#its taken me this long to realise hes doing finger guns in the first two gifs
Note
Hug prompts
[ OH MY GOD ] for a hug in response to one muse learning that the other’s still alive.
Bob x pilot!reader where a mission goes a little wrong and someone has to eject out of their plane while the other listens on comms.
This idea reminds me so much of the last few chapters of antidotes and poisons…BUT we must stay focused!!
Bob Floyd x pilot!wife!reader
Bob was a reserved person. Everyone was aware of it. Having trained as a WSO his entire piloting career, he had learned not to overstate. Especially when it came down to his personal life.
He was serving in Lemoore when he got the call from Admiral Cyclone to come back to Top gun. What was more of a surprise was when he found out that you had been ordered to do the same that night.
Not many people knew about your relationship, both of you weren’t in contact with a lot of your fellow graduates from Top Gun but you knew of a few. Some of the names being: Natasha “Phoenix” Trace, Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw and Mickey “Fanboy” Garcia. They were one of the best being called back. You met all of them in your first day at the Hard Deck. Sat next to Bob as you both quietly sipped on your drinks.
This mission was not going to be an ordinary one.
Turns out it wasn’t an ordinary one. Top gun had called back 14 of its best graduates for a uranium transplant mission. Even Pete “Maverick” Mitchell was called back to train all of you for this.
It was the second week of training that was the most difficult. G-LOC was a terrifying experience for any aviator, especially when death was around the corner.
You sat in the radio room. The rest of the teams dispersed around the room as you all listened to the exercise play out. Phoenix, Bob and Coyote were up for the exercise. Coffin corner, as Mav had called it, was meant to be the extreme hill climb.
So far, no one had made out of it the same. It wasn’t looking any good for your husband that was in the air either.
“bird strike!”
You heard his frantic voice over the radio, leaning forward in the tiny stool, fingers rotating your wedding bad anxiously. The cackling only got louder and all you could hear was your heart pumping through your brain and Mav screaming;
“EJECT EJECT EJECT”
Before you could register anything else, you were on your feet and running to the tarmac. Praying that they were okay.
He landed a couple minuets later, two air ambulances had passed by in that time you were pacing back and forth.
“They’ve taken them to the hospital, they don’t know what is going to happen but they are most likely to be kept overnight.” Maverick greeted you with a small tight lipped smile, a sign of reassurance if anything.
“I can give you the address, if you’d like?” He questioned tentatively, not knowing the depth of your and Bob’s relationship but the fact that you two were close.
“That would be great, captain.”
His eyes landed on the wedding band in your grasp and he was able to put two and two together, handing you the address immediately. But before he could say anything about the situation you were taking off in the direction of your car.
Entering the hospital in a short of breath, you reached the reception desk, handing them the names of your husband and friend.
“May I ask your relationship to the patient?”
“I’m his wife. And Ph-Natasha’s friend.” You clarified.
“Thank you,” she affirmed before typing away on her computer, “they are in room 421, 2nd floor.”
“Thank you so much.”
The elevator took too long for your liking as you shifted on one door to the other. It was then you took notice of the amount of stares you were being give and realised you were still in your flight suit. Your badge and gear still attached. You gave the old lady next to you a small smile as she scrunched her nose the smell of sweat that you were giving off in the stuffy elevator.
You let out a thankful breath as the doors to the second floor opened, running through the corridor to look for their room.
418…419…420…421. Stopping in your tracks, you stood outside his room. The small window giving you a peek of him being examined by a doctor. A wave of fresh tears rolled down your cheeks as you noticed the bandaged and scratches on him.
Reluctantly you opened the door, both men looking in the direction of your intrusion.
“Hello…” you began, stumbling into the room.
“You must be Mrs. Floyd. We were just talking about you.”
“Oh, uhh, is it alright if I come in?” You asked the bearded man. He gave you a reassuring smile before taking a step back, motioning to Bob;
“He is all yours, Ma’am.”
You chuckled, stepping away from the was you let the man take his leave. You and Bob were the only ones left in the room. The only noise that came was from the AC that was mounted on the wall, blowing cold air in the small room causing you to shiver.
You slowly made your way towards him, careful not to trip in your worry. His eyes were glossy as you neared him, glasses long forgotten about on the bedside table as he opened his arms to let you in. He took notice of your tear stained face, he felt guilty about causing you pain, he always did even when it wasn’t his fault.
You clutched onto him for dear life, mindful of avoiding any bandaged areas to not cause him further pain. He tucked your head into his neck, rubbing your back up and down as your sniffles became quiet sobs.
“Oh my god..”
“Shhh, it’s okay, baby. I’m here.”
“I- I thought..you..” you hiccuped, struggling to let out the words but he caught on. Carefully cradling you in his arms as he kissed the side of your head gently.
“I know baby. I’m okay, I’m with you here. You didn’t have to come all the way here, I was going to call you.”
You pulled back from him slightly, not letting go of his sides. Your brows were scrunched in confusion as you looked up at your husband.
“What do you mean you were going to call? In sickness and in health, do you not remember?”
His heart skipped a beat at the reminder of your vows. One he had taken all those years ago, of course he remembers them. But you were in the middle of training and it would have caused suspicion between the squad that you left immediately after.
Regardless, he smiled lovingly at you. Kissing your brows to smooth out the dents of confusion.
“Of course I remember. But…”
Nah uh, no buts. You are okay, that’s all that matters.” You kissed his jaw gently, cupping his cheeks before moving to his lips. They were chapped and rough but regardless you kissed him.
You heart skipped multiple bears in that moment, fireworks blasting their way into your stomach as you kissed him. It never felt tedious to kiss him, he always managed to make it feel like the first time. Causing you to act like a giddy teenager.
You pulled away, resting your forehead against his as you let out a shaky breath.
“Please don’t die on me, okay?”
“As long as you promise to do the same.” He raised his hand to his chest, extending his pinky finger towards you, encouraging you to take it.
You chuckled through your tears, wrapping your pinky finger around his as he shook it up and down before leaning in to kiss you again.
A/n; I apologise for taking so long to respond to all your requests btw. but where can I get a Bob husband??? Thank you so much anon for awaking my need to get a husband like Bob Floyd. 😭😭 Regardless than kyiu so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it?? Let me know what you think (feedback is always appreciated)?🫶🏻🫶🏻
Tags:
@lemur46 @elicheel @arson-tm @bussyslayer333 @roosterbruiser @roostersrooster @tongue-like-a-razor @ravenhood2792
#robert bob floyd#bob Floyd#bob Floyd x reader#bob floyd x female reader#Bob Floyd x wife reader#top gun maverick#Pav answers#Requests
294 notes
·
View notes
Text
Are Friends Electric?
Kerry and V have had a row, don't blame me it wasn't my fault :D
Misty is worried, it’s almost three hours ago now that V had taken the elevator to the roof. This wasn’t unusual in itself as he often went up there to spend time with his thoughts, but this time he’d bypassed the store, presumably to avoid a conversation, Misty only knew he was up there because she’d seen the flash of his currently blue hair on the way past and then heard the hum soon after as the elevator made its way to the top of the building.
He’d seemed better, more stable lately. The operation had affected him mentally more than anything else, months of physical therapy had helped him walk again and build up enough stamina to start to go back to training, but his absolute refusal to talk about what happened to anyone but Kerry had been a worry, even to the Rockerboy himself.
She respected that he didn’t want to talk, he had a lot going on and found it hard to articulate, sometimes making him embarrassed and angry, but he’d gone up a long time now and Misty knew that it wasn’t long ago he’d been up there with a pill and a gun weighing up his options. Locking the door, she makes her way up to the roof.
-
Slouched on the grubby white garden chair V cuts a pathetic figure, a bottle in one hand and a cigarette almost burnt down to his fingers in the other. Misty sighs with relief, she’d expected worse although she’s only now realising it. Kneeling quietly in front of him she flicks the cig from his fingers and places the three-quarters empty bottle onto the floor gently shaking his knee to bring his attention around.
Now he lifts his head the tear tracks are evident, the redness of his eyes would have given him away regardless, the smudges on his cheeks seem to have come from wiping his eyes with bloodied knuckles.
“Who came off worse, you or the wall?” she asks him with a half-smile.
V sniffs loudly and just manages to look her in the eye, “Wall’s fucked, serves it right.”
Although now smiling, V is clearly very troubled, the smile only serving to make him look somewhat unhinged.
“Wanna talk about it?”
A non-committal shrug seems to be the best she’s going to get for now.
-
V had been is a stormy mood for the best part of a week, at first Kerry had tried to talk him around and get to the bottom of it, but he was being met with a brick wall every time and if he’s honest he has other shit going on that demands his attention so he’d reluctantly backed off and waited for whatever this was to burn itself out.
Louise is after more cash, holding the kids to ransom once again. Even though they’re grown she still has complete control, how had he not noticed what a controlling bitch she was until it was too late? Kerry is hunched over the laptop in V’s office trying to compose an email with the right balance of ‘Stop being a cunt’ and ‘Get fucked’ when the ex-merc storms in and swings Kerry’s chair around to face him, only just stopping short of giving the other man whiplash.
“Where the fuck are you going?” he spits indicating the overnight bag which Kerry has placed on the floor next to the elevator.
Kerry is taken aback but tries to keep his tone light, “I’ve got a two-day promo thing in Texas, I reminded you yesterday and it’s been on the calendar for weeks.”
“You’re leaving? Now? You can’t be fucking serious.” V has now taken to wildly gesticulating and pacing the room. “You can’t leave now.”
It was pleading more than threatening, but Kerry is still concerned. “I’ve got to babe, but I’ll be back Friday. We’ll go somewhere fancy for dinner when I get back, how ‘bout that?”
“You think throwing your cash around in an over-priced shithole is going to make this better? Fuck you Kerry, you have no idea what I’m going through, you’ve hardly even spoken to me in days.”
“I’ve tried talking to you and it’s hardly my fault that you never check the fucking calendar. Maybe a couple of days apart will do us good.”
Kerry is as stunned as V is when the words spill out of his mouth. The anger and hurt in V’s simmering gaze is more than Kerry can bear, but before he can try to explain or apologise the other man has stormed back through the door and Kerry winces on behalf of the lounge wall that has just been tastefully redesigned by V’s formidable fists. He sits with his fingers woven together and his head bowed for several minutes until the soft hiss of the elevator doors opening indicates that he is alone in the apartment and he goes to survey the damage.
-
That was yesterday morning, since then V has been going from bar to bar, getting into trouble and fitfully sleeping in a doorway, he can’t remember a lot of it, but as the anger receded and a deep sadness began to set in, he knew he needed to be here on the rooftop, alone with his thoughts. He finds some comfort in this place, feels close to Jackie and to Johnny, he talks out loud to them sometimes even though they’re gone, but he’s pleased that Misty is here now, his thoughts were getting darker and he was struggling to work up the enthusiasm to leave at all.
Misty moves to the other chair and hooks V’s pinky finger with her own sitting quietly looking out over the City and letting him get it all out in his own time. He tells her about the argument, about being hurt by what Kerry said, about being in a dark place right now and not feeling supported and she listens, nods and tightens the grip on his finger.
“Why do you think Kerry said what he said V?” Misty asks.
V bites back his first reaction and thinks for a moment before answering, “I’ve been a bit of a dick I guess, kicking off at the smallest things, chewing his ear off while he’s trying to work. No one else understands though, what it’s like to…” V stops and sighs.
“…be without Johnny?”
“Yeah, I guess. But he’s given up on me, just left me to work through it by myself, thing is I’m not sure I can.” V gazes sadly out over Night City, neon blurred by the tears returning to his eyes.
Misty puts her hand on his arm and turns to look him in the eye. “It’s a lot, what you went through, you’re struggling and that’s fine, but Kerry’s struggling too. He’s got his own demons, now he’s got yours as well, he’s doing his best but he’s out of his depth. There’s no shame in talking to a professional, someone who can unpick what you went through and set you back on a more positive path.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right, but he was going to leave, today of all days he was going to leave me by myself and fuck off to Texas.”
“Does he know why today is important to you?” Misty has half guessed why, but needs V to confirm her suspicions.
“He should!”
“Now V that’s not what I asked…”
“OK, maybe not, but he should.”
-
Last year around this time V’s mood swings had been put down to the medication he was on, they were still changing it up every week trying to offset the side effects which seemed to manifest daily. He and Kerry hadn’t spent a more than a few moments apart since he came back, as soon as the shuttle landed, he’d been whisked to a room in a private facility with twin beds – which were quickly pushed together – and all the comforts of home.
A few weeks later they were back at the condo, Kerry still catering to V’s every whim, so grateful to have him back, but also feeling stretched beyond what he could easily cope with. Things began to slowly improve, Kerry could work while V was at physio or training, but he’d promised the universe that he’d always be here for V if it brought him back to him, and he was keeping that promise.
V said little about his time on the space-station, had all but blocked it out as far as Kerry could tell, but he would talk for hours about Johnny, the stuff he used to say about people, the memories he shared, how much he missed having him around. Kerry would listen attentively, much of what V told him was exactly how he remembered his old friend to be, irreverent, charming and a pain in the ass, the difference was, Kerry didn’t miss him, not anymore. Years of therapy had started the process, but meeting him again confirmed it, Johnny was his past and that’s where he could stay, V was his future.
This time two years ago, V had just sold his soul and was in an Arasaka funded facility orbiting the globe about to be ‘cured’ of his brain-parasite. He’d disappeared from the condo days before making up some excuse about a job, which Kerry had not believed as V has been too sick to work for weeks, and wasn’t heard of again until months later when he could finally get a call through and Kerry had saved him. What happened in those intervening weeks was a mystery to Kerry, some of it was a mystery to V.
Misty had correctly guessed that two years ago today Johnny had effectively died, and with him a piece of V was gone too. He would never be the same, but there was nothing stopping him being proud of the new, successful, generally happy and loved person he had become, and Misty told him so.
“I bet Johnny would be proud of how you’ve done, I am for sure.”
“Thanks Misty, Johnny would prolly call me a pussy and cuss me out for shouting at Kerry, but I appreciate the sentiment.”
“You know you need to find someone to talk to V, a professional, someone who can help.”
“Uh-huh, Kerry knows someone, keeps trying to palm me off onto him, maybe I’ll let him.”
“Good idea, and Vik and me are always here for you, you know that.”
V had been eternally grateful when Misty had finally forgiven him for helping Haniko, once she understood he didn’t feel like he had a choice she eventually came around.
“I know Misty, thanks.”
“And I think you’ve got some apologising to do.”
V nodded slowly, “Yeah, I need to explain everything to Kerry, he’s the best thing that ever happened to me but he’s not a fucking mind-reader. As soon as he gets back from Texas tomorrow, we’ll sit and talk – if he’s even still talking to me.”
“I am, just,” a honey-soaked gravel voice declares from the direction of the elevator, “though I’d be happier if you answered your fucking phone and didn’t make holes in our walls.”
V’s head whips around rendering him momentarily nauseous, Misty heads towards the open doors clutching at Kerry’s hand as she passes, he takes up her vacated spot and puts a hand on his input’s knee, searching his eyes.
“I…I thought you were in Texas.” V stammers covering Kerry’s hand with his own.
“And leave you like this? Texas will still be there next month, fuck em!”
They both chuckle and move to rest their foreheads together, “How’d you find me?”
“Gave you a couple of hours yesterday before calling, you didn’t fucking answer, called again, no fucking answer, called Vik, hadn’t seen you, called Mama Welles, hadn’t seen you, called Misty, she called you, you didn’t fucking answer…”
“OK I get it, I’m a dick. I put my calls on mute, couldn’t deal with it all. So, Misty called you today then?”
“Actually no, Vik did. Saw Misty pass as he was locking up and guessed where she was going.”
“Oh, right, listen Ker I need to explain…”
“All you need right now is a rest and a very long shower, anything else can wait til after. Did it help coming up here?”
“Yeah, yeah it did.”
“Good, that’s all that matters for now, let’s go home.”
#kerry eurodyne#kerry is my muse#kerry eurodyne x male v#kerry x male v#cyberpunk 2077#cyberpunk kerry#v cyberpunk#cyberpunk v#kerry x v#misty
18 notes
·
View notes
Text
Alec's Visit (1)- Ninjago OC
It was a normal Monday afternoon. The ninja were just taking turns sparring with each other while waiting for Zane and Pixal to be done with lunch. Kai and Cole were up against each other while Nya and Lloyd watch over. Jay and Neil sat by the porch and watched as they had done their fair share of work and training done. It was just a chill day, no bad weather, no evil guys,. Just, a slow and chill day with its normal routine. Jay sighed as he leaned back, "Man, I haven't called my parents in weeks... I kinda miss them," he looked over at Neil who was playing with his hair, "Yeah, me too. I mean I did call them the other day but I kinda wanna visit them now. It's been so long." Jay hummed in response before sitting back up, hearing Wu's footsteps from behind them. With a tap of his staff against the floor boards, everyone stood in a line-up in front of him. He announced that lunch was ready and it was Neil and Jay's turn to set the tables. The two hurried on with their duty while the others tidied up the monastery course. As soon as everyone was inside, their noses were filled with the scent of crab soup and noodles. Cole's stomach growled loudly on cue as Zane opened the lid to reveal the boiling soup, "Man! Zane, you never fail to impress!" Zane only chuckled back and smiled, grateful for the compliment, "It might just because you're hungry, but I appreciate it!" Everyone sat down and ate. It was a normal lunch filled with chatter and laughs. Lloyd finished first and stood up, bringing his own plate to the kitchen to wash it. Nya followed not long after and then Cole, Kai, Jay and Neil respectively. It was quick and done and soon it was free time where the ninja get to do their hobbies or just rest. Everyone but Pixal, Nya and Wu decide to hang out in the living room to play video games. The two sat outside to relax out of all the noise that was happening indoors and Pixal returned to the basement to work. It wasn't long after that Neil picked up his phone to see ten missed calls from a single person and many worried messages after. Neil began to panic, he'd completely forgotten-- there was a knock at the monastery gates. Nya wondered who would be out here at this hour, probably the mailman. She slowly opened the gates as she greeted the guest before she froze in place.
"Hi, I believe Niel lives here?" Nya couldn't believe her eyes, "Wait, Kai!? How'd you do that? You were just in the living room," the person only stood there, confused. Wu came from behind before being just as surprised, "Uhh, hello! Welcome, traveller. You are looking for..." "Neil, yeah! I told him the other day that I was coming by and staying with him?" Wu walked back into the building to get the other ninja while Nya invited him in. All the other ninja one by one walked out and froze in place as soon as they see him. Neil was the last to come out with Cole beside him. The guest ran up to Neil and hugged him tight, "Neil! I missed you! It's been so long!" Kai was just as confused as everyone else. The person looked just like him, clothing, voice and all. Like he was a copycat. "Alec... How did you find me?" The two let go of each other before the person named Alec pat Neil's shoulder, "Your parents. They told me everything so you don't have to explain it yourself," the cyan ninja only chuckled and rubbed the back of his head, "Yeah, I actually planned a whole speech about it too. What a shame..."
"Uh, who is this now?" Jay asked them with a very confused look, "Oh! This is Alec Eismith. My--" "His very hot and sexy other half," Alec winked and did finger guns. Total Kai behaviour. "What?" Kai asked, with an almost embarrassed tone. "Oh how much I missed you!"
Alec exclaimed before placing both his hands on Neil's shoulders and giving him a full kiss on the lips, the cyan ninja was taken aback at the sudden movements and blushed hard realising what he just did in front of everyone. The team were feeling a mixed bag of emotions, Cole was proud about PDA, Nya covered baby Lloyd's eyes, Jay shielded his own innocence while PIXAL and Zane just stood there, unable to process it. Kai stood for a few moments before quietly running away. The two pulled away from each other before Neil buried his face in his own hands and curling up into a ball on the ground. He regained himself before quitely pulling Alec out of there, guiding him to his room for him to leave his bags, "Ohh, Babe... I just arrived! You sure you want to this now-- Ow!" Neil punched his gut after he said that and ran off with him.
The team started to burst out into both tears and laughter and other noises that meant confusion. Kai came back after noticing that the couple left and Cole scruffed up his hair, "Dude! Why'd you run away? Were you scared of him or something?" Kai growled at him, "What!? No! He looked exactly like me, did you not see that!?" The black ninja shot back a weird look at him, "Wha..?" Nya exclaimed, "That Alec guy looks soo much like Kai, I thought it was him when I opened the door!" Jay chirped back, "The face, the body, the hair, the voice! The mannerisms! Everything! He's like a clone of you dude!?" Kai looked down in shame at what he just saw, it was like it was HE who was there kissing and smooching Neil. Zane tried to explain to the team, "It's quite possible for someone to have the same face, voice and alike with someone else, either on purpose or by accident. They are referred to as Doppelgangers." Cole was still confused on what all the commotion is all about. The team headed back inside to wait for the guest.
The air was damn awkward in the living room as they waited. After a few minutes, they could hear their voices from the hall, "I did get your call! I was just busy training earlier... I'm sorry," Neil explained. Alec only replied back with a chuckle, "No, it's okay. Being a Ninja must be tough..." The two reached the living room and as soon as the two stepped in, everyone turned their head towards them. Alec was sat down on a comfortable chair right across the sofa where the Ninja were all sitting. Neil resorted to sitting on the floor instead. It was just awkward silence for five minutes before Alec became a bit uncomfortable and asked out, "Why were all saying I look like... Who was it? Kai?" Their eyes turned to Kai who was just about ready to die before shooting a glance back at poor Alec. Jay finally screamed out, "I mean just LOOK AT YOU GUYS! The resemblance is uncanny! You even have a resting smirk like him, Alec!" Nya agreed upon his statement and showed it by agressive pulling her brothers face out of his own hands and showed it to him like it's some piece of art, "Just look at him! The eyes, the hair, the eyebrows and voice. The resting smirk! Seriously, are you our long lost brother or something?" Lloyd sat in silence, still not able to process all of this and he was starting to regret trying to. Alec only laughed it off and said that was only a coincidence. Cole, being dense, asked out again, "I'm sorry, but why do you guys think they look the same? They look NOTHING alike." Kai retorted back explained, "Seriously!? Are you blind!? Even IM shocked at how similar we look!" Cole gave an unbothered glance before Kai stood both he and Alec up next to each other. The red ninja told him to do the same pose he was doing, a resting smirk stare and crossed arms at Nya who was taking the picture for proof.
The picture was taken and it was showed to everyone else. Cole dared to ask how this was relevant again, "Seriously, Cole... Even our names are similar!" The black ninja shrugged, not understanding, "Alec Eismith... Ale-KAI SMITH. Seriously!" Cole clasped his hands together and still holding his unbothered look, "Kai, I don't see the issue here." the red ninja huffed out and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, "It looks like I'M the one dating Neil! It's weird!" "But you're not?" Kai gave up and was about to leave before a smirk crept into Cole's face, "You were doing this on purpose, weren't you!" "Yup... I like embarrassing you in front of guests," Kai's face became almost as red as his hoodie before he pushed Cole aside and left for his own room. Wu came by with a cup of hot tea and saucer to provide Alec since no one provided him with anything ever since he came, "Here, have some tea. I sure hope you enjoy your stay," Alec bowed gratefully and thanked him as he sipped his tea. Zane inquired him with a question as he placed his tea down, "How many days will you be with us?" The guest sipped some more tea before answering, "A couple of weeks..." Neil shooked his head as he started to worry.
This is going to be long....
Yes, I gave my son a boyfriend. I really REALLY wanted to pair him up with one of the ninja but it doesn't feel right to me so I made one for him. Making Alec just like Kai makes it kinda less weird because I get to ship them both without actually doing that? This is also a reason why Neil treats him as such, it's because Kai reminds him of his own boyfriend. Also, yes, very original Alec Eismith haha funny... I actually doodled all three of theses within an hour because I just wanted to write this story. More definitely coming tomorrow so look forward to that. Also, keep in mind which shade of red is for who. Yes, this does mean Alec is younger than Kai. Same age as Neil basically.
