked so hard to earn, Obi hurls it at Izana’s chest and storms from the office, being sure to slam the door behind him.
As coworkers leap out of his way, like terrified deer who can’t seem to get out of the way of an oncoming car fast enough, Obi hears the unmistakable sound of glass cracking; Izana’s office door shattering.
A whisper tears through the office. Swells around him, as his coworkers all echo the same thought.
Holy fucking shit.
_____
Shit.
Oh, god.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
He might throw up.
Finally making it clear of the station and any prying eyes, Obi swings himself into an alleyway, drops the box containing the contents of his desk onto the pavement and slams his back into the rough brick wall.
Shaking hands claw through his hair and down his face. Starving lungs hiccup and heave as he tries to catch his breath.
It’s fine. It’s not real. He didn’t really quit.
It’s all fine.
This is what he needs to do for this case. That’s all.
His resignation isn’t real. He’s still a cop. Still has his job.
The WCPD just can’t be formally tangled up in this case anymore than it already is. Izana and Haki have done what they can to hold off the media. To resolve things quietly and without fuss. But if it were to become public knowledge that the WCPD is involved and actively taking the vigilante-fugitive’s side on all of this-
That it was one of their own, responsible for Atri’s death and not Mukaze-
His pocket vibrates.
Obi frowns, taking in as deep a breath as he can manage, before he’s fishing his phone out with numb fingers. He blinks stupidly at the screen.
Unknown
8:32 Well done.
His head spins. Chest grows tight, like a weight has been settled atop him.
But, at least the Chief is pleased. That’s all that matters.
His phone buzzes again.
Unknown
8:33 Good luck.
The breathless sob masquerading as a chuckle gets caught in his throat as he shoves his phone back in his pocket and drags a hand down his face one last time. On shaking, trembling knees, he pulls himself back up to a stand and retrieves his box of shit from the pavement.
He can do this. All he needs to do is find that girl - Thorn - and get her to trust him. Or, at least, trust him well enough to tell him what she knows about Mukaze.
And, ideally, he needs to get her to tell him, before anyone else manages to track Mukaze down and kill him.
All without his badge. Or gun. And almost no leads, whatsoever.
Super great.
Fantastic.
#obiyukimadness22#I will find you#ans#akagami no shirayukihime#obiyuki#sk8 the infinity au#*jazz hands*#you'll probably get more of this eventually#I am just terrible at time management these days and this was not supposed to be this long to begin with
25 notes
·
View notes
Text
pairing: chūya nakahara x lazy male reader
req: yes | wc: 1.87k | cw: nsfw, size difference, praise kink, biting, blood, dirty talk, belly bulging | minors dni
anon: Hi! I was hoping I could get a smut for chuuya if you could make it kinda of a part two from the other chuuya fic u have and if u can could u add a size kink and a praise kink if so thank you so much!
a/n: you thought the demon was a himbo, ha!
"You know these don't tend to last long." You send the man pushing you against the wall a wink, making sure he knows you're still top. Chūya chuckles in response.
"I'm prepared for that." Chūya gives you a smirk. You don't know it, but he doesn't mean it. He hopes it is only your sheer amount of power that attracts him to you, but he knows it's not true. He really isn't that keen on having this be a one time thing. He rather it be a long, loving relationship, keep it lasting for as long as he can; if he has to teach you commitment, he will.
You raise an eyebrow for a minute, judging his composure. "Mkay.. good. You need me to lift you, though? You're quite a way down."
Chūya huffs and rolls his eyes. With you, he's heard something along those lines about a million times. He can't control his height and he certainly can't control yours. Jeez, it's as if you were a giant. If you and him stood next to each other, he'd look like a child, not that he was that much taller than a child anyway.
"Oh shut up with that… but yes." As much as he didn't want to admit it, even though it was very clear, he couldn't kiss you from 'all the way down there'.
"Thought so." It's the shit eating grin on your face that makes him regret this. "Hold on to the horns will ya? You'll need the support."
"Doesn't bother ya?" Chūya asks, doing so anyway. They feel rather tough, like how he imagined crocodile scales to feel. Your wings, on the other hand, weren't as he'd imagined them to be. They felt like leather, despite the fact they looked like rubber. He couldn't fathom how hot they'd be in summer.
You shake your head, in turn moving his arms. "Nah. Anyway, what do you think about the fangs?" You momentarily open your mouth wider to show him. "Would you rather I don't bite you or I do?" They're not as sharp as say, a vampire or a werewolf, but they could definitely puncture.
"Maybe test them first?" You know, what he meant was that you bite his finger, or something, not his neck. It definitely stung, but it hadn't punctured. He was sure if you hadn't controlled your strength, he'd bleed. He hissed at the pain. Though it was nothing he couldn't handle, you'd taken him by surprise.
"My bad, precious." That was a new nickname. "What do you think? Did you like it? No judge if you're into it." The mention of a biting link made him think of some past lover with said kink. It sort of made him jealous.
"What if I find your sweet spot? Would that persuade you?" You bite his neck, finding the spot that made him moan. "Knew it. They're usually there." He hated the way you rubbed your past lovers in his face. In time, he'd make you forget. He was sure of that.
"Well?"
"Okay.."
"Would you look at that?" Chūya couldn't focus on anything right now, the pleasure, and pain, was too much. You would pester him for how long he took to adjust for sure. "I'm balls deep in you and I can actually see it." He hadn't registered that first part until now.
He looked down to see his stomach clearly bulging. He laughed at the sight of it. You were really a giant, in more ways than one. It was kind of.. hot though. The size difference was already turning him on, at this point it was a lot.
"Sexy." You remark, licking your lips. If it weren't for your dick, he would want that tongue in him.. again. "Can you even talk right now?"
Chūya chuckles, fixing you with a playful look before pulling you down by the horns. "Of course I can." He whispers in your ear.
"Good." You move the slightest bit, though to him it felt more than that, which urges a moan from his throat. "Although I'd like to see you try when I fuck you with no mercy."
Chūya is flustered to no end, but as the competitive guy he is, he can't just back down, even with your dick inside of him. "Is that what you say to everybody? 'Fuck you with no mercy'? How about 'fuck you 'till you're begging for hell?'"
You smirk, shaking your head to mess with his arms. His hands were surely indented with the pattern of your horns by now. "I'll keep that in mind."
"Are you ready now?" You were going to nag him about the time, just like he'd predicted. "You've been sitting on it for so long you could call it cockwarming. But maybe you're into that, haven't discussed the deets just yet."
"What can I do?" You laugh. "Your dick is big, you said so yourself."
"Then the details. What do you like?"
"P-Praise." He's a little nervous to admit it, what with the fact he acts like a tough cookie. He had to build up some courage for this moment.
You shift a bit as you think about it. All of a sudden, you start moving slowly. It's still quite a bit painful for Chūya, but your praise makes up for it. "You're doing good, baby." Your rough voice along with the way you grip his hips with your claws sends chills down his spine. "Just a bit more."
You chuckle, toying with the idea in your mind. You thrust a bit more, barely even containing yourself with how horny you are, before stopping to ask. "Like that?"
He had bitten his lips to keep his moans from coming out; he'd nearly drawn blood "Yeah, yeah, just like that." If his eyes weren't shut so tightly he'd be so much more flustered by the look you're giving him.
"Think you're ready yet?" The impatience was clear in your voice.
"Mm, yeah."
Your thrusts are slow at first, as a precaution. It was a wonder how you hadn't started going fast, though. You'd been in him for so long without moving that the impatience and anticipation were building up.
"You can go faster now." You smile, but you don't speed up, which confuses him. He was sure you wanted more, so why didn't you give him more?
"How much faster?" It's only now that he realizes it's a cheeky grin.
Your sultry eyes seem to enchant him, making him unable to think properly; well, that and the thrusting. "I don't know."
"My terms, then." He doesn't like the sound of that. Luckily, you catch onto his uneasy look in time to reassure him, but your words don't do much. "Don't worry, you'll be just fine."
There's no warning after that. Your thrusts are quick and hard, just how you like them though only a little less than normal. After all, you'd gotten from, say, a 1 to a 7. Since when did you start calling your thrusts like a vibrator?
"You're doing good, baby!" He didn't know why, he did but he didn't know now, but he thought you'd sound more sarcastic.
His grip on your horns loosen and his arms feel weak. Just how vulnerable did you make him feel? He couldn't hold back from letting out a loud, high-pitched moan. It caused you to laugh, which he hated since he knew you were about to tease him. "High-pitched, just for me?"
He rolled his eyes at you, maybe a little bit because of pleasure, responding just as quick. "I mean you– oh! Holy shit!" He was interrupted by his own moans.
"What was that you were going to say?"
"Straying from– ah shit! Shit shit shit!" He repeated. That chuckle of yours made him realize you'd been hitting him hard on purpose to tease him. "Straying far from," He stops himself from moaning by biting his lips momentarily. "p-praise here."
You almost pout when he finishes his sentence, but you nod. "Right, sorry, precious~" You basically purr. “You’re taking my cock so well. Are you ready for more?”
“What?” You’d only just changed pace, so why would you- “Ah! Fuck me..” You hadn’t even given him time to answer, and you didn’t mean to either. This pace was the fastest, and roughest, Chūya had ever felt before, and god, did he love it. He could barely even form words, apart from curse words that were oh so familiar. The only thing that left his mouth were moans and he couldn’t even bite his lips.
“Mm, can’t talk anymore?” You weren’t really good at praise, were you? Well, it was new to you, since most of your lovers turned masochists at the sight of you. You didn’t make them, they just did. smug hoe
His arms, tired and a little sore, fall from your horns and grip your wings, which are wrapped around him. It causes you to hiss, but it’s a mere feeling in the back of your head from all the pleasure you’re getting. “Careful with those, darl.” You say with a chuckle. “You can’t break them in your state right now, but they still hurt.”
“S-Sorry.” He manages to say, continuing with moans afterward. They’re high pitched, most of them, as much as he tries to at least make them a little lower.
“Oh? A word?” Your smirk is as much a nightmare as it is a dream. He wants to punch it off your face but also kiss it off your lips. “Right, right, praise. You take me in so well~” Chūya just barely manages a laugh.
“Ah, fuck!” Chūya shouts. He can feel himself getting closer and closer.
You smirk, moving to his neck, kissing and nipping. Your fangs sting his neck everytime you bite down, but you make sure to control yourself. Though sooner or later you’ll bite him and draw blood, it’s only inevitable.
“Go on, baby. Come loose for me, let me feel your seed on my abs.” You move to his ear, whispering and licking the lobe.
Your words are what sends him over the edge of bliss. His seed spills all over the both of you, which is a turn on for sure; it moves with his constantly bulging belly.
You close your eyes when you feel yourself coming closer. Instinctively, you move to his neck, giving him a harsh bite, which makes Chūya groan. You couldn’t control yourself from not biting him, even when his neck is already littered with other marks. Blood drips from the wound, two small holes.
It’s only when you go over the edge that you apologize. You move off of him, pulling him on top of you instead. He snuggles into your body, hissing in pain. “Sorry.” You move your wings to wipe the blood away.
“It’s fine… well, not really, but eh.”
You chuckle, keeping one wing on the wound and the other over the top of you. “I’ll make it up to you later.”
The promise of another time is reassuring, whether it be sexual or not, though he rather it be a date. He likes to know he has a little bit of a chance.
#chuuya x reader#chuuya nakahara x reader#chuuya x male reader#chuuya nakahara x male reader#bsd x reader#bsd x male reader#bsd smut#anonymousrequest#⚠️nsfw🙈
815 notes
·
View notes
Text
Persephone's Symphony | Day One | Persephone
Hey lovelies— so as per my usual shenanigans I've decided this will have no schedule and that I will play god to my own creation because what is life without some chaos? The pros are you might not have to wait a week between updates, the cons are you might have to wait a week between updates. In all seriousness, please enjoy my lovelies!
Synopsis: In which he is the bad one— the dangerous one, the clunky one, the one who only knows how to break things— and she is the good one— the fragile one, the soft one, the one who knows how to put things back together— and he has to keep her alive long enough for anyone else— anyone who can do more than kill— to save her like she deserves to be saved— to save her from him. There are no pomegranates, no three headed dogs, and no requirement to stay— that is, if they don’t count an assassin on the loose out for her neck. In that case, three days in a safe house doesn’t feel like a long time— just long enough for Persephone and Hades to remember why opposites attract.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader (third person)
Warnings: Mentions of death, at times semi-graphic, eventual smut
Word count: 3.1k
Previous | Next
Master List
She can’t hear what the man in the truck says to him— the walls of this house are surprisingly thick. She supposes that’s a good thing. It means she will be able to go about her days normally while cooped up here. Well, as normal as possible. She doubts she’ll be able to get away with her three am rom-com marathons and ice-cream binges. She doubts she’ll get away with screaming in her sleep— and in the shower and at the breakfast table and when doing any, little thing that makes her remember that her life is one, constant nightmare.
It’s only three days— all she has to do is stay awake for three days.
While his head— her body guard’s head— is turned she leans against the kitchen sink, inching back the white lace curtain for what feels like the hundredth time. It’s like a little game at this point. She peeks at him, his eyes snap to hers, and she squeals and drops the curtain. Thank god the walls are thick. It’s almost unnerving how tuned he is to every little movement— not almost, it is unnerving but she supposes that is what makes him a good fit for this job. A good fit for keeping her alive. Like she has been doing for months now, she ignores the way her chest squeezes painfully.
Through the little strip of window that she allows for herself, she traces over his features one last time. Cropped black hair, a square jaw, at least two days worth of stubble. He looks like a bodyguard— rough, dangerous, manly— and that’s before taking into account the sheer size of the man. She is on her tiptoes, one hand pushing against the stainless steel below her for dear life, and she still has to crane her neck to properly see his face. She refuses to let her eyes wander any further than that— she had already glimpsed at the rest of him when he had made the short walk from the truck to the house. She already knows he’s massive.
His eyebrow twitches and she drops the curtain— she may not be as fast as he is but she’s a quick learner. Had she held the curtain open longer she is sure his eyes would have flicked to hers again. Those are the rules of the game, after all. She hears a muted thumping and the door handle jiggle from across the room, spinning towards the faded farmhouse door. She watches as the door handle turns, her throat tight, wondering where all the air in the room went— it was there a second ago.
The door pushes open and she jumps away from the sink, only just realizing what it’ll look like if he comes inside to her still hunched over the window. Of course, he’s already seen her but that’s beside the point. Part of the game is not talking about the game. A boot comes into view— the black, military grade kind— and it hits her like a punch to the gut that this is real— there really is someone out there trying to kill her. Now she really can’t breath. She can only force her lungs to expand to draw in some oxygen before her bodyguard finds her sprawled in an unconscious heap on the ground.
The boot is quickly followed by a leg, which is then, by default, followed by a torso and a head. A head that turns and watches her freeze, red handed like a bandit, in the middle of the kitchen. Gods, she should have just kept leaning against the sink— this is worse! Her hands are up and everything, shot out in front of her like she’s about to jump him or something. Yes, her— the girl currently in a hoodie that pools around her legs, displaying her knobby knees and bad posture— about to jump him— the man who had to practically duck to get through the doorway. She could laugh. In fact, she almost wishes he would laugh at her. She wishes he would do anything but look at her with that blank expression and those ice blue eyes.
“Uhm—” she blinks, trying to think of something to say other than holy shit you’re a giant— which, for the record, is what she wants to say— “hi?”
Are you serious, y/n?
He tilts his head at her and she almost cries. Not the same fear ridden, heartbroken, panicky cries of late. More so the awkward, why the fuck would you say that to the man charged with keeping you alive brand of cries. The normal kind. She drops her hands to her sides, slipping them into the pouch of her hoodie and tangling her fingers together. She can only allow herself to display one embarrassing thing at a time.
The man stays silent for a moment, each second of which makes her cheeks flame hotter and hotter, before finally opening his mouth. “Hi.”
Her chest deflates— some of the heat subsiding. He copied her. Whether purposefully or mockingly it alleviates some of the stupidity she’s feeling. She takes a few steps backwards, her bare feet pittering rather loudly over the worn hardwood. Well, that didn’t last long— there’s that embarrassment again.
“I’m y/n,” she squeaks out— gods, is Mickey Mouse in the building? “I guess you already know that though, huh?”
It was a stroke of genius putting her hands in her pocket— at least now he can’t see the way they shake furiously. She has to resist smashing her head against the sink. Nothing about this situation is optimal, to say the very least. Here she is making small talk with a man who could tear her in half. Her eyes drift to where his red henley pulls taut around his biceps— are they bigger than her head?
“James—” her eyes flick back up, face hotter than the sun, both from her blatant staring and the deep gravel of his voice— “but most people call me Bucky.”
Her eyes widen. She doesn’t know why, probably because she’s an idiot or because she isn’t expecting him to say more than three words. He seems like the strong, silent type. Maybe that is just the rom-coms though. Maybe her brain is just mush now.
“Okay,” she all but whispers, backing further into the sink. His piercing eyes have yet to leave her— something which makes her knees knock together and fingers clench. “Which should I call you?”
He tenses, his dark eyebrows pulling together, and she has to swallow the bile that rises in her throat. It’s day one and she’s already offending him. She pulls her lip between her teeth, biting down until the tangy, metallic taste that she has grown too familiar with these past months floods her mouth. She tells herself that she does it to keep from cursing. Lying to herself is another game she likes to play.
The longer he remains quiet, the more she regrets asking the question. His blue eyes are still latched on her, drifting over the space between her eyes and her busted lip, but somehow they also seem miles away. She can’t tell if he’s looking at her— seeing her— or if he’s seeing something else entirely. It isn’t until she pushes off the counter, taking a hesitant step forward, her foot slapping against the wood like it’s trying to embarrass her again, that he blinks. She pulls one of her hands from the puddle that is her hoodie, sliding it over her hair. Can he see the way it shakes?
Probably.
“Nevermind, forget I asked. It was a dumb ques—”
“Bucky,” the word is rushed out, falling over her own stuttered babbling. He slows after that, his face remaining stoic but his cheeks dusting with the slightest hint of pink. “Call me Bucky.”
She doesn’t point it out— she doesn’t have a death wish. Her being here right now, standing across from a literal giant, barefoot and shaking, is proof enough of that. Instead she nods gently, lowering her hand slowly. He’s not going to attack her— he isn’t a wolf— but still she takes the precaution. Better safe than sorry.
“Bucky it is then.”
He nods stiffly and she pretends like it doesn’t make her hands shake harder. She waits for him to speak, eyes drifting over the blue cupboards and the breakfast nook, taking in the applications of the home and trying not to scream. She feels so out of place, not used to the warmth in the room— the lingering smell of yeast and the flowers in the vase on the table. She used to bake all the time. Now she can barely bring herself to microwave frozen dinners. The sun that filters through the crack in the curtains and lands against her cheek feels like pure fire. She spends her days in the dark— she wouldn’t be surprised if she was allergic to the sun itself now. Allergic to all the things she used to enjoy.
The silence is too much— she has to speak to keep her throat from closing. If she doesn’t then it may not open again.
“So—” she draws the word out, her eyes flopping to the floor where her toe scuffs against a particularly worn board— “we just kinda follow each other around then?”
His face doesn’t change, his lips remaining in the same, expressionless line— a master of one trade. “Pretty much. I follow you.”
“And make sure I don’t die.” She fills the rest in— there’s no point not to. He’s definitely seen the pictures.
Finally his expression shifts, his lips pressing together tersely. It’s an answer in it’s own right— he pities her. He shifts his weight between his feet, the floorboards creaking below him. It could just be her but the sound slices through the room— loud and unforgiving— and she can’t stop the way she flinches. He freezes, obviously noticing her reaction. She almost slaps herself. Leave it to her to make an already tense situation worse. Is it going to be this awkward the entire time?
“You’re not going to die.” His voice is softer than his boots, barely reaching her ears as it cuts through the rigid atmosphere.
She doesn’t know what to say— how do she tell her bodyguard that she doesn’t believe him? He’s supposed to be the one saving her life. It feels risky to suggest that he wouldn’t be able to do that. Like telling the universe that she wants to die. She doesn’t want to die. It’s just hard not to think about death when it follows her everywhere she goes. For twenty-four years she was just y/n. Now look at her.
The queen of death.
She doesn’t know what to say so instead she changes the subject.
“Are you hungry?”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
She makes grilled cheese for lunch. It is nothing special but the smell of the butter alone makes the energy she has to scrape together to make them worth it. She can’t remember the last time she cooked like this— the last time she tasted anything but freezer burnt macaroni and lumpy gravy. A couple times she almost drops the spatula, her fingers not used to having to be so coordinated, but the promise of melted cheddar has her fighting through the tremors. That and the audience of one, standing next to her with his arms crossed like he’s judging her culinary skills rather than looking for snipers.
It’s all in her head. That’s what she tells herself at least.
“You want extra cheese?”
She can feel Bucky’s eyes on the side of her face— is there something on her cheek? “Sure.”
It’s all in her head.
She flips the sandwiches, watching as the fluffy white bread is replaced with a perfect, golden brown toast. Her stomach growls, the sound somehow louder than the sizzling pan in her hand. The scream bubbles in her throat again— fuck. Why must everything she does be so humiliating? Why can’t she just keep it together for three days!
“Bacon?” Cue the voice crack.
“Bacon?” He repeats the word back like he hasn’t the faintest clue what a pig is— like somehow he’s a giant of a man but has never touched a piece of meat in his entire life.
Like it’s the dumbest question he has ever been asked. She swallows— hard— her cheeks pooling with heat again. She’s starting to wonder if it ever even left. If he asks she’ll blame it on the steam rising off the pan or her hoodie or both. But he won’t ask— he won’t speak until he has to. It did not take her long to gather that fact.
“You’ve never had bacon on grilled cheese?” It feels like he’s glaring at her.
It’s all in her damn head.
The floorboards groan underneath Bucky again and instead of flinching this time she tries to imagine what they might be saying. Save me, he’s crushing me! She flicks her eyes down, glancing at those military grade boots and then at her own toes, tiny and feeble compared to the size of his gear. One wrong step and her foot would likely be broken. She isn’t too worried about that though— he seems careful. His movements thus far have been slow and calculated, skirting around her and leaving at least a few feet between them at all times. Maybe that isn’t to keep from stepping on her though— maybe he just doesn’t like her. She wouldn’t blame him.
“You say it like that’s unheard of.” He doesn’t say it angrily but there’s no exuberance in his voice either— just the monotone she’s come to expect. It’s been one hour and she can already see how the next seventy-one are going to play out.
“Where I’m from it is.”
There’s a pause— the sound of butter crackling against the pan and of the steady picking up of rain against the kitchen window as it eats away at the sunshine— and she’s expecting the conversation to drop there. He isn’t there to entertain her, after all. That’s what the TV is for— what Leonardo DiCaprio is for.
But then there’s an answer. “Where are you from?”
The corner of her mouth lifts— an action so foreign she can practically see the dust shedding from her rusty smile— and she turns from the frypan long enough to meet his icy eyes and to throw out an arm, putting the front of her hoodie on display for the stoic man.
“SoCal.”
Her mouth lifts higher when Bucky raises an eyebrow, nodding slowly. He could be mocking her but she chooses to believe he’s interested. She chooses to believe that they are making progress and that she won’t have to spend three days talking to the walls. She turns back to the sandwiches, flipping them for the last time before laying down a few strips of bacon next to them.
She isn’t expecting him to keep going but she also isn’t complaining when his voice tickles her ears again. “Caltech, huh? S’that Pasadena?”
She tries to keep her smile from morphing into a full blown grin— she isn’t sure if her poor lips would be able to handle it. It’s been too long since she last used her mouth this much; both for smiling and talking. “Yes sir— born and raised.”
He hums and she watches from the corner of her eye as he leans to the window, peering out of it for a moment. There’s no one out there— at least she strongly doubts there is. This place is in the middle of nowhere. She hasn’t even heard a car since the truck that dropped Bucky off drove away. It’s supposed to be peaceful. She doesn’t see it. All she sees is the dreadful but necessary silence— at least hopefully that way they’ll hear someone coming.
“How about you? Where are you from—” she flips the bacon, pushing it around the pan, her mouth watering at the thought of the greasy, gooey goodness she’s about to consume— “You mind finding some plates?”
She hears him rummage through the cupboard above his head— well, above her head, in front of his— before two mismatched pieces of dishware appear before her nose. Grabbing them, she lets the corners of her lips tick up just the tiniest bit further.
“Indiana— but spent most of my time in Brooklyn.”
“It shows.” She muses, not turning to see whether or not he appreciates the comment.
It’s true regardless— she can hear some of the mannerisms of New York in his voice. Not many. He hasn’t said enough for her to truly gauge just how strong his accent is. Still it’s there, in the gruffness of his tone, just like she’s sure the SoCal shines through in her. At least it normally does— lately she hasn’t exactly been the picture of sunshine.
She removes the sandwiches from the pan, layering them carefully onto the plates. After staring at them for a moment she settles on the one that she wants, handing Bucky the bigger of the two. It’s only fair— he could probably eat at least four. She watches as the giant gives it a glance, rolling her eyes when he hesitantly lifts it to his lips, taking the smallest of bites. Is he afraid of a sandwich?
“I promise I’m not trying to poison you— I need you to stay alive, remember?”
He only grunts.
She has to turn away when he takes a bigger bite, her eyes refusing to detach themselves from his lips. Unprofessional and inappropriate. The orphan and the bodyguard. She takes a bite of her own sandwich, shoving the thought to the back of her mind and replacing it with the heavenly taste of gooey cheese, melted butter, and greasy bacon. She doesn’t have to dissect the thoughts of her delicious food like she would have to the other ones. Cheese doesn’t require a checklist about whether or not her grief quota is up to code. Clearly it’s not— clearly she’s just sick in the head. She takes another bite.
The two eat in silence for a couple minutes, the tension in the room melting for the first time since she introduced herself. Thank gods for cheese.
After a few more moments Bucky sets his plate down, turning back to the window. At first she thinks she is hearing things— like her mind is now also playing tricks on her as well as making her feel like a terrible person— but then it registers and she has to fight back another inappropriate smile.
“You were right about the bacon.”
Maybe three days won’t be so bad.
____________
Tag List: @xhollycowx @remembered-license
#Bucky Barnes#bucky#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky x y/n#bucky x reader#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes imagine#bucky fic#bucky imagine#mcu fic#mcu imagine#marvel cinematic universe fic#marvel cinematic universe#Persephone's Symphony
153 notes
·
View notes
Text
More Souyo headcanons because I sold my soul to the fox guardian to max out their soul link. But like,,, adding more of the friends and the ships I ship with them lol
Yosuke and Yu have their own sets of nightmares, Yu needs skin-on-skin contact like holding a hand or resting his forehead on Yosuke shoulders (Yosuke wears loose shirts so his shoulder is always showing), as where Yosuke just needs grounding words and sometimes to be hold.
Their friends have their own ways of going through all of the things they went through with the murders, tv world, and such.
Though Yosuke's confession went off the plan, Kanji finally building up the courage to ask out Naoto in a cute but painfully awkward way, but none of them has anything on Chie's confession to Yukiko was... Memorable. Chie had lost her ability to speak due to the fears of ruining their friendship (even though everyone who helped her practice said Yukiko actually liked her back and to go for it), became frazzled, yelled she loved steak, ran away, it started to rain, Yukiko chased after her, multiple people in the group slipped on their asses, and then chie did confessed finally in the rain however leaning down for a kiss Yukiko loses balance and both get covered in mud, goes to the inn for everyone to wash up and the next day they all caught a cold except for teddie.
Their sexuality and gender identity (my opinion, if yours is different that's cool please share 🥺)
Yu- Pansexual because of course he didn't see gender, he saw husband material in the trash, and Genderfluid because I don't care that cross dressing moment awakening this part of him and like terrible timing in the middle of a murder cases but gender identities don't come in good timing. Pronouns: he/she/they mostly he and they.
Yosuke: this man is bisexual, first nobody calls their friends partners ironically unless you are not straight and don't bring up cowboy movies into this there are gay cowboy films, v-necks all season long, talks about yu a bit much, headphones, has zero balance, his room being a mess, in mostly all of Yu's dancing scenes and his dance scenes too, your affection, and lastly he rolled up his sleeves. He's a disaster bi and I will die on this hill.
Kanji- pansexual, I know him being straight and liking stuff that normally label you as gay and I got to agree with that like whatever you want, however I love him as pan because it feels right to me.
Naoto- Demisexual, I am a firm believer that Naoto is Demi and when getting to know Kanji they fell in love with him. They are non-binary, pronouns are she/they tho since she/they are not called they as much I'll be referring to them as that because my reasons.
Chie- lesbian. I ain't got to say much, she's totally a lesbian and is in the middle of butch and femme presenting.
Yukiko- also Lesbian, I'm sorry I can't see her liking a guy and like,,, we all saw her's and Chie's shadow scenes and them rescuing each other like,,, not a hetro explanation to be seen.
Rise- graysexual, she felt attracted to Yu but like she could see how much Yu liked Yosuke but little hurt feelings she's fine, beside she doesn't really need any partners as badly as she puts on sometimes her friends and family are more than enough! She's also mtf trans because fuck you I say so let me just have my trans babies!
Teddie uhhh well Teddie is Teddie he doesn't have a sexuality if you are pretty or even handsome he'll flirt with you, also I am sure he has no gender but he present male because it feels right and like he was really comfortable in the cross dressing moment so like he just exist to be a one-of-kind Teddie.
Speaking of Teddie, this man lives with the Dojima's to protect Nanako as a big brother! Yu is very proud of him and grateful for him wanting to protect his little sister/cousin.
Yu, Yosuke, and now Teddie can sing the Junes store theme by heart. It's still Nanako's favorite store and yes she's disappointed in her big bro and Yosuke getting banned for one.
Kanji becomes a fashion designer and he makes his friends wedding attire and clothes for Nanako and send them to her because she deserves cute dresses for her family and damnit she's so cute and when he visits he goes to her and just makes her look even more ADORABLE and send pics of her new outfits to Yu and Dojima and listen okay, these two have been seen crying at their phone because NANAKO IS JUST SO CUTE AND HAPPY AND THEY JUST WANT HER TO PROTECT HER PRECIOUS SMILE AND JUST SHUT UP NANAKO DESERVE TO BE SPOILED AND HAPPINESS FOR YEARS AND YEARS AHHHHH
Yukiko and Chie's cooking has gotten better, Yu are Kanji helped them not make anymore mystery food x again. Yosuke stutters at the utter mentioned of that name.
Yu looks calm, but he's holding back his pure feral rage. He keeps it inside him and then he'll die.