#ninjago#ninjago oc#ninjago fanart#ninjago fic#neil#Alec#kai smith#cole brookstone#jay walker#nya smith#zane julien#pixal borg#lloyd garmaddon#Sensei Wu#gay#digital#sketch#comic#Kai twin#boyfriends#Alec's Visit
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
NSFT/18+
Space Ghost Coast to Coast
A/N: I purely wrote this as Bell instead of Y/N since I can’t bring myself to write Y/N fics 😂
I recently finished MW2 and needed some Ghost food to heal my broken heart after the traumatic betrayal I witnessed. Also maybe a bit of DadPrice! giving a lecture. Here goes nothing..
Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem Bell
Word count: 3252
Warnings: smut, injury (gunshot), blood, swearing.
“Eyes up, scouts patrolling up ahead.”
Price’s voice in your earpiece came through at the exact moment the two men appeared in your line of vision 40 metres in front of you.
“Dropped him.”
Aiming your sniper, the guard trailing slightly behind fell to the ground before you’d even had time to place your finger on the trigger. Taking aim at the other man’s head, your rifle made almost no sound as you took him out a second later.
“Nice shot. Move up.”
“Thanks.” You whispered back. You turned back for a moment to the place you knew Price was laying hidden almost 90 metres behind you.
“Move, Bell. We won’t have much time before more patrols come along and find those bodies.” Soap’s whispered voice now, also in your earpiece - but you knew he was somewhere to the right of you hidden in the long grass. You crawled quietly through the grass. You heard the brush whispering slightly either side of you as the bodies of Soap and Ghost moved up to flank with you.
“Hold up, two more tangoes patrolling the fence line.” Price murmured a moment later. “Take ‘em out, or let ‘em move on. Your call Bell”
“No stragglers.” You whispered back. You heard the pops from Ghost’s and Soap’s suppressed guns as they took out the two guards ahead.
“Good call.” Price confirmed. “Can’t see anymore inbound. You’re in the clear. House up ahead is empty. We’ll regroup inside.”
“Roger.”
Standing up, you scanned the area out of precaution for more enemies. Satisfied, you nodded to the other two men to move up. The three of you passed the fence line and had almost made it to the back door of the house when it happened.
You heard it before you felt it. The sound of a pistol being fired in your direction had you spinning to face the direction it came from, when suddenly you felt white hot pain erupt in your left shoulder. Dropping to the ground, the sound was over almost as quickly as it started, but your eyesight went black as you squeezed your eyes shut in pain and gripped your shoulder as blood poured through your fingers.
“Bell!” The scream came from within your earpiece at the same time Ghost shouted your name, making your ear throb in pain. You hardly noticed with the burning coming from your shoulder, but you still flinched.
“What the fuck was that?!” You gritted through your teeth.
“One of the guards back there wasn’t as dead as we thought. He fucking is now. Don’t worry darlin’, you’re gonna be alright.” Ghost pried your hand away from your shoulder and replace them with his own. “Soap, get me the medi-kit from your pack, quick!”
“Darlin’?!” Soap laughed as he handed Ghost the pack. Frowning, he looked down at the two of you.
“He’s taking the piss.. it’s an inside joke.. had to be there.” You said through gritted teeth, glaring into Ghost’s glasses. Ghost said nothing as he worked on stopping the bleeding, but the minimal supplies in the kit weren’t doing much.
“Fuck!” Ghost said in a panicked voice. You were starting to feel drowsy, and the sight of all the blood was making you queasy. You could feel your head starting to spin, threatening to send you into unconsciousness.
“Ghost, she’s gonna be fine. Look, the bullet went straight through.” Soap said calmly, pointing at the bullet lodged in the brick in the wall just behind where you’d been standing. “It’s a clean wound, it’ll just need stitches.”
“Fine. We’ve gotta get her back ASAP. I’ll take her, you and Price grab the intel.”
“No, I’ll take her.” Price came into view, rifle slung over his back. “You’re the one that’s better with technology, you’ll get the intel quicker from the computer. Someone’s bound to have heard those gunshots, we’re sure to have company soon. C’mon Bell.” Price hoisted you up under your uninjured arm, replacing Ghost’s hands with one of his. Stumbling, you gripped Price’s arm for support. Looking over at Ghost, you noticed his eyes tighten behind his sunglasses, but he nodded in assent.
“Let’s get moving,” Price commanded, nodding at the other two. “Soap, Ghost, I’ll send for another chopper to pick you up. See you boys at home.”
*****
Fourteen stitches and a bandaged shoulder later, the infirmary staff finally let you leave. Pushing open the exit door to the outside, you found Price leaning against a jeep waiting for you.
“What are you still doing here?” You asked suspiciously.
“Thought I’d give you a ride home. It’s a bit of a far walk and I assumed you’d be too hopped up on pain killers to drive yourself.” He replied, opening the passenger door courteously.
“Oh… thanks.” You said, taken aback by the display of kindness. It’s not that Captain Price was unkind; he’d just never shown any outward kindness outside of the field. You were surprised that he’d thought to even come back for you.
The two of you drove in silence for a few moments, before the question you were burning to ask broke its way out of your control.
“Did the other two make it back okay?” You tried to sound casual, but your insides were turning with worry.
“Yeah, they got back about an hour ago, no issues.” Price answered, concentrating on the road.
“And the intel?”
‘Acquired.” Price gruffed.
“Hmm, very good.” You stared straight ahead, watching the sun settle in the west. This was the first time in a non-formal environment you’d ever spent a moment alone with the Captain, and you weren’t sure how to make small talk with him. You sat in silence as Price drove you through the city. You wondered how he knew where you lived when it occurred to you that being a member of his team, he’d know where everyone lived. Not that you spent much time in your own house these nights. You thought back to a few nights ago...
The sound of Price clearing his throat awkwardly pulled you out of your reverie. Looking over at him, you watched as he shifted in his seat and waited for him to speak.
“What is it?”
Price sighed. “Look, I really don’t want to have this conversation. But I’ve told him the same thing I’m telling you now. This is one of the best task forces I’ve ever worked with, and I don’t want anything fucking that up. Understood?”
You felt your calm composure slip through the cracks as your eyes widened in panic. You glanced over to see him still staring straight ahead, his mouth set in a hard line.
“Wait, you know about-”
“Of course I fucking know.” Price snapped, watching you out of the corner of his eyes. Shit, so maybe he did know where you actually slept after all. “I know everything that goes on in my team. Look,” he said calmly. “I don’t give a fuck what you get up to in your spare time. It’s like I told him, I’m not going to report it. It’s not been an issue yet. Just don’t let it affect you on the job.”
“I haven’t! I’ve been so careful about trying to keep it professional while we’re on a mission!” Your heart raced at the fact you had been caught out.
“I know you have, Bell. But that man is head over heels for you, in case you hadn’t realised. I’m concerned he’ll let his feelings for you get in the way of the job. Look at today – he’s the best man on our team for tech, and he was willing to throw the whole job, just out of pure panic for you.” Price sighed again. “I’m not sending either of you away. I just needed to remind you of the main reason we are here. If you two can’t handle that, I’ll be forced to find someone to take your place on the team.”
“Does anyone else know?” You asked quietly.
“I don’t think so, but if Simon continues on the way he was today, I doubt it’ll be long until Soap catches on.” Price grimaced, then looked over at you. “Darlin’,” he grinned.
“Ughhh,” you groaned as Price pulled up outside what you now realised wasn’t your house. “I can’t believe he let that slip out.” You unbuckled your seatbelt, careful not to move too much that it pulled at your stitches. Opening your door, you looked back at Price. “Thanks for the ride, I appreciate it.”
Price smiled and nodded in response. “Don’t be too harsh on him about today,” he said, looking over your shoulder as you heard the front door open behind you. You closed the door and waved as the jeep drove away.
*****
All your anxiety from the conversation with Price suddenly turned to irritation as you turned to face the man in the doorway. You stormed towards him, your uninjured shoulder hitting his lower abdomen as you barged your way past him into the hallway.
“Bell-” he began.
“Get out of my way, Simon. I need a fucking shower.” You snapped irritably.
“Here, let me help-”
“No.”
“Bell!” Simon pleaded.
“What the fuck was that today?!” You snarled. “You might as well just fucking announce to the whole place that we’re together!” You began climbing the stairs towards the bathroom, but stopped halfway there. Staying angry wasn’t one of your strong suits, and seeing him standing pleadingly in the hallway washed away your irritation. “Look,” you sighed heavily, coming back down the stairs so you were eye level with him. “I just had the lecture of a lifetime from Price. I can’t lose what we have here Simon, and he warned if we couldn’t keep it professional out there, then one of us would be replaced.” You stepped towards him, reaching for him in both apology and forgiveness. You placed a hand on his masked jaw, your thumb stroking along his hard cheekbone.
“I’m sorry for today,” he said apologetically, leaning his cheek into your hand. “Seeing you injured and in pain, all that blood… I panicked.”
“It’s okay,” you soothed. Smiling up at him, you smacked his arm playfully. “You’re silly, you know that right. Even I knew it wasn’t bad, and you’ve seen way more injuries than I have. I can’t imagine how you would’ve been if Soap hadn’t been there to pull your head in.”
Simon wrapped his arm around your head, resting his hand at the base of your skull and pulled you in for a hug. You lifted your other arm to place it around his waist and winced. It didn’t go unnoticed.
“How are you feeling anyway, darlin’?” He stepped back to survey you.
“Rubbish. These pain killers are doing their job, but I feel disgusting. I really do need a shower.” You looked over your shoulder towards the bathroom. “I uh... might need a hand actually,” you said awkwardly, wondering how you were going to manage without getting your stitches wet. Surprisingly, this was your first major injury, given your line of work.
“C’mon,” he said, pulling you towards the bathroom.
Simon turned on the shower and helped you undress, helping remove your shoes, pants and underwear, aware of your fresh wound as he carefully pulled the shirt from your arms and over your head. His eyes filled with remorse as they fell on your injured shoulder.
“I’m so sorry, darlin’,” he whispered. “That guy that shot you… that’s the one I took down. I didn’t know he wasn’t dead.” He looked away sadly.
“Hey,” you grabbed his chin gently and turned his head so he was looking you squarely in the eyes. “It’s not your fault. Stop blaming yourself, no one else does. I’m fine.”
“But what if it had been worse? What if that bullet had landed here?” Simon touched your forehead. “Or here,” he said, touching the base of your throat. “What if-”
“Don’t think about it,” you said firmly, pulling his hand from your neck. “Simon, I said I’m fine.” Still holding his hand, you pulled it up to your lips. “There is one thing I am annoyed about, though,” you smirked as you kissed his fingers.
Simon looked at you quizzically. “Why am I the only one naked right now? Surely you’re not gonna shower in your clothes.” You stepped inside the shower, letting the water run over your head, careful to avoid letting it hit your left shoulder.
Simon’s eyes squinted, and you knew he was smirking behind his mask as he removed the rest of his gear and dumped it on the ground next to yours. As always, his mask was the very last thing he removed. No matter how comfortable Simon was with you, and no matter how many times you’d seen him without it, there were certain insecurities that were too deeply ingrained. The last piece of Ghost removed, and only Simon stood in front of you.
Simon stepped in the large shower with you. Grabbing a face washer and pouring body wash on it, he gently helped scrub off the dried blood that had made its way down your torso. He shampooed, conditioned and brushed your hair, knowing you couldn’t lift your arm to wash any dried blood that had knotted in there. Once you were clean, you grabbed the other face wash and carefully, with your good arm, moved it across his chest and abdomen. He watched as you gently made circles on his large shoulders and down his muscular arms.
You wrapped your good arm around the back of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. “Don’t be too long,” you smiled as you stepped out of the shower and wrapped yourself in a towel.
Walking to the dresser, you pulled out some clothes and attempted to get dressed but you couldn’t pull the shirt over your head. You sighed, and sat on the bed resignedly, still in your towel. You heard the shower stop running, and Simon stepped out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist.
“Here,” you beckoned, reaching for him. Simon came to stand in front of you, standing in between your legs. You leaned forward and kissed his stomach, feeling the warm skin beneath your lips raise with goose bumps. You tugged on his arm, pulling him down towards the ground. He knelt, still between your legs, and leaned forward to bury his face in your neck. Almost a whole foot of height difference between the two of you, yet you were the only person who could bring Simon Riley to his knees.
Your good arm snaked its way around his broad back, tracing his spine, down to his hips to the edge of the towel. You heard Simon’s breath quicken, still lightly kissing your neck, when your fingers made their way around to the front of his towel and tugged it loose, letting it fall to the floor.
You lightly brushed your fingers down his stomach and over his navel, until you reached the base of his shaft. You felt Simon’s breath hitch as you gripped it in both hands.
“Bell..” he groaned.
“Mmm?”
He brought his mouth round to yours, kissing you deeply. His mouth trailed back along your jaw to your ear. “Why am I the only one that’s naked?” You felt his smirk against your cheek as he repeated your line back to you.
“Maybe you should fix that,” you whispered back.
Simon wasted no time in removing your towel and throwing it across the other side of the room. You laid back on the bed as he trailed kisses down your chest, taking a nipple in his mouth and thumbing circles around the other. Your hands threaded themselves through his thick hair as you massaged his head. Simon’s hands followed his head as he made his way down your stomach and down your navel, his hands gliding over your hips and massaging up and down your thighs.
You threw your head back and moaned in pleasure as he buried his face between your legs, his mouth sucking and licking at your clit. You gasped as you felt one of Simon’s fingers enter you, then two, and he slowly picked up a rhythm as his mouth and fingers worked in synch. You could feel your walls begin to tighten as you got closer to your orgasm.
“Stop,” you gasped. Simon looked up quickly.
“Did I hurt you?” He asked worriedly.
“Not at all,” you tugged at his arm so he pulled himself so he was hovered above you. “I need you in me right now,” you purred as you pulled his head down, his lips crashing to meet yours.
You reached down and grabbed his length firmly, stroking it. Simon’s eyes glazed over with lust as he moved his head back to your neck. Guiding him, you positioned him at your entrance.
“You sure?” he asked huskily. You knew he was teasing. He knew exactly what you wanted.
“Yes,” you breathed.
You both groaned with pleasure as he entered you, filling and stretching you out. Simon set a slow pace at first, until he was sure you had adjusted to him, then quickened the pace. His hands moved to your waist as he slammed into you, holding you in place so you didn’t move around too much. He pulled your legs over his shoulders and you gripped his forearms, lost in pleasure.
Simon leaned forward and your legs dropped to his waist. He took one of your breasts in his mouth. You moaned in ecstasy as he hit the sweet spot inside of you.
“Simon.. I think I’m gonna-” you gasped.
Still inside of you, Simon pulled you on top of him as he rolled onto his back. “Not yet, you’re not.”
“Owwwww!” You winced as the action pulled tightly at your left shoulder.
“Fuck! Sorry! You okay?” He asked worriedly.
“Yeah,” you moaned as you picked up the pace again. You brought your legs either side of his waist and pulled his hands to your breasts as you lowered yourself onto him, taking him completely. Now in control, you could feel every movement and every angle as you took him deep inside you.
Simon gripped your breasts firmly as he felt your walls begin to tighten. “C’mon, darlin’,” he groaned. “I’m not far off, myself.”
“I’m gonna come,” you whined. You rocked your hips back and forth and threw your head back as your walls clenched around him. You rode your orgasm out, and heard Simon groan as his own orgasm erupted into you. You fell on top of him, exhausted and satisfied.
Simon gently rolled you off him and onto the bed as he got up to get some water. Your eyes followed him, appreciating his finely sculpted body as he walked to the sink in the ensuite, grabbing a glass off the nightstand and filling it with water. He met your eyes as he walked back to the bed.
“What?” He asked bashfully as he handed you the water, aware of his nakedness.
“You’re beautiful,” you smiled drowsily, taking the glass.
Simon chuckled. “Are you sure you’re okay? They must be some strong drugs they gave you.”
“Hmmm... never better” you sighed as you handed the water back to him. Despite what you said, sleep was already pulling you under.
Simon leaned in and kissed your forehead.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
565 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Writer (Tommy Shelby X Fem.Reader) - Part One
Warning - SMUT (eventually)
Request? Yes
Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @peakyciills @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @noctvrnalmoth @ysmmsy @cloudofdisney @lauren-raines-x @namelesslosers @misscarolineshelby @screemqueen @cilleveryone @peaky-cillian @misselsbells06 @heidimoreton
You looked in the mirror, straightening out your dress and taking a deep breath. Your boss David, who also happened to be your older brother, had arranged a meeting with you in the offices of the Birmingham Herald at 6pm sharp.
On the way there, you couldn't help but marvel at how you'd ended up here. Your husband had died two years after returning from war having suffered severe injuries, and after you'd taken on his job at the Herald while he was away fighting, falling ill on his return and subsequently dying, your brother, the editor, had kept you on so you weren't destitute. It was against all the principles of the time, a woman working, but your brother never once allowed the other men at the newspaper to talk down to you. You were the best storyteller and strongest journalist they had on the books and he would always have your back. The other men had grown to look at you as a sister almost - you were blessed to be in the position you were in.
Arriving at the Herald, you made your way to David's office.
"Y/n, I'm sorry to call you in this evening..." He smiled, embracing you and offering you a whiskey which you gladly accepted.
"I never have evening plans David, you know that. What was so important it couldn't wait til morning?"
"We've had an incredible offer and I want you to be the one to report it. The story is made for you."
"What is it?"
"Thomas Shelby has agreed to an article on his life to date!"
"Thomas Shelby? As in the Peaky Blinders?! Not a fucking chance David..." You recoiled in horror. You knew the man's history very well, you'd gone to school with his younger brother John and the stories of the Peaky Blinders were infamous. You hated the man - the thought of interviewing him mad your stomach turn.
"This story could launch your career into the big time Y/n! Think about it! The most secretive, elusive man in the country wants to tell his story to you!"
"To the Herald."
"No, y/n, to YOU. He asked for you. By name."
"How the hell does he know my name?" You'd written your articles under a male pen name so as not to distract readers from the content. Not all men were as modern as your brother and coworkers.
"No idea, but he specifically asked for you."
You mind turned - no one knew you worked at the Herald. You'd kept yourself to yourself, even moving out of Small Heath after your husband passed away. You'd lost touch with John just before he went off to war. There was no connection to the Shelby family at all.
"The reason I dragged you in at 6pm is because he wants to make a start today. This evening actually, there's a car picking you up in 30 minutes."
"David!! I can't do this interview for goodness sake, I'm not even close to prepared!"
"You have 30 minutes! Pull your finger out!" He laughed.
You'd crammed as much as possible in that 30 minutes as you could - your mind was whirring at 70miles per hour when the silver Bentley pulled up outside. Glaring at David, who simply smirked in response, you got in the car as the driver greeted you.
"Arrow House ma'am, won't take long to get there," the driver smiled as you asked him where he was taking you. Arrow House? His home? Why would the most secretive man in Birmingham want to meet you in his sanctuary?
************************************************************
Pulling up outside the huge mansion, you couldn't help but be impressed. The gardens were immaculate.
A middle aged lady greeted you at the front door and offered to take your coat. You smiled and handed it over, as she led you through to the dining room. You took the seat she offered.
"Would you like some tea Ms. Y/L/N?" You nodded, and she signalled one of the younger maids to action.
"Mr Shelby will be with you in a moment, please make yourself comfortable," the lady smiled warmly and headed out the door with your coat. You looked around the room. A large painting on one wall of the man himself with a large horse. There was a smaller picture on a cabinet just underneath that caught your eye. A beautiful blond woman, with piercing eyes and a loving smile, holding a small boy in her arms. You didn't know Thomas was married, let alone had a son. The house didn't seem to have much of a feminine feel to it though, it was borderline drab in its decor.
"My wife, Grace. And my son Charles." A voice behind you startled you, and you turned to see Thomas himself walking towards you, a glass of whiskey in one hand, a cigarette in the other.
"She's beautiful, Mr Shelby. And your son is adorable," you smiled, but he didn't return it.
"She certainly was." Your eyes grew wide as the realisation of what he'd said sunk in.
"Oh I'm sorry -"
"No need. It was a long time ago. Shall we get this over with Ms Y/L/N?" You nodded and he led you out of the dining room into a smaller one - clearly an office. The large oak desk sprawled out in front of the bay window. You took your seat opposite his at the desk and pulled out your pen and pad as he poured himself another whiskey. You shook your head when he offered you one, drinking the tea the young maid have brought in to you instead.
Your questions for him were simple at first. You asked about his childhood in Small Heath. His schooling. His childhood friends. Pretty much all one word answers, driving you insane, until you asked about his brothers.
"You knew John, didn't you?" He asked.
"Yes. Same year at school."
"Sadly, he's no longer with us. Shot by the Italians last year." You heart dropped - you heard through the grapevine that John had children and a wife and the news hit you like a freight train. You took a breath and a moment to compose yourself.
"I'm so sorry Mr Shelby..."
"I'm sorry too, I didn't realise you were so close?"
"We were close before the war. Lost touch after that."
"I don't remember seeing you with him?"
"My father wouldn't let me see him, so we had to be careful.."
"You and John were..."
"No no.. god no! Just friends Mr Shelby." He went quiet again, and sipped his whiskey.
Back to the questions. Mundane as they were, you needed them to get the full story. He wasn't forthcoming with the details. You had to really press him, but he spent most of his time drinking his whiskey and looking out of the window at the dark clouds rolling in outside.
"Listen, Mr Shelby, you clearly don't want this any more than I do so please, if you don't mind, I'd like to end the interview here." Your voice was stern, patience had officially gone out of the window he was so fixated with.
"Jack said you were feisty." You froze at mention of your late husband's name.
"How did you know Jack?"
"We served together in France. Good man."
"Is that how you knew my name?" He didn't answer, just nodded, again watching the weather changing quickly outside.
"Storm looks bad."
"If I leave now I should be fine." The first rumble of thunder made you jump, Tommy noticed your fear instantly.
"Scared of storms?"
"They used to scare Jack.." a second rumble had you grasping onto the chair.
"Stay until it passes." Was that a request or an order.. you weren't sure but he took your hand gently and led you into the hallway away from the window, into the main dining room again.
"Frances, have the curtains closed please." He spoke to the older woman who greeted you at the door and she dutifully obliged, closing the curtains in the large windows.
Tommy sat you at the table and gave you his glass of whiskey, your shaky hands accepting it this time. Every thunderstorm brought flashbacks of Jack's terror filled eyes.. his anguished cries of pain.. and ultimately the sound of the gun he placed at his temple before he took his own life. You took a sip of the warm liquid as Tommy sat beside you, a fresh glass of his own in his hand.
"Jack saved my life."
"He did?"
"Yes. We were underground digging.. we could hear the Germans on the other side of the dirt digging towards us... They broke through first and grabbed me. Jack beat them to death with his hammer to get them off me." Tommy's memory made you smile, and you laughed gently.
"He was always brave.. and strong. Put everyone else first. He never told me.."
"He never wanted praise, it was just part of his job. In return.. I said if anything happened to him I would make sure you were looked after."
"What?"
"The men at your office? They're under my watch. They respect you because you're a damn good writer, but they also know if they gave you any shit..." He raised his eyebrow and you couldn't help but smile. Even after his death, he was making sure you were okay. That was the Jack you wanted to remember.
"In that case Mr Shelby, I thank you."
"Call me Tommy eh? Here's to the bravest man in France." He clinked his glass with yours and you felt him almost begin to relax.
"I noticed a piano in the hall - do you play?"
"I did as a boy. My mother was a keen player, I used to watch her all the time. Gave it up after she died."
"I played for Jack all the time. It soothed him when he couldn't sleep." He smiled, a warm genuine smile that you couldn't help but return.
You'd spent the evening drinking whiskey and talking with Tommy, the whiskey hitting you much quicker than it did him, and you could feel your eyelids growing heavier.
"I have a spare room upstairs y/n, maybe stay tonight, I'll have my driver take you home in the morning." He stood before you had chance to argue and you followed him up the stairs.
He led you into a beautiful bedroom, the decor in here much more appealing than downstairs and the large oak double bed even more so.
"I don't want to impose Thomas..."
"That storm isn't letting up any time soon, and you're exhausted. You're welcome to stay. There's fresh clothes in the wardrobe. My wife was the same build as you, they should fit. I'll have my driver take you home at 7am. Goodnight Y/n..." His blue eyes lingered on yours a moment and you felt a rush of something you hadn't felt in a long time... Scaring you. Quickly looking away, you bid him goodnight.
#tommy shelby x smut#tommy x fem!reader#tommy x y/n#thomas shelby x you#thomas shelby x reader#thomas shelby x smut
248 notes
·
View notes
Text
Infected/Undead Boyfriend (Ryan Chen) 3 (FINALE)
Support me on Ko-fi!~ - Patreon
Part 1 - Part 2
Warning: some language. Long chapter ahead!
When It Rains, It Pours Part 3 (FINALE)
It was always raining in November-– or was it now December?
It was hard to tell: the rain had turned harder and harsher, solid ice and snow fell across what was desolate and overgrown lands, where the city life grew smaller, a distant reminder that they still hung in an area. The coating of snow grew harsher the more the days passed, and bitter was its storms and winds to you and your surroundings.
How you managed to get out before losing yourself was an amazement to you and those of your rescuers.
"Hey, five minutes before we depart—you good?"
You blinked lazily, back to the surrounding sounds that were not of the dead crawling and walking on the grounds, of laughter and joy that you had missed and forgotten the sounds of. You remembered where you were: the warmth of the fire spreading across your limbs as you looked up from the floor, a hand in reach for you to take.
Justin was the first and the only one you had really spoken and befriended who wasn't a relative to you, a friend you shared rum and morbid chats with when the two of you were on night duties, staring up at nothing by the sky. He was cute: brown hair and eyes, pretty smile, but he was just another hole filled.
'Okay, okay, humour me with this,' He asked you when the blizzard was raging outside of your camp, the howling winds rattling against the iron doors. 'If you could take anyone with you, in the world, where would you go and with who?'
There was only one name that came to mind that night, the lines of your face creasing as you smiled sadly. 'You'll have to let me think about that one.'
"You good, tiger?" You took his hand as he hauled you up to your feet, dusting away the snow from your worn jeans. "You seem... out of it. You can tell me, I can get someone else to do this if you're not feeling up to it."
"No, it's fine, I'll be out in five." There was a haunting, dreadful pause from Justin, observing you silently when time didn't seem to go any faster, before he nodded, heading out of the hall, his distant figure fading through the groups of crowds waiting.
You gathered your things slowly, fumbling with the leather jacket, dipping your fingers into the deep pockets, fumbling with the smooth edge of the card still occupying it. Never did it seem to lose its feel, thankfully. Get a grip on yourself. You sighed, securing your knife into your boot. Three years... three fucking years and you still mourn.
The snow had settled once you had been brave to face it, crunching satisfyingly under your boots each step you took to the stables, waiting there was Justin and a few others you didn't take time in memorising their names.
"You ready?" Justin asked, strapping more ammo into his backpack. "Help yourself to some more. Heard there's infected up north from here roaming. Potentially they could come down."
"Yeah, thanks." You grabbed a large bar, stuffing it away before paying attention to the black stead you had named Diamond. "Hey, girl. Ready to stretch those legs?"
The beauty snorted almost in reply, a genuine smile gracing your features when you had clamoured up, mentally and physically preparing yourself for the arduous journey that would take place. An hour away from the Jackson base was the Crow's Nest: the barren hub used to scout the area, to keep eye on roaming hordes.
"The snow has settled, but with it, the dead grow. Watch out for yourselves, keep close to the path and don't stray." Justin gave final warnings before you all set off, the large electric gates of the once well-known powerplant creaked open, a vast, vicious cold greeted you the moment you stepped out.
The journey left you frozen and missing the heat from indoors, reminding yourself why you had gone out in the first place was to get away from everyone, but now you had dearly missed the sweet sight of civilisation creeping back to normal. I can be back and everything will be fine. You told yourself, and you foolishly believed it.
When you finally arrived, there were little dead who had managed to get through the other side of the pen, and taking them out was no issue. The base on top was all but a cosy place: desolate, reeking of decay and too cold. When you finally reached the windows that showcased the cast white outside, did you finally breathe out in somewhat respite.
"See that out there, that's the city you came from, right?" Justin pointed out to what looked like nowhere, but even where the sky and snow met with vast starkness, there was still an outline of a desolate and barren city, broken and crumbling skyscrapers still reaching to the chilling sky.
It was miles out, you realised, but the routes out were like a maze on its own.
"Don't tell me you're thinking of going in there for fun?" You asked, the man beside you rolling his eyes exasperatedly. "You would have to be fucking insane to want to go back in there."
"Even so, what kept you sane?"
The name you so missed to say was on the tip of your tongue, memories that swept through your mind nearly brought you to tears. Maybe, in some reality, the two of you could've been that couple, living out your days in a decaying city, filled with dead, going down as the world would never miss you. But in some ways, it was for the good. You blinked the tears away before any could fall.
"Faith, a hell of a lot of it." The winter sun was dead as well as the last of those memories. "I'm done with it, done for good."
In the distance, when the snow settled quietly, a dull, thunderous cry, followed with the faint sounds of bangs going off, a chorus that never seemed to quieten, only did its cries grow louder and louder, until-
"Infected have made their way into the bunker!"
You turned with Justin in surprise, the thuds of gunshots and its chambers thudded in time with your heartbeat, rousing the adrenaline as you moved like clockwork to make your way back down, back into the darkened, gloomy hallways so narrow it barely fitted enough, but now stood with both humans and dead.
Even war has never looked like this. There were bodies already, a mixture of dead taken down and those who had fallen, bleeding to the ground in puddles, eyes frozen and bodies stiff. "Come with me down to the east wing." Justin guided you away from the onslaught, away from the crowded corridors as the two of you run further away from the noises.
"You know how many they'll be?" You rasped, trying to steady your breathing, the grip on your knife straining your fingers.
"I don't know," Justin answered. "But whatever you do, don't think recklessly. You're a strong fighter, so don't think about dying."
"I could say the same with you." You stopped when you stopped outside the double doors, slightly ajar and smeared blood wiped across the handles and door. "You ready?"
No. You thought. I don't even want to be here. "Yes."
The door was opening wider before you could realise: the noise loud and shrilled, as were the following, inhumane cries and shrieks that followed. Through the darkness of the room: the boiler room, you could see, maybe four or five dead, twitching and grotesque.
And two of them charging towards you both.
Justin made light work of the largest one, leaving you to deal with the other, all snarling and baring its mangled, blackened teeth. You reared back as it did too, causing you to collapse into the wall but not fall, supporting yourself and keeping its head from coming any closer to the flesh of your face or neck.
You struggled for what felt like forever, until you kicked it as far away from you, shoving it into Justin's grip as you charged, using your knife to lodge it into the jellied head, one final cry came before its head slumped, black blood seeping through.
"Good job," Justin let it drop against the wall. "A bit quieter would've been better though."
"Yeah, thanks though." You caught your breath, iron in your throat when you exhaled, feeling like knives stabbing you a thousand times, not helping with the cold of the room. "Shall we continue onwards?"
"We could take down the rest of these- Hey, watch out!"
You turned in time to hear the raucous grunt of something collide into the side of you, causing you to stumble, crashing into the boiler behind you, the wind knocked from you with such force, your vision dotted. "Shit!" Justin shouted from the darkness, and you could hear the struggle, gunshots and more animalistic roars. "Justin! Are you okay?"
"Go! I'll distract it!" You heard his retreating voice, the heavy footsteps follow before you had time to catch the large creature leave, a dreadful smell of mildew and rotting flesh filled your nostrils, almost making you gag.
"Fuck." You grunted to stand, head dizzy, aware that the noises and clicks were coming from the rest of the dead in the surrounding area you shared with them. "Shit!" Quickly, you picked up the blade fallen, dodging the remaining dead as you continued in a haze through to the back of the room, hopping over the wall to get through to the bunker. The sounds of the dead never faltered, sounding all around you and nowhere at all, limbs shaking, clothes drenched not with water.
I'm going to die, I'm going to die—I'm fucked, I'm fucked. You tried to keep moving, but you kept running into dead ends and parts cornered off, leading you to believe that there would be no way of escaping.
Something scampered in your peripheral, large and skinny, you braced for the worst when its shadowed body crawled around in the dark, closer and closer. You pulled your gun out, trying to steady your breathing and keep an eye on it. It didn't move like any of the other dead—perhaps a new one you weren't aware of.
You decided to try and take a shot, the bullet ricocheting off a pipe and exploding with gas, letting out and creating a thick, never-ending mist that you found hard in trying to see through. There was the sound of shoes scraping against the floor, someone running towards you and grabbing you, and you screamed, their face guarded as you tried fighting them off you, away from the floor so they wouldn't have full control over you.
Your fingers gripped the gun, reminding yourself to not let go of it, and you finally- after some struggle- kicked the creature in the stomach, letting it stumble back as you finally tried to take another shot.
In the mist that was fading slowly as you tried to focus, the legs of the figure finally appeared, a full body appearing like someone of a horror film, head turned from you as you squinted to whatever was standing in front of you, your time to take the shot faltering.
"Ryan?"
The lithe humanoid figure was as dishevelled as you could recall once he twisted his torso to look back on you. A distant memory that floated in your mind, of peace and tranquillity, it now stood in front of you as some bitter, warped illusion. He was everything you remembered of him, the same clothes but now wearing a different jacket to the one you still wore in honour, his hair seemed longer, more messy and unkempt, strands pulled out from the bun, guarding his soft, unsteady dark eyes. He looked thinner from the last, a walking apparition whose skin was washed pale and bruised black and blue, his cheeks hollowed and eyebags darkened.
"Oh, god," the grip on the trigger loosened shakily, eyes dotting with sudden tears. "It's you, isn't it? I'm not fucking dream, am I?"
The man didn't seem responsive at first, playing into the belief he was some sort of hallucination after all, but his mouth opened, a quiet voice answering. "Yes, it's me."
The noise that left your parted lips was shaky and warbled, a string of tears flowing down your cheeks when everything slowly fell apart. "Why," your words were twisted and you fumbled clumsily. "Why... why did you leave?"
He was silent, the hard struggle in understanding what he was thinking. He seems… ashamed. You thought, watching his shifting eyes. You watched the pain that didn’t seem to be hidden beyond his eyes, even when he spoke. “… You belonged with them, not me.”
“How would you know that? I—you could’ve come with me, Ryan. We’re an open community, we can help you-”
“No,” his voice was strained, his eyes more red than usual. “I can’t be fixed.” He lifted his black t-shirt, the skin bruised as his face had been, inflamed and almost maimed. “I was bitten.”
“But you didn’t turn.”
“No,” his smile was soft, downturned. “Perhaps turning would’ve been the better option. But I live with these decisions. You need people, not me.”
“Ryan,” you took a hesitant step towards him, still, the tears fell. “Do you know I still think about you? Even after all these years.”
“No,” he laughed silently, his eyes glassy and cold. “I did too. A lot.”
“Please, please come with me. I promise you, we can help you—we could fix you.”
Ryan watched, not showing signs of moving away from you as you slowly made your way to him, outreaching your hand for him to hold. Just… just to hold once more, to feel him again. How you craved it like it was a lifeline.
“I—I can’t describe how I’m feeling right now.” His words were hushed when you were close to him, feeling his breath fan against your wet cheeks. “You don’t have to describe anything,” you murmured. “Just… let it happen.”
He leant into you first, his lips were warm and memories swarmed in your mind like you were drowning. His being, his smell: so sweet and inviting, your memories were swelling and rising, bringing a feeling of levitating, back to a time when you felt loved and needed. Back in his arms in an excluded room, forgotten altogether but in each other’s arms.
When you pulled away, he leant his forehead against yours, warm and damp from cold. “I missed you so.” He muttered softly. You had so many thoughts, too many emotions that everyone argued with things they wanted to say before the other. But the same thing was in your mind, replaying over and over again.
It plagued you, as you took his hand into your own, squeezing as if your life depended on it. “Ryan, I-”
Your words were there, masked and clipped from the noise that came from in front of you, a large reverberating noise that was sharp and rung, smoke appearing as Ryan stumbled forward, allowing you to catch him. He was limp, colder than usual and not from the cold. He was shaking, muttering something in a quiet, weak voice, but you couldn’t hear him, even when you flipped him carefully, seeing his mouth open and close, you looked up in time to witness the devastated eyes of someone you wanted to forget.
“Get away from it,” Justin’s words were followed by him stepping closer between the two of you, gripping your shoulder. “You’re lucky I came in time. I heard gunshots, I got worried-”
“You shot him.” You weakly said, frozen and still holding Ryan, the grip on him still tight and there for him to know you were still holding onto him, keeping him safe.
Justin seemed as confused as he tried lifting you off the ground, “I’m trying to help you, that thing-”
“Stop it. Stop it!” You swatted his hand away sharply, reaching around to hold and stabilise Ryan, the shot to his stomach was bleeding profusely, soaking through your fingertips. “He’s dying, he’s fucking dying.”
“Hey, hey, what—” he said your name, shaking you out of the breakdown. “It’s infected—look at me, what do you mean?”
“I love him, Justin! I know him, I know him! Ryan Chen, he’s not one of them!” You were blubbering and muttering constantly before your eyes landed on Justin’s, wild and red and sore. “Help me, please, I can’t lose him again.”
Justin hesitated once more, before he urged himself forward, peeling the heavy bag from his back to bring out the gauze and wrappings, whilst you sat and remained rigid, and you wished you could’ve stayed where you had been, to begin with.
-
You noticed now, how quiet things could be when you were left with just your thoughts, alone in the world when you pushed so many away. Your fingers were knotted together tightly, wrung together in a tangle when you fidgeted, nothing to distract you from the unknown time ticking.
“Hey, you’re the girlfriend of “Ryan”?”
You looked up to the woman who had come through to greet you in the small waiting room, blinking away your thoughts to be back with the present. “Yeah, yes… how is he doing?”
“He just came out of surgery and is in a stable condition.” Relief was one of the emotions you were feeling, but it was hard to explain anything else at that moment. “You can go in to see him shortly.”
“Thank you.” A gentle hand pressed into your shoulder, squeezing encouragingly. “Hey, he’s gonna be okay. He seems strong.”
“He is,” you uttered sadly. “He’s a fighter.”
-
“Ryan! Take it easy! We’ve got all night!”
Your laughter was bubbling, easy and light, as you were led down the long path, where the trees grew in size and foliage, grew thickest, hiding your bodies as you ran beneath the moonlight. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”
“We’re almost there.” He was not as out of breath as you had been, but his smile was bright and blooming, skin radiant as if he was reborn. “I’m not dragging you back to get more stitches.” The two of you stopped eventually, continuing at a brisk pace until you reached the end of the hill, watching over the once city the two of you had resided in, distant yet glooming.
“It… it still looks like shit as I remember it to be.” You exhaled, looking over Ryan from your right side. “That place still holds a lot to remember, don’t you think? The outbreak, the deaths, the burning of bodies.”
“I got to meet you.”
“You did,” you squeezed his hand encouragingly. “After I fell through the ceiling. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.” You shared a laugh, all thoughts aside when you stared across the distance. That city did hold some darkness and pain to you, but you knew that you would get out of there, not as one, but as two.
#zombie boyfriend#zombie apocalypse#zombie apocolypse au#Modern Monsters#infected boyfriend#infected boyfriend x reader#infected monster exophilia#monster exophilia#gn reader#gn reader x male monster#monster lover#male monster#infected monster x gn reader#part 3#finale
181 notes
·
View notes
Text
Here Comes the Sun: XX. More Than A Feeling (Daryl Dixon/Reader)
Series Masterlist: Here Comes the Sun
Summary: Daryl Dixon scares the hell out of you climbing out of that damn creek. It takes hauling his ass halfway across Georgia and taking a bullet for him to realise that you're not half bad. He slowly starts to come around, despite grumbling about how much he doesn't like your singing, or that you can't use a gun for shit - and don't get him started on that ugly yellow tent of yours. It takes him a while before he starts to see for himself that he's found a best friend for life, and that he doesn't actually mind the colour yellow that much, after all.
Words: 6480
Chapter Warnings: Language, Violence, Injury.
Your head pounded like an alarm clock you couldn't shut off. The explosions hadn't done any favours for your tinnitus, either. The high-pitched ringing noise was constant, and only intensified the more you tried not to focus on it. Even now that everything had settled down, it still seemed like you could hear walls crashing around you, or feel the vibrations as the stone crumbled and settled at your feet.
Except, it wasn't brick walls that were sending shock waves over the ground; it was Daryl's footsteps as he paced. You could feel them through your own boots, and sent him a look to try and coax him to sit down.
"It's a sprained ankle, Daryl. I didn't lose my leg." You said gently, before someone cleared their throat.
You looked down at Hershel, who was in the process of wrapping the bandages, and winced as he raised an eyebrow at you.
"Sorry." You muttered, awkwardly.
Everything had gone mostly to plan. The governor and his men had been driven away, and the others had returned from Woodberry with even more survivors. You hadn't gotten the chance to see them yet, but the ruckus drifted up the stairs and you could feel the marching of the stampede as though they had been part of the army themselves.
The prison remained standing, albeit missing a watchtower and seeming a bit dilapidated in a few places - but your home was once again yours. You'd sacrificed so much for it. Lori, T-Dogg, Axel, Oscar, and Merle had all lost their lives just so that you could sit here now, complaining of flesh-wounds and mild injuries like they were the most perilous problems you could face.
Daryl didn't seem to agree, however, and narrowed his eyes at you - or more specifically, at the bandage wrapped around your head. You'd taken a bit of a fall, but it wasn't like you'd cracked it open. Though, that didn't stop the man from treating you like Humpty Dumpty - trying to fix all of your pieces despite them not actually being broken.
"I don' care!" Daryl yelled, and you felt Hershel flinch as he made another pass with the bandages.
The man slung his crossbow onto the mattress, and you felt the bed dip beside you from the weight of it. His face was all scrunched up into a scowl, and you wanted nothing more than to hold it in your hands and bring his cheek to yours.
"What the hell d'ya try an' pull tha' for?" He asked, but this time his voice had lost its fight. "You could've gotten yerself killed." Daryl said quietly, like it almost killed him to say, too.
The older man stayed silent as he continued to do his job, and you felt guilty for having let him get caught up in this.
"But I didn't." You reminded Daryl, before shooting a light-hearted smile his way. "Certain victory, remember?"
Your eyes glanced down to his hand, and at the shoddily drawn rune you'd given him with a sharpie earlier in the day. He didn't say anything back, but his pacing had stopped - and he looked straight at you as you spoke.
"And although the governor got away, don't you think he'll be easier to find with a bullet in his shoulder?"
If you had anything to show for your injuries, at least it was that. You offered a teasing smirk to the man - one that probably made him wonder if you had a concussion.
"I think I know a pretty good tracker, too." You joked, nodding in his direction.
Daryl didn't smile back. You watched as the man took a seat next to you on the mattress, and noticed the way his eyes rested on Hershel as he tended to your injuries better than he could have.
"Ya should've followed the plan." He mumbled, so quietly that you barely caught it.
You let out a sigh, unable to hide your guilt. Daryl had an expression you'd only seen him wear once before, and you didn't like it in the slightest.
"I had a clear shot." You reasoned timidly, like you were trying to convince yourself of your words.
You had done; it was true. Except, you should have taken a moment to consider your actions. You thought that you were in fact the hypocrite - since when the time came, you'd been the one to shoot first, and ask questions later.
"If my aim was a little better we wouldn't even be having this conversation." You told him, and offered a sheepish smile alongside it. "I'm sorry I missed."
Hershel tightened the knot as he finished wrapping your foot. You lifted your leg and outstretched it to examine his work. Tentatively, you wiggled your toes, and thanked the man when you felt no pain in doing so. Daryl sent a nod in his direction too, before turning back.
"I don' give a damn if ya missed." He told you, barely above a whisper.
Hershel ushered himself out of the room as quietly as he could manage, trying not to intrude any longer. As soon as he'd left, Daryl let his head drop onto your shoulder, and you could feel his warm breath over the crook of your neck.
"I only care tha' yer alive." He admitted, mumbling against the skin there. "I can't lose you, too."
You leant back against the man. He seemed so downtrodden, but for the first time since the farm, you felt safe. You remembered that first night after you'd cleared the prison, sitting out in that field around the campfire. You'd asked him then if he thought this could be your home. Now, you decided, it was.
"Have more faith in me, Dixon." You told him, and stroked his hair - letting your nails run along his scalp gently. "I think I must be pretty hard to kill."
Despite the head injury, the events of that morning were as clear as day to you - as clear as the cloudless sky had been when you all took your positions. The strategy had been to ambush them when they came, and you had been the one to dissuade Rick from utilising the watchtowers.
"They'll be their first target." You'd said, and luckily he had listened.
You and Daryl had been checking the guns, before deciding to take one last walk around the perimeter. You'd scouted their vehicles en route to the prison, so you knew it was only a matter of time before all hell would break loose. The day was otherwise serene, and you hoped that once all of this was over you'd get the chance to revel in the sunshine and celebrate your certain victory.
You smiled over at the man, remembering what you'd wanted to tell him. The two of you were checking for breaches in the fences, making sure that the governor's men couldn't infiltrate from anywhere you wouldn't expect. You watched as Daryl pulled on the lattice wire to make sure it was secure, and you slipped your hand into his other, free one.
He gave you a subtle glance, but didn't make any sarcastic remarks in return. The two of you walked hand-in-hand alongside the fences, as though you were going on a mundane, morning stroll in the sun. It was silent, and you both seemed to just bask in the peace whilst it still lasted. Though, once you had gone full-circle, and had ended up back where you'd started, you stopped in place.
You fished around in your pocket and pulled out the sharpie you'd scavenged from Glenn earlier in the day. Daryl looked at it suspiciously, but let you do as you pleased - just like always. Carol had noted how much of a soft spot the man had for you, and you couldn't even deny it at this point. The two of you had woken up entangled in each other this morning, and it had taken you the better part of half an hour to coax him to let you get up. You could tell he was scared of what the day would bring. Despite claiming to be a man 'not scared of nothing,' you knew that Daryl Dixon was afraid of one thing above all else - and that was losing you.
"Give me your hand." You instructed, and pulled the cap off the top of the pen with your teeth.
The man eyed the permanent marker, before looking down at your interlocked hands.
"Yer holdin' it." He grumbled, and you rolled his eyes at his dry humour.
"The other one." You clarified, pointing in the direction. "It needs to be on the same side."
You took his hand in yours before he had time to question you further, and pressed the sharpie to it. You drew the simple pattern, watching as the ink bled out slightly over the cracks in his skin.
It was the same rune of Týr that you had tattooed on your hip - the one Daryl claimed 'looked like an arrow.' He stared at it once you'd finished, stretching out his fingers before balling his hand into a fist. Maybe it was a little childish to want to wish him luck in this way, and you thought that Daryl was a man quite capable of victory by himself, but you'd wanted to do it nonetheless.
"Look, we match." You exclaimed with a smile, but the words felt familiar on your tongue.
Daryl must have thought so, too, as you saw some kind of recognition flash behind his eyes. Then, you remembered it. The memory washed over you like a wave coming onto shore. It had been back on the farm, where you lay next to each other on that springy, double bed. He'd had an arrow wound in his side, and your bullet hole matched it nicely. You'd pointed it out to him with a grin, too doped up on medication for your own good. It felt so long ago - back when you'd been more young and naive to the world, and he'd been more angry at it.