Kanji and Yosuke 🤝 getting bolder around their loves
Yukiko and Yu have thrown movie nights in where they kidnap their friends, use teddie to get through the tv world, and watch movies together and nobody else question it.
Rise came out on her being tran, and Yu became her bodyguard because he saw half the hate by some fans and like she has some already but no he literally placed a hand on her shoulder and said "I want to go with you." and he did went and broke a few knee caps and def met Ryuji and yes in pq2 he def remember Yu because you can't forget someone with a silver bowl cut busting someone knees (Ryuji is trans too btw, because) ((also no knee busting, he wanted to but legally he couldn't... Lol new au delinquent! Yu the true delinquent but yeah he was just there making sure Rise tour was safe so he didn't have to worry about her))
Yu is a mama bear, he calls up everyone ever once in a while and kill not think twice about murdering you if you decided to choose violence towards his friends.
Yu also takes being an uncle seriously, he has Dojima has an uncle he has standards to meet.
Kanji saw Rise new costumes line and he said "these are ugly give me three days" and now he makes her costumes.
Kanji also personally tailors Naoto's clothes because they are still so short-
Naoto gets top surgery, shut up let me self-project here.
Chie also gets top surgery, she loves her chest flat she's more confident and like,,, men shirts,,, a new possiblity.
Yu unironically sings the little mermaid under the sea while cleaning and nobody knows why.
Everyone makes Naoto eat because they just forget to being so deep in a case.
Yosuke and chie 🤝 sleeping in weird and almost uncomfortable looking positions
Yu and Yukiko 🤝mildly worried about their partners.
Kanji reads to Naoto as a thing that relax them and like cuddling with Kanji is like heaven (get it?)
Yukiko has a Halloween type of stuff for the inn's to gain more tourist but like there's three levels of being scared. 1. Very small that won't cause heart attacked, 2. Middle scare, 3. HOLY SHIT level.
Yosuke can draw but like only his friends know this, and like in the crushing years there's a sketch book that is just Yu, everything Yu, and like Chie found it and like impressed but also like felt it because she has written C x Y since like middle school okay.
#yosuke hanamura#yu narukami#souyo#kanji tatsumi#naoto shirogane#kannao#rise kujikawa#chie satonaka#yukiko amagi#yukichie#teddie#p4#p4g#my headcanons#nanako dojima
88 notes
·
View notes
Text
Our Doll 3 // Peace of Our Time
B.Barnes x S.Rogers, B.Barnes x Stark!Reader, S.Rogers x Stark!Reader
Series Synopsis | After the events of the horrific past, y/n Stark, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes have finally admitted their feelings for each other. But is life as an avenger whilst dating two super soldiers any easier than anything y/n’s experienced in the past?
sequel Series to Their Doll
Series Warnings | smut, violence, torture, swearing, threesomes, drug usage/substance abuse
Chapter Summary | that one party scene from ultron
Warnings | mentions of drug usage, alcohol consumption, swearing?, kissing I think
A/n | This is a sequel book/series to my fic Their Doll! This book loosely follows the mcu timeline, starting in CAWS in book one and starting just before AOU in this book. Bucky had been recovered and is safe, and Peter was taken under Tony's wing when he was much younger.
Masterlist | Series Masterlist
Taking a deep breath, I rolled the joint between my fingers, not really sure what I was doing. I sighed deeply, letting it tumble from my hand soundlessly into the small drawer next to my bed before shoving it shut, standing up as the wood thudded. I ran my hands through my hair, tugging at the strands as I let out a frustrated noise.
The stress, the nightmares, everything - it was becoming unbearable. Every time I let my eyes slip shut, The General's face clouded my mind, haunting the edges until I had no choice but to see it, see him.
My head snapped up at the sound of a soft knock against my door, my eyes drifting from the closed drawer and back to the door.
"Doll, can I come in?" It was Bucky, my shoulders tensing even more. He couldn't find out. Hesitantly, I called out for him to come back in. The handle turned slowly, tauntingly, the rough wood creaking open as the super soldier pushed his way in. "Hey." He smiled, striding over to me, hooking an arm around my shoulders and placing a chaste kiss to my temple.
"Hi. What's up?" I pondered, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my head against Bucky's chest. He smiled into my hair, dropping another kiss there.
"Were going on a mission. Nat wanted to know if you were going." Bucky asked, cheek settles against the top of my head.
"Seeing as we don't even know of my powers still work, I'd say no. But you should feel free to go, I'd hate to stop you doing something you enjoyed." I smiled, turning my head to look up at him. Bucky smiled too, a sweet thing that tickled his eyes.
"I'm staying right here, doll. I think a mission might be too much for me to handle right now. Not to mention it's a HYDRA base they're taking down, memories are still to fresh." He smiled down at me, meeting my lips for a sweet kiss.
...
"There were more enhanced. Maria found them, Wanda and Pietro Maximoff. We didn't see them coming." Steve rambled, letting his first connect with the door, the wood spluttering under his strength. "Shit." He mumbled, shaking his fist off and dropping his head forward.
Bucky stood up from where he sat on the bed, wrapping his arms around steve and resting his head against the Blonde's back. Steve tried shrugging him off, but the soldier wouldn't budge.
"Stevie, calm down. It's not your fault. You'd fill got what you needed." Bucky cooed, pressing a gentle kiss to Steve's neck.
"But what if it's not enough...what if the twins come back? I mean we didn't kill them, they're still out there." Steve muttered, but y/n could see from where she sat on the bed the way he relaxed into Bucky's embrace, shoulders slumping and jaw unclenching.
"We should get ready." Y/n mentioned, jumping up as the boys parted, all heading off to get ready for the party her dad was throwing in celebration.
...
Laughter chorused, glasses clinked against surfaces and mindless chatter created a soft hum that laid an undertone throughout the party. Upon arriving, I had clung to Bucky - who had equally clung to me - whilst Steve wandered off to mingle. If anything, it has benefitted me, as I got to find out why Bucky was such a ladies man in the 40s - and let me tell you, I never would've guessed that the Winter fucking Soldier, the man who taught me to throw a knife and never miss, who taught me how to dislocate someone in over 50 different ways, was one of the best dancers I'd ever meet.
A little applaud echoed from the bar as Bucky finished the song in a dip, letting his arms cradle me as he held me close to the floor. As we straightened, Bucky was drawn off by someone tugging at his arm - I think it was Rhodey? I, on the other hand, was dying for a drink and was already half way to the bar.
As I approached, standing before the smooth counter, a glass of whiskey was already placed before me, a smirking Nat stood looking at me.
"Hey, Nat." I smiled, picking up the cool glass and taking a sip. Her smirk turned softer and leant against the bar.
"Hey, y/n. How's Bucky doin'" she said, brows raised. My cheeks flushed pink, eyes downcast as I mumbled lowly,
"He's good. We're good." And with that I picked up my drink, downing the rest in one and setting the cup on the side, wiping over my mouth with the back of my hand. Nat winked at me, picking up the glass and moving to giving me a refill.
Upon placing the glass in front of me again, I lifted it up and swirled the golden liquid in the glass.
"Do you feel like spicing this thing up a bit?" Nat murmured, my head instantly shooting up.
"And what did you have in mind?" I shot back, and she curled a finger in gesture for me to lean closer.
"I have an idea." She smirked, eyes darting towards a gap in the stairs, a wickedly mischievous sparkle in her eye as we look at Thor between the space, his hammer obscuring our vision of him completely. When she turned back to me, we were both smirking, the glint in my eyes matching hers.
"Tell me everything."
...
As we approached, me and Nat took a seat on the sofas surrounding a coffee table that the other Avengers were sat around. Nat longed near Clint whilst I shuffled my way next to Bucky, who was next to Steve on the other side.
"Hey, doll." Bucky murmured, laying his arm over my shoulders and kissing my temple. Steve offered me a smile, but nothing further as the three of us hadn't told anyone about our relationship yet.
"Did you guys know that there's a knife," Thor paused for a second, leaning forward so his elbows rested on his knees, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to find his words, "there's this knife, and it gets so hot, that it can instantly turn bread to toast if you cut it?" He asked, hands gesturing wildly and laughing with revelation at the end of his sentence, leaning back into the cushions of the sofa.
Everyone eyes him warily, whilst Steve and me were holding back laughter and Nat was shaking her head.
"Oh wow," Bucky mumbled from beside me, breath tickling me ear, "imagine stabbing someone with that." Me and Steve instantly stopped laughing, both turning to look at the super soldier between up with wide eyes and exchanged worried glances. Nat burst into laughter, as did Clint as Bucky grinned and chuckled at his own joke.
"Well, Barnes, if it was that hot it would instantly cauterise the wound so it wouldn't actually be that effective..." Tony explained, plopping down into a seat the other side of the table. I held back a glare, as did Bucky. As much as my dad had pissed me off recently, I'd rather be civil with him than argue non-stop.
"It's effective if you want information." I smirked, my expression mirrored by Nat.
"Exactly what I was thinking, y/n." She smiled darkly and everyone began to chuckle.
"Guys I have a feeling we just broke Thor." Steve laughed, pointing towards the god of thunder who was looking very conflicted.
"But why would you stab someone when you could have toast?" He wondered aloud, sparking a new laughing fit from the group.
"How about we play a game?" Maria wandered from where she sat, bringing her beer to her lips and taking a sip.
"Oh, yes!" Nat exclaimed, sitting up, "how about truth or dare?" She asked almost giddily as I suppressed my smirk.
"Yes! I love that game." I chimed in, met my that hums of agreement form the rest of the group. "Bucky, you should start."
"Okay." He smiled, leaning back into the sofa more and looking around the group. "Thor. Truth or dare?"
"I'll go truth." Thor replied hesitantly - it was fairly obvious that he had never played the game before. I could only imagine what party games are like up on Asgard.
"Who is the most boring person here?"
"Definitely Clint." Thor said through a laugh, making Clint glare at him.
"How dare you. At least I use a bow, Nat sticks to a fucking gun!" Clint protested, drawing even more laughter from the rest of us.
"But Nat actually had a cool backstory." I defended, and Clint sent me a glare too. "There, your go."
"So I just, ask someone if they want a truth or dare?" He clarified and we all nodded. "Nat, truth or dare?" Nat was lounging again, beer in hand.
"Truth."
"Who is the strongest avenger?" Thor smirked, sipping from his drink.
"You or Bruce." Nat smiled, and Bruce returned the gesture - if not sheepishly. "Y/n, truth or dare?" I smirked, our plan was falling into play.
"Dare." I said lazily, examining my nails and humming quietly.
"I dare you to pick up Thor's hammer." Nat said, eyeing up the hammer as it sat on the table. I scoffed, playing along, and stood up. The others cheered around me as I walked over to it.
"Don't worry if it's too heavy, y/n. I know you're only young." Thor smirked.
"Don't be too hasty, Thor. That girl can throw a punch." Steve commented. I began to hum a little louder, wrapping my hands around the handle. I tugged, and when I heard the gasps I knew it was working. A smirk graced my lips, and Rhodey chocked on his beer, whilst Thor's face dropped.
"Wait, what?" He scoffed, frowning at me.
"Holy shit! I did it!" I exclaimed through laughter, but my laughter was nothing to do with the fact that I'd lifted it. I stopped humming, and frowns settled on everyone's faces as the image of my lifting the hammer above my head melted into one of my stood next to the table, hands gasping the handle but the hammer refusing to move.
"I- I don't understand.." Thor mumbled, and Steve's eyes grew wide whilst Bucky smirked, catching on.
"Oh, you little bitch." Clint whined, and Bucky joined Nat and me as we laughed.
"It's not my fault all you idiots forgot I can literally control minds." I scoffed, but burst into laughter again when I caught a glimpse of Nat clutching her side as she giggled from the corner of my eye. As we finally calmed down, we were wiping tears of laughter from our cheeks, trying to let everyone else play the game again.
The evening moved on, and more laughs were shared as everyone ended up having their go at picking up the hammer. Needless to say, not one succeeded except Thor - much to my dad's dismay.
"So Capsicle, how's Barnes in bed?" Tony threw out casually after a while, and I choked on my beer as we were given pontes looks. I was still smudged in between the two super soldier, one smirking and one with red-flushed cheeks.
"What?" Steve stammered, eyes trained down as Thro and Clint smirked.
"Oh come on, Cap. We all heard you." Nat chimed in, red lips curled into a devious smile.
"I would ask about the third part involved but I don't really need to hear how fast my daughter made you cum." Tony waved off, and my cheeks instantly flushed with heat as my skin got hot.
"Dad!" I exclaimed, almost back to our playful banter as if nothing had happened - maybe the alcohol had momentarily ruptured our hate.
"What?!" My dad shot back, arms out in question as I glared him down.
"We could all hear you." Rhodey confirmed, a slightly disgusted expression written over his scrunched-up face.
"What was it you said - oh I know," Nat began, but suddenly everyone clutched their ears as a piercing ring invaded the almost-empty tower. Then it stopped.
Tony pulled out his phone-like gadget that I'd never understood before checking it, but the clang of metal grabbed our attention. The staggering, almost drunken-like mesh of metal and wires stumbled in front of us, whirring echoing in a soft croon. It turned slowly, and Steve quickly raised to his feet, whilst Bucky possessively crossed his arm over me.
"You're all monsters. You talk about such petty things when you're all killers."
"Stark." Steve bit.
"Jarvis," Tony begun, but was met with no response.
"I'm sorry I was asleep," it's head was wandering, searching the tower as it looked from side to side, "or...I was a dream."
"Jarvis, reboot." Tony pulled out with phone again, tapping the screen, "must have a buggy suit," he mumbled to himself.
"There was a terrible noise...and I was tangled." The robot grunted, holding a arm which lacked a hand up in front of its face, "strings...had to kill the other guy." He explained, and nearly everyone was standing now, on edge. My hand reached up my skirt, fingers wrapping around the handle of one of the small blades I'd strapped to my thighs - as usual. "He was a good guy.."
"You killed someone?" Steve frowned.
"Wouldn't have been my first call," the robot defended, and I began to unsheathe the knife. "But down in the real world we're faced with ugly choices."
"Who sent you?" Thor spoke, somehow the epitome of calm. I gasped as my dad's voice played from the robot, his words echoing as I stated at the mangled, skull-like head of the robot.
I see a suit of amour around the world...
Something must've clicked for Bruce, because he instantly looked towards my dad and mumbled,
"Ultron."
"In the flesh." It confirmed, "well, no. Not yet." People exchanged glances. "Not this Christmas, but I'm ready." It explained, looking at itself. I could see Maria take her gun off safety as she slowly stood and took it as a signal to bring the blade up in front of me. "I'm on mission."
"What mission?"
"Peace of our time." It declared, and before any of us could make a move sparks of flying gold-merged-yellow exploded from the walls behind the robot, blurts of sliver and red flashing across my vision as shards of glass were sent into the air.
#smut#marvel#steve rogers#marvel smut#captain america#chris evans#chris evans smut#steve rogers x reader#bucky x steve#steve rogers image#steve x bucky#steve roger fanfic#steve rogers smut#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes#bucky barnes smut#winter soldier smut#winter soldier#winter solider fanfiction#captain america smut#captain america fanfiction#seb stan#sebastian stan smut#sebastian stan#stucky#stucky smut#stucky x reader#stucky x reader smut
132 notes
·
View notes
Text
HOLY FUCKING SHIT Y’ALL. HOLY SHIT. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. PLEASE JESUS FUCK.
i kind of miss when noragami was just a manga about a nightmare in a sweatshirt with no job, no job, and a self-proclaimed "God", and a common third-grade girl. buckle up because i have a LOT to say.
about 50 points of psychic damage under the cut.