"I guess some things never change." You admitted, and you could tell that he understood.
You felt him squeeze your hand, and looked back down at the semi-tattoo you'd drawn haphazardly.
"An' other things do." He replied.
When the first explosion rang out, your mind immediately thought back to that moment. The front left watchtower had been decimated, just as you had predicted, and the tanks began to roll in through the field. Whilst some of the group were hidden away in the prison interior, waiting to ambush those who came in, you stayed outside with Maggie and Glenn - ready to catch any stragglers who made it back out.
Daryl hadn't wanted you to be in the thick of it, and you could tell why. From the looks of it, the governor's army was partially made of toy soldiers. From your position, you could make out young boys and girls barely through their teenage years, and adults who looked like they had never held a weapon before. You would have found it hard to kill them - even if you needed to.
From your hiding place, however, you couldn't see the governor. The group was too dense, and he was probably lurking somewhere in the middle - just like the coward he was. You stared down the scope of your rifle, trying to get a better view. All around you, you could hear the sounds of crumbling stone, and the flicker of flames as they burned the tower to the ground. There had only been a couple of warning rounds shot at the building, but they'd done more damage than you were comfortable with. You just hoped that Daryl and the others were alright inside.
The whole thing seemed to last a couple of minutes at most. As quickly as the group had entered the cellblock, they were forced back out in a shroud of smoke and gunfire. Maggie and Glenn had their guns aimed, but it looked to be a clean retreat. The govenor's makeshift suicide army had all turned back, and were fleeing into the forest - so you didn't shoot at them.
That had been the plan anyway, until you caught sight of a familiar eyepatch and the man who wore it. You jumped up from behind the bushes like someone had set them alight, and ran over to the wall for cover. Maggie and Glenn shouted at you, but you continued until you reached it. It was part of the fence you'd reinforced with steel, and you ducked behind it to peer through the gunhole.
The man was returning back to the tank, mowing down anyone who got in his way. You stared through your rifle scope, finger hovering the trigger. You would have pulled it, but a civilian got in your line of sight at the last second.
"Shit." You whispered, below your breath, and slung the rifle back over your shoulder.
You hopped the fence and started running, making your way to the blazing watchtower that was set alight like a torch. The base was still steady, and it provided good cover whilst allowing you to move in closer. The calm summer's day had been transformed into a warzone in a matter of minutes. Shouts and gunfire rang out around you as you dashed to the burning building. When you reached it, you quickly ducked down and pressed your back to the stone as you set up your rifle.
It hasn't been part of the plan; you knew that. Though, you didn't just want to let the man walk free, either. If you weren't the one to do it, it would be someone else - perhaps Rick, or Michonne, or even Daryl. You wanted to pull your weight, especially if it meant that their shoulders wouldn't have to bear the burden of it.
The tower creaked and groaned above your head, and your eyes quickly glanced upwards to catch sight of the flames that licked the sky - creating an amber haze that resembled sunset. You ignored the sound, and locked onto the governor once again. This time, he was clambering into the vehicle, and you knew that it would be your last chance. Your line of sight was clear, and so you let your finger squeeze the trigger - and felt the jolt of the gun as it hit back against your shoulder.
The bullet connected, and you watched the man stagger backwards. He turned to face your direction, and your gazes caught for a split second - like you could see it all unfold in slow motion. Then, you heard a crash, and time resumed as normal.
Glass shattered above your head and fell onto you like jagged raindrops, and the stone debrid came following like lightning after it. The tower shifted, and you watched it crumble for a brief moment before the adrenaline kicked in. You abandoned your rifle and jumped up, starting to run in the opposite direction. Rubble came pouring down and bounced over the concrete at your feet. You felt small pieces nick your legs, but continued to sprint as you heard Maggie and Glenn call your name in the distance. You couldn't outrun the collapse, but you'd managed to dive behind one of the fences just in time to shield yourself.
You'd squeezed your eyes closed as the tower fell, and huddled your knees to your chest to protect yourself. The stone structure made the most almighty crash as it caved to the ground, and suddenly the courtyard was completely shrouded in dust. It wasn't until the smoke cloud had settled and you recognised figures emerging from the fog that you realised you'd made it.
Your head stung, and you pressed your fingers to your temple only to notice that something had drawn blood there. You must've been struck by some stray piece of rubble, you thought. You were a bit dazed, but you could make out voices clearly as they shouted your name. You recognised one in particular, and your heart sped up in response.
"C'mon, Teach!" Daryl yelled, but you couldn't pin-point where from.
You tried to call back, but your throat was dry and your voice barely made its way out of your lips.
"Can ya hear me?" He shouted again. "Call out to me if ya can hear me!"
Clearing your throat, you tried again.
"Daryl!" You screamed, and this time it resonated. "I'm here!"
You noticed a shift in the fog, and figures got clearer as they made their way through it.
"I'm over here!" You yelled again, your voice breaking over the words.
The man came running over to you as soon as he could tell where you were. You'd been hidden behind the sheet of metal, sat amongst a pile of debrid, but he still found you. You could feel the fresh blood trickling down your forehead, but you wiped it away with the back of your hand and sent him a watery smile of pure relief. Daryl took in the sight, and the way your foot seemed to be turned in an awkward angle beneath you - and his eyes widened.
"What did you do?" He asked, rushing over to your side in an instant.
You looked back at him with an equally dumbfounded expression.
"I shot him." You admitted. "I shot the governor."
After Hershel had left your cell, you and Daryl stayed sitting on the mattress together for a little while. You let him rest his head over your shoulder, which soon turned into lying on your chest as you both slumped back into the pillows. It was a little different from what you were used to, but you held his head and stroked his hair gently. You thought that he needed the comfort, and you were fine with being able to return it for once.
Maggie and Glenn had informed you that they'd seen everything go down - and that you'd actually hit the governor in the shoulder, rather than his chest. It was a bitter disappointment, but they'd reassured you that you'd still done a good job - after they'd given you a scolding, that is. You weren't entirely sure what had possessed you to do it - to abandon the plan. Maybe it was the images of a beaten Glenn and an inconsolable Maggie that you weren't able to rid yourself of, or perhaps it was the nightmares you had of cowering beneath Axel's body. More likely, it was the recent death of Merle, and what it had done to Daryl as a result. Whatever it was, you didn't regret it. The governor had deserved everything that was coming for him, and you'd just happened to be the one to pass the sentence.
Daryl's eyelids seemed heavy, and his breathing had evened out. You knew that if you didn't rouse him now, he'd probably fall asleep within a matter of minutes. It was selfish, but you didn't want that. You wanted to celebrate your victory - no matter how certain it had been.
"I'm sorry, Daryl." You whispered, and gently moved his hair back from his face.
The man inhaled sharply, and you watched his eyes flicker as they adjusted to the light. You let out a soft chuckle, which you were sure he could feel resonate through your chest.
"Can you help me down the stairs?" You asked sweetly, hoping to coax him awake. "I want to meet everyone."
He'd already carried you out of the rubble once today, but you hoped he'd be generous enough to lend you an arm as you hobbled down the metal steps. Daryl sat up and stretched his neck side to side before glancing over at you, his eyes immediately resting over your bandaged forehead to check it was still alright. You offered a smile to reassure him, and eventually the man nodded in return.
"It's gonna get a lot nosier 'round 'ere." He grumbled, but it didn't sound like he really minded.
Daryl had your arm slung over his shoulder as you both attempted the stairs. His other hand was on your waist for support, and he waited patiently as you took each step - going along with your pace. You'd heard the commotion from your cell, but nothing could have prepared you for the sheer amount of people that had been brought back from Woodberry.
As your foot hit the final step you were greeted by an unexpected round of applause, interspersed with the occasional cheers. You almost stumbled back in shock, but Daryl caught your arm before you could trip.
"There she is!" Glenn yelled over the crowd. "Our suicidal sniper."
You shot Daryl a side-eye glance, but the man just shrugged in response. Your gaze ran over the unfamiliar faces as they smiled, or looked at you curiously, and you suddenly felt inadequate in comparison. You stood leaning against Daryl in your dusty clothes and bandages, and sheepishly lowered your head as they stared. Eventually, Daryl shooed them all away, warning them to 'get out of your face.'
It made you laugh, and you aimed some teasing remarks in his direction - pestering him if he'd like to become your bodyguard. The chatter buzzed around you like nothing you'd ever heard before. Even in the old world, the atmosphere couldn't compare. You didn't know how long it had been since you'd even laid eyes on so many people at once. You knew that you'd have to clear out some other cell blocks just to make room for them all. This was the start of something; you just knew it.
Someone called your name from amongst the fray, but Daryl didn't stop ushering you over to a nearby seat. You whipped your head around in confusion, but continued to shuffle along until you had the opportunity to sit down. He leant against the table next to you, resembling a diligent guard dog. Daryl was the most loyal man you'd ever met, and everyday he reminded you not to settle for anything less. You wondered how anyone could ever come close to him - past or present. Your ex had been a mere speck of poorly-chosen dust in comparison to Daryl Dixon.
The man seemed to be able to read your thoughts, as he glanced in your direction with perfect timing - causing you to look away. You heard your name through the thick of the crowd again, and this time tried harder to locate the source. Only a few seconds later, someone emerged from the centre of the room, pushing past everyone so that she could get to you.
The woman had neat brown hair to her shoulders, and was wearing a sundress that looked like it had been recently pressed. All of the former Woodberry inhabitants looked clean, but she definitely stood out due to how beautiful she was. Her eyes were a warm coffee colour, and her smile was bright as she looked over at you.
You choked on your words, immediately standing up only to stumble into Daryl's shoulder. He quickly got a hand under your arm to steady you, but had a disapproving expression on his face as he did so.
"Vanessa?" You spluttered out, and she gave you an excited nod in return.
Daryl barely had time to step aside before the woman bounded up to you and flung her arms around your neck. She squeezed you so tightly that you forgot how to breathe, but you hugged her back with the same force - clasping your arms around her back.
You were utterly speechless. The last time you'd seen the woman, the two of you were witnessing the complete horror of your camp being destroyed. You'd looked for her in the days following, but she'd seemed to simply disappear into the night. You hadn't even thought she'd made it out alive. She'd been your colleague before all this, and then your campmate. But, most importantly, she'd been your friend.
You stared at her as she pulled away, and she giggled at your dumbfounded expression. Her smile was as pretty as you remembered, and you suddenly felt pale in comparison to her rosy cheeks and honey complexion. She was as quick-witted as ever, and wasted no time in regaining her composure to tease you like you'd never even spent any time apart.
Daryl watched in silence, not wanting to interrupt, but you could tell that he was starting to put the pieces together.
"You were the one who shot him?" She asked, as though in utter shock.
She had her hands on either of your shoulders, and looked you up and down before settling over your one foot that you kept hovering above ground.
"Yeah." You replied sheepishly, and glanced off to the side.
The woman slapped your arm in disbelief, and Daryl shot her a warning look that made you snort. She looked over at the man, too, and raised an eyebrow.
"What on earth happened to you?" She questioned, meeting your eyes this time.
You stared at the floral pattern of her sundress, secretly wishing you had something equally as pretty, and shrugged.
"Well, I hit my forehead and sprained my ankle-" you started, but the woman cut you off.
"I don't mean that." She remarked, with a disapproving tone.
She sounded the same as she did on those days you'd spend your lunch breaks together, or go and get coffee at the local shop - trading gossip and work secrets. She grinned at you mischievously, and it didn't go unnoticed by Daryl.
"Where is the timid girl who sang 'Yellow Submarine' to us from her tent every night?"
The man beside you was the one to laugh this time, and you jabbed him with your elbow in response.
"I really do miss that tent." You mumbled under your breath, and thought you could hear Daryl weakly protest below his.
Vanessa eyed the two of you, and her mouth upturned into a grin you recognised all too well. It was the one she wore when whispering to you about cute baristas, or when sliding her number across the bar.
"And who's this?" She said, in a tone that was equally as familiar.
She turned to face Daryl, and gave him a quick once-over like she was checking for any visible flaws. You couldn't contain your laugh; she always did lack subtlety.
"This is Daryl." You told her, and slipped your hand into his. "My-" you paused, furrowing your eyebrows as you did, "boyfriend?"
It came out like a question, and Daryl snorted uncharacteristically from beside you.
"'M too old for tha' word." He grumbled, but it was still light-hearted.
You took the opportunity to have some fun, and pressed your chest against his arm as you got closer to his ear.
"What do you want me to say, then?" You asked teasingly. "My partner? Sweetheart?"
The man seemed completely taken aback to hear you call him anything besides 'Dixon.'
"My other half? The old ball 'n chain-" you continued, but were abruptly interrupted as he shrugged you off in embarrassment.
"D'you wan' another head injury?" He asked - a little too quickly and a lot too loudly.
Vanessa laughed her usual dainty laugh, and you'd almost forgotten that she was even there. Daryl's cheeks were dusted a light pink, and you knew he would remind you of this later when you were alone.
"You two are good together." The woman spoke, causing you to look over in her direction. "I'm glad you found someone in all of this."
You gave her a shy smile, before looking down at your feet. You'd never been good with compliments, but she always seemed to have an abundance of them to give.
"After everything you've been through," she went on, this time glancing over at Daryl with a look that could only be described as approval. "You really deserve someone who can make you happy."
Happy. That is what this feeling was. You'd almost forgotten what the word meant, but you were suddenly reminded. Daryl had made you feel a lot of things since you'd met him - first a lot of nerves and sometimes even frustration, but eventually it became comfort and security. However, you realised that all along there were moments of happiness. Even back at the farm, the man never did fail to make you laugh - intentionally or unintentionally. Whether it was his dry sense of humour, or the wise-cracks he'd make in those days where he seemed younger, and more willing to fight the world.
You looked over at the man like you'd only just come to the most obvious of realisations. Daryl Dixon made you happy - like nothing else had before.
As the night started to settle down, the atmosphere fizzled away along with it. Everyone had taken to their temporary sleeping arrangements, and you could tell that Daryl was holding back his yawns as he helped you clamber over the people left chatting on the floor. The day felt like it had gone on for a week, and you couldn't wait to just sink into bed and let your bandaged head meet the pillows.
Across the block, you spotted Rick talking to some of the new residents, and urged Daryl to return to the cell ahead of you. The man glanced down at your foot and then back up to your eyes, as though needing to state the obvious. You shook your head, telling him that you'd get Rick to help you up the stairs once you were done. You just wanted to talk to the officer briefly, and didn't want to keep Daryl up any longer than he needed to be.
He didn't seem entirely convinced, but he left you propped up against the wall where you instructed him to. His stubbornness had definitely rubbed off on you, you'd realised, and he could hardly attempt to fight against it.
"Deputy Grimes!" You called, once Daryl was out of ear-shot. "Get over here for a second."
The man looked up from his conversation, and you watched him excuse himself before making his way over. He looked equally as exhausted as the rest of you, and stepped heavily over the stone floor. Still, he gave you a small smile as he approached, and squeezed your shoulder.
"You did good today." He drawled, praising you for the second time tonight.
You rolled your eyes and slapped his chest with the back of your hand.
"Don't let Daryl hear you say that." You warned, with a teasing look. "I could have died, remember?"
You'd said the words in Daryl's Southern accent, impersonating the man the best you could. Rick laughed in response, and you quickly glanced over your shoulder just to double-check that the archer wasn't still looming there.
"Never knew him to be so uptight." The officer replied, and you shrugged.
"He just needs a good night’s sleep." You explained, glancing over at the staircase leading to the second floor. "I think we all do."
Rick especially seemed like he was dead on his feet, but he held it together well. You couldn't imagine the pressure he felt having to keep everyone safe during times like these. You wanted to ease that burden a little, or even just throw some distractions in the mix to make him forget about it.
"Anyway, I heard that Glenn found a camera at Woodberry." You started, watching as he raised an eyebrow at you.
A few hours ago you'd hijacked it, and briefly kidnapped the Grimes children for that photoshoot you'd been threatening. The polaroid had turned out even better than you'd hoped - and you had almost been tempted to keep it for yourself.
You pulled the picture from your pocket, careful not to bend it, and passed it to the man. His eyes squinted as he looked at it, flat atop his palm. Both Carl and Judy were sporting their sheriff's hats, and the older Grimes had his sister perched on his lap.
"Thank you for everything you've done for us, Rick." You told him, and watched as he brought the picture closer to his face. "I'll never forget how you were always there for me."
It was rare that you ever saw the man speechless, but in that moment you were sure you saw a glimpse of the same Rick Grimes you'd first encountered back at the farm - that officer friendly who would give anything for his family.
He shook his head wordlessly, before tucking the picture into the inside pocket of his jacket.
"You don't give yourself enough credit." He said quietly, before slinging one of your arms around his neck. "And I don't think you ever will."
You returned to your cell soon after that, bidding the officer goodnight at the door. He gave you a quick kiss on the cheek before reminding you to change your bandages in the morning. You laughed in response, wondering why all the men around you treated you like glass.
The room was quiet as you ducked under the sheet hanging at the doorway, and you shuffled inside. Daryl had lit the small lamp on the table, and it cast a warm, golden glow over him where he lay. He had his eyes closed, but you noticed he had your headphones on - connected to the walkman that was left at the edge of the mattress.
You could hear the faint din of the music as some sound escaped, and slowly made your way over to the bed - not wanting to startle the man. He was still fully dressed, and had his arms tucked under his head as he lay on his back. You didn't think he was asleep; rather, he seemed to be waiting for you.
You knelt down onto the mattress, feeling it dip beneath your weight as you crawled up beside him. He didn't react, so you pulled one side of the headphones from his ear, and brought your lips close to it.
"Boo." You whispered, and blew hot air there to make him shiver.
This time he cracked an eye open, and pulled you down beside him gently. He continued to be mindful of your head, and plumped a pillow up for you to lay on. He then removed the headphones, and twisted the ends of them so that the speaker parts were facing outwards.
You chuckled at the action, suddenly thinking back on your childhood where you'd share a pair with your friends. Daryl placed them in the space between the two of you, so that you could both listen to the songs together. You heard something by The Beatles play muffled, and closed your eyes to take in the melody.
The two of you talked briefly, and sleepily, for a bit. Daryl grumbled about you using him as a makeshift crutch for the majority of the night, and you just hummed in response. You caught him glancing over at you every now and then, but he made no attempt to pull you closer like he usually would have. You knew it was because of your head; he didn't even have to tell you.
"Hershel said it might leave a small scar." You told him, like it was a secret you felt needed to be disclosed.
You didn't really mind all that much, but you knew Daryl had a tendency to look at you guilt-stricken whenever he saw you injured. You just wanted to warn him - just in case.
"Like Harry Potter or some shit?" The man mumbled, and you rolled your eyes.
"Maybe." You replied.
The chatter downstairs had settled, and all that remained was the tinny sound of the music that quietly played near your ear. You swallowed thickly, staring up at the ceiling to see the uneven cracks that marred it.
"Will you still love me if I have a gawdy scar over my forehead?" You asked teasingly - but a part of you felt nervous to hear the response.
Then, your eyes widened as you realised your choice of words. You sat up, immediately feeling the blood rush to your head as you did so.
"Wait-" you stuttered, noticing the man's expression. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"
He cut you off before you could finish.
"I will."
You blinked, but he pulled you back down to him - this time letting you lay your head gently over his chest.
"Know I ain't said it before, but-" he paused, "I love ya."
His heartbeat pounded quickly against your cheek, as though proving his words.
"I love ya so goddamn much, so don't ever pull that shit on me again."
You felt tears start to well up in your eyes, and hoped he couldn't feel them dampen his shirt.
"I love ya - you crazy woman who shot the governor an' took a bullet for me."
You swallowed thickly, trying to hide the wateriness of your voice as you responded.
"I love you too, Dixon." You admitted, wondering why you hadn't done so before.
You'd loved the man almost as long as you could remember; but it was one thing to love, and another thing to be loved in return.
"I won't let anything on this earth take me away from you." You mumbled against him. "You don't have to worry about that."
Daryl breathed in deeply, and you moved along with the rise and fall of his chest. This is what happiness felt like, you decided. Happiness wasn't as perfect as you had once thought it to be - back in the old world. It wasn't that amazing job, or the hard-earned paycheck, nor was it the men who called you pretty whilst giving you an ugly stare. Happiness for you was now walking around the perimeter of a dingy prison, hand-in-hand, as you stared up at the morning sun preparing for a fight. Happiness was those nights you'd stay awake, listening to the laughs down the hall of Maggie and Glenn as they whispered about their future together, and noticing that Daryl was eavesdropping, too. Most importantly, happiness was the man who you woke up next to, and the sound of his voice as he told you 'good morning.'
You looked down at his hand, resting on his chest, and saw the ink there that had smudged throughout the day. The walkman finished its tune, and there was a brief, few-second silence before it skipped to the next one. A familiar melody rang out, and Daryl placed a careful kiss over your hair.
"I like this song." He whispered against you, and you nodded in return.
"Yeah, me too."
A/N It took 20 chapters, 120k words, but they finally exchanged their ‘I love you’s.’ I think it was obvious that they already loved each other before this, but hearing them say it out loud just-
Send me a message if you want to be added or removed from the taglist!
Tag List:
@xxboesefrauxx @youhavemyfantasticbeasts @teel-dinosaur @speakinglikeconstellations @bunnymother93 @alularae3 @death-becomes-her @royaleclown @alex-sulli @julesmalek @fuseburner @riverscyberwife @browneyes528 @julesclues @diaryofkali @solinarimoon @ssonia13 @phoenixblack89 @srhxpci @jocyc1997 @bvbwestfall @graniairish @bitchynicole @whitexwingedxdoves @potatochic2003 @suranne-doesstuff @witch-of-letters @sweatywildpanda @daryldixonstorm @btsiguess-kpop
#twd imagine#the walking dead imagine#daryl dixon#daryl dixon fanfic#twd fic#twd fanfic#twd daryl#daryl dixon imagine#the walking dead fanfic#twd fanfiction#the walking dead fanfiction#daryl dixon fanfiction#daryl fanfiction#daryl dixon x reader#daryl x reader#daryl dixon x you#daryl dixon x oc#daryl dixon x y/n#daryl x y/n#daryl x oc#daryl x you
242 notes
·
View notes
Text
Acts of Devotion
👀 i um 👉 👈 i hope this is okay...
Akaashi Keiji x Female Reader
TW blood, gore, violence, murder, dub con, nsfw
Akaashi loves you.
He’s known that for a long time now, probably from the very first moment he laid eyes on you, back when you were both just wide eyed first year uni students, wildly out of your depths.
A lot’s changed since then. For one, he now gets to call you his, and it’s his arms that you return to at the end of a long day, his house that you both live in. It’d be a lie to say that it doesn’t bother him that he wasn’t your first love, but he’s contented himself with the knowledge that he’ll be your last. Your only great love.
The only one that matters.
But it hasn’t been without its challenges. He’s learned a lot about love since those early days, about what it means to truly devote yourself to somebody, to give everything you have for them.
Love essentially boils down to two things, Akaashi’s come to realise - sacrifice, and forgiveness.
You always look so beautiful when you’re sleeping. Of course, Akaashi thinks you’re beautiful all the time; when you’re smiling and laughing, when your face is screwed up in petulant anger, when those pretty eyes of yours well with tears and they glimmer and shine - but there’s something about the peaceful expression, so soft and unguarded when you’re asleep that inexplicably draws him in.
There’s a part of him that wants nothing more than to stay, to reach out and brush away the hair that’s fallen across your face, pull you closer and let sleep drag him under, but he can’t.
Not tonight.
Instead he cranes his neck to press a kiss against your lips, a small smile tugging at his lips when you let out a quiet mewl in response. He loves you so, so much… that’s why he has to do this.
He’d forgive you anything. You know that, don’t you?
Sure, it hurt him when he found the messages. Scrolling back through your text history, it was like somebody had grabbed him by the throat and plunged a knife into his gut, twisting it for good measure.
Kaito i don’t know what to do
i love him but lately it feels like idk he’s being a little controlling i guess?
… but maybe i’m just being paranoid?
He knows it’s not entirely your fault. For all the amazing qualities you possess, you are remarkably naive and so very, very impressionable - which worked to his favour in the beginning, he’ll be the first to admit, but now…
Now it’s becoming a problem.
You haven’t realised yet that everything Akaashi’s doing - it’s all for your own good.
Your family wanted you under their thumb. They always asked too much of you, guilt tripped you whenever you tried to stand up for yourself or set boundaries. They’d never be happy for you, not truly. It hurts, he knows that, but some people don’t deserve to be in your life, especially when they treat you like that.
Your job was causing you stress, and your boss was an arrogant, nasty piece of work. His salary is more than enough to support you both, why put yourself through that if you don’t need to? Aren’t you happier now that you don’t have to trudge into that office every day and pretend that it isn’t making you miserable?
Your friends were bad influences. Jealous of your relationship for one, but they were also petty, self absorbed and vapid, always trying to drag you down to their level so you wouldn’t ever outshine them. You’re better off without them, why can’t you see that?
Akaashi’s the only one you’ll ever need.
And he really thought that he’d solved that little problem, but apparently not. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised that out of all of them, Kaito’s the one who’s been the hardest to shake. An old friend of yours from high school, Akaashi had known within five minutes of meeting him that he was head over heels in love with you and had been for a long, long time.
He can’t blame him for that. You’re beautiful. Perfect. Entirely his. It’s painfully obvious that even before he came into the picture to sweep you off your feet, you’d never so much as looked twice at the guy. So Akaashi was more or less content to let his somewhat pitiful one sided crush on you slide. Considering that he had absolutely no intentions of letting him or any of your other friends remain part of your life for much longer, it was hardly worth wasting energy thinking about.
Until, that is, he read the messages that Kaito’s been sending you.
Leave him
I’m serious.
My sister had a friend who was with a guy like that. She had to get a restraining order because he wouldn’t let her go - it got scary… You can come stay with me. I don’t want you getting hurt :(
It’s that last one that bothers him. Not the attempts to lure you away from him under the guise of being a safe haven from your ‘dangerous’ boyfriend, painting himself as your knight in shining armour - mildly irritating if not a little amusing - but for putting the idea in your head that Akaashi would ever hurt you.
That he can’t forgive.
He won’t have you look at him with fear in your eyes.
Akaashi’s never tried to deny that side of himself, but he’s kept it from you, locked it away and buried it deep. The things he does… you’re too pure for that. He loves you, loves the way that your eyes still soften when you catch sight of him, the warm, trusting naivety that bleeds out of your every pore. If you knew what the hands that caressed you so gently had done, would you still beg for his touch?
You wouldn’t, he knows that just as he knows that even if you were to uncover the truth, he wouldn’t let you go. He can’t, you’re his.
Is it really so selfish of him to want to preserve that innocent naivety?
But it seems like now he’ll have to indulge once again, and Akaashi, really, truly can’t say that it bothers him. Killing other people has always thrilled him, made the blood in his veins race… Killing other people for you, oh, that’s going to be a whole other level of pleasure he can’t wait to explore.
The pads of his fingers trace the curve of your jaw for just a moment. “Back soon,” he whispers, gracing your cheek with a feather light kiss.
You’ve never asked why the door to the basement locks from both sides, he doesn’t even think you realise that the walls are soundproofed. Tonight he’s grateful. You won’t wake up, he’s almost positive of that, but Akaashi has no desire to be gone from your side for any longer than absolutely necessary.
He usually prefers to take his time.
His first kill was more of an accident than anything else, there was too much blood, he panicked and it was over in the blink of an eye. There wasn’t time to savour it, to really enjoy the sight of the light leaving their eyes, the weak, desperate struggles and whimpers, the tantalising fear that inevitably bleeds into the air, growing more potent by the second - even the strongest break eventually. He’s learned since then how to draw it out, how to have fun with his work.
But he doesn’t have that luxury tonight, and, as he keeps having to remind himself, this isn’t about his pleasure.
Guns are quick. Messy. Akaashi’s never really taken a liking to the crude, graceless weapon. He prefers his knives.
Waving a gun in somebody’s face gives them the idea that they’re going to die, and there are only so many times that you can shoot somebody before they just… bleed out. It’s not nearly as satisfying a death. A knife, on the other hand, brings with it more opportunities. It isn’t death that his victim becomes worried about, at least not initially, but pain. And as his hand glides over his collection, Akaashi decides that Kaito is due for a little pain.
I love him, you’d texted. I love him. I love him. I love him.
That’s what he’s trying to protect.
Long, pale fingers wrap around the handle of his chef’s knife, (eight inches, sharp - a familiar, comforting weight in his hand) and he takes a deep, steadying breath.
Kaito’s mouth is taped shut. Akaashi doesn’t want to hear a filthy word out of those lips. His hands are bound behind his back, his ankles tied to the old, wooden chair. He’s good with his knots, the more Kaito struggles, the tighter they pull. And judging from the ugly, purpling shade of his hands and the tears leaking from bloodshot eyes, he’s been struggling for a while.
Good.
Akaashi smiles as he strolls towards his captive audience, fingering the straight edge of the knife. Kaito doesn’t try to speak, but the muffled whines and sobs grow louder with every step closed between them. The fear and tension in the air is palpable.
His breath is little more than a frantic wheezing by the time Akaashi stops in front of him and drops into a crouch. Cool, gunmetal blue eyes meet Kaito’s deep brown ones, blown wide with terror.
“I’m not the monster you think I am,” he admits quietly.
Looking up at him from beneath long, dark lashes, a faint smile on his lips, Akaashi could almost pass for an angel if not for the gleaming kitchen knife in his hand. Kaito pales, his entire body going taut as his gaze slides from Akaashi’s face to the gleaming blade in his hand. He shakes his head in desperation, another muffled scream escaping his gag-
Akaashi strikes fast, like a viper. The blade plunges into the meat of Kaito’s thigh and without an ounce of mercy, Akaashi yanks it back towards his knee.
The scream that rips through the air sends a pleasurable shiver of warmth down his spine, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips as he feels the muscles beneath him convulse. The gash isn’t too long, maybe a few inches, but it’s deep and Akaashi’s smirk only grows as warm blood gushes from the wound, coating his hand in slick vermilion.
He tugs the knife free, rewarded with another choked howl from his captive as more blood sprays. Bound to the chair, there’s not a whole lot of room for Kaito to move, but it’s somewhat amusing to watch him try to thrash, escape the white hot agony radiating from his thigh through his entire body. It’s hard for the human body to comprehend that level of pain, and from experience, Akaashi’s well aware that it won’t take long for his body to go into shock and simply shut down from the blood loss, and once that happens, he won’t be of much use to anyone.
Kaito’s trembling, face pale, his skin clammy. Impossibly black pupils swallow his irises whole, erratically tracking his captor’s every movement as Akaashi pushes himself to his feet and takes a moment to study him. Tears and bubbles of snot leak in a disgusting mix down his jaw, dripping onto his lap as he sobs against his bindings. It’s pitiful, seeing a man reduced to a whimpering, terrified wreck, but as the hand still holding his knife grips at his chin and yanks his face closer, Akaashi can’t help but gleefully drink it all in.
Your would be knight in shining armour doesn’t look quite so strong and capable now, does he?
Akaashi doesn’t have much time left to make him suffer, but he can’t seem to resist trailing his fingers along Kaito’s injured leg, digging them deep into the ruined muscle - grinning wildly when he convulses and screams, arching up off the chair.
There’s still so much that he’d like to do. He toys with the idea of taking his tongue, of carving his knife deep into his skin just to watch him whimper and bleed… but no. This isn’t about indulgence. This is about you. He has to have more discipline than that.
Dangling on the edge of consciousness, Kaito meets his gaze one last time. Maybe he senses that his death is close, or maybe he’s just searching for a last minute reprieve, mercy from the cold blooded killer before him. Terrified, agonised, delirious from the blood loss, he tries to speak - a plea, he thinks, or maybe just incomprehensible babbling, but his eyes burn into Akaashi’s, desperate and hollow.
Akaashi’s never been one for theatrics. He won’t waste more time monologuing while your friend clings to the last vestiges of life. If Kaito hasn’t guessed by now the reasons he’s ended up here, at Akaashi’s mercy, he’s far less intelligent than he gave him credit for, but he supposes that he owes him something, at least.
“I love her,” he says with a small shrug, as if it explains everything.
And maybe it does.
It hardly matters though, as Akaashi decides to finally end it with a vicious slice across his throat. Blood sprays like a fountain, splattering across the room and drenching him, Kaito’s body slumps in his seat, the last flicker of life slowly snuffing out, and Akaashi revels in the pure, sweet euphoria that floods his system.
He’s never killed anybody while you were home with him before. Normally he’s methodical, quick to clean up whatever mess is left behind. Tonight though, Akaashi doesn’t have the patience for all that.
He should at least take a shower, rid himself of the blood that soaked him to the skin, but the call of your arms, the sweet, soft floral scent he longs to drown himself in beckoning is too hard to resist. He sheds his clothes, casting them aside haphazardly along with the bloody knife as he stalks down the hallway to the bedroom. His heart is still racing, excitement drumming through his veins as he crawls onto the bed and slides the covers off of you.
Dimly, he registers that this is a monumentally bad idea, but all he can think about is the vivid memory of the light leaving Kaito’s eyes and you. Tonight, he killed for you, and it was exhilarating.
He doesn’t think he could stop himself even if he wanted to, and why would he want to?
You’re perfect, beautiful - his. Nothing and nobody will ever be able to separate the two of you, he’ll kill anybody who tries.
You stir a little as Akaashi’s lips graze along your skin, his fingers sliding the silk of your nightgown up over your hips.
“‘Kaashi?” you sleepily murmur, trying to blink heavy eyelids open.
He wonders if you can feel the way his bloodstained hands are trembling as they ease your supple thighs apart. “Shh, baby,” he presses a kiss against your leg as he manoeuvres himself between them, “It’s okay, go back to sleep.”
Let me take care of you.
He needs this.
#yandere haikyuu#yandere akaashi x reader#yandere akaashi#yandere akaashi keiji#yandere akaashi keiji x reader#tw blood#tw violence#tw murder#slasher-ish vibes#tw dub con#just a little#not super proof read because it's 3:30 in the morning
674 notes
·
View notes
Text
Their Doll 11
Silent scream
B.Barnes x Stark!Reader, S.Rogers x Stark!Reader
series synopsis: y/n Stark, all records of her non existent, and yet Hydra still find her. When she is kidnapped by a certain super-soldier and no one believes her, she finds herself searching for unexpected familiarity in her not-so-distant past.
Series Warnings: smut, violence, torture, swearing
Chapter Summary: y/n gets shut up
Warnings: mentions of violence, swearing
A/n: The timeline in this has been altered, as there I things I wanted to include but I also wanted this fic to follow the storyline/timeline of Winter Soldier and Civil war.So for purposes of this fanfic, Peter Parker was discovered by Tony at a much younger age - when he was bitten - and has been an intern with him since, almost like a protégée.(For the purposes of this story Peter was bitten much younger too - more like when he was 9 or ten rather than 14/15)
Masterlist | Series Masterlist
"Fuck you." I snapped, mustering all the saliva I could before spitting it at his face. He flinched back when it splattered over his cheek, his fingers swiping through the spittle before he was shaking it from them and standing back to his full height.
"It appears this one is never going to cooperate. If she won't give us information, why let our experimentations on her possibly...benefit the girl the the future?" The general spoke menacingly to the guards behind me. "How about way find a way to shut her up?"
My heat thudded so hard in my chest it was like someone was punching me from the inside, all air knocked from my lungs before I was being hoisted up to my feet again with two rough grips on my upper arms. My chest heaving, I coughed a ragged breath before composing myself. The glint of the silver blade in the corner of my vision sent my eyes bugging out of my skull and my mind into a flat panic.
So, I did what any rational person with my capabilities would do. I began to hum the deep melody - one a seldom sung - and a smirk crawled its way onto my now curved lips. Clearly, the general was prepared, but the two guards behind we weren't so lucky.
A desperate cry pierced my tune, harmonising with my voice as I heard the havoc I was causing. This was the first time I'd enjoyed a kill, the very first time I'd wanted to use my powers for such a horrific reason. I'd only ever used this part of my power a few times, but this was the only time I'd been fully lucid whilst doing so.
Some people want nothing more than to blow their enemies' brains out, and trust me when I tell you; It felt good.
However, luck was never on my side, and the General had come full prepared. He wasn't even affected, it must've been something to do with the funny earpiece he was wearing.
As my eyes met his, the General's face held non of the cocky, smug tones that I'd expect. No, the only word I could use to describe his old and crinkled features was pure ire, and it was directed at me.
"You conniving, vile little bitch!" He snarled, the flash of silver weeding a sense of utter and complete dread, tangled with fear inside of me, uprooting my confidence. I don't remember a lot after that, to tell you the truth. I know the blade sliced along my throat. I know everything was rained black. And that's about it.
...
Awakening with a gasp was the last thing I expected to happen. The sight of the blade risen in front of the general burned into my mind, almost as if it'd been scorned against my flesh. But here I was: awake, gasping for breath, completely surrounded by doctors I'd never seen before.
My hand instantly flew to my neck, a stinging sensation pulsing from the delicate skin. I hissed as my sweaty palm made contact with the bandage, the material corse and scratchy against my skin. As a doctor waddled over to me, needle in hand, I flailed desperately, a silent scream ripping from my throat.
Hang on a second-
Silent scream? I tried again, the shrill noise that should be tearing from me simply vanishing as it hit my throat. My eyes widened with the realisation, my bottom lip wobbling as I suddenly pieces together what had happened.
He said he'd have to shut me up, didn't he? The thought made me want to scream loudly, that the blade had touched my skin and left me with no defence.
They took away the hell they'd reigned upon me, something I'd wished I could be rid of for years, and now I was disappointed. Maybe this was their plan all along, that little voice in my head sang. The tears pricked at my eyes, which rolled back lazily as the scratch of the needle poked at my neck.
...
My calloused fingers ran over the cut tirelessly, trying to itch somewhere that I could never seem to find. I don't know how long I was sedated for, but since waking up the bleeding had stopped and there was now an offensive red line that slid horizontally across my neck.
Every time I touched it, it coaxed a wince from me, and yet that's all I seemed to do. It was like poking a bruise, I guess. The more it hurts the more you want to do it.
They'd returned me to my cell, clearly very little need for restraints against my weakened, starved and dehydrated body. I could see the flesh thinning on my arms, my ribs pressing painfully against my skin. Not only could I see the hunger, but I could feel it.
Manifesting, biting, gnawing hunger. The type that are you from inside out, devouring everything of you until the only thing you could think about was eating. Huh, I guess I was already at that stage then.
My eyes remained locked in place, glossy with the endless tears as I stared at the floor. If I really looked hard enough, the still wet blood smeared over the floors of the hallway resembled something close to strawberry jam. The thoughts of the sickly sweat substance spread over a perfectly toasted piece of bread, accompanied with a big glass of fresh orange juice and washed down by a large coffee made my mouth water. The booming rumble in my stomach made the groan, even more drawn out than expected when I remembered all I'd get to eat today: a small bread roll and a tiny glass of water.
Sadly, the sink in my cell did not contain drinking water. The liquid was so discoloured that I purposely avoided washing me hands, preferring to possible have my own germs coating my hands than whatever they were giving me. I'm not kicking you about, I genuinely think the water was filtered through a clump of fucking horse shit, mixed with fish guts and complimented with a hint of rotting fruit. If I could help it, I'd be dodging that water like the plague (if it didn't contain one already) for the rest of my life.
I'm not really sure why, but my head snapped up in surprise why the door sprang open, a single guard entering.
"The general requires your presence." He deadpanned, eyes cold as eyes and sharp as a knife as they stabbed through me. I wanted to fight back, stay glued to the spot and snap back some snarky remark, but in my current condition I almost couldn't bring myself to care where I was about to be taken, or why for that matter.
I stood without a word, silently following the man until we reached an unfamiliar metal door. I found it almost laughable, really, that they'd reduced my strength so much, that no one even considered putting me any sort of restraints anymore.
The door was pushed open with a child-like whine emitting from its rusty hinges, the metal scraping over the concrete floor painfully. The guard simply grabbed my arm before tugging me into the room, letting the door shut behind his with a hollow thunk.
"Ah, she has arrived!" The general's voice exclaimed, a deviant smile spreading over his thin lips. "And just in time to meet Mr Pierce, too." He said menacingly.
I felt embarrassed, exposed, stood before the room of men. My hair was a mess, tears streaking my reddened face, eyes puffy from crying and the only clothes a wore was a now-battered hospital gown. My eyes darted around nervously, trying to avoid the blonde man sat before me, chin resting in his palm as he surveyed me.
"Why is this one...important?" The man asked, eyeing me up and down before his eyes seemed to fixate on my neck. The scar.
"This," the general spoke, but Mr Pierce kept his eyes on me, "is Miss y/n Stark." Mr Pierce's eyes widened ever so slightly, but it was barely noticeable.
"As in Tony Stark?" Pierce pondered.
"The very same." The general smirked.
"She seems awfully...quiet, for a Stark." Pierce said with almost a hint of disgust, eyes still glued to my shaking frame.
"That's because we shut her up." The general snapped, awfully harshly.
"Is that the scar? How fresh is it?" Pierce jabbed his questions, curiosity clearly becoming him in the moment.
"Indeed. Our doctors here are very good, Sir. They had her all patched up and out of bandages in just three days." The general bragged, shoulders back and head held high as if he was posing for a portrait.
"I see." Pierce mused, brows furrowed in thought. "What do you plan to do with her? Now that she can't tell you anything?"
"Oh, trust me, sir. She wasn't giving anything up either way," he paused, striding over to me and yanking my head back with a fistful of hair, my back mow pressed to his chest and his mouth at my ear, "isn't that right, sweetheart?"he clarified, and I didn't hesitate to nod my head as much as his grip would allow.
"So why isn't she dead?" Pierce gritted, seemingly annoyed. "It's not like Tony's attached to her, he never looked for her and I've never even heard him mention her."
"But then they'll keep coming. I don't want the avengers on my back, and I'm sure you don't either." Pierce hummed in agreement. "She's with them - her and that Captain America guy arrived together - so why not use her to send a message?" The general suggested.
...
That's how I found myself tied up, wrists bound and gun to my head as I sat shakily in a chair in the middle of the quinjet. I had no clue how long I'd been since that day, but I do know that I had been sedated once again. The flimsy hospital gown allowed a shiver to chill me, skin forming goosebumps as I sat before the open door or the quinjet.
"You will tell them exactly as I just did. Got it?" The general pressed, pushing the gun into my head hard enough to make by head throb. Tears biting at my eyes, I nodded furiously, now determined to live with the promise of being free again. "Good. Soldat, make sure she gets back to New York without being seen, I'd hate to have to spill more blood than we intended." The general demanded, a figure rustling its way out of the shadows at the edge of the room. A gasp tore from my throat at the sight of him - clad in black leather and arm as silver as the moon. The soldier - my soldier.
But he simple stared through me, eyes blank and clouded in a coldness I'd never had directed at me from him before.
"And make sure you don't fail this time, soldat." The general snapped. The soldier nodded solemnly, the echoing of boots thudding filling both their ears as the general walked off the ship.
#smut#image#images#chris evans#chris evans smut#seb stan#sebastian stan smut#sebastian stan#winter soldier smut#winter soldier#winter solider fanfiction#captain america smut#captain america fanfiction#captain america#bucky Barnes#bucky barnes smut#bucky Barnes fanfic#bucky Barnes image#buck Barnes x reader#bucky fanfic#bucky x you#steve rogers image#steve rogers x reader#steve x bucky#steve roger fanfic#steve rogers#steve rogers smut#steve rogers fanfic#marvel fanfic#marvel smut
213 notes
·
View notes
Text
Happy 28th!
I’ve read so many awesome fics this month! Make sure to check them all out.
As always, all my love to all the authors in this fandom ♥
➻ don't want to fight you | starryharry | enemies to lovers - enemies to friends to lovers - pining - mutual pining - angst - fluff slow burn - no smut - 124k
Louis hates that it’s familiar. He hates that sparring Harry is familiar because they train together. He hates that he even has to spar Harry at all, because Harry is good.
Louis wonders what his life would be like if him and Harry didn’t hate each other. He can’t picture it, really. The incessant bickering that often turns into real arguing, the nasty looks, the eye rolls, the middle fingers. It all feels very necessary at this point.
Or, the one where two fighters can also be lovers because routines are never permanent.
➻ we are ghosts amongst these hills | louisgaynkles | Soulmates - reincarnation - historical - slow burn - angst - fluff - 84k
Harry spontaneously buys a house in Yorkshire because the universe, or fate, keeps leading him to it. What he didn’t know, is that his new house comes with a past that seems to be mysteriously tied to his own life. Before he knows it he finds himself travelling back in time, stuck in the middle of a century old love story.
Featuring Louis as a farmer with a passion for gardening, Zayn as the heir to the local manor, Niall as a pub owner with a secret, and a truly underappreciated Liam.
Based on Mariana by Susanna Kearsley
➻ through the wheatfields and the coastlines | thepolourryexpress | farms - cowboys - angst - implied/referenced homophobia - implied/referenced gun use - humor - smut - 53k
“You’re not from around here, are ya?” Hot Cowboy asks, tracking his little lamb with his eyes. Louis frowns slightly, having thought he was doing pretty well at not sticking out like a sore thumb. It’s not like he’s not from around here — it’s not his first summer he’s spent at his grandparents'. But he supposes that the Manhattan city lifestyle that he’s used to is always going to shine through.
“I’m visiting family for the summer,” Louis explains, cheeks a little pink. “Trying to get some work done without distractions.”
Or, alternatively, the one where Louis needs inspiration, and a certain cowboy and his lamb are the perfect distraction.
➻ An Irrationally Strong Bond Between Two People | jishler | dystopia - friends to lovers - angst - first time - 18k
Before The Advancement, most human lives and careers were plagued by irrationality and a lack of productivity. This was largely the symptom of what scientists refer to as “interpersonal passion,” which included two separate (though often conjointly occurring) phenomena: “love,” and “sex.” “Love” was a pre-Advancement word which referred to an irrationally strong bond between two people, which caused its sufferers to prioritise their fellow “lover,” as well as the integrity of the malignant bond itself, over vital things such as workplace productivity. Taken every two weeks in pill form, The Drug immediately removes interpersonal passion from the human psyche. Children’s friendships do not have the capacity to develop into full-fledged “love” since they are not yet adults. Every person over eighteen takes The Drug gladly, grateful that it allows them to be productive, clear-headed, and rational members of society.
A few weeks before Louis’ eighteenth birthday, Harry and Louis fall in love.
(Based on the book Louis writes in indiaalphawhiskey's Our Lives, Non-Fiction.)
➻ And When It's Time | larryftnoctrl | Soulmates - soulmate-identifying timers - 6k
Louis wants a soulmate, Harry loves his free will. They don't exactly go hand in hand.
Prompt: AU where you have a countdown on your wrist for when you're going to meet your soulmate and if you miss it the time will reset. Louis/Harry keep having awful luck and always are missing their time until one day they don't. Maybe the other one is scared/has anxiety about meeting their soulmate? Maybe one time they're in a relationship so they intentionally miss their time? Who knows! But they finally meet :D
➻ made for lovin' you | cuddlerlouis | a/b/o - enemies to lovers - hate to love - soulmates - hurt/comfort - angst - fluff smut - 53k
“I’m in,” is all Louis receives. He blinks a few times, making sure he’s reading this right.