-
Okay. Alright. Okay. I don’t even. Okay.
Everything about this chapter was so good, you guys. The writing was beautiful, same goes for the art. The character development for both Nora and Yato was fucking delicious, every single character interaction was amazing and relevant and good (especially Yato and trash dad holy SHIT), and it’s always great to see that Hiyori has learned Nothing.
I’m gonna be straight up with you guys for a sec, I did Not understand where Hiyori was on that first scene and it will probably haunt me forever.
why is it that the only time anyone smiles anymore is while doing fucked up shit.
Look I still stan baby yato but the ears, man.
NORA’S ARC IS MY FAVORITE THING ABOUT THIS ENTIRE MANGA (not really, but it’s damn close). She has literally known nothing but abuse her entire life and is realizing that hurting people may be bad actually and I love that for her.
And I really like that she’s unapologetic for her past actions because that is how she is. It’s so painfully in-character for her to go “yeah, I acknowledge what my dad, Yato and I did was fucked up, and don’t plan on doing anything similar in the future, but I don’t regret it, and I would do it again because I enjoyed it, and I wish you could see that, too.” I love her as a character so damn much.
they were just kids having their fucked up little fun, man. It was all they knew and that breaks my heart into tiny pieces.
so a rain of scattered flower petals, you say? perhaps even. perhaps even crimson petals, yeah?🙃
these people THEY NEED TO STOP DRAWING THESE PARALLELS BETWEEN HIYORI AND SAKURA I CAN’T FUCKING TAKE IT.
How dare trash dad be soft with the ayakashi. How d a r e h e.
He’s lost it. I mean, he’s been insane all along but he has officially lost it.
re: my little rant about how he still sees Yato as a child. He quite literally cannot fathom Yato wanting to bring him any harm. He can’t conceptualize the deep, primal hatred he feels for him, and how far he is willing to go to have retribution for everything he has gone through at the hands of his father. He genuinely thinks for a second that this is all a big ruse to save his pathetic little life because Yato?? can’t actually want him dead??? That’s so silly, he doesn’t even know if he would survive that! Surely he would not sacrifice his own life to see his dear old dad kick the bucket, right?
...right?
If that last sequence was animated you cannot tell me his eyes would not be glowing the brightest blue. You can’t. It’s the return of Rage!Yato: Suicidal edition.
Well honestly it was about time they showed Kazuma have some measure of limits, boy is way too op but yeah I’d say the third transformation (with a lot of back and forth between the three), second or third spell and being SWALLOWED ALIVE BY A FUCKING WHALE, all with no rest, is a good place to draw the line.
Anyway, "So I’ll be relieving you of your head, and Yaboku dies with you” came into my home, spit on me, kicked my ass, and called me a bitch.
Can’t say it’s not on me to have forgotten just how fucked up Yato could be if provoked.
AND AS ALWAYS HERE’S A TOAST TO THE SOON-TO-COME REVOKING OF TRASH DAD’S HEAD PRIVILEGES.
...anyone have eyes on Yukine?
#noragami#noragami 94-2#nora#yato#kazuma#look! I finally learned how to use tags on this hellsite#so my cold ass takes may reach far and wide#i did a post on time! are you proud of me#y'all ever mind how much I swear?#it's not even like a second language thing i swear just as much in my first#so yeah anyway i am in fear#but wbk#but seriously. what happened to hiyori?#is kazuma okay? are ANY OF THE HUMANS OKAY??#no. the answer is no. they're not.#tw suicide mention#suicide mention#chapter reaction#lextpost
39 notes
·
View notes
Text
Robbed (Request)
Jake Gyllenhaal x gn!teen!co-star!reader, Tom Holland x gn!teen!co-star!reader
Genre: angst, fluff
Request Description: hi! I'm absolutely IN LOVE with your work and was wondering if you could write a Tom Holland x teen!costar!reader and Jake Gyllenhaal x teen!costar!reader. Whilst hanging out together, the reader chooses to go out alone at night to buy food and ends up getting mugged. She doesn't come back for a while, so Tom and Jake leave the hotel to find her crying on the side walk. They take care of her and are super protective and there's just a lot of fluff. Tysm!
Warnings: robbing, violence, threatening, language
(A/N): hey so reader doesnt buy food but rather pads for their friend :)
“Come on, Harley! Whaddya doing?”
Yes, not even two minutes into the mobster movie you were watching, had Jake decided to put on his Italian accent and yell hopelessly at the character. Thirty minutes later and he was, unsurprisingly, still doing it. You and Tom exchanged glances and laughed at him, because although it was mildly annoying, it was also viciously funny.
“Wait, no! They can’t kill Harley?” Tom complained, looking up from his phone to realise Harley was, in fact, dying.
“I know. I’m so bummed out,” You sighed and stuck your hand in your bag of sour gummies.
You, Jake and Tom, being the leads for a new movie, had been working together for several months. Over the course of filming, you’d gotten into the habit of hanging out every Friday (which was originally a way to stop you from going out and being irresponsible).
It was one of those hangouts you now found yourself in. Just relaxing after a hard day of work with your pals.
“Man, this movie sucks, dude,” Jake said, this time uncloaking his voice of the Italian mobster accent. You and Tom both nodded. You were about to suggest playing some board games, when your alarm, that traumatising and reality crushing tune that woke you up every morning, blared throughout the room.
Your brows furrowed and you picked it up. The message that was displayed on the screen, was put so eloquently: ‘you need to go buy pads for lily. im like 100% sure you fucking forgot, you idiot’
“Nya, shit,” you mumbled and quickly turned off the alarm.
“What’s up?” Jake asked, shuffling in his chair. You sighed and started gathering your things and your jacket.
“I’ve gotta go buy stuff for my friend,” you said vaguely. You never thought of periods as embarrassing, but you knew Lily, your best friend, was a very private person, and she probably wouldn’t appreciate you telling two of the biggest Hollywood stars on the planet, that she was at home bleeding to her death.
“Buy stuff?”
You rolled your eyes, “It’s female-friend stuff. It’ll take me, like, 20 minutes to buy it and bring it to her. Don’t worry about it.”
Jake and Tom exchanged glances, chewing on the idea. “Alright, but be back quick, because I think we should play Monopoly instead of watching the only good character in this movie die.”
“Done deal!” you said and with that you were out the door.
At first, everything went just as you expected it to. You went to the store that was 5 minutes away and bought some pads (and some chocolate because you’re a nice person) for Lily. You exited the store, and decided to walk behind the store to get Lily’s house faster.
“Don’t fucking move, dipshit.”
Admittedly, a pathetic opening line of a robbery. That didn’t make the knife you felt being pressed into your side any less scary. Looking to your right, a man, your attacker, was standing.
He was pale and skinny and had a long beard. His eyes were crazy, wide open and twitching. He was smiling, too. He pressed the knife a little harder, causing a whimper to escape your lips.
“I just want your money. That’s all I want,” he was trying very hard to look into your eyes, but you couldn’t stand his. You chewed your lip, wondering what to say.
“I- I don’t have any-”
Given the situation you found yourself in, maybe you shouldn’t have been so shocked at this, but the slap and the sound and the rippling pain that all came at once, sent a gasp and tears spilling over your eyes.
“Wrong, bitch! Give me your fucking money!” he pressed the knife harder, you swore it was drawing blood. You tried shying away from it, but he had a firm grip on your shoulder.
“Okay,” you whispered, shaking hands reaching into your pockets to pull out your wallet. “Okay, okay, here.. Here..”
You pulled out any and all cash you had, probably all summing up to be about 35 dollars.
“Good, kid,” he patted your head like he was your uncle, like you were old friends, and then removed the knife from your side. You heard him running away, but you couldn’t be bothered to look where. Your legs wobbled and you collapsed right there on the side walk, doubling over and starting to cry.
Meanwhile in the Gyllenhaal household, Jake and Tom were growing pretty impatient. 20 minutes had passed. They’d set up the Monopoly game and even picked the characters. Now, they just sat and waited.
21, 22, 23, 24, 25 minutes passed, and they just waited.
“This isn’t like them,” Tom finally spoke up. He’d been resting his head on the wooden table and blowing air on his shoe-character, trying to make it fall over.
“I know! I’m trying to text them, but they’re not answering. Should I call?”
They looked at each other. Then the time. 30 minutes had passed. “Yeah, call them.”
Unsurprisingly, you didn’t answer (seeing as you were crying on the sidewalk with a small cut in your side and a slapped face).
“Something’s wrong,” Jake decided. Tom nodded too.
That was how they decided to go out and look for you, going to the nearest grocery store in their coats and sunglasses and scarves. You were nowhere to be seen inside the store (although, Tom did confuse you for an old lady for a moment). They went outside.
An unnerved feeling churned in their stomachs. Tom led them to the path near the road, but the crunch of their steps on the asphalt was halted. Jake heard a sniffle. It was so faint, he wasn’t sure he was right, so he grabbed Tom’s shoulder harshly and halted him.
Sure enough. Sniffles and sobs. And so the boys jogged behind the building, and heart beating nervously, they saw you there on the side walk, crying and shaking alone.
“Y/n!”
You snapped your head up. Your face was puffy and eyes shiny. You wiped them furiously, but only making yourself cry even more.
“What happened, holy shit, are you okay?”
And you fell into Tom’s arms, whilst Jake rubbed your back comfortingly. You retold the shaky story of how this man had mugged you, and how he’d had the knife in your side, and hit you. And how scared you were.
When you first said you’d been mugged, Tom’s eyes widened in shock. He leaned back to look at you. His arms tightened and his jaw clenched. You felt Jake stop rubbing your back for a moment. You turned your head and saw him pulling out his phone.
“It’s okay now, N/n. It’s okay. You’re safe now, we got you. He can’t hurt you, alright?” Tom whispered lovingly. Jake had left your side to call the police. You had calmed down then, terror still roaming you skull hauntingly, but you were no longer crying, and your heartbeat was steadying.
“I was just so scared. He could’ve done anything..” You whispered and shook your head. Trying to shake the feeling.
“I know, I know. It’s okay to feel scared. But I’ll protect you now, Jake too. He won’t hurt you. He can’t.”
You nodded.
The police arrived shortly after and you told them exactly what had happened. Jake, being the oldest and most responsible of the two, helped you with each question and each part of the process.
Turns out, the police knew the guy. It wasn’t the first time he’d done something like that to teenagers. He was caught pretty quickly.
Still, even though the fucker was in jail, you couldn’t help but feel scared. Tom and Jake never let you go to the store alone anymore. Not even in the daytime. But you liked that. You were pretty sure if they weren’t constantly going with you, you wouldn’t have gone at all.
You had nightmares every once in a while. But Jake always came to your hotel room to comfort you. And when you felt like you were being overdramatic, he’d always convince you, you weren’t.
You got over it (mostly) eventually, but you knew you wouldn’t have been able to without Tom and Jake. It felt good to know that they were willing to do so much for you without getting nothing in return. It felt good to have friends. And you’d return the favour any day for them.
___________________________
Tag List:
@hera-the-writer @marvel-madness @40srogcrs @whatthefuckimbisexual @snarky–starky @garbage-potato @lozzypoz321 @allthecreativeonesaretaken @missamericana713 @rororo06 @shady80smusicsingercolor @ireadfanficforfun @deephideoutmilkshake @rae-is-typing @sophs-library @herecomesthewriterwitch @alicedanganh @eviemarvel @idk123906 @xiumin-girl99 @frostedgiant
#jake gyllenhaal x reader#jake gyllenhaal x teen!reader#tom holland x reader#tom holland x teen!reader#marvel cast x reader#mcu cast x reader#avengers cast x reader#avengers cast x teen!reader#spiderman cast x reader#marvel cast x teen!reader
373 notes
·
View notes
Text
careful son (you got dreamer's plans)
Wilbur gasps back to life with mud between his fingers and rain in his eyes.
Wilbur was dead. Now, he is not. He can't say that he's particularly happy about it.
Unfortunately, the server is still as tumultuous as ever, even with Dream locked away, so it seems that his involvement in things isn't a matter of if, but when.
(Alternatively: the prodigal son returns, and a broken family finally begins to heal. If, that is, the egg doesn't get them all killed first.)
Chapter Word Count: 11,809
Chapter Warnings: swearing, manipulation, mind control, blood, violence, su.icidal ideation, panic attacks, and temporary character death
Chapter Summary: Dream’s broken out of prison.
(masterlist w/ ao3 links)
(first chapter) (previous chapter) (next chapter)
Chapter Eleven: take a drink of that promise land
His thoughts fly apart. His heart pounds in tandem with his feet. There is room for one thing in his mind and one thing only, the words curling around themselves, the end running into the beginning, and it’s Sam is dead and Dream is coming Sam is dead is dead is dead and Dream is coming Sam is dead and Dream is is is—
And under that, Sam’s words echo: As long as I live, he will never set foot outside this prison. Delivered with such confidence, meant to be a reassurance, a promise. But Sam is dead.
He bursts into the Egg’s chamber at a dead sprint. And then draws up short, eyes darting around the room. There: Puffy, arguing with Bad, Sapnap by her side. Next to Bad: Ant, Punz, Ponk. Standing back from the Egg a bit: Tommy, Tubbo, Techno, Phil, Ranboo, a measure of distance between the former two and the latter three.
But they’re all alright. None of them are bloodstained. There are no cries of pain. No clash of weapons. No eyes gone blank and empty, no items scattered across the floor to indicate a first or second death. They’re all alright, haven’t even come to blows yet, it seems, and for a moment, Wilbur is the only one in the room who knows. He is the messenger, and he must deliver the news, even though he doesn’t want to, doesn’t want to voice it, doesn’t want to make it real. It’s a crushing weight in his chest, stealing his breath, making his head spin. He holds his communicator tightly in his hand, a death grip. Checking it one last time changes nothing. The words are still there.
No one’s seen him yet.
“—did not sign up for this,” Techno is saying, an aside to Phil that he doesn’t bother to keep at a murmur. “I’m here to fight, not watch a domestic dispute. This is really awkward, Phil. They’re just screamin’ at each other.”
“Feels a bit scuffed,” Phil agrees, voice slightly distant. His eyes are fixed on the Egg, his fingers absently fiddling with his sword hilt.
“Dream’s coming,” Wilbur says.
He doesn’t say it as loudly as he intends. His voice cracks slightly on the second word. But the room goes silent, and all eyes turn to him
(and it’s a terrible imitation of things that once were, of his voice strident and powerful and his words potent and inspiring, and his speeches commanded armies, once, led people to die for him, but this is not that, and he is as much a harbinger as the crow that perches on Philza’s shoulders)
at once.
“What?” Tommy says, his voice a pale shadow.
Mutely, he holds out his communicator, as though they can read the print from this distance. But it provokes all of them into pulling out theirs, and he watches the transformation, watches the realization dawn. Watches Techno raise an eyebrow, watches Phil frown, watches Puffy’s face contort in visceral horror. Watches Tommy mouth the words to himself, disbelieving. Watches him look up, make eye contact, and there is a sheen in his eyes, a desperation for this to be untrue, and he wishes he could give him what he wants. Wishes he could say that this is some kind of prank, a joke in poor taste.
If there is anyone laughing, it isn’t him.
“Well, shit,” Phil says.
“No,” Tommy says, “no, no, no, no, no, there’s no way, the prison is supposed to be secure, there’s no way this is real, oh holy shit, holy shit what are we going to do—”
“Does this have to mean he’s out?” Tubbo asks, practically a plea. His ears have folded back, almost plastered against his skull. “There’s no way that he could still be in there? And that he just, got in a lucky shot or something?”
It’s a possibility, technically. A possibility that Sam let his guard down around the prisoner, that Dream somehow managed to overpower him, even after months in solitary confinement, muscles atrophying, managed to get one over the man armed to the teeth and wearing full netherite armor. A possibility, but not a likely one, and he knows in his heart of hearts that it isn’t true, knows that
(you looked at that mask at that blank smiling mask and you did not need to look in his eyes to know what lurked did there did not need to look to feel his gaze crawling down your back and you bloodied his nose and yet he looked on you like dirt like an insect like a puppet)
Sam would never have been so careless. If Sam is dead, has lost a life to Dream, then Dream is out.
“How could this have happened?” Puffy asks. “Sam would never have let his guard down!” There is more than fear lining her words, but Wilbur can’t pay her much attention now. Because Tommy’s breaths are coming in quick, shallow, edged with a hint of a whine, and he knows very well the beginnings of a panic attack when he sees one.
(and it was never supposed to happen to Tommy to his little brother to his baby brother and he doesn’t know if it was the war but if not the war it was everything that came after and the blame all comes circling back to him in the end)
Phil steps forward, concern written on his face, but Wilbur brushes past him.
“Tommy,” he says, and takes Tommy’s hand in his, keeping his grasp light and loose, so that Tommy can break away if he wants, “breathe with me, alright? In and out.” He breathes, loud and exaggerated, and it is a miracle that he can keep the rhythm steady when he was so scared only a moment ago, when he still is scared, when he expects footsteps to echo down the corridor at any moment, the worst nightmare become reality. But this is for Tommy, and for Tommy, he can put aside his own fears, can forget where they are and what they’re doing and push away the growing static and do what needs to be done. Do what he has promised to do.
Tommy grips his hand so hard he can almost hear his bones creaking. But gradually, he comes back, and his darting eyes focus on his face, clarity shining back through, though the fear does not dissipate.
“He is going to have to go through all of us before he gets to you,” Wilbur says lowly. Another promise. This one, he will be better about keeping to the letter. But Tommy shudders.
“That’s what I’m fucking scared of,” he says, in a voice that tries to be harsh but instead just sounds young.
(child soldiers, child soldiers, lives too short and graves too long)
“I’m not going to let anything happen,” he says, and wishes Tommy would believe him. But he cannot fault him for his lack of faith. Not after anything. Not after he’s grown so accustomed to family letting him down time and time again, not when he’s grown so accustomed to being burnt every time he extends a hand. Wilbur has wielded that fire himself. He can hear it even now, crackling around the edges of his consciousness, held at bay now only because he can see its destructiveness for what it is, can look past the horrible glory to the inglorious horror.
Or. No. That’s the Egg. The crackling is whispers.
He’d almost forgotten. He’s been focused on the other problem, almost forgetting about the first. But the Egg is here, gleaming red, pulsing, blood-drenched. He blinks, and his vision wavers, and there is blood beading on its surface like condensation, like dew, rolling down its sides and pooling beneath it. Spreading outward. Reaching for him.
People are talking. Discussing.
“He’s not going to go through all of us,” Techno is saying. “Don’t be so dramatic. He’s not that good. And he’s homeless again. I’m not goin’ down to some homeless man.”
“Do we even know that he’s coming here?” Phil asks. “He wouldn’t have any way of knowing where we are, right?”
Bad is soaked in it, soaked in the blood, and Ant, and Punz, and Ponk are soaked in it, and it is creeping up onto everyone else, staining their trousers, and he can hear the whispers, can hear the promises, can hear it again he can hear it again—
Sing blood, sing fire, it says to him, sing a requiem, sing of sleep, sing of what you want, if only you choose, if only you give in, I can give you all you’ve wanted, I can fulfill your dreams, and you ran once but you have returned to me now and I am in your blood and so is the fire and so is the void and you cannot deny yourself for long, gunpowder child.
(please not again please not again please no he won’t he won’t he won’t)
Tommy yanks on his arm.
“Wilbur,” he hisses.
(it asked you to hurt Tommy it asked you once and it will ask you again stop listening to it stop stop stop)
He blinks again, and the blood is gone, though the room is still bathed in red, from the egg and from the lava. Tommy is pressing something into his hand, a bottle of holy water, and Wilbur takes it with only a second of hesitation. The water goes down cool and fresh, and his mind clears. Not all the way. But enough. The whispers dissipate back into the static, indistinguishable from white noise.
“Sorry,” he says.
“Just keep your head on straight, big man,” Tubbo says, and—oh, it’s Tubbo who gave him the water. Tommy’s still holding his hand, but Tubbo’s pressed close to both of them, and whether he’s looking to protect or to be protected, Wilbur doesn’t know. Perhaps both.
“So obviously, this changes things,” Ant is saying, slow and considering.
“Does it?” Puffy asks.
“Of course,” Bad says. “We think that Dream should be in prison just as much as you do. He did bad things. He should be locked up.” He pauses, tilting his head, and Wilbur thinks that this is the most like the old Bad that he’s sounded. “So, how about we have a truce? We work together to take care of this, and maybe you’ll see how much the Egg can help, and then we won’t have to fight at all!”
“Right, because teaming with the people we were about to commit extreme violence against five minutes ago is a great plan,” Techno says. “I don’t see what could go wrong with that at all.”
Wilbur’s glad he said it. He understands the idea, of course, understands the concept of the enemy of my enemy is my friend, but he cannot work with those he does not trust, and he does not trust Bad or Ant or Punz not to stick a blade in his back as soon as he dares to turn it. Wouldn’t, even if there weren’t a mind control egg involved, even if they didn’t follow the very thing that has attempted to coerce him into betraying the only thing left he holds dear, the only people. Even if he still didn’t feel the thing sticking its tendrils into his mind, trying to find purchase.
He takes another swig of water. Tries to loosen his grip on the neck of the bottle, and fails.
“I don’t know that we have a choice,” Puffy says. Her shoulders slump. “If Dream is coming, we can’t be fighting among ourselves. We have to present a united front. Anything less, and he’ll walk all over us.” Her face is tight, but there is no real fear in it. Just pain. Perhaps regret.
(and you know that face you have seen it before that is the face of a parent who believes they have failed their child their light their beloved gone wrong and snuffed out and unrecognizable and they wonder if they could have stopped it and do not know which answer would be worse)
And as if the words are a summons, there are footsteps.
Footsteps. Unhurried, casual. Echoing down the corridor, loud as drumbeats, loud as a death knell. Footsteps, and the room goes quiet, unnaturally so. The Egg, that constant hum, stops, and that is the most terrifying thing of all. The world balances on the edge of a coin, teetering, ready to fall one way or the other. An anvil hangs overhead, waiting for the lever to be pulled, an anvil if the anvil knew the taste of blood and longed for it. An anvil if the anvil delighted in the death it caused.
(that day is blurry and out of focus, all its darkest implications slipping from Ghostbur’s memories like butter. he remembers showing Friend to Techno. and he remembers a flash of gold, brilliant and consuming and orienting the sky on a new axis. was the idea planted then, he wonders? the possibility that Ghostbur sought out so ardently? trade a ghost for a villain and try not to count too dearly the cost?)
“Shit,” Phil mutters, and just like that, everyone in the room takes on a defensive position, eyes trained on the entrance, half-hidden by vines as it is. Phil and Techno shift closer together, in sync as they always are. The Egg’s cohorts bunch up together. Sapnap strides forward a few paces, standing just a bit in front of everyone else, and no one moves to stop him, not with the scowl his lips are twisted into, not with the ready way he holds his sword.
(he is coming he is coming dark and twisted the poison at the core and you are all out of time)
Wilbur places himself between the entrance and the boys. It probably says something that they don’t try to stop him, that Tommy doesn’t call him out for babying him, that Tubbo doesn’t protest.
The sword falls into his hand. He hates
(himself, what he can do with it, but he has no crossbow so he must carry something and this sword is what he has even if he doesn’t want it but he doesn’t have a choice in the matter and self-loathing is thick in the back of his throat)
it, but he can use it, and that’s what matters most. Has always been what matters most, ever since the day he left home, guitar strapped to his back and songs on his lips and eyes still bright and curious, not jaded and dull as he knows they are now. He could use a sword, then, of course; Philza would never have allowed him to leave without the ability to defend himself. But it did not call to him, and it does not call to him now,
(but there is only one thing that calls to him now)
but there is no longer any room to worry about callings. The dog days are over, and he has been a general, and he has been a president, and he has been a traitor, and he has been a villain, and now, he will settle for being a protector. If just this once.
Dream steps into view.
It has always been odd, the power that he holds to command a room. Part of Wilbur knows that it is more their fault than anything; he can command a room because they give him the power to do so, because even after all this time, they still fear him. But Dream steps into view, and he cannot tear his eyes away, even though Dream is only a skinny man in a hoodie and a smiling mask that a five-year-old could have drawn.
It is something in his bearing, perhaps. The way his head is held high even after weeks of imprisonment. The way he strides forward, confident even though he is far outnumbered. The way his actual mouth, just barely visible under the edge of his mask, curls up in a smirk.
(you look at him and he is wrong he is wrong watch the shadows watch what dogs his steps do you see it you must see it)
Or perhaps it is the blood that stains his hands. It glints in the lava light, tacky, not yet dry.
“Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long,” he says. Too calm. Too even.
“Shit off,” Tommy says, and Dream’s gaze snaps to him.
“Oh, come on now,” he says. “Don’t be like that, Tommy. After all the fun we had together? I had to work hard to make this little visit happen, you know. I’d think you’d be a little more thankful.”
“Okayyy—”
“You’ve got no right to—”
“Oi, you can’t just—”
“Don’t you fucking talk to him—”
“Yeah, I have to say, that’s pretty cringe of you—”
The chorus of voices that comes to Tommy’s defense, including his own, is gratifying. And it seems to bolster Tommy’s spirits, too, makes him stand just a bit taller, defiance flashing in his eyes. But then, one rises above the rest, and Sapnap takes a few steps forward, holding his own sword steadily out in front of him.
“This is the only warning you’re going to get, Dream,” he states. “Go back to the prison, now.”
Dream laughs.
(a laugh, not a wheeze, and that tea-kettle whistle is a distant memory, belonging to brighter days when no storms brewed on the horizon and all of them were friends and the war was a game, once, before it was real)
“Are you threatening me, Sapnap?” he asks, voice light. “What do you think you’re going to be able to do?”
“You know I am,” Sapnap replies, still steady. “I’m sure you’ll take down a few of us. But not all of us. Not all at once. We united against you before, and we’re going to do it again. You remember what happened last time, right? And I’m not holding back, Dream. I’ve told you. I don’t know who you are anymore. So, last chance. Go back to the prison, now, and we won’t have to do it the hard way. And I won’t have to try and take your final life.”
Dream cocks his head, as if he’s actually considering it.
“You say that as if you think I didn’t know you were all here,” he says. “Like I didn’t know exactly what I was doing. Think I’m going to have to take a hard pass on that one. If you want me back in the prison, you’re going to have to kill me first.”
A flurry of motion. Sapnap swings, and he is no Technoblade but he no amateur, either, and there is power and speed behind his blow, and Dream just stands there. Unmoving. Puffy shouts. Dream still doesn’t stir, and Wilbur feels like he’s watching in slow motion as the blade approaches Dream’s chest, and it can’t be this easy, he wouldn’t just stand there and take it, not when he’s down to only one life, so what is he—
And then, at the last second: Dream’s hand darts out, lighting fast, grips Sapnap’s wrist, and tugs him forward. Sapnap stumbles, off-balance, crashes against Dream, swing going wide, and before he can recover, Dream isn’t there anymore. It’s like he was never there in the first place; it’s just Sapnap, two steps away from losing his balance completely, though he recovers, looking around wildly.
What—
“The thing is, it was interesting at first,” Dream says, and his voice is coming from somewhere else, is coming from behind them, and Wilbur wheels, pushing himself between Tommy and Tubbo and positioning himself in front of both of them, arms outstretched to shield them, perhaps, or to keep them back.
(there is something so very wrong here and if he cannot see what then he will do this much, and if it his life for theirs, so be it)
Dream’s sitting on the Egg. Criss-cross, hands in his lap, swaying side to side slightly. Even the visible parts of his face are cast in shadow, and his mask gleams in the red light.
“Hey, don’t—Dream. Get down from there,” Bad says. Like a parent admonishing a child.
“The prison, I mean,” Dream says. “I didn’t see it coming. I was pretty mad about it at first, but I mean, I can adapt to things. So I thought I’d see how it turned out.” He sighs. “But I’m done playing games now.”
“What the shit,” Tommy murmurs, behind him, “what the shit is he talking about, how the fuck did he get up there—”
“It’s been fun,” Dream continues. “A lot of you break the rules a lot, but I can do that, too, so it was fine. It’s been a good game. But you know, there comes a time when even the best games come to an end. You decide to go for checkmate. Or you run out of cards.”
A jolt runs down Wilbur’s spine. He knows, knows without any way to know, really, that Dream is looking at him.
(his gaze on you is like stinging hornets is like oil poured over your head and down your throat is like a black hole opening in your chest and the black hole watches and cares nothing for your life it is not in the nature of a black hole to care)
“And I have to say,” Dream says, “you guys are kind of irritating. You and your prisons and your rules and your hypocrisy, all of you. I wanted to unite the server, once, and I guess I did that. It was kind of nice to see, in a way, all of you coming together against me. But it’s all fake, in the end. All of it. You play nice with each other on the surface and turn around and stab each other in the backs. This server’s turned into something awful, and it’s your faults.”
“I am about ninety percent certain that’s not accurate,” Techno says.
“Yeah, what the fuck?” Tommy bites out. “You’re the issue here, you bastard. Everything was good until you decided to, to fuck us all over. We’d all be fine and dandy if we’d never met you.”
Wilbur opens his mouth to agree and then
(remembers ravines dark and deep and buttons upon buttons upon buttons and Dream gave him the means but he stood in that room and made the decision himself and he cannot assign more blame than exists, cannot say that Dream is the only thing wrong with this server, cannot say that he, too, does not trail devastation in his wake)
shuts it again.
“You can think what you want,” Dream says amiably. “I don’t really care. Like I said, I’m done playing. I just don’t know how you can call me the villain when half the people here have blown up a country.”
“An interesting line from the man with literal blood caking his hands,” Wilbur says. The words come out soft, but they echo like a gunshot. He’s not sure where they came from, but he knows he’s not wrong. He can’t stop staring, can’t stop thinking about it. He’s seen plenty of blood in his life, has been covered in more than his fair share of it, but given the circumstances, there’s only one person that blood can belong to.
He wonders how much it hurt. If Sam was scared.
(he had all three lives as far as he knows, so he’ll be fine, but fine is miles from good, and Wilbur remembers the first he lost, remembers the pain and the shock and the betrayal and the terror, not just for himself but for the comrades, for the family he dragged down with him, dragged into a traitor’s trap, and how must the warden have felt, dying with the knowledge that he failed in his charge?)
“Are you sure I’m the only one?” Dream returns, just as softly, and Wilbur doesn’t know what the fuck he’s trying to get at, except he’s bowled over by a sudden, irrational fear that there is blood on his hands, that he’s been dripping with it this whole time and didn’t know it, and there is panic and there is static and the Egg is humming and crooning of blood and decay and the desire to be fed, and he can’t stop himself from looking.