“For real?” he asks, just to be a hundred percent sure.
“Yes,” pops up. “How do you wanna pursue?” The alpha adds, like he’s on a special mission or something.
“I’m gonna call us a cab to go to mine. Once I know it’s here, I’ll leave and join you there,” Louis explains. “I’ll text you to go around five minutes before it arrives, so it doesn’t look suspicious, and our friends don’t notice us leaving together.”
“Noted.”
So Louis does, and ten minutes later, he’s sat in the backseat of a cab, next to Harry Styles, the person he hates the most but unfortunately still finds attractive. They’re on their way to fuck in Louis’ flat.
Splendid.
-
Or the one where a quick, horny decision ruins Louis’ summer plans, but may also lead to unexpected discoveries. Featuring the road trip of dreams, misunderstandings, and a bit of fate.
➻ deFENCEless | solvetheminourdreams | neighbors - enemies to lovers enemies to friends to lovers - gardening - fluff - humor - banter - no smut - 27k
"I moved here first," Louis says with finality, crossing his arms over his chest.
Harry shoots him an unimpressed look before leaning forward, leaving only a tiny gap between them.
"Then get the fence first," he whispers, lips a mere inch or two away from Louis'.
When Louis butts heads with his new neighbor who loves to garden a little too much, all he can do to protect his yard (and heart), is keep on building up his fence(s).
➻ Canyon Moon | delsicle | a/b/o - werewolf - soulmates - childhood friends - friends to lovers - arranged marriage - mutual pining - hurt/comfort - angst - 41k
For as long as Louis has remembered, he has been promised to be mated to Harry, his best friend and the future pack alpha. But Louis’s heart belonged to the forest and to the hunt more than he could ever imagine it belonging to Harry.
Then Harry’s father dies in a violent accident, and Louis’s future alpha disappears on the wind.
An A/B/O Lion King AU
➻ only guilty of loving you | sweetrevenge | a/b/o - strangers to lovers - blind date - soulmates - fluff - angst - mutual pining - smut - 22k
After Harry gets set up with his co-worker's alpha friend Louis, he's expecting some pleasant conversation, free dinner, and maybe a new friend. What he doesn't expect, however, is that Louis' arrival in his life begins a life of crime Harry never knew he had in him.
A You've Got Mail!AU with a twist.
➻ 'Til Everything Changes | lovelarry10 | a/b/o - older characters - brokend bond - loss - falling in love - fluff - implied mpreg - smut - 57k
Harry’s nose twitched as he caught a scent on the breeze, one that sent a shudder through his whole body. His eyes closed subconsciously, and he lost himself in the heady scent, the vanilla top notes, and the more woody undertones, making every hair on Harry’s body stand on end. That was how Harry discovered this man was an Alpha.
“Jaz, Harry, this is my Uncle Louis. Lou, this is my girlfriend Jasmine, and her dad Harry.”
"Lovely to meet you,” Louis grinned, leaning in and kissing Jasmine’s cheek quickly, a respectful Alpha gesture. Harry held his breath as Louis stuck out a hand, taking it almost reluctantly, certain the Alpha would pick up on his own scent and the nerves flowing through it. “Hi, Harry.”
“Hi,” Harry said, his voice low and raspy, still affected by Louis’ scent. “Nice to meet you.”
~~~~
Harry’s an Omega who has been alone for too long. Louis’ an Alpha who is scared to find love again.
Thanks to the meddling of Harry’s teenage daughter and her boyfriend, the two seem destined to meet, and it might just change everything they thought they knew about their lives.
Will they find what they didn’t realise they’ve always wanted in each other?
➻ Mind Over Matter (You Under Me) | youreyesonlarry | ice hockey - hurt/comfort - angst - fluff - major character injury - pining - unrequited love hospitalization - smut - 74k
It’s dark outside when Harry finishes practice for the day.
--------
Prompt 21: Harry stopped playing hockey (after 10 years of a professional career) because of a severe injury. The dream he worked so hard for vanished in the blink of an eye. His family insisted that he had to go to physical therapy, even if it only helped his health. Cue to personal assistant Louis, the most efficient and kind PA one could hire
➻ Rooms on Fire | softfonds | a/b/o - actors - famous/famous - friends with benefits - secret relationship - 34k
Ten years ago, Louis helping Harry through a heat was the start of a romance that ended in heartbreak. Now, Harry's marriage is over thanks to his husband's very public infidelity, and Louis is fresh off a Golden Globe win. The last thing they both expect is to be cast in the same movie.
➻ Stumbling Into Your Arms | sunshineandthemoonlight | a/b/o - strangers to lovers - college/university - fluff - 7k
Suddenly, Harry’s nose was brushing against Louis' neck, where his scent was overwhelming.
Harry jerked his head to the side and took a deep breath of air, trying to clear his nose of Louis’ scent. ‘Don’t get slick, don’t get hard, don’t get slick’, he repeated to himself in his head, like a mantra.
Louis and Harry are university students heading home for the holidays. Harry quickly becomes enraptured by the attractive alpha standing across from him in the train carriage, who has a heavenly scent and a gentle smile.
➻ Little by Little | nonsensedarling | mpreg - non traditional a/b/o - exploring sexuality - exploring secondary gender norms - gender identity strangers to friends to lovers - mutual pining - fluff - slow burn - 65k
Harry Styles is an omega who works at the London Planetarium, has lived in the same flat for ages, and is happy enough on his own. When he gets home from his first (horrible) attempt at dating in years, a new pregnant neighbor knocks on his door after smelling his cooking. He and Louis quickly become close, but their friendship gets complicated when Harry begins questioning who he is and what he likes.
Or Harry discovers figuring out who you are is more complicated than a potato metaphor.
141 notes
·
View notes
Text
Lady Luck (pt. 1)
I was so hyped to write this lol. Heavily inspired by Kaiji <3
Tw: mafia mention, unrealistic potrayal of mafia, mentions of threats, implied obssessive behavior (will get more hardcore in the second part tho), mentions of gambling, kidnapping /not reader/
You knew that you were a scum, a lowlife, a miserable loser without much hope in life - that’s exactly why you had no problem joining the deadliest underground paradise and following under the steps of the Lucciano family. They controlled everything - the casinos, the drugs, the guns, the whores, you name it - they provided it. And you had nothing - neither a past, nor a future. But everything changed when the oldest son Thomas decided to help you get out of the mud and step onto your legs - he gave you a home, a friend to return to, a shoulder to cry on when reality felt too painful and harsh, just too much to bear on your own. “Why would you do that for a stranger?” You had asked him once while tipsy, sitting by the hearth, a slight blush adorning your soft cheeks. “That’s easy.” The man had responded right away without giving it much thought. “You remind me of myself.”
You spent long nights thinking about his words but never came to a conclusion - he was born into a powerful, wealty family, so it made no sense for him to have experienced rock bottom the way you had. And his small black eyes displayed such a variety of terryfing emotions - bloodlust, greed, sin and so much sadness. Why would a monster ever feel scared, you wondered.
Working for the Luccianos wasn’t especially hard or even dangerous - you ran small errands for them, took care of the younger kids, helped with insignificant deals, acted as a croupier when their staff was sick or missing or had to be taken care of, but one thing you were thankful for was how they never tried to force you into doing something you would never be able to forgive yourself for. Thomas was kind to you - always so considerate, willing to listen, to understand how you felt even when the worlds you two lived in differed so greatly. He was supposed to be villain of the story, big and scary, demanding, taking whatever he wants without asking and never feeling an ounce of regret about it. And for a while, you were suspicous of the man’s every move - you were desperately waiting for the mobster to fuck up and show his true colours so you could let yourself hate him, despise him. And yet the sweet, sweet moment of revelation never came. You knew, of course, of the many evil deeds the criminal bestowed upon thousands of innocent people each and every day, but you never witnessed it with your own eyes and when the man was treating you like a part of his family, holding you close and giving you chance after chance to prove yourself, it was slowly getting impossible to view him as the bad guy. Perhaps you should have waited just a little longer.
It happened during a warm, spring day. You didn’t expect it, you couldn’t. You had just finished your shift at midnight in the small shop you worked in, which belonged to Thomas’ mother, and were heading to the Lucciano mansion. It had been a particularly long and exhausting day, so you wanted nothing more than to feel the soft, silky, white sheets down your half-naked body while the quiet classical music took you to dream land and back. But upon opening the heavy wooden door, you quickly noticed something was different - there was no music, the big black TV in the middle of the hall was set to camera mode instead of the normal one, and it was awfully quiet. “They must have had to leave the country for a while.” You rationalised. “It has happened before after all.” You kept reassuring yourself while taking a tiny step towards the centre of the room where light was the strongest - it could uncover every hidden little detail.
And then the TV was turned on. You shifted your gaze up, paranoia eating at you from inside out. Soon there was clear image on the massive screen, but what you saw left you speechless. There were hours of footage from your personal life - working, hanging out with friends, eating, bathing. What made the shivers down your spine run cold was a scene where a guy, your boyfriend, was kissing you, touching you, undressing you with his praying eyes. It was nothing unusual for a young woman to have a love life, but this broke the only rule Thomas had told you upon entering the house - you were forbidden from having close relationships with men, especially dangerous ones, and for the longest time, you had no issue living by that as long as you came back to the luxury and warmth the mobster provided for you. Until you met him - a charming, clever member of a local gang. You knew it was wrong and could cost you more than you were willing to sacrifice and yet you still gave in. It was your first time experiencing the highs and lows of love, so who could blame you when it was such a magical feeling, a mixture of adrenaline and opium. Alex made you feel like a real human being instead of someone just existing, leeching off the stronger, wealthier species.
There was a shadow moving out from the corner, playing into your delusions. But soon enough you realised it was all a reality as none other than Thomas walked slowly towards you, clapping his hands dramatically, a sly smirk on his beautiful, scarred face. Did he...
"Congratulations." The man started off, dark eyes set on you, slowly coming closer and closer like a big black hole, ready to swallow you whole. "You went and got yourself a little boy - toy." The criminal chuckled viciously under his breath, making you cringe at the crude nickname he used. The situation felt surreal and yet the fear and panic were already suffocating you, making you dizzy wish regret. "I wish you would have told me though... I never thought someone I hold so important would lie to me." The mobster kept rambling, waving his arms in the air theatrically, while holding a lit cigarette, but never moving it to his lips - it was just a prop, a way to create a thick smoke mist in your eyes. It was finally the hour of judgement.
"What do you want?" You asked, faking confidence, desperate to take control of what was happening. It was a bizarre thing to see your dearest friend act in such a eerie, frightening way, almost treating you like one of his victims - nothing more than an indebted bastard or an unfortunate bystander, unlucky enough to catch a deal unfolding right behind the scenes. It hurt but you had forced this upon yourself and you had to fix it.
"Nothing much, really." Thomas replied, finally inhaling the deadly smoke into his open mouth. He played with his collar for a while, as if you weren't standing there, scared for your life. "I just want to teach you a lesson in obedience, doll." The mafioso continued, circling you slowly, his heavy gaze never leaving your body. You felt awfully exposed even when all your clothes were present, covering every inch of your skin. With a swift snap of his fingers, the man summoned most of the gorillas that worked under him. Two of them were dragging your kicking, screaming boyfriend towards the centre of the room, but a quick punch in the guts managed to quiet him down. He looked terrified, his face bloody and injured, covered in dust and misery. But he was still alive and only that mattered to you.
"I wanted to make this entertaining for all of us." The oldest Lucciano spoke out, his husky voice echoing trough the golden ceiling. He moved over to your lover and harshly pressed the cigarette butt against the exposed skin of his unprotected arm. The man cried out in pain, silently pleading you to help with his big, terrified eyes. And here you were, as helpess as he was - if not even more. "So I decided to initiate a little gamble of sorts, ya know?" Thomas winked at you, smiling with malice. You couldn't help, but recall all the times you two had played poker together, betting less than pocket change. You never understood why the man always got so excited despite winning such small sums, especially when his casinos already did well. But now you could see it clearly - he got off crushing his opponent, taking the victory under their noses. Money meant nothing. As long as he was able to ruin your mood, your life, the man was pleased.
Soft white light lit up the furthest corners of the hall and you saw dozen square boxes, arranged in a circle. It looked harmless enough on its own, still they were stamped with Thomas’ symbol - a dove. You used to wonder why someone in the most dangerous depts of mafia would choose such an innocent, sweet signature pf representation and now the answer was right in front of you - that way it was easier to trick the enemy into thinking they were safe. And how wrong were they.
“As you can see, there are nine wooden boxes in total. They look exactly the same and on top of each one there is a hole.” Thomas stopped to point at them, the raw anticipation flooding his otherwise dull pupils. “Six of the boxes are empty. In the other three though, there are placed some of the most poisonous snakes in the world. One bite and you are dead.” The madman gave a loud, breathy laugh while your boyfriend squirmed uncomfortably in place, restrained by the strong arms, holding him down. “Both of you will take four turns putting your hand in the boxes. After every round the box would be closed off and you would be able to choose only from the remaining ones. ” The mobster grinned widely, looking at your horrified expression. You couldn’t believe that the man was willing to put your lives on the line simply because you had neglected one of his orders. “Now you may be wondering where the suspence is - after all you would probaby manage to hear the hissing from afar and avoid the place it comes from. Rest assured, my foolish little friends. Right now the snakes are heavily intoxicated and absolutely silent - which doesn’t mean, of course, that they won’t attack any soft flesh they see. If you die, that’s on you, but if you survive, you will be rewarded.” Thomas clapped his hands together and his man let go of your lover, resulting in his falling to the ground with a heavy bang. Thomas pursed his lips together.
“Shall we get started?”
#yandere#male yandere x reader#yandere male x reader#yandere mafia#yandere oneshot#yandere oc#yandere oc x reader#yandere gambling#yancore
156 notes
·
View notes
Text
a clone fit for a ball.
Commander Fox x Reader
I think initially I wanted to write this as a whole story, but it’s quite a lot and (because i haven’t been too active) I just sorted wanted to post something yk :) hope you enjoy! <33
———————————————————————
It’s a dramatised reality if you think about it. The idea of a gathering with the only intention being to appease the aching sore that is political pillow talk, is one that is so pompous it seems that those who benefit from the scheme are the ones who design it. It’s a drawn out, legislative, painfully particular game of charades disguised in lavish clothes and large hats. In almost every way, those garments are often large enough and sparkly enough to hide the deceit they cover, and persuade each mindless baboon that is gormless to fall victim to it to enter into the game themselves. It’s a repetitive cycle, and stupid though it may be; it does work.
Though there was beauty in it that you just couldn’t deny. The decorations were enough to mesmerise you entirely; lavishly hung around each bannister and archway of the senate hall. Bright colours of orange and pink were scattered across the flower arrangements that littered the walls and their accents. Whatever had been done to spritz life into the chandeliers and lighting had worked its magic, for the perfectly lit definitions gave luminosity and warmth all in one squeezing breath. It was inviting and spectacular; a collaboration of everything the senate appeared to be. Even as the floor beneath your heeled feet glistened with rich delight, the pit in your stomach still swallowed your joy.
Your hatred for all things political had always been your strength and your weakness, especially as a senator. You represented your home planet well enough to protect it’s people, but you would not stand for the same deceitful bulldozing that reduced planets and people to nothing more than pawns or money makers. It meant that you stood for nothing you disbelieved in, including ridiculously regimented senate balls.
Nevertheless, you needed a way in. Your planet had been overlooked for far too long; the cries of your people ignored. You needed a trade deal and you needed one that wouldn’t result in republic outposts and war dependancy littering your already fighting home world. A ball was a good opportunity for political match making, and it was one you couldn’t give up.
It was that reasoning that had led you as far as a blue, bejewelled dress that suffocated what waist you apparently had, and hugged each curve with malice. Even with the anger dripping from your rouged lips, you couldn’t deny it. You did look rather pretty. It was a small triumph, but one that gave you confidence enough to manage the heels that’d been handed to you. As you caught a reflection of yourself leaning heavily against the arm of a guard in a particularly shiny section of the wall, you realised just how pretty you did look. Perhaps there was something addicting in the madness of it all: perhaps there was something powerful about a low cut dress and tousled hair.
Your entrance was timely, a rushed manner donned after slightly too much time taken trying to find the dammed place. Typical of Coruscant, you muttered. Two guards in white and red nodded at your arrival, both seemingly emotionless under their plastoid helmets. It was something that’d always confused you about the clone army; all painfully identical, yet lightyears apart from each other. A brotherhood was one thing, yet could you even call it that?
The thought itself was fleeting, though one you were sure to ponder later. You passed those statues of guards within seconds and continued on your warpath to the ‘reception’. It didn’t take much for you to be recognised; the perks of being one of the only senators with detailed and beautiful facial markings. It was something you prided most. The rest was a blur, but you made it into the hall and straight into a chair that’d apparently been pulled out for you. The man to your left was a kindly looking togruta, the woman to your right your stern faced guard, who looked murderous in comparison.
��My dear, aren’t you cold?” The togruta asked with a genuine smile. The question made a small laugh sprout up your throat.
“Perhaps, though my heart is beating far too fast for it to be uncomfortable.” You replied with that charming tone in your voice you’d perfected.
Everything was an act; your shoulders perked up and back to lift your chin in power and confidence, the planned placement of your hands across the table, your silken voice as it left your silken mouth. Even the unplanned conversation would seem regimented, though the Togruta’s nature settled your mind with authentic care.
“Ah, now that I can understand.” He shuffled, uncomfortable or unsure you couldn’t tell. “I do apologise, but I cant seem to place you.”
You paused again with an unfaltering expression of tenderness.
“Oh well I know you, Governor Roshti. But I don’t blame you, I took over from Madame Liobrev shortly after she resigned from senatorial status. This is my first ball to say the least.” There was a hint of an exhale by the end of your scentence, it felt good to admit even subtly that you were out of your depth.
“Well it doesn’t show, I only hope my name hasn’t ingrained in your mind the way it has in so many’s.” The sadness that fell across his face was just as genuine as the smile that it had replaced. It made the compassionate side of you ache.
“You did what this god forsaken war made you do, I see no reason for shame to fall upon you or your people. Battle leaves us all defenceless.” The spite of your tongue was heavy; anger for the war too many fell victim to.
“Thank you, my dear.”
You smiled once again, before turning back to your guard. She was perched haughtily on her seat, weapon securely hidden but it’s presence obvious. Her attire was in contrast to yours; armour and garments all of dark colours and metal accents. She looked like a warrior, and you were momentarily envious.
“Taurin you really ought to relax. Senators aren’t that vicious. Or at least not when they’re sedated with flattery and shiny things.” You joked, desperate to take the edge of both her and yourself.
Taurin, the guard, bowed her head in humor, a distant smile forming over her pursed lips. It was one you were incredibly fond of, and one you had grown to recognise as endearment.
“M’lady, it’s not the senators I’m worried about.”
You laughed; a breathy laugh that corrupted your lungs and throat.
“What more could you possibly find challenging about a ball this compensated for. Perhaps it’s that my shoes will grow painful on my feet? Enjoy yourself!” You pressured with sweet intentions.
She turned to face you with a vindictive smile laced with sour belief. Her eyes trailed over your reeling eyes in silent conversation, seconds before they jolted off their steady trajectory just past your head. What had been childish remark soon freezed over to slight panic and question. You noticed the change almost instantly and frowned with creased eyebrows. As your head began to swivel to turn to her opponent, she screeched and forced you down.
The fall from your chair wasn’t high, but the adrenaline and shock of the direct hit made it seem endless. You hit the hard floor with a mind numbing crack, one that caused your eyes to widen before you realised it was only one of the many jewels that laced your back splintering; rather than something a critical. Nonetheless, the shot that flew past certainly was real.
The bullet soared over your head, frowning that it had missed it’s target. You couldn’t even process what had happened before Taurin fell to your level, teeth clenched in agony. You reacted as best you could with hands fumbling around her leaking wound; but she swatted you away and thrusted your head down once more. That one bullet, the one that had cursed your luck and gone for your guard in spite of it, had previously had a purpose. Your mind lingered on that fact for a second before you pushed past it. Searching eyes found Governor Roshti’s, who had copied your move and positioned himself just under the table.
You couldn’t hear much over your panting breath; nothing except the shouts and screams of senators whose useless lives felt threatened, so naturally, just like their entire life’s work, they do nothing except complain and wail. It was dark under the thick tablecloth, too dark for anything to be made clear to you. Taurin had wriggled further away and was holding her position behind your table, a gun most definitely in her hand.
Three shots. Four shots. Two. One. Silence.
Now really all you could hear was your panting breath. The blood rushing through your ears made a ringing sound, and the tingling in your veins made the fastness of your heart seem ordinary. Governor Roshti made no adjustments to his stance at the silence, but you were itching to unfold your coiled legs and poke you head up and out of the cover. Like most things you did, you did it without asking. The carnage wasn’t as bad as the screams foretold it to be, but as soon as your vision shifted you saw the agony splayed over Taurin’s face.
“Help! Medic!” Was the instantaneous shout from your lips.
One of the clone guards from earlier shot up. He wore a kama around his waist and his armour was weathered; something that told you he was rough without him having to speak a word.
“Ma’am sit back down, we don’t know where the attackers went.” He commanded.
“I can manage.”
His helmet tilted slightly in what you assumed to be annoyance. With two fingers pointing he signalled for a medic to step forward. The new clone looked significantly younger through the way he held himself and the shining of his uniform. With Taurin being led away, you finally let go of the breath you’d been holding.
“Ma’am-“
“I’d like to know who just tried to kill me.” The clone looked slightly surprised at the deadpan tone of your voice. “And who shot my closest guard.”
He grimaced from under his helmet and lifted his hand up to his visor to tap into his comm channel.
“This is Commander Fox, what’s our status?” He spoke; a velvety tone lacing the authority in his voice.
Fox. It wasn’t bad. Your mind shifted once again as his comm crackled back at him.
“Suspect... run... in pursuit... ty hunter.” Was all you could make out, but it didn’t take a genius to fill in the gaps.
“They won’t find the assailant while pampering senators.” You spoke, cringing slightly at the privilege you held yourself; here you were demanding Commander of his time, all because you have some morsel of perhaps undeserved power.
“I’m sorry” Perhaps an attempt to reconcile your blundering thoughtlessness would change the trooper’s aggravated stance. “I only meant that it would help if the senators uninvolved were to be sent home and out of your hair, it can’t be fun listening to them whine.”
His head tilted slightly in what you hoped to be a grin. “You’re not wrong, but I’m afraid I can’t keep you alone in protection. Not when we don’t actually know who was the intended target.”
“Commander, let me help. Before I was a senator I was a member of the guard. I’m afraid I can just about handle myself.” There was more than a hint of pride in your voice as you spoke.
Fox shook his head and lifted off his helmet. It would be far to say you lost your breath at the sight of his actual face. In the few seconds you spent mentally sketching his face into your brain, your mind fastened at his slightly too-long-to-be-neat mop of curly hair, and how it fell playfully over his deeply tanned forehead. His cheekbones were sharp enough to shut you up (which was, as he’d come to discover, wasn’t actually that easy) let alone the bite of his jaw.
But it was his eyes that made you most intriguing; deep and wise auburn eyes set perfectly amongst weathered skin. They watched you for a moment before the eyebrows above them lifted slightly in confusion.
You hadn’t meant to stare. Or maybe you had, it was unimportant.
“Fine, I’ll take you back to the office while the boys take the others to a safe space.” He wasn’t smiling, but he didn’t seem as begrudging anymore; a small victory.
“Thank you, although I may need a change in shoes.”
At this he did grin; and it was marvellous.