His hands are clean. But they don’t feel it. They itch, like a thousand ants, like a dozen layers of mud caked dry and crackling.
“Leave him be, Dream,” Phil says, overlapping with Tommy’s much louder, “Shut the fuck up!”
Wilbur swallows dryly. Downs another sip of holy water. It makes him feel better, though only marginally. There’s not much left in the flask.
“I really think you should get down from the Egg, Dream,” Bad says, slightly more severely than last time. So, a mildly more disappointed parent.
(it occurs to him then: someone should shoot him. he’s unarmored, no weapon in his hand, a sitting duck. someone should shoot him, should take care of the problem right now, while they can, while the opportunity is there, before Dream pulls whatever he’s sure to be planning. so why haven’t they?)
Dream stays silent for a moment.
“I don’t think I will,” he says. “I like it a lot.”
His blood runs cold.
(no)
No.
(but you know the feeling of its claws in your mind slimy and prying and seeking and you know the feeling of Dream’s gaze on your face suffocating and slick and they are similar so very similar they are two of a kind two of a pair so it makes sense but it doesn’t all the same and there is something still that you do not know)
Hello, the Egg croons, hello divine blood corrupted, hello to my brethren, hello to the void that seeps in the cracks, hello to the creature you are now and goodbye to the weakling you were, soft and caring and despicable, and we can do great things together, you and I.
He looks around wildly. No one else seems to hear it. But he’s certain it wasn’t directed at him.
“So, here’s what’s going to happen,” Dream says. “I’m going to keep sitting up here. And you guys have two choices. You can give in to the Egg. Join it. That’d be fine. If you don’t, they’re going to kill you, and I’m going to help.” He tilts his head upward, and his own smile becomes visible, wide and toothy. “You like those odds better, Sapnap? You think I can take out more than a few of you now?”
For a moment, Wilbur allows himself to hope that Bad won’t go along with it. That the desire to see Dream put away will overpower the Egg’s directives, whatever they are. But Bad’s expression goes from doubtful to considering to determined, and the red of the room deepens, becomes more vibrant, pulses with a steady beat, with a hum that sounds like victory and power and a thousand dissonant voices calling for blood.
The Egg has accepted the offer. Has welcomed Dream into the fold. They will find no ally in Badboyhalo. No ally in Antfrost, Ponk, Punz.
(the fold is the wrong word. Dream is still separate. somehow, inextricably, he knows that this is an alliance of equals, that Dream has surrendered nothing and gained everything)
(do you begin to see on some level you already know)
An arrow slices through the air. Dream jerks to the side. Its barbed head slices open the sleeve of his hoodie, but draws no blood. A second later, and it would have.
“Fuck that,” Sapnap says. “And fuck you.”
It’s as if it’s a signal. Phil laughs, no mirth in it, the Angel of Death at the surface. He grips his own sword tighter, and behind him, Tommy and Tubbo are shifting, their breaths coming quicker with the anticipation, with the promise of a fight. Their blood runs hot, and they are still afraid, he knows, but they have allies by their side, and that makes all the difference, and six versus six
(is it six versus six? where is he getting those numbers from? those aren’t the numbers from where he’s standing)
is terrible odds when Dream is on the opposing side, but they have the Blood God and the Angel of Death and they will all of them fight to the end, and he was too quick, maybe, to give in to despair, to fear.
(but his mind is still screaming that something is wrong something is wrong)
The Egg’s lackeys stand at the ready. Any second, now, any second—
Blood, the Egg sings, there must be blood and I shall drink of their veins, and we shall drink together, you and I, and what is in me is also in you, and you are not of me but you are greater than yourself, and they are all yours for the taking, are ours for the unmaking.
Dream laughs. Not in submission, but in agreement.
And like a lightning flash, Wilbur understands.
“You’re the same,” he says, and just like that, the momentum of the room is arrested, all attention back on him once again. He doesn’t know what’s going to come out of his mouth until he speaks, but the words ring true. He looks at Dream, perched atop the Egg like a demented kind of bird, and understands that something, intrinsically, about them is the same.
Dream grins. Rises to his feet with a jump, balancing easily on the domed surface.
“You’re starting to get it,” Dream says. “I wondered if you would, Wilbur. We come from the same kind of place, all of us. You know what the void is like. You’re not quite like me, but you know what it’s like, to have something whispering in your head.” His grin widens further. Wilbur blinks, once, a sudden irritation in his eyes, and when he looks again, the smile on his mask is wider, too. More crooked. Has it been that way all along?
Another two arrows. One from Sapnap, one from Puffy, now, slightly off target. He dodges both easily.
“I tried to fight at first,” Dream says. “But it turns out it was right all along. I’m greater now than I ever was before.” He pauses, tilting his head, and when he speaks again, it is thick with condescension. “If it’s any consolation, Tubbo, you tried your best. Not your fault you didn’t have a clue what you were doing. Once you let something in, there’s no going back.”
He dares a glance around the room. There’s confusion, irritation, no understanding. He has no idea what Dream’s referencing, knows only that something dreadful is within him, and with that comes the thought that he cannot possibly be human, and that they have never understood the first thing about him this whole time. But Tubbo jolts, goes pale, takes a step back.
“Wait—” he says, “no, what are you—are you saying—but we got rid of it, we got rid of it—”
“Tubbo, what the fuck is he on about now?” Tommy demands, but Tubbo just shakes his head. Rapidly, panicked, and then there is no more time for explanations, because the Egg’s voice rings out in his head once again, a wash of red takes over his vision, and the world tilts, and it is more than just the Egg, it is the Egg and something else, something deeper rooted, something more toxic, something that permeates the air and the water of this server, something sickly and creeping and dark and powerful, something that says you are all mine my puppets my own to dispose of and I will have you.
(you see it now, too late)
By the time he can make sense of things again, he’s on his knees, his hands clutching his hair, and there’s so much noise, so much noise all around him, and he’s lost time, he must have lost time, because everyone’s fighting, finally, the strange tension that held the room in sway broken at last. But his head spins, and he can’t keep track of where everyone is, the combat nothing but blurs of motion between the red hanging vines.
Dream’s still on the Egg. That much he can tell.
(it was a signal a command a directive and you heard it but did not follow you did not follow you will not follow it brought you to your knees but you will not follow)
“—come on Wil, don’t do this again, not again, please,” Tommy is saying, and Tubbo is holding him by the shoulder, keeping him upright, and he didn’t mean to collapse, hates that he’s apparently so susceptible to this, but if there is a silver lining it is in that it has kept his boys by his side, not in that mess, people clashing together with movements that are difficult to track with pounding head and stinging eyes.
He fumbles for the holy water and comes up empty. Nothing left.
“I’m with you,” he manages. “Sorry. Egg was being shouty. Not fun.”
“Oh, well, if it’s not fun,” Tommy says, visibly relieved, and his attention moves from him to track the battle. It must make more sense to him than it does to Wilbur at the moment, because he frowns. “Stupid fucking Eggers aren’t letting anyone get to Dream. Wish we could kill the fuckers. That’d make it easier.”
“Sapnap keeps firing off shots when he can, but he keeps dodging,” Tubbo adds. “It’s only been a minute. We were gonna join in, but we didn’t want to leave you alone.”
“Okay,” he says. “That’s—okay, that’s good.” Now that they’ve said it, he can pick out the combat easier. Bad’s fighting Phil and holding his own, Punz and Ponk are keeping Puffy and Sapnap busy, Antfrost is barely fending off Techno, and Dream’s overseeing it all from on high, making no moves to join in. They sit in an oasis in the midst of it all, no one seeming to pay them much mind. He’ll take the reprieve while he can get it. “Tubbo, what was he talking about?”
“I don’t—” Tubbo’s face twists. “I don’t know how you picked up on it. But months and months ago, Dream was possessed by a demon. A dreamon, we called it. But we got rid of it. Me and Fundy. We exorcised him for sure. And he’s not, he’s not acting like he did when that was going on, it was so obvious back then, like, his voice was all weird and deep and doubly—”
“Okay, okay, we can figure it out later,” he says. “We can—”
Demons. Dreamons. What the fuck?
(Dream might be possessed but that doesn’t sound right, doesn’t feel right, but it would account for the oil slick gaze and the way the darkness gathers, the shivers down his spine whenever he looks at him, but it’s not quite right, but if Dream is a demon and he and the Egg are the same then what does that make the Egg and none of this makes sense at all)
(he misses the days when the worst they had to worry about was Sapnap trying to arrest them for starting a drug van)
As he looks on, Techno shoves Ant in Phil’s direction, and Phil takes on a second opponent easily, the two of them as in sync as they always are. Phil holds all of Ant’s attention, leaving Techno free to pivot toward the Egg, and the man who still stands there. He holds out his sword, points it at him, a threat, an invitation, made easily as breathing, and Wilbur is reminded that Techno has fought Dream before, many times.
“Has prison made you a coward, Dream?” Techno asks, an obvious taunt, and Dream holds himself very still for a moment before laughing, short and sharp. An axe drops into his hand—and when did he find the time to get that?—and he springs forward, rearing back to strike a blow. It’s like
(it is)
watching a clash of gods,
(and how is Dream so strong after so long locked away?)
and the sound of metal on metal rings out as their weapons connect. Techno grins, fierce and wild, and Wilbur doesn’t have to be able to hear them to know what his voices are chanting.
(blood for the blood god)
And then: a realization.
The Egg is unguarded.
Dream is occupied with Techno, now. Bad and Ant are on Phil, Ponk and Punz on Puffy and Sapnap, and the fighting is spread throughout the room, but centered in the middle, where everyone has the most space to move. The Egg is unguarded, and the three of them have been left out, so perhaps they can still do what they set out to do.
His eyes trace the room. If they hug the wall, they can make it to the corner without attracting too much attention, hopefully. They can—
What is Ranboo doing?
He’d forgotten he was here, honestly. He’s been so quiet, so still. He’s hovering by the wall, hands clenching and unclenching, but other than that, he is unmoving, and he doesn’t seem to be tracking the fight. His eyes stare straight ahead, glazed, and this is something they can’t afford. He’s not sure why Ranboo came in the first place, but he’s a sitting duck where he is right now, and all it will take is one of their enemies seeing the state he’s in before he gets used against them.
Alright. They can do this. Alright.
“Open season on the Egg,” he murmurs, meeting Tommy’s eyes, then Tubbo. He keeps his voice low, inaudible to anyone else. Hopefully. “We creep around the side. Grab your friend along the way.” He jerks his head toward Ranboo, and they both understand what he means immediately. He redistributes his weight and stands, and counts it as a win that the wave of dizziness only lasts a moment. He gestures for them to follow him, and starts picking his way through the vines, keeping his movements as soundless as he possibly can. The noises of battle will work in their favor, that way.
Ranboo doesn’t react to their approach. Wilbur has seen states sort of like this before, has seen people caught up in flashbacks, dead to the world around them, so perhaps that’s what this is. But if that is the case, it’s odd that his face is so blank, that there is no expression there at all, that whatever he is seeing, he is barely reacting to it.
“He sleepwalks,” Tubbo whispers. “He told me. He might be sleepwalking.”
“He—” Okay. Okay, this is fine. “Alright, one of you two grab him. We’re not going to leave him here like this.”
Tubbo grabs his hand instantly, barely waiting for him to finish speaking. Tommy rolls his eyes. Wilbur glances back and forth between the three of them, then turns his back and presses on, inching his way along the outskirts of the room. No one takes notice of them, no one seems to realize what they’re up to, and even the Egg itself doesn’t seem to pay much mind; its hum remains constant, a continuous presence that neither wanes nor waxes.
And then, they’re crouching behind it. Tubbo tugs on Ranboo’s arm, and he sits with them, still absent.
“Alright, big man,” Tommy says. “We just gonna stab it to death? I think we should stab it to death.”
“It’s probably the first thing to try,” he concedes. He peers around its thick shell; the fights so far are inconclusive. Techno’s taken a scratch to his cheek, Dream a slice along his forearm. He doesn’t know how much time they have, and up close, the Egg’s shell is thick, hard. Even a netherite sword is going to need some heavy leverage behind it if it’s going to pierce through, and being this close to the thing makes his head swim, even when it’s not talking directly to him.
“Okay,” he says, and places one heel against a vine behind him, bracing himself. The sword feels unwieldy in his hand, awkward and too heavy, but it’s not as if the Egg will be hitting back. Strength is what he needs here, not finesse.
He brings his arm back, and then—
Weary son, restless son, it croons, its voice scraping against the insides of his skull, you needn’t fight me, wandering son, you only fight yourself and why fight when you can have what you want, that deep sleep, unending peace, the void still calls to you, calls of a world black and unending and eternal, and I can return you there, and you can lay down your steel at last, lay down your iron, lay down your arms at last and only sleep.
He wavers. But—
“Get out of my head,” he grits out, and the other two suddenly look very alarmed. “Shut up, get out, I know your games now, and I’m not falling for them again. Get the fuck out.” But though his voice is angry, it is weak, thin, threaded with pain, and his brothers can hear it, and he knows the Egg can feel it, knows the Egg can burrow inside of him and stick itself into all of the unstable places, all of the hollows in his heart, and tease out temptation.
(but he’s made a promise)
He inhales. Prepares himself again.
If not you then it will be him, it says, and he freezes, that darling boy of yours, golden haired sunshine gone limp and dead and eyes dull and blank and rotting in his skull, if it is not you then it will be him, if I cannot have you then I will have him, we will have him, for he does not hear my voice so he must die, and his blood will nourish my roots and I will grow strong on his life, I will kill him if you let me, and will you let me, blood child, child of death, shall you allow me my due?
“Shut up,” he whispers. “Shut up, stop, I won’t—I won’t let that happen. Shut up.”
“Wil,” Tommy says, “Wil, here, let me, let me do it, okay?” And Tommy’s hand is on his, gently lowering his sword arm, and then he steps forward, his own blade raised defiantly. “Take this, omelet bitch!”
I will kill him, I will do it now!
“Wait, Tommy, wait—”
Tommy drives his sword against the Egg’s shell, and two things happen. The first is that the blade skids off against it, leaving a slight dent, perhaps, but no more than that. And the second is that Tommy goes pale, doubles over, and wraps his free hand around his stomach, wheezing, eyes bugging out of his skull.
“Holy shit,” he gasps, “holy shit, that hurt, what the hell—”
“Tommy?” Tubbo demands. “Tommy, what is it, what did it do?”
“It hurt me,” Tommy says, like he can’t quite believe it. He straightens, some of the color slowly returning to his face. “The bastard hurt me. It was like, like fucking fire in my chest or some shit, what the hell?”
“It said it was going to kill you,” Wilbur whispers. “That’s what it said to me.”
“Oh.” Tommy stares at him. “Well, um, it didn’t. Obviously. Still kicking.”
“But it will,” he says. “That’s why it didn’t bother to try and stop us coming up here. That’s why none of the Eggers care. That’s why Dream felt alright leaving it alone. If we try to hurt it, it can hurt us back. Physically.”
They stay silent for a moment.
“Well, shit,” Tubbo says. “What are we supposed to do now, then?”