#commander fox#the coruscant guard#tcw#the clone wars#commander fox x reader#clone wars#fox x reader#fox x you#the clones#clones#the cw#incorrect clone wars
51 notes
·
View notes
Text
Russian roulette
Its here its here its finally heeeeree!!!!! I’ve been so excited for this fic for the longest time and I am so so excited to finally share it with you guys!! It’s been quite a while in the making cause I was nervous about my overall ability to keep up with a multi-chapter thing, but here we are!!!
Before you start reading this, I just want you all to know that this fic comes with a LOT of trigger warning. All of them will be in the tags of course, but I just want you guys to know to proceed with caution.
credits as always go to @lumosinlove Haz I have utterly CORRUPTED your characters in this one, I’m so sorry
enjoy!!
~
Chapter 1
Logan could still remember the day it had happened, the defiant fury in his friend’s eyes as he’d gone down, guns blazing
Logan still remembered it, blood splattering his arms and face, his mouth curved in a deadly smirk as he shoved Logan out of their way, going down, guns blazing, winking at the brunette as he dived into the fray.
Logan still remembered the primal fear that ripped the scream from his chest, his arm numb from the kickback of the M4. He still remembered the screaming darkness that had taken over his head after. He still remembered him.
It was the memory of that night, a job gone wrong that had him working himself to pieces, returning to the sparring ring day after day, week after week. The mere thought of it pulling him from sleep with the sharp edge of nightmares. The what if’s and if only’s shoving his mind into a rabbit hole of unending misery.
Logan huffed in frustration, shoving down the cool rage that threatened to send him over the edge. He closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose, roughly shoving his hair off his forehead. The sweat dripped off his brow as he leaned against the punching bag, flexing his fingers against fabric wrapping his hands.
Even through the wrappings, he could feel the gentle throbbing of the rage and sorrow that had him back at the punching bag day after day after day. He looked down at his knuckles. Shit. That was going to bruise beautifully tomorrow. He sighed, walking over to the backpack on the far end of the room to get his towel and a drink of water.
Logan hefted his pack onto a shoulder, heading over to the sparring area to clean up, unrolling the fabric from his hands as he did so. He examined his knuckles, his hands a tapestry of bruises. He couldn’t remember the last time they hadn’t been a splotchy purple-blue.
The door slammed open, and Logan instinctively ducked to the floor, his hands going for the gun in his backpack, his posture relaxing a little when he saw who’d walked in.
“What the fuck do you want, Nate? He grumbled, tugging his t-shirt to rights, glaring angrily at the floor as he did so, his cheeks warming at his aggressive reaction.
Nate rolled his eyes at Logan’s attitude, raising an eyebrow at Logan’s reaction to his presence. He leaned against the door, drumming his fingers against his bicep “He’s here, sir, the rookie’s here.”
~
It took Logan all of ten minutes to shower and get dressed to meet Finn in their office. He shook the water out of his hair as his quick steps echoed in the marble hallway. The palatial mansion was HQ. He lived here, slept here, ate here. They were his family, the lions, they’d taken him in after Wyatt had died and had stood by him through every damn thing he’d been through. Regardless, it was home. It had become Logan’s home after— Logan growled, shoving the intrusive thoughts away.
Finn met him halfway to their door, casually tugging the cuffs of his shirt to rights.
Finn was impeccably dressed as always, looking really damn good in that white button-down, the gold chain on his neck dipping into where he’s left it unbuttoned at the neck. His bespoke trousers did wonders for showing off his legs, the gold belt buckle matching the golden rings glinting in the sun.
Logan swallowed.
“So, the rookie’s coming in today. The only thing we know is the father sent him. Be on your guard.” Finn said, raising an eyebrow at Logan to make sure he understood.
Logan nodded, cracking his knuckles as he accompanied Finn into their office, the redhead making a few calls to get extra security detail around the house. Dons couldn’t take risks, no matter who sent their visitors.
Logan shook out his hands, sucking in a calming breath before collapsing onto his chair.
“You have to meet Dubois at the Excelsior tonight. We got a tip he’s been skimming the funds.” Finn said absent-mindedly, his mind more occupied with reading some file. The Excelsior was one of their biggest casinos, three floors of opulent revelry. And Dubois was the sleazy good-for-nothing who ran it for them.
Logan grumbled, flipping open a file of his own, the name Dubois emblazoned in sharp, black letters on the cover. Being a Mob boss wasn’t all it was made out to be, and Logan never thought he’d get used to it. He could scarcely remember how he and Finn had come to build the Lions, one of the biggest crime syndicates in the world, second only to the snakes; a family of vicious, rabid psychopaths who cared for nothing and nobody, dispatching their targets with gruesome efficiency.
Finn had a suspicion the snakes had been doing recon work at the Excelsior and had told Logan as much. Considering that Logan had to deal with the slimy manager, anyway, he thought he might as well look into the matter. Finn looked at him over the gold rim of his glasses, as though reading his thoughts.
“Take Potter with you, ask him to get two of his best with him,” Finn said, referring to their head of security.
Logan huffed, about to shoot back a retort about how he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself thankyouverymuch when there was a knock on the door. Nate leaned against the wood, a smirk playing on his lips.
“He’s here.”
~
The rookie as it turns out was no rookie at all, rather son to the most infamous pickpocket and street magician of all time, Wyatt Knut. The man had stolen and pickpocketed thousands of dollars’ worth of goods and cash in his time, there was even a rumour going around that he’d been involved in some of the biggest heists of the era, driving his worth up to millions of dollars.
And this was his son. Sitting in front of him, idly flicking a folded sheet of paper between his fingers, making it disappear and then appear again, his leg bouncing under the table. He looked nervous, his eyes flicking around the room, drinking up the opulent mansion around him. He snapped to attention when Finn cleared his throat, sitting up straighter in his chair.
“The name’s Knut, Leo Knut. Lizard sent me.”
Logan’s eyes widened at the nickname. There were very few people in the world who knew it, and this baby faced blond kid sitting in front of them sure as hell didn’t look like someone who would. The fact that he did calmed Logan’s suspicions. This was real. He wasn’t kidding.
Logan felt more than saw Finn’s interest pique. The redhead leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the table. The tension in the room was palpable, and it took every inch of self-control in Logan’s body to not stiffen, sit up straighter, show he was on his guard. Let blue eyes make the first move. Logan was in charge here, not him.
Leo’s eyes dipped to the folded note in his hand as he vanished it into his sleeve and brought it back. He sucked in a breath, calming his nerves before raising his eyes to the two men sitting before him.
“Lizard said to come to you if he didn’t return or communicate his….being alive within four days of that mission.” Leo braced for the confusion and chaos that was going to follow his next words.
“He had a plan to take down the snakes.”
~
Logan’s jaw dropped, his hands going slack from where they were crossed across his chest. Lizard had what?!? Granted, he was one of their best reconnaissance men, but this seemed a stretch, even for him.
Finn, ever the diplomat, had kept a straight face, not a hair out of place. It was only through eight years of being his friend that he noticed the tension and suspicion radiating off him.
The redhead cocked an eyebrow. “Oh? And do you have any proof of this…..plan?”
Leo grinned, the simple expression lighting up the entire room.” I thought you’d never ask”
He raised his slender fingers, pulling a flash drive out of thin air, setting it down on the table before him. “It’s in three parts.” he nodded to the drive. “The drive, a……” He waved his hand in the air, trying to find the right words. “Map? With the targets and the blueprints and an encrypted folder on his laptop.”
Logan barely registered what he’d said. The second Leo has flicked the drive out from between his fingers it was game over for him. Logan was mesmerised. He couldn’t stop staring at those hands, long thin fingers flipping the note in and out of sight with hypnotic movements, drumming on his thigh, gesturing broadly as he spoke.
Finn seemed to have noticed, pressing his thigh against Logan’s under the table. He froze at the contact, Finn’s warmth seeping into him through the fabric of his jeans. Shit. Now was not the time. He shook his head, clearing his throat and focusing on the task at hand.
Finn leaned back in his chair, his finger steepling under his chin. “And you’re just trusting us with this information? It’s been a month, why haven’t you approached us sooner? What’s in it for you?”
Leo’s smile disappeared, shadows dancing behind those blue irises. “Lizard was like a second father to me. I’ve known him since I was a kid, he and my dad were friends.” He let out a shaky breath. “And when he didn’t return from that raid….I wanted to get revenge. I wanted to hurt anyone who dared to so much as lay a hand on him.” Leo met Finn’s eyes. “I was...hurt for a long time after his death, couldn’t figure out how to deal with the loss. It’s the reason why I’m only here now. And as for trusting you with the information…” He trailed off, putting a piece of paper on the table.
Logan realised it was the same folded note that had been weaving in and out of Leo’s fingers as he’d spoken to them. The paper was worn, the edge soft in a way only repeated use could make them. Finn’s eyes flicked to Leo before he picked it up, glancing at Logan as he opened it.
Logan leaned in, reading over Finn’s shoulder. In a familiar, stocky script it said:
‘Sun, I’m going out on business. It’s the usual. Same as always, If I don't communicate in 4 days, ask around for Logan Tremblay and Finn O Hara, Tell them about mission troy. They’ll know who I am, say Lizard sent you -P’
Logan’s hands shook, and he stuffed them into his pockets, still reading the note, scouring it over and over for clues, anything that would tell them that he was still alive— though he knew he wasn’t going to find anything. His eyes caught on the first word. ‘Sun’? Logan wracked his mind, trying to find any reason why Lizard has called him that. Realisation struck and Logan looked over Leo, sizing him up.
Leo ‘the Sun’ Knut had was famous for his brilliant smile, those dimples distracting even the most stubborn of men while he swindled them out of their money. Bright as the sun and just as blinding, they said. Logan allowed himself a smirk at that. Like father, like son.
Leo didn’t back down from his stare, raising a blond eyebrow at the intense look, cocking his head to the side. A shiver of excitement ran through Logan, bigger men had backed away from that look of his, yet this lanky child didn’t so much as falter. Interesting.
Finn rested his elbows on the table, ever the portrait of unruffled grace. “How do we know this is real?” He asked, nodding his head at the drive sitting on the table.
Logan could practically see the effort it took Leo to not roll his eyes. The blond shrugged, crossing his arms on the desk. “Believe me, or don’t. It’s your loss. I have my orders and if you aren’t willing to provide the resources, I’m sure I’ll find other people who are.” His gaze sharpened to a flinty glare, “I’m just trying to do right by a friend. He asked me a favour and I will not let him down” He nudged the drive forward with a long finger, the little black device sitting in the middle of the table. “Help me or not, it’s up to you, but don’t you fucking dare get in my way.”
#russian roulette#whataboutmyfries#my writing#lumosinlove#finn o'hara#logan tremblay#Leo knut#mafia!fic#tw:implied death#tw:bruises#tw:mourning
82 notes
·
View notes
Text
'The conglomerate taught him a dozen languages and how to play as many instruments. They trained him to operate multiple types of aircrafts, earn billions of dollars and not bat an eyelid as a rival company begged for mercy... However, when it came to developing feelings, that was treated in the same way as stabbing a fork into a plug socket, or offering to wash the dishes instead of letting the servants attend to them. It was common sense not to do those things.'
Fandom: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Fukawa Touko/Togami Byakuya
Characters: Fukawa Touko, Togami Byakuya, Naegi Makoto
Additional Tags: Togafuka Week
Summary: Togami tries to prepare himself for his reunion with Fukawa.
Comments: Day 3 for TogaFuka Week! Fantasy/Kiss.
💗 Please like, share and comment if you enjoyed it! 💗
***
As the helicopter soars above the city, Byakuya visualises skyscrapers reaching toward the sky as if wanting to claim the blue expanse for itself, like that’s its God-given right. The buildings wouldn’t look out of place in a boss battle in a light gun video game. Makoto once compared them to the final level in an old zombie shooter that he played a few times at his local arcade.
Byakuya imagines the futuristic city, teeming with electricity and life, but the image lingers only for a couple of seconds before rusting, wilting, collapsing. In reality, Towa City is an industrial wasteland. Its railroad halo dips and splinters throughout, as if made from thorns, and the ghost of a bullet train explodes into dust that rains down on the city. Buildings have been amputated, leaving only stumps if nothing at all. Squinting, he discerns a car park that is now a graveyard, with graves instead of cars.
They land the helicopter in the concrete clearing behind a rundown hotel, the loud wailing of the rotorcraft’s blades slowing into pops before falling silent. No red carpet awaits them. A staircase unfolds from the helicopter’s doorway to the scarred ground. The sky is a red lipstick stain that fades into purple like a bruise.
And a short distance away from Byakuya stands Touko Fukawa.
Touko bounds toward him. “Byakuya-sama!”
Yes, he thinks, she would still call him that. Her wild mane of aubergine hair writhes with every step. Meanwhile, he glides over. His feet make no sound.
“I’ve missed you so much,” she says, stopping in front of him. She breathes in, filling her lungs with air. He brings a finger to her lips.
“Let me speak first.” Byakuya can feel her lips vibrate as words bubble in her mouth. After he lifts his finger off, her mouth hangs ajar but she stays quiet. Now it’s his turn to inhale deeply. “We have been on quite a journey. Before we met, I held the weight of the conglomerate and all the pressures involved, while you...”
The light against her lenses flashes warningly as her brow dips into a furrow.
“... had, and still have, your own,” he finishes. His teeth scrape against his lips. “When I entrusted you with Towa City, do you remember what I said?”
“No matter the distance, I will not feel a thing,” she recites.
“That’s right. You must understand that my creation was a business investment.” He swishes a hand through the air, maintaining eye contact. “Romance goes against my existence. At that time, though I had started opening up to the idea of relying on others, and letting others rely on me... I was not interested in... in romance.”
Her silence provides a clear sky that his voice fills with grey clouds. He coughs into his knuckles.
“Part of me rejected the idea of romance... And yet, to my surprise, during our time apart, where we could only speak in video calls, my heart grew fonder for you.”
Touko’s puzzled squint blooms into a wide-eyed stare. Its intensity burns his cheeks. Still, she doesn’t say a word. What if after she had drawn close enough, without the gleam on the computer screen on his face, she realised he is as cold as a monitor? Is that what is happening now? Aoi sometimes remarked that Touko was too good for him, and when Aoi became annoyed enough with something he did or said, she would add that Touko deserved better.
He used to never doubt himself, but for the first time in his life, he wonders if he is good enough.
It feels like he has taken his first step somewhere damp and mouldy, where the floorboards could give way at any moment. Without moving, his stomach drops as if he’s already falling. Byakuya’s tongue squirms in his mouth, as if trying to reverse the words that it already unleashed, but he can’t take them back.
Instead of trying to articulate his feelings, he decides to demonstrate them to her. He grabs her waist. Her head jolts back in surprise and a moment later, their lips bump together. For several long seconds, they stand stiffly, Byakuya’s hands on her body, Touko’s hands cupping air, until he needs to peel himself away to breathe.
She gazes at him, brow wrinkled, not smiling. Then she opens her mouth and asks, “Are you okay, Togami-kun?”
The voice does not belong to her. Byakuya blinks, fracturing the concrete, the sky, her body, revealing his true surroundings. Opposite him sits Makoto, the two of them seated in a helicopter.
“You zoned out there for a good few minutes,” says Makoto.
Byakuya responds with a grimace.
To bat away the encroaching silence, Makoto chirps, “I can’t believe in an hour, we’ll finally be reunited with Komaru and Fukawa-san.”
In response, Byakuya gives a solitary hum. Makoto’s smile wanes.
“Are you motion sick?” he asks Byakuya.
“No,” Byakuya says more harshly than intended, the syllable cracking the still air like a whip and making Makoto tense. He flattens his tone and adds, “I’m in thought. That’s all.”
“About the reunion?”
Byakuya nods.
“It’ll be fine,” Makoto assures him with conviction that puts Byakuya on the defensive.
“What am I supposed to say to her?”
‘Her’ being Touko, of course. The conglomerate taught him a dozen languages and how to play as many instruments. They trained him to operate multiple types of aircrafts, earn billions of dollars and not bat an eyelid as a rival company begged for mercy. With the matter of future heirs, they instructed him on what to look out for on female applicants’ forms while choosing potential mothers. However, when it came to developing feelings, that was treated in the same way as stabbing a fork into a plug socket, or offering to wash the dishes instead of letting the servants attend to them. It was common sense not to do those things.
And yet here Byakuya was, spending the journey to Towa City mentally rehearsing how he was going to confess to a woman who had gained the power to make his heart swell too big for his chest. The conglomerate could not have prepared him for such a woman. Such an intelligent woman. Such an empathetic woman. Such a loyal woman.
Most of all, a woman who drew strength from what the conglomerate called weakness. Love.
“I mean... you can say hello?” suggests Makoto.
Byakuya’s steely gaze clenches Makoto. “Then what?”
“Like... ‘How are you?’”
“I can’t treat this like a regular meeting, as if we had only last seen each other at the end of work the previous day,” says Byakuya.
“Why not?”
“This one is different.”
As Makoto’s eyes flicker, he drinks in the tension in Byakuya’s shoulders, the tightness in his fists, and says, “Ah. I see.”
Though Makoto must have known for some time now. He and the others had started alluding to Byakuya’s feelings for Touko before Byakuya was even in denial about them, back when Byakuya didn’t know what he was experiencing, or what was making his stomach flutter.
Evening has dyed the sky orange, darkness creeping in at the edges. Byakuya stares at it through the window. His unsmiling reflection leaves a faint imprint on the glass. Silence swirls around them, hanging over their heads like the rotating blades of the helicopter.
“Are you going to tell her?” asks Makoto, and he doesn’t need to elaborate.
“I should,” Byakuya replies.
“You can try a pick-up line.” Without having to look at him, Byakuya can hear the grin seeping into Makoto’s tone. “For example... Do you like raisins? How would you feel about a date?”
Byakuya’s reflection glares as Makoto carries on.
“If I could rearrange the alphabet, I’d put ‘U’ and ‘I’ together. Or - ”
“That’s enough,” Byakuya says with a shudder, raising a hand. “I aim for my demeanour to be calm and composed. I do not intend to act like a fool, throwing out hackneyed lines.”
“Sorry, sorry. But if you don’t mind me saying, you’re overthinking it, Togami-kun.”
This earns Makoto a look from Byakuya. The curve of Makoto’s lips is slimmer now, but still holding on.
“In these sorts of situations, it’s best not to use your brain...” Makoto taps himself on the head. “... but to follow your heart.” His hand shifts to his heart and pats there next.
Byakuya tightens his lips and returns his gaze to the window.
“Easy for you to say,” he mutters.
The helicopter lands by the hotel that Touko and Komaru have been living in. If not for the lit windows and neon sign, the dark column would have blended in with the night. Steel bars cage the building, mostly unbent. Byakuya’s attention fixes longest on the sign that flashes ‘TOWA HOTEL’, ‘TOWA HOTEL’, pulsing like his heartbeat, reminding him over and over where he is.
He balls his sweaty hands into fists. He can do this. ‘Follow your heart,’ Makoto had said, and his heart has been caged for so long. It’s time that he freed it.
As in his imagined scenarios, Touko runs over, her arms spread as if about to take. Byakuya tenses, for a moment thinking that he has to catch her before she flies away again.
Fortunately, she stops in front of him, her feet rooted to the ground. “Byakuya-sama!”
Byakuya swears he feels the spray of her spit, but it might just be his sweat. Makoto digs him gently in the ribs, quirks his lips, then walks toward Komaru. At no point does Touko’s eyes stray from Byakuya, who lifts his chin and adjusts his tie. Low laughter simmers in Touko’s mouth.
“I can finally smell you...” She hugs herself. “It has been so long.”
In the past, he would have told her to shut up after saying something like that, but that doesn’t seem appropriate now. Such a comment used to come across as vulgar, and maybe it still does, slightly, but he has grown accustomed to the vines that her existence has curled around him. His tongue feels thick in his mouth as he tries to think of a response.
“Well, I can smell you,” he says.
This prompts Touko to shrink back and worry her lip with her teeth. “D-Do I...? I showered earlier today. Argh, did Komaru swap my shampoo for dog p-?”
Touko cuts herself off with a groan and shakes her head. Byakuya reaches a hand toward her.
“I mean you smell good.” He immediately cringes. Good. He said, ‘good.’ Her brow creases, whether it be from confusion or from hearing such a lame adjective, and he adds quickly, “You smell like...”
Byakuya breathes in but finds himself unable to smell her, so he leans toward her so he can. She gasps. He straightens sharply.
Time ticks as Byakuya mentally flips through the scripts he had rehearsed on the helicopter.
“Romance goes against my existence,” he says.
No, wait. He hadn’t meant to say it like that.
“Went against,” he clarifies. “Remember when I said ‘No matter the distance, I will not feel a thing’?”
Touko nods slowly, frowning. His head fills with steam, rendering it practically useless, which leaves him one other organ to depend on. His heart.
“Do you like raisins?” he says. “I’d put ‘U’ and ‘I’ together.”
Her troubled expression gives way to concern. “Byakuya-sama...?”
Byakuya lets out a frustrated groan and slaps himself on the forehead. “What I want to say is...”
She springs onto tiptoe and pecks his lips.
In that moment of contact, time stops. No more than a second could have passed, but by the time she returns her heels to the ground, he feels like he has been flung up into the sky before crashing back down again, his head spinning.
While he stands frozen, she wraps her arms around him.
“I understand,” she says muffled into his chest.
He hesitates, then hugs her back, and presses his lips against the top of her head. She smells like strawberries.
25 notes
·
View notes
Text
fairytale 🧚♂️ 🪄
in which Hailey realises that maybe — just maybe — love isn’t a complete scam after all.
upstead oneshot (hailey upton x jay halstead)
warnings: mention of sexual assault
masterlist | series masterlist
Hailey had always found it disgustingly cheesy when the books she would read would describe falling in love as something that happened "hard and fast." She just didn't believe in it. Maybe it was because she had never really been in love — at least not in the way that the fairytales made it out to be — or maybe it was just some ploy to set every little girl's expectations far, far too high.
They were sitting in his car one day, checking out a suspect that looked good for a double homicide when it happened. He had made some stupid joke and of course, Jay being Jay had cracked up laughing at his own sense of humor. It wasn't the joke that made her fall, but the way his eyes lit up in amusement and happiness — genuine happiness too, not that knock off shit. It was the way his head turned to face Hailey without any hesitation to see if she was laughing too; the way to him, she was the only person that mattered. It left her a feeling little winded and a little bit like she was floating, but she didn't mind. Right there, in the passenger seat of his car with binoculars in her hand is where she realised that sometimes, with the right person, you could indeed fall hard, and you could fall fast.
The first time she met him, it was no secret to anybody that she wasn't too fond or Mr Jay Halstead to say the least. He had that cocky smile that could piss her off to no end, but what bothered her most was just how hard it was to hate him. She'd be lying if she said she didn't have a vendetta against attractive detectives in the CPD — every time she had allowed herself to like them, even if it were just platonically, she'd always wind up getting hurt. That was why she tried to keep her distance from Jay to begin with — but alas, just as fate would have it, Erin's unexpected departure had left Hailey partnered with the detective she had told herself she would stay away from at all costs.
Her painted hatred didn't last long. After even just their first proper shift together, Hailey found herself bending over backwards to make her new partner's life a little bit easier after a case they had been working had gone sideways, Jay's 9mm behind the death of a young girl that had hit him pretty hard. She managed to get a read on him right away — he was so scared, so broken — even Hailey knew that the unfortunate ending to a case had to be just the tip of the iceberg. She wasn't going to fix him — that wasn't her job — but she was going to fight like hell until he could do it himself. She knew what it was like to be there, she remembered how awful it felt; she wouldn't wish it upon anybody, much less her partner who she was becoming strangely fond of with each passing moment.