He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. The entire plan revolved around them being able to destroy the Egg. They thought that the people under its control would be the worst problem. And then Dream came along, and that was out the window, but he thought—he thought that he could make sure that this was worth something, that this would bear some fruit, even if they’d have to deal with an even bigger problem afterward. But now, it’s all fallen apart, and the room is still full of the sound of fighting, and what are they fighting for, if they’re not going to be able to accomplish anything without—
I shall spare him if you give in, if you let yourself go, I shall give you peace and keep it from him, my ally wants him alive and I can make concessions, I can be generous, so I put it on your shoulders and the choice is yours, child of—
“Shut up,” he screams, hoarse and jagged, and the red in his vision now is anger, pure and undiluted, and the sudden surge of strength does not feel like his own, and the movement he makes does not feel like his own, because it is impulsive and ill-conceived, but he drives his own weapon into the Egg’s bulk, and understands only moments later what Tommy was talking about, because all the breath leaves his lungs at once, and his chest is set aflame, like there is fire
(fire all around him, fire, fire, fire, beautiful and fitting, fitting that it should end this way, in this utter annihilation of one of his greatest creating, a torch taken to his legacy, and he set down the pitch himself)
racing across his skin and in his heart, in his heart, and his heartbeat stutters, and then just as quickly as the sensation began, it ends, and he is left winded, exhausted, unsteady.
“Oh my god—”
“You stupid asshole, why would you—”
“Sorry,” he manages. “Sorry, it just, it pissed me off. You hear that?” He turns toward it. “You’re pissing me off, you great breakfast food. You are a terrible buffoon, and I hate you.”
You cannot hold out forever, void child.
He winces, bringing a hand up to his forehead. But he glares.
“We’ll see about that,” he states.
And then it all goes to shit. Even more than it’s gone to shit already. Because Dream is still fighting with Techno, and Wilbur hasn’t been paying attention to them for the past few minutes, but they both still seem to be going strong, and his attention is brought back to them by Dream calling out—
“I think I’ll call in that favor, Technoblade!”
And Tommy says—
“Oh, fuck no.”
And Tubbo swears, soft and vehement, and Wilbur is confused, because since when does Techno owe Dream a favor? How would he allow himself to be indebted to the man in the first place?
(another remembrance: following the flash of gold, following the fighting that he paid no attention to at all, because he had Friend and how exciting it was, to have a blue sheep, a blue sheep who he loved very much, who he could show everyone and perhaps make them happier because who wouldn’t love Friend immediately upon seeing them, but on the edge of the square there is a figure cloaked in green)
“Oh yeah?” Techno asks. He sounds unconcerned, but that’s just Technoblade. He takes a step back, disengaging from their fight, and Dram does the same, twirling his axe in his hand. “I’d be careful with that. You never know when I might inexplicably go deaf.”
“You can’t avoid it when I’m right in front of you,” Dream says.
“You’re underestimatin’ my powers of—”
“Listen to the Egg, Technoblade,” Dream says. “That’s the favor. Just stand there for a minute and listen to it. Let it really get to you. Let it sink in. You like blood, right? The Egg likes blood, too.” He shrugs, infuriatingly casual. “A bit messy for my taste, but whatever works, right? I don’t mind getting my hands a little dirty if I have to. We’re the same, in that way, you know.”
“Oh, fuck no,” Tommy says again, and then he’s starting forward, and Wilbur barely catches him by the shoulder in time. He doesn’t want him near Dream. He doesn’t want either of them near Dream. And Dream has to have something up his sleeve, with the way he’s brought this up so suddenly.
(the air feels electric, feels like something is awaited, feels like something is building, building to a breaking point, and he doesn’t want to know what is about to shatter)
“Wait,” he hisses, and Tommy glares, but he ignores him, taking in the battlefield again. Nothing has changed since last he checked, since before they hunkered down in this corner, by the Egg, and that is what is wrong here. It’s all too neat. Sapnap and Puffy have their fight, nicely contained, and Phil has his, and Techno his, and no one has dealt any serious damage against anyone else, and he knows that their side is constrained by not wanting to seriously injure anyone who is currently being mind controlled, but what is holding back the other side?
It is all too neat in a way that battles never are, because the first rule of combat is to keep your head, the second is not to drop your weapon, and the third is that no plan survives combat with the enemy. And yet, here they are, all opponents evenly matched, no side winning, and where is the chaos, the bloodshed?
If there is no chaos yet, it is because it has yet to be unleashed.
“I mean, I hear it,” Techno says, and has it been a minute? Surely not. Tommy and Tubbo have both gone tense. Ranboo is still crouching, right where Tubbo put him. He doesn’t know if that’s typical behavior of sleepwalkers. He doesn’t have time to think about it right now. Because Dream told Techno to listen to the Egg, and it’s a favor, and Techno always honors favors, no matter what, so he’s doing it, he’s listening to it, and somehow, that’s not what he’s most worried about,
(because there is something holding its breath, a leashed tension, a match held loosely, about to drop, and it’s been growing all this time but he senses it only now, only here, only watching his brother face down a nightmare forty paces away, and he thinks he hears the Egg in his mind and he thinks it sounds smug)
“But I hear a lot of voices,” Techno finishes. “Can’t say I find this one very compelling.”
(it should be a relief, a relief, a relief to know that the Egg will not take its red and shove it into Techno’s mind, that he will not look into his eyes and find a monster in his place, but his heart races and something is building, building, building, and there is no way that Dream staked everything on this play, on bringing Techno to his side, so what is the plan here, what is his plan?)
“I wondered if you might say something like that,” Dream says. He doesn’t sound at all like someone whose plans have just been foiled, who has just wasted a favor from the strongest fighter on the server. “I had to try, you understand.”
“Of course,” Technoblade says.
(there is a dam and the dam)
He feels it, then, and he thinks everyone else does too, and Tommy and Tubbo press against him, hands gripping each other for balance as the two of a kind united now and I lend my power to you and together you will succumb or you will perish and I no longer care for which you have spurned me for the last time locked me away and stripped me of the power that is mine and I reclaim it now and our power united united now my strength to yours revenge is sweetest when it is hot and the blood is fresh.
(bursts)
The vines.
The vines on the ground twitch. The vines hanging down sway. He moves his foot as the vine nearest to him spasms like a dying animal.
“What the fuck,” Tommy whispers.
A shout crawls up his throat. It dies on his lips.
It happens too quickly to process.
One moment, Techno is standing there, and the next, there is a red vine around his neck, and the crack should not echo through the room as it does, but it is all Wilbur can hear. All Wilbur can see. One of Techno’s hands comes up, and then it falls limp. His body goes slack, held up by the vine and the vine only, the vine still encircling his neck, the vine that digs into the skin under his helmet, the vine that—
That can’t—
That can’t be—
Technoblade never—
He doesn’t—
And then, before he has time to understand at all, before his mind can shake off the numbness that’s taken him, the complete and utter lack of comprehension, the ringing in his ears that is, oddly, interspersed with an enderman’s distressed warble, before he can come out of it—the world explodes in a brilliant flare of light, golden and pure, a rush of energy that sings of the universe, that sings of life and renewal and second chances, a soul tethered, kept back, returned, re-tuned, and for a split second, he is floating in the void again as the fabric of reality shifts, as the light dances, as the rules are rewritten, and he can see everything, and he is one with the universe and the universe is with him and there are hundreds of thousands of voices chanting—
“Technoblade never dies!” Techno crows, and the golden light of the totem flickers and dances in his eyes, visible even from here, and Techno is sure to feel that later, when his adrenaline comes crashing down. But for now, the laugh that springs from Wilbur’s lips is giddy and relieved and joyful all at once, and the grief that barely had a chance to gather at all dissipates like smoke in the wind.
“How many of those things do you have?” Tubbo yells, right in his ear, and then Phil laughs too, and he brings his sword hilt down on Bad’s, and Bad’s own weapon skitters across the floor and Phil wheels on Ant in the next motion, and Ponk and Punz are being pushed back, and Techno swirls his sword again and leaps for Dream, and suddenly it’s like the tide is turning, like maybe they can win the day and they’ll have time to work out the rest, except then Tubbo shouts again, a warning this time, but there is no time to move before a vine rips the others from him and he is slammed against the surface of the Egg, hard, and—
He can—
He—
(it’s on him it’s on him get it off get it off off off off off off off)
(it’s trying to consume him trying to take in all that he is and spit out nothing not even the bones and if he lets it there will be nothing left of him if he lets it and he fights he struggles and it’s on him and trying to cover him and blood is dripping over him and he can’t breathe he can’t breathe he opens his mouth and the blood pours in and he thrashes but its grip is inescapable and he’s panicking and he can’t he can’t he doesn’t want no rest is worth this)
And then hands are on him, pulling him forward, two pairs, and he opens his eyes, not realizing he’d closed them, and he lets himself be tugged away, his lungs inflating, and he expects to see Tommy and Tubbo, but it is Tommy and Ranboo, and Tubbo is hacking away at the vines that attacked him, that slammed him against the thing that tried to—
“Wilbur!” Tommy is shouting in his face. “Wilbur, don’t be an Egghead, don’t, don’t let it fucking eat you, you—”
“It wasn’t my idea,” he gasps out.
“Oh, good, you’re okay,” Ranboo says, perhaps a little hysterically, but there’s no time to calm him down, no time to puzzle over why he’s suddenly awake. “I’ve got no idea what’s going on. Why’s Dream out?” His voice is about an octave higher than Wilbur remembers it being, but at least he’s functional.
“We don’t know,” he says. “We’re dealing with it. Well. Dealing with it. Sort of. Everything’s gone a bit shit. Did you know you weren’t awake?”
“I mean, it happens,” Ranboo says. “I never know at the time. That’s not, um, that’s not how it works? I’m sorry?”
“No time, boys,” Tommy says. “We have, we have so many problems right now.”
The vines writhe, twist, lash out, and it is not all of them, not nearly all of them, because if it were all of them, they would be shredded like mincemeat, but it is more than enough to be a major issue, because suddenly, everyone has to focus on their foes and foliage all at once, and Techno and Phil seem alright, but Puffy and Sapnap begin to struggle under the onslaught, and they’re not going to win this. These vines attack with purpose, with blood lust, and they are seeking their deaths and they need to go. They need to cut their losses, as much as it stings, before someone who doesn’t have a totem loses a life.
(it burns the general in you to retreat now because there is always some part of you that will think in terms of tactical sacrifices and acceptable losses but there is also a part of you that can see when a battle is beyond its turning point and this battle is far past that and it was not in your favor so it is time to sound the horn time to perform an about-face and try not to be burned too badly in the leaving)
“We need to go!” Puffy calls, as if she’s read his mind. “We need to go right now!” She and Sapnap start to back slowly toward the entrance, covering each other as best they can with Ponk and Punz and fucking plants all after them.
“Wait, what? We can’t just—” Tommy starts, but he shakes his head, cutting him off.
“She’s right,” he says. “We stay here, and someone’s going to die. For real. And I’m not going to let that be you or Tubbo.” Tommy’s expression sets into something mulish, but he continues. “We’re not fighting anyone, we just have to make it to the exit. We all cover each other’s backs, and keep an eye out for the viney shit. Nobody’s losing a life to plants today.”
He doesn’t intend to use the old general’s voice, but Tommy and Tubbo both straighten, soldiers called to their posts, and he knows he can trust them in this, at least. They have their orders.
What could possibly go wrong?
(you can still feel him, can feet it, can feel both of them, but you can feel his presence grating up against yours, everything dark and corrupted and poisonous, you can feel it in the vines and in the air like sandpaper against your skin and he is not done yet do not turn away he is not done yet)
He doesn’t even get to take a step. Dream ducks under a blow from Techno and then looks to him, and even from across the room, he can feel his gaze pinning him, piercing him, and
(something is about to happen)
there is a flash of movement, too quick, too sudden,
(but you cannot fight the void, the absence of him, the howling pit that is he and that is it and that is them together)
and Tommy yelps, and then he’s gone, right out from under his hands, being dragged across the room, toward Techno, toward Dream, and times slows down. He lurches forward, hand outstretched, but he’s too slow, too slow, and he is still reaching out, is still stumbling forward, as if that will do anything, as if he will be able to cross forty paces before that vine, thick and red, deposits Tommy at Dream’s feet, and he is useless, powerless, and Tubbo is beside him, shouting, charging forward with more strength than he has in his own weary muscles, more power, but he will not be enough either.
Techno’s eyes widen. He tries to step forward, tries to hack away at the vine that has Tommy in its grip, but Dream leaps forward with another onslaught, so Techno is forced to focus on that and not his little brother, their little brother, now staggering to stay upright, now too close to Dream.
He keeps pushing forward, and his legs strain like he’s moving through molasses. Vines lash out at him, tearing at his clothes, his hair, his skin, and he can feel blood, warm and sticky, trailing down his leg, though there is no pain. Tubbo is beside him still, and Ranboo on his other side, and their swords sing but more and more vines move, now, and there are too many, too many to fight, and the room is filled with a red haze, and they’re closer now, but they’re not going to make it before Dream does something—
Dream launches himself into the air, flips over Techno’s head. He’s going for Tommy.
He’s going for Tommy.
(you promised to protect him you promised you promised and now death stares him in the face and you are now fifteen feet away fifteen feet and closing but fifteen feet too distant fifteen feet too late you cannot watch your brother die but that is the role you are consigned to spectator useless and reaching out for a hand that will never hold yours again)
Then, Techno is there. Techno pushes Tommy to the side, hard enough to fall to the floor. But he has no time to move out of the way himself, no time to bring his blade up to parry, and Dream’s axe sinks deep into his exposed throat, and Dream smiles, and Wilbur knows that this was his plan all along.
All the world goes still.
A crow caws, low and mournful.
He thinks he is screaming, but there is no sound in his ears.
Dream pivots lightly. Yanks the axe out. Blood spurts. Tommy’s mouth falls open, a rictus of horror. Technoblade’s jaw works, and his hands clench, unclench. He says something, and Wilbur can’t hear it.
(he has another totem he’ll be fine he’ll be fine please let him pull out another totem because Technoblade never dies Technoblade never dies please he never dies don’t let him die)
His inventory spills across the floor, and dust dissipates on the air.
Sound rushes back. As one, all of the communicators in the room chime. Just like that, Techno is gone.
“How many people are gonna have to sacrifice themselves for you before you learn?” Dream asks Tommy, axe dripping blood on the ground, and vines crowd him, vines weave around him, absorbing the blood, lapping up the blood, Techno’s blood.
(but Technoblade never dies Technoblade never dies Technoblade never dies)
Time resumes its normal pace.
He reaches Tommy’s side in the next instant. Dream just stands there, observing them, and the smile on his face is the cruelest on he has ever seen on a person, on a human,
(and that includes the times he’s looked in a mirror, seen dark bags and a sallow face and lips twisted into something too dark to be a smile)
but Dream isn’t human, is he? Can’t be. And Wilbur doesn’t know what he is, doesn’t know if he’s a demon himself of if he’s possessed or what, but he takes a split second to look Tommy over for injuries, finds none, and then joins Tubbo in starting for Dream, blade in his hand, even though he has no chance, they have no chance, not even together, because Dream had to resort to dirty tactics to defeat
(but Technoblade never dies so why why is he how can this)
Techno, but even he and Tubbo together do not a blood god make.
Dream holds out his axe. Saying, come get me, then.