Their first few months working together flew by, but that didn't mean that it had been uneventful. Hailey and Jay had grown close relatively quickly, their personalities gelling together like no other. It was nice to know that someone had your back, but for Hailey, who had somewhat left an entire life behind her when she joined intelligence, their first major challenge as partners came when Ronald Booth inserted himself back into the scene. Really, she knew that she should have expected Jay to do what he had and dig up all that he could find on Booth the second he got a whiff that something had gone on between him and Hailey, but alas; all she wanted was to be seen as who she had worked her entire life to become. Someone who was strong, independent — not someone who allowed themselves to be taken advantage of, someone who ended up in the hospital because she couldn't fight off some old guy. When her stubbornness had reared its head and landed both her and Jay back in Booth's warehouse for a last ditch attempt at undermining him, things turned ugly — and fast.
It all happened so fast. One moment, they were about to make the exchange — the next, she was being shoved into a car door while being checked for a wire. His hands against her — god, she could still feel his dirty, disgusting touch from that New Years Eve party like it was yesterday. She had gotten so close to forgetting, so close to pushing it down just far enough so that she wouldn't have to think about it, but when he ran his hands up and down her legs and groped her with such a hunger that her breath hitched in her throat and bile rose, burning her oesophagus and leaving a bad taste in her mouth, she simply couldn't forget. She almost let herself slip back to that night — him on top of her, his weight enough to keep her from moving — but the sound of Jay's voice behind her kept her anchored right where she was as she breathed through it. One more second, and it's over. That's all. Just one more second.
"Come on, man. You don't gotta do it like that."
There was silence for a moment. You know the kind. The kind that fills the air in the eye of a storm, right before everything goes from bad to worse. Still, no matter how prepared you are for everything to turn to shit again — it's never really ever enough.
"Gun! He's got a gun!"
"I don't have a gun, man —" she could hear the panic in Jay's voice. "Take it easy! I don't have a gun!"
"Back it up!"
"I don't have a gun!"
Booth was distracted. His hands were still on her, but his grip had loosened. His hand was resting on her hip now rather than grabbing it, and with his attention diverted to the situation unfolding behind them, she took her chance and ran with it. Her elbow collided with his nose as she twisted his arm back in a shape that arms were definitely not meant to go in, a distinct crack echoing through the air for a split second before the sound of two much louder pops overpowered it. She had pulled the trigger faster than she had been able to process, and before she knew it, Tyler had hit the ground and was gasping for air he wouldn't get no matter how hard he tried. Hailey couldn't even turn around before Booth was gone — but she wasn't about to let him get away that easy.
He found her before she found him, which was definitely not the way she wanted it to go. Her back hit the wall first, followed by her head hitting the railing of a staircase as he threw her around like a ragdoll. What infuriated her more than anything was how easy it was for him to do it, her body hitting different corners of each stair as she fell down them. Hailey's legs were flailing around methodically, aiming for all of the weak spots as she tried everything she had been taught (and a bit more) to get the upper hand. Finally, she regained her footing, but it wasn't long before he had her by the shoulders and was slamming her up against every wall he could find yet again.
Bang.
"I knew you were a cop!" Booth growled dangerously, his tone venomous with fury. "I just didn't want to believe it!"
Bang.
"Believe it!"
With a quick and smooth movement, she finally had some kind of control as she took the position of the slammer, and not the slammee. She was so angry, the adrenaline rushing through her veins so quickly that she threw punch after punch without feeling a thing, a small smirk curling the corners of her lips upwards as it was Booth's turn for a little trip down the stairs. He was halfway unconscious by this point, but she didn't care — he was right where she wanted him now.
"Admit you killed Garrett!"
Booth smiled a sick grin as he let out a hearty laugh that made Hailey nauseous. "You'll never find him."
She felt the anger and white hot, blinding rage bubbling up inside of her, choking her, clawing at her throat as she held the gun to Booth's face. She would never forget the feeling of her finger brushing up against the temptation of the trigger over and over and over again, or the myriad of thoughts rushing through her head. One squeeze of the trigger, and he's gone, Hailey. You could end this right here, right now. Garrett. What about Garrett? Booth is the only one who knows where Garrett is, Hailey — don't kill him! But he's right here, and the gun. . . it's right here in my hands and —
"Hailey!" Jay's voice started out loud, but faded into a whisper. "Hailey. Hailey."
Her breathing was heavy, and even though his voice had snapped her out of whatever rage she was in, part of her wanted to jump right back into it and finish the job. Hailey's blue eyes were trained on Booth like it was life or death, never flicking away from the man for even a second.
"Hailey —" Jay tried to coax his partner this time; he knew if this continued on the way it looked like it was going to, things wouldn't end well. "He wins if you do it. This is not how you beat this."
His hand was on her shoulder, following the rapid rising and falling of her chest as she held the gun firmly in place. her fingers were trembling but she showed no fear, a ferocious, burning flame in her eyes. She was not done yet. She wasn't.
"Please, Hailey, please." He was desperate now; she could tell by the way his grip tightened ever so slightly at the same time that his voice changed. "Please. This is not the way. You — You gotta trust me."
It was the pleading that struck her hard enough to really realise what she was doing. It was the pleading that gave her the strength to fight against the rage and finally swing her right leg off of the scum beneath her and growl at him to get up, the sight of him struggling providing her with a secret, visceral pleasure that she would never be able to explain. But when he sat up a bit too quickly for Hailey's liking, the woman deciding that the awful man hadn't suffered quite enough yet, her boot collided with his face one last time before walking her right out of the stairwell. If she stayed, she knew one person would be coming out in a body bag and the other in handcuffs.
She had a feeling she knew which she would be in.
Jay and Hailey's relationship shifted after that night, but neither of them viewed it as a bad thing. There was something about trauma and tragedy that tends to bring people together in some bittersweet way, and despite the fact that they each had their own perspective of what had happened in that warehouse, both of them knew that without the other, things could have ended much worse.
It was soon after that that their 'thing' started. Drinks at whichever bar was closest quickly became a regular occurrence, but during the summertime when the crowds got a bit too crowded for either of their liking, they found themselves more and more often bypassing the bar all together by picking up a 6 pack of beer and retiring back to one of their apartments instead.
After a few times, Jay had compiled a bunch of clothes that he either did wear anymore or that no longer fit him and had left them folded up in the dresser of the guest bedroom for Hailey, who frequently would crash in her partner's guest room after a long night. She secretly loved the scent of his cologne on the neckline of his hoodies that she'd sleep in, though she'd never admit it to her or anybody else — especially once she noticed how much better she slept when she had one on.
Fast forward a few months, and that's when it happened. That was when her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach from the realisation of what had just happened in a matter of seconds as she sunk back down in her seat ever so slightly, her brain screaming with a million different emotions. She had been quick to mask it, turning her head to look out the window until before she knew it, she was looking back at the dark haired man so intensely that she thought if she looked away for even a second, he'd disappear. Looking turned into kissing, and kissing turned into a personal hour which lead to a little bit more. The whole time though, in amongst everything else, one thought stuck out more than the rest.
This is your fairytale, Hailey, she thought. This right here is your happy ending. It's him.
a/n: sorry it’s not very long, and that the ending reads kind of rushed, but i’m actually sorta proud of this one aaaa???? i hope you all like it!! might do a part two 👀
tagging: @ruzek-halstead @detective-buttercup @lissethsrojas @justanotheronechicagofan did y’all ask to get tagged? no but i’m tagging y’all anyway bc i value each and every one of u and my tags are reserved for awesome ppl only so 🥰
#upstead#chicago pd#one chicago#hailey upton#jay halstead#jay x hailey#hailey x jay#hailey upton x jay halstead#jay halstead x hailey upton#cpd#haileyyanneupton#fic
101 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hey there, I’m not sure if you still take requests or anything but agh, I’ve been going through a really rough depressive episode since Christmas and your blog brings me such joy. I was wondering if you’d be kind enough to write something about War saving reader from demons or something along those lines? Or even just something fluffy? No pressure of course, if you’re not up to it that’s fine :)
Sorry this took so long, hope you’re doing a bit better now, though if not, maybe this will at least cheer you up for a few minutes <3 <3
War X Reader.
---
When you ran into the formidable Red Rider in the ruined streets of your old home city, you knew without a doubt that you were gaping up at a veritable force of nature, rather than a man.
War turned out to be everything the name suggests.
Physically, he's enormous - taller than you by at least a few heads and broad as an ox, cloaked in red and covered from head to toe in weathered battle armour the colour of gun smoke. His pale face – half hidden by a crimson hood – seems to be etched with a permanent scowl that only ever shifts if he's snarling or unleashing a blood-curdling battle cry. Not once in all the time you've been travelling with him have you seen him crack a smile.
Although, you suppose, a Horseman of the Apocalypse might not have a reason to smile, nor an inclination to.
'Oh well,' you muse as you follow the gruff and stoic behemoth through the inner-city graveyard one foggy night, 'He's better company than the demons, at least.'
War certainly wouldn't have been your first choice of travelling companion, just as you're sure you aren't his. Yet, as circumstance dictates, if you want to stay alive, you'll just have to put up with his imposing presence and general lack of social graces.
All of a sudden, you're halted in your tracks when an enormous, metal gauntlet catches you roughly in the stomach, the fingers splayed wide against your shirt.
Slightly winded, you open your mouth and a wheeze shoots out. “What?” you choke, throwing War a nervous glance. He merely stands there in utter silence with his head turning on a slow and constant swivel whilst a pair of icy, blue eyes scan the graveyard, searching. After a few seconds, you swallow down a lump and hesitantly ask, “You see something, big guy?”
The Horseman's broad chest puffs out at the nickname, though you can't tell whether it swells from indignation or pride. However, instead of offering clarity, he reaches up with his free hand and tugs his sword – Chaoseater – from its place strapped to his back, and at the same time, he begins to push firmly at your belly, forcing you backwards. “H-hey!” you yelp, “What're you doing?!”
Before you can protest further, your spine hits something cold and solid and you whip your head over a shoulder to see that you've been unceremoniously herded up against a large, mould-caked headstone. Sending a quick, mental apology to the owner laying buried just below your feet, you crane your neck around War's bulk in an attempt to see the cemetery beyond him, only to have your vision promptly obscured by the appearance of familiar, billowing smoke. In another second, the mass of darkness has taken on a much more tangible form and you suddenly find that the minimal space where you're sandwiched between a Horseman and a headstone has been invaded by the Watcher.
“What's the hold up?” his wispy voice hisses in your ear and forces you to fight back a shudder at the chill his trailing, vaporous tail leaves when it brushes against your legs.
“Dunno,” you reply in a whisper, “I think War sees something.”
The Horseman in question lets out a low grunt. “Not see.. Smell,” he clarifies, which is as descriptive an explanation as he's inclined to give, apparently.
Scoffing, the Watcher mutters, “All I can smell is this rancid human standing next to me...”
“If you don't want to smell me, then why are you hovering so close,” you shoot back, swatting at the wisps of smoke that escape from the top of his head until he draws back to a less suffocating distance. Still, with your curiosity peaked at War's strange admission, you tilt your head back and sniff idly at the air. “It just smells... earthy? Uh, and kind of sweet, I guess, like-”
“- death...” the Nephilim finishes.
You fall silent for a couple of seconds, using the time to share a bemused glance with the Watcher. “A graveyard that smells like death, huh?” you smirk, noticing that all six of the sprite's eyes are now glimmering with amusement,“Wonders will never cease.”
While he may be far from a fan, the Watcher still takes great delight in seeing you poke fun at War, and of course, he can hardly resist jumping in with a jab of his own. “Next, he'll complain that a forest smells of wood,” he sneers.
You're not quite fast enough to bite back a laugh as it bursts out of your throat.
“Quiet.” War's growl causes your mouth to snap shut and the Watcher bristles irritably, preparing to remind the Horseman of his place when the blood red hood twists to one side and you briefly catch a glimpse of War's striking, blue eye. He doesn't look angry at you though, or at least, no angrier than usual. Instead, if you didn't know any better, you'd swear you can detect the barest sliver of confusion as the Horseman peers down at you and asks, “Do you hear that?”
Furrowing your brows, you cock your head and listen intently to the eerie ambiance of the graveyard.
To begin with, there's nothing especially out of the ordinary, only the creaking of rusty hinges as the wrought-iron gates swing to and fro in a gentle breeze and the skittering of leaves against the cobblestone path somewhere nearby, or the soft 'ssshk,' 'ssshk,' 'ssshk,' that breaks up the monotony of near-silence -....
“Wait a second,” you murmur, holding a finger up and going completely still, straining your ears to hear the shifting, shucking sound coming from somewhere very close by. So close, you can feel the vibrations through your.... feet?
The Horseman locks eyes with you and all at once, your heart plummets into your shoes when, at the exact same time as War and the Watcher, you realise exactly where the bizarre sound is coming from and all three of you drop your gazes to the heaped dirt you've been standing on.
There isn't even a split second to react before a cold, clammy hand suddenly shoots out of the loose soil below you and latches itself around your ankle, gripping with a supernatural strength that causes your bones to grind painfully together. Although you know that screaming is the absolute last thing you ought to do in the middle of a demon-infested city, the unexpectedness of being grabbed it sends a bloodcurdling shriek jumping up your neck and out of your mouth, drowning the graveyard in a noise like an especially shrill dinner bell.
Sensing the impending battle, the Watcher swiftly disappears back into War's gauntlet as the Nephilim lunges towards you and curls his fist into the front of your shirt, wrenching you towards his chest without thinking too hard on the consequences of doing so. The motion does rip you free of the sinewy hand that flails in the air afterwards in search of its lost victim, but in doing so, long strips of your skin are left behind, embedded underneath the vicious claws of whatever had a hold of your ankle.
Gritting your teeth against the sting, you spin about, feeling your back hit the Horseman's sturdy chest and he keeps you tucked under him for a moment, his lips curling into a snarl as the two of you stare down at the emerging arm that braces itself against the soil. Then, in a fashion hideously similar to that of those old zombie movies you used to watch, the earth begins to rise as the monstrosity buried beneath it heaves itself up and out of its premature grave.
The sweet stench of rot hits your nose full force now, but you hardly even register it, too busy gaping at a grinning skull that emerges from the tumbling dirt, its empty eye sockets and parting jaw filled with soil and worms, all of which are flung in every direction when the living skeleton wrenches the rest of its body onto solid land.
Your startled yelp is swallowed as War promptly tries to swing you behind him, letting go of your arm in the process and inadvertently sending you crashing to the ground at his heels. Not that you can complain about the rough treatment however, for not a second later, the skeleton throws itself at him and lets out a shriek of outrage that cuts through you as sharp as any knife.
The Horseman, apparently having recovered from the unexpected attack, simply lifts his gauntlet and engulfs the monstrosity's skull when it leaps within range. In a rather anticlimactic turn of events, the skeleton's assault is cut short and now it resorts to scrabbling furiously at War's metallic fingers. You forget that for a man as large as he is, the Nephilim can move extraordinarily fast.
However, before you can marvel for much longer at War's impressive catch, you stiffen, splaying your fingers over the ground underneath you and twisting your head around to watch a few, nearby pebbles skitter up and down in place.
“U-um, War?” you gulp, now painfully aware of a continuous and thunderous rumble coming from deep under the earth, as though an enormous train is careening along on its tracks somewhere far below you.
At the sound of your timid voice, the Horseman spares a glance over his shoulder and sees you sprawled out on the ground, your attention turned to the graves lining an iron fence several metres behind him. Casting the skeleton dangling from his fist a last, fearsome grunt, War flexes his gauntlet. There's a sickening 'crack!' and the creature's flailing limbs fall perturbingly still. He tosses it dismissively to one side and you hear the clatter of broken bones hit the stone nearby as the Horseman turns fully and blinks down at you, his eyes going immediately to the bloody welts left in your ankle.
Sensing his gaze, you whip your head about and almost gasp at the wrathful expression he's subjecting your injury to. One side of the Nephilim's mouth and nose scrunches up until he's giving you a very uninterrupted view of his gleaming teeth and you find yourself swallowing loudly, your heart throwing itself against your ribcage so violently, you'll hardly be surprised if it manages to break out of its bony prison. Your eyes fly nervously to War's hand as he forces it out of the tight fist it had curled into, regarding him closely when he raises it, draws back in hesitation for a moment before at last reaching down towards you.
He doesn't manage to get far though, because just then, the rumbling you'd been feeling reaches a crescendo and there's a sudden cacophony of howls and bellows all around you, filling every corner of the dark graveyard like a terrible orchestra playing its funeral march.
War tears his eyes off you and raises his head, leering hard at another skeleton that bursts out of its tomb, though it’s soon followed by a second, then a third, and after that, you stop counting because the knowledge of how many undead are suddenly surrounding you makes you feel queasy and light-headed.
A veritable plethora of skeletal monsters, each varying in shape and size, turn their skulls in your direction, their hateful, burning glares washing over you with the force of a tidal wave and you wonder if you're the object of their ire because they're envious of your life, or hungry for your flesh.
Regardless, neither leads to a favourable outcome for you.
You're almost embarrassed at the sob that manages to push out from between your tightly closed lips, but staring into the faces of creatures you know had once been human is a little more than you're equipped to handle.
Behind you, War's immense shoulders bristle when he realises that the majority of skeletons have their sights set undeniably on the vulnerable human sitting near his boots. In response to the clear threat, something angry rushes to curl itself around the Horseman's heart. At the very epicentre of his swirling rage, he becomes aware of only one thing. Those skeletons are standing between his charge and safety – and that, War will not permit.
Like a murderous river eddying around a fern, the Nephilim steps out in front of you and plants his feet firmly on the ground, an immovable barrier of flesh and metal standing protectively between you and the salivating undead.
Once again, you find yourself with a grave at your back and the Horseman to your front.
Then, all of a sudden, something changes.
Still subjecting the skeletons to his loathing glare, War falls back a few steps, moving himself around and to your rear where he proceeds to crouch over you, his chest pressing uncomfortably against the top of your head until you get the message and bend forwards as well, twisting your neck about to shoot him a wary glance but finding his eyes are still trained on the circle of creatures surrounding you. He plants one hand into the soil, digging in with the clawed tips of his gauntlet whilst with the other, he raises Chaoseater high above your heads where it lingers, poised and waiting - for what however, you have no idea.
As the bloodthirsty blade begins to hum in anticipation, you try to twist your neck around to peer up at War, hoping that your horrified expression accurately conveys the question you want to ask. 'What the Hell are you doing!?'
He doesn't look back at you.
With the skeletons prowling towards you like a pack of circling, salivating dogs, he can’t afford to lose focus.
You're not ashamed to say you let out a hoarse cry when, without warning, they all charge as one.
The skeletons are just a few feet from being right on top of you but as they close in, one of your hands flies up to cover your face and in the same moment, War suddenly brings Chaoseater down hard, plunging the blade's tip into the ground mere inches from your toes.
No sooner has it breached surface soil than a dozen more blades burst up from within the earth, each resembling the Horseman's treasured sword.
The skeletons don't stand a chance.
Like a shockwave, the ethereal blades that have been conjured from seemingly nowhere continue to erupt out of the ground and take the charging undead by surprise.
Femurs, rib cages and tibias are obliterated in less than a second, skulls are thrust from the ends of spines as Chaoseater's earth-bound friends impale the skeletons from below, a place where they never would have guessed an attack could come from.
You can feel the heat of the blades closest to you, hot enough to singe some of the hairs off your legs, no doubt.
Then, just as soon as they appeared, they begin to retract back inside the earth, and when the dust settles and you lower your arm to look, all that's left is a scattering of bones, strewn about the vicinity. Blank, featureless skulls stare back up at you through unseeing eyes, dead – for what you really hope is the last time.
“Ho-lee crap,” you breathe shakily, flopping back onto your elbows and knocking your head against the underside of War's chest, adding, “Ow,” at the latter.
“You're hurt...” The rumble of the Horseman's voice rolls gently over you, prompting you to glance up, only to find a pair of bright, blue eyes blinking back down at you.
Lifting a hand, you rub absently at the spot where you'd bumped your skull into his armour. “I'm all right, that didn't actually hurt.”
“No,” he insists in a growl and roves his gaze down to the scratches on your ankle. You follow his glare, blanching at the sight of the gouges left behind in your skin and grimace, bracing your hands on the ground in an attempt to pick yourself up. You hardly manage to get one foot underneath you before a large, metal hand promptly grabs the back of your shirt and lifts you effortlessly into the air. “Hey!” you squirm, trying to stretch your toes to find purchase on the ground, “Put me down, War. I can stand up by myself!.”
The Horseman makes a skeptical sound at the back of his throat, but he does lower you – albeit hesitantly – until your shoes meet the dirt once more.
Any confidence in the strength of your legs is short-lived however the moment his hand withdraws.
You take a step, only to find yourself immediately punished for the action when a white-hot bolt of pain lances up from your ankle and you cry out, teetering sideways and trying to hop desperately for a few seconds on your good leg.
Just then, there's a deep sigh of exasperation and War's gauntlet is at your side in the next second, sliding around your waist and nudging you upright again.
“Here, sit down. Let me see it,” he murmurs, and you hesitate to say he's gentle when he turns you around and attempts to guide you to the ground once more.
“Are you sure it's a good idea to stop?” you ask, leaning out of his grasp to glance around the shadowy cemetery, “I mean, that wasn't exactly a quiet fight...”
The implication hangs in the air between you and after a moment, War draws his head up and blinks, the strategist in him concurring with you. “That is... a fair point,” he mumbles and if you weren't so grateful to him for keeping you alive, you'd be insulted that he sounds surprised by your common sense.
In keeping with the typical, straight-forward bluntness you've come to expect from him, War wastes no time in bending down and extending his arms, aiming to scoop you off your feet. “Come,” he declares, “I shall carry you to Ulthane. He will know best how to treat a human's wound.”
The Horseman’s permanent frowns deepens though, when you hop away from him on your good leg, splaying your hands out to stop him from proceeding. Undeterred however, he gives you a warning glower and huffs, “Keep still.”
“W-woah, hold on now,” you protest, stumbling back as he once again tries to reach for you, “Seriously, War, thank you. But I can walk, I'm not a baby who needs to be carried!”
“You are injured.”
His tone implies that he's angry, but the way he's now staring at your leg makes you consider whether he's angry at you, or something else entirely. “Wait, what if... what if you need to use your sword?” you point out, “You won't be able to if your arms are full of me.”
You can tell that he's far from happy, but he tilts his head, pondering you for a moment longer before huffing brusquely and averting his fiery gaze. “Very well,” he grumbles, adding, “But if you fall again, don't expect me to catch you.”
The Horseman's acquiescence, if nothing else, at least reassures you that you won't be a total liability. Satisfied for the time being, you nod and turn about, starting to hobble off towards the cemetery gates, confident that the enormous Nephilim will overtake you in a few, steady strides. You make it all of five steps before your ankle turns to jelly and seems to lose all of its bone structure, collapsing out from under you and as you topple sideways once again, arms flailing, you idly wonder whether the damage is only skin-deep.
Luckily, whatever jarring impact you might have made with the stone path is prevented by a strong set of arms that emerge like a pair of safety nets and sweep underneath your knees and shoulders, letting you fall harmlessly into a secure hold. Gasping, you tip your head back and sheepishly risk a glance at the Horseman, meeting his disapproving frown. At the sight of it, you try and push against his broad chest to put some distance between yourself and his ire, but he soon silences you with a throaty growl that reverberates through your head.
Pursing your lips, you reluctantly give up on your meagre effort of trying to escape the warrior and instead let yourself flop gracelessly in his hold. “Hmph.. I thought you said not to expect you to ca-” War whips his head down to glare at you so fast, you instantly allow your mouth to click shut and decide – perhaps wisely - not to finish that sentence.
90 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
wearecontentaware-blog
Content Awareness
jansarkariyojana
Jansarkariyojana
raixannthegamer
RaiXann's Gaming Adventure
already-may
Untitled
universe2self
🌌 Universe2Self 😌