And his heart is in his throat because his brother, his brother
(his brother is dead his brother is dead his brother has two lives left but his brother is dead)
was right there two seconds ago and now he has not, and a large part of him
(all of him, since childhood, since the first time Techno went out and came back bloodied and grinning and carrying an inventory full of loot)
has always assumed that Technoblade was invincible, that there is nothing in heaven or hell that could stop him, and that was why he let him into Pogtopia in those early days, because the world was shrinking in around him and there was no one he could trust but Technoblade was the strongest there was and he needed the strongest, needed the power of the blade, the power of iron and steel to take back what was his.
(and part of you looked in his eyes met crimson with your brown and knew deep within yourself that your brother was here for you here for you both and maybe you could let your guard down just a little let yourself be protected let yourself trust and you did, if only for a moment, even if it didn’t last, didn’t save you or anyone else in the end)
They cannot defeat Dream. He, especially, cannot defeat Dream. Not through combat. But Ranboo crouches by Tommy, and he steps up beside Tubbo, and raises his sword.
Phil gets there first.
His blade knocks into Dream’s axe so hard that he almost loses his grip, and Phil doesn’t let up, aiming another strike against his head and another against his chest and another against his arm, and it is all that Dream can do to block the blows, and this, this is the Angel of Death, and there is fear on Dream’s face, and then he is gone, standing atop the Egg again, and Phil almost follows after him.
But then, a mass of vines raises up, all around them. Too many to fight off, even together. Wilbur braces himself, and then there is something around them, covering them, shielding them, something massive and black, and Phil grunts, and—
(and how many times has he protected you like this now)
And his wings—
Thorns sink into Phil’s wings, which are out on full display, and Wilbur can’t stop staring, because Phil’s wings are tattered and torn, and his feathers are sticking out every which way, clearly not cared for, but that isn’t even the worst part, because there are holes in them, holes in his wings where Wilbur can see straight through to the opposite wall, and there are featherless patches covered in scarred skin, and there are places where bone lies exposed to the air, sticking out from flesh and plumage, and he can’t fly on these. There’s no way that he can fly on these.
(explosions around him and the heat scorches his back and he smiles and laughs and then Phil is there wrapping his wings around him and Phil cries out in pain as the walls go down as the fire licks at both of them scorches both of them but he didn’t think to care then and oh gods what has he done what has he done)
(and Phil’s wings are bleeding now as the red thorns dig in and it’s happening again happening again before his eyes and how many times will people have to sacrifice themselves for him before he learns?)
(your father’s bones blackened and twisted by heat and do they hurt do they hurt bones are not meant for the open air and surely the scar tissue aches and they are ruined they are ruined his pride and joy ruined and your father will not fly again will not feel the wind at his back and he loved it he loved it and he gave it up for you and yet you are here again still asking for a sacrifice always asking for a sacrifice at least once more)
He’s panicking. He’s panicking, and he needs to stop panicking, because there panic has no place on a field of battle, and that is a lesson he learned long ago, at the knee of his country, his beautiful country, and for a moment, he is on the walls, orange and black, and he is fighting for his nation, fighting for his people, and then he blinks, and Phil has gathered Tommy in his arms. Tommy doesn’t protest, blank shock painting his face.
“We need to go, Wil,” Phil says. “I need you all to guard me while I get Tommy out.” His voice is steel. No room for argument.
He nods, numbly. Moves mechanically. Doesn’t pay heed to the way the vines slash at him, as long as they’re not slashing at Tommy. There is blood on him.
(but it is his own, so that is alright)
He blinks, and Puffy and Sapnap have joined them. Sapnap’s white shirt is stained red. Blood sheets down from a wound on Puffy’s forehead. But they are alive.
(Techno isn’t)
(Technoblade never dies but Technoblade died and what do you do when the immortal figures of your childhood are no longer so?)
Bad and the rest do not stop them. The Egg does not stop them, though he can feel it, still, humming a victory march in his mind.
Dream, from where he stands on its top, does not stop them. He chances one glance back; Dream offers a mock salute.
(they are letting them go, they are letting them go as the cat releases the mouse, sure of its ability to follow the limping blood trail, sure of its chances of having a meal later, when it is more hungry, when it will be all the more satisfying. they are letting them go, and it is no mercy, and they will be driven forward like vermin, but they have no choice but to go, no choice but to run)
And then they’re going up the stairs, up the ladder, and into the sunlight.
#mcyt#dsmp#dream smp#dsmp fic#wilbur soot#tommyinnit#dreamwastaken#technoblade#tubbo#philza#ranboo#captain puffy#sapnap#badboyhalo#antfrost#alivebur#/rp#cat writes fic#long post#this chapter is so long and i'm so sorry#c!wilbur angst tag
39 notes
·
View notes
Note
Can I get something where Newt barges in on Hermann doing some yoga in the most scantily clad yoga gear ever...
ok this is for like 3 people and wholly inspired by the hermann tank top renaissance on side twitter this past week. 18+ under cut!!!
----------------------
The good thing about living on what used to a pretty bustling base—Newt considers—is that the average athletic hopeful has their pick of at least three different gyms at any given time. And the good thing about that—Newt further considers, as he half-jogs down to the gym closest to the k-science lab—is that the rangers don’t bother with any gym besides the one directly off of their quarters, because it’s got the sparring mats and the nice equipment and all that shit. Look, Newt’s not exactly the most ripped guy in the world. Or even really very fit. When he feels the rare urge to hit the gym, he doesn’t want to be struggling over some push-ups while rangers with muscles as big as his head lift 300 pound barbells and bust open punching bags or whatever. It’s...degrading.
Lately Newt’s been hitting the gym more frequently than usual, on account of a something that passed between him and Hermann at lunch in the mess a few weeks back. Hermann had caught eye contact with one of the muscled rangers across the room, looked down at his little bowl of soup, and said—calmly—“He’s quite handsome, isn’t he?”
Anyway, that’s why Newt has to get all buff now.
It’s disappointing to see that the gym lights are on, but maybe no one will take any notice of Newt if he sticks to a deserted, badly-lit corner or something. He’s so set on creeping inside undetected that he doesn’t even realize who it is that’s beaten him there that morning, until he hears a small, surprised “Newton?”
Newt looks up sharply. Hermann is on a yoga mat in the middle of the gym floor, his left leg stretched out far to the side, and bent halfway over to touching one socked foot. But that’s not what stops Newt dead in his tracks and sends a fiery jolt of arousal rocketing straight down to his stomach, and it’s not even the little grunting noises Hermann’s making as he goes: that’d be Hermann’s outfit. He’s forgone his usually twenty wrinkled old layers for a pair of baggy grey yoga pants and the absolute thinnest white tank top of all time, a tank top which shows off shapely, toned arms, a thin layer of sweat over each, and collarbones, and clings to a shapely set of pecs, which has ridden up just enough to show off a patch of pale stomach, with a small trail of light-colored hair leading down, and... “Newton!” Hermann repeats, shooting up in alarm.
“Wha?” Newt says, and then he trips over a weight bench.
It’s one of their more uncomfortable trips to medical.
"Don’t tip your head back,” Hermann says.
“Thanks,” Newt says, except Hermann’s handkerchief is pinched to his nose, so it sounds a great deal more nasal. “I know, dude. Not my first rodeo.” He’s gotten his ass kicked for mouthing off in bars to jackasses more times than he cares to admit. He pulls away the handkerchief and scowls at the blooming scarlet stain, as if doing so might stop the source of it. It doesn’t; another splotch of blood lands on his hand, and he quickly shoves the handkerchief back into place. “Unbelievable. I’m gonna look so fuckin’ gnarly tomorrow.”
“Well, I suppose it’s an lucky thing you haven’t broken it,” Hermann says. “Or anything else, for that matter. How on Earth did you manage to do that, anyway?”
“I was thinking about,” Newt casts about for a suitable lie, “...kaiju. You know me. Haha.”
Newt had landed pretty flat on his face. The way Hermann had sprung into action would be admirable, really, and Newt would feel grateful enough to treat Hermann to takeout coffee for at least a week, if the act that necessitated fast action hadn’t been so completely and utterly mortifying. Hermann is still in his little yoga pants and tank top; he didn’t even remember to grab his shoes from the gym before he escorted Newt out. The knotted drawstring of the yoga pants is hanging well down his thighs. Skinny motherfucker. Since when has Hermann had pecs? “Aren’t you cold?” Newt blurts out.
“Cold?” Hermann says.
With a great deal of difficulty, Newt forces his eyes up from the swinging drawstring of Hermann’s yoga pants to his torso. His half-bare torso. With his shapely arms, and his shapely pecs, and his elegant collarbones. If Newt squints hard enough, he could probably see Hermann’s nipples through the white fabric. Especially now—the Shatterdome really is always so cold, with the A/C blasting, and Hermann is usually so sensitive to it... Oh, God, someone help Newt. “Because you’re in,” he says, and then swallows a few times, “th—that. Tank top.”
Hermann looks down at himself, like he’s forgotten what he’s wearing—like it’s inconsequential what he’s wearing—and hums. “I hadn’t really noticed—I was a bit overheated, I suppose, from my exercises.”
“Your exercises,” Newt says.
“Yes, my stretches,” Hermann says. “They do wonders for keeping my leg limber.”
Limber; Hermann is limber. Hermann, in his little yoga pants and tank top, grunting away while he stretches out, is limber. “I didn’t know,” Newt says. He’s started to feel a bit light-headed again, and hopes Hermann doesn’t notice the funny way he’s walking. He’ll be grateful when they get back to the lab and he can sit down a little, or maybe run back to his bunk and take care of his...problem.
They walk under one of the larger A/C vents; Hermann gives a little shiver. Newt forces his eyes all the way down to Hermann’s socked feet to avoid catching sight of any potential physiological responses in Hermann’s pectoral region. “Maybe you should put on a sweater,” Newt says, helpfully. He watches Hermann’s cane move up and down with each step. He’s never seen Hermann not wearing a sweater before. Not even at Shatterdome parties. Up until today, Newt would’ve thought that Hermann wore sweaters to the beach, some sort of special waterproof wool. Maybe he wears tank tops to the beach.
Hermann says something.
“Uh-huh,” Newt says. He thinks about the small beads of sweat that had been dotting Hermann’s exposed collarbones.
“Were you listening?” Hermann says.
Newt looks up. “No,” he says.
“I said we ought to go to the gym together, in the mornings,” Hermann says. He gives Newt one of his rare, blinding smiles, his funny mouth going lopsided. “It’s too bloody quiet in there. I’d appreciate even your company.”
Unlimited access to Hermann’s bare arms, his bare shoulders, his collarbones. Grunting. Stretching every which way. It sounds like a fucking nightmare, or maybe a hellish wet dream. Besides—Newt doesn’t go to the gym. Not like Hermann. Apparently. “Sounds cool,” Newt says.
Hermann looks pleased. Stupid, stupid Newt.
He jerks off furiously in the empty communal showers that night, thinking—extensively—about what it would be like if he was jerking off on Hermann’s stupid tank top instead.
They make plans to meet at the gym the next morning at six, with a trip to the mess hall for breakfast at seven after. Hermann, it turns out, has an extensive workout routine, but not quite an extensive workout wardrobe, and so—as Newt attempts a few puny sit-ups in his oldest pair of MIT sweatpants—he’s treated to another view of Hermann’s weirdly gorgeous arms straining and sweating in that stupid tank-top. He watches Hermann stretch and bend each leg and lift some of the smaller weights for ten minutes before he realizes that he hasn’t actually moved a single inch since sit-up number three. Hopefully Hermann hasn’t noticed. “You’re not tired out, are you?” Hermann says, having apparently noticed. He groans as he arches his back. He has a small birthmark on his left shoulder. “I don’t mind finishing a bit—”
“No!” Newt says. “Not tired. Just, uh—” Hermann shuts his eyes and groans again, a little louder. “Just—” Hermann’s tank top has ridden up, giving Newt a glimpse of that little dusting of hair, the elegant vee of his hips... Newt bites his lip to keep himself from saying something stupid. “I. Uh.”
Hermann, bent half-over, looks up at Newt through his pretty dark eyelashes. Newt cracks.
“Holy shit, dude,” he whines.
Hermann straightens up languidly. “Mm?”
He doesn’t even look surprised when Newt reaches out a fumbling hand towards his knee, nor when—a moment later—Newt surges forward to kiss him clumsily. Hermann’s mouth merely curves up in a smirk against his, and he fists the back of Newt’s ratty old t-shirt to draw their bodies tighter. “I’ve been wondering when you would do that,” he says, and his voice hitches up in a small gasp when Newt presses his kisses onward across his jaw. “You’re the least subtle man I know.”
“Don’t even care,” Newt mumbles. He nips some of the soft skin at Hermann’s throat and lifts his hands up to squeeze his biceps. They’re nice and sturdy under his fingers. Is this moving into new territory with Hermann way too fast? Maybe. Sort of. They’ve made out a few times at parties before, and once Newt gave him a discreet (fully-clothed) handjob in a kinda nasty alleyway outside a bar on his birthday, but nothing, like, serious. Though it’s not like this is serious. Lab partner stuff. “Holy shit, dude, I didn’t know you were so strong.”
“Strong?” Hermann snorts. He goes easily when Newt urges him onto his back against his dumb little yoga mat; his pupils are wide and dark, and a pink flush has started creeping down his neck. He drapes his arms over Newt’s shoulders. “I didn’t know you cared about those sorts of things.”
“I don’t,” Newt says. “I didn’t.” He tracks more kisses down the dips of Hermann’s collarbones, following that blush. “I guess it’s just you?”
He doesn’t wait for an invitation before rucking up Hermann’s tank top. He hasn’t got a six-pack, or anything like that, but Newt doesn’t really care, because Hermann’s pecs rock even more when they’re bare. He squeezes at one just to see Hermann make a face, and—laughing—ducks down to graze his teeth across the left one, taking care to catch at his nipple. Hermann hisses sharply and grabs at his hair. He looks a little silly with his top bunched under his armpits, but it’s kind of cute too. Newt trails his tongue across Hermann’s sternum and tries his luck at the other side, too, and is pleased when Hermann gives a full-body shudder after each. “Ah, Newton,” he moans. “I’m—sensitive—there.”
Newt kisses over the spot instead as way of apology. Then he starts to trail his kisses lower, down Hermann’s slightly concave abdomen, where the skin is luminously pale. Newt amends his earlier assumption that Hermann wears tank tops to the beach; he’s not sure if Hermann has ever even stepped foot on a beach. “Newton,” Hermann moans again. He gives Newt’s hair a little tug when Newt takes the drawstring of his yoga pants between his teeth. If he goes down on Hermann good enough, maybe Hermann will let him test out last night’s fantasy... “Mm. Be quick about it. We haven’t got all—”
The door to the gym swings open; two rangers, chatting away happily, step inside, and stop in their tracks when they catch sight of Newt and Hermann. Newt flings himself off of Hermann, but it’s too little too late. It’s pretty obvious what Newt and Hermann had been doing. “Oops!” one of the rangers says, turning their back to them. Their friend turns away, too, and laughs awkwardly. “Sorry, Dr. Geiszler, Dr. Gottlieb. We didn’t realize this was—uh. Occupied.”
Hermann yanks down his tank top.
“No worries,” Newt squeaks. “We’re. Uh. Just about done.”
The door clicks back shut; Newt hears laughter. Hermann is covering his face. “Hand me my bloody sweater,” he says. “We’ll finish this later.”
51 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
cecebookworm07
CeCe The Bookworm: Fan-Fiction and Fandoms
bimbonaparte
you're right, have fun
faridilhamoglu
FARID ILHAMOGLU
autopackmachines
Autopack Machines
kikinesia-blog
Kike Garci.