#she pulls the trigger she has the blood on her hands so that he won’t have too!! and there are so many others too— | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nyrandrea · 8 months

Text

Everything's Fine

As you try to deal with everything that has been thrown at you so early into your journey: forced leadership, mindflayer tadpoles and taking on everybody's personal problems, it all just gets a bit too much for you.

(Takes place during Act 1)

Word Count - 3.5k

Also available to read here on AO3!

Enjoy!

xxx

You felt your patience starting to wear incredibly thin when you realised Astarion had been staring at you for over five minutes now.

Not directly, he would never be so conspicuous—at least, not intentionally— but you kept catching those fleeting glances he was throwing your way; the corners of his red eyes crinkling every so often before returning to whatever book he was pretending to read. It wasn’t one of those charming, smouldering gazes he would sometimes give you after a night of feeding, asking if you were alright, knowing full-well that your answer was a resounding ‘I’m fine’, and that you would provide for him again soon.

No, what he was doing right now—very carefully—was scanning you, studying you, judging you. It was as if he was trying to leer right through to your very soul.

You almost had half a mind to stomp over to his tent and demand what his problem was, but there were other unfortunate issues to contend with.

Namely Shadowheart and Lae'zel.

“I already told you that the artefact is my responsibility,” Shadowheart said, her aloof demeanour and confident tone betrayed by the hand hovering over the hilt of her dagger. “This way it will protect us all, I thought we had already established that!”

“We have established nothing,” Lae’zel hissed back. “We only agreed not to slit each other’s throats in the night, though...,” she grimaced. “I still have no reason to trust that you will not try again.”

“At least there’s still some sense in that bullish head of yours.”

“Tsk!” Lae’zel spat at Shadowheart’s feet, much to the latter’s disgust as she recoiled back. “However, the matter still stands that the relic you hold onto belongs to my people. Therefore, it should be in my possession!”

The cleric sneered. “I would sooner slit my own throat.”

“Then go right ahead. Nobody will stop you.”

Rubbing at your temples to try and ease the incoming migraine that, for once, was not caused by the mindflayer parasite living rent-free in your head, you decided to step in-between the two women, not really caring about risking a gutting from their trigger-happy blades.

“C’mon, we’re not seriously having this fight again?” You huff incredulously, the question already sounding stupid as soon as it left your mouth. Because of course they were having this fight again. They had it yesterday, and the day before that, and they were probably going to have it tomorrow as well.

“We are, as it happens,” Shadowheart replied, her eyes flickering briefly to you before narrowing forward again. “Because this savage bitch won’t leave me alone!”

Lae’zel bared her teeth in a cruel grin. “Better to be that than a revrykal of Shar.”

At the mention of her Goddess’s name, Shadowheart practically lunged herself towards Lae’zel with an enraged scream, her dagger raised high with the intention of plunging it straight into the githyanki’s chest, who in turn raised her shield to protect herself. In that moment, you were nothing to them but a speck of dust in the wind.

It wasn’t until your hand shot up in a blind panic when Shadowheart realised what she was doing, forcing her to suddenly pull back to avoid injuring you, only a moment too late as her knife slashed the palm of your hand. Blood sprayed across the ground as your short but pained cry echoed throughout the camp.

“Oh Gods...” Shadowheart muttered as everyone was suddenly on their feet and crowded around the three of you in a matter of moments. “I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t... mean to...!”

“What? Attempt to kill our leader in cold blood?” Lae’zel muttered as she took your trembling hand to examine it, you only stared ahead as the shock took a moment to wear off. You didn’t even register her uncharacteristically gentle touch as she turned your palm up. “Only a flesh wound, you will live.”

“Still,” Astarion piped up from behind. “Perhaps it would be best to get that dressed up lest you attract any...*ahem* unsavoury visitors.”

“It would seem we already have,” Lae’zel replied, to which the vampire put a hand up to his chest in mock offence.

“Lae’zel, you depreciate me,” he pouted. “I’m hurt.”

Astarion’s sudden cold grasp on your wrist startled you as he decided to examine the cut himself in a much less gentle manner than Lae’zel. “Not that I would be able to get much from this anyway, even if I tried.”

You were slightly worried that he was pondering the idea the longer he stared at the wound; you could practically see him drooling. It wasn’t until you cleared your throat that he snapped out of his daze.

“Well, we should probably get this cleaned up anyhow,” he finally said. “To avoid infection and whatnot.”

“...You’re not gonna lick it clean, are you?” Karlach asked with a grimace.

“Of course not!” Astarion bit back, much more flustered this time. “I’m not some savage beast, you know.”

“That’s... debatable,” Gale piped in.

“Well! It’s lovely to know that you all think so little of me; the feeling is very much mutual,” Astarion said with a fake smile before taking you by the shoulder. “Now, if you’ll all excuse me, I’ll have to nurse this poor wounded soul, as well as my pride.”

He started guiding you away from the rest of the group, you only allowed him to because the whole situation had you in a bit of a daze, but not before Shadowheart tried to get in another “I’m... I’m sorry.”

“It’s... I’m fine,” you replied with whatever level of composure you could muster up with a smile in a small attempt to reassure her before allowing yourself to be led towards Astarion’s tent. Your words seemed to satisfy her as Shadowheart returned a sorrowful but grateful nod, though her expression turned sour when Karlach stepped between her and Lae’zel.

“Alright now, ladies, what do you two say we let out our pent-up aggression towards each other in a healthier and less murder-y way, huh?” The tiefling suggested before holding up her finger to not let the other two get a word in edgewise. “And before you ask, I will not be taking no for an answer.”

A small smile graced your lips at Karlach’s enthusiastic yet surprisingly pragmatic way of taking charge, and it seemed to be working as Shadowheart and—to your utter astonishment—Lae’zel agreed to whatever training regimen she had in store for them.

‘Perhaps Karlach should take over as leader...’

The idea was extinguished as soon as it had entered your mind, replaced with thoughts of the tiefling messing everything up, of her killing you in your sleep, that you shouldn’t trust her to lead your party. The only one who should have any authority over these subordinates is you. Only you are worthy.

The voice quieted down after a few moments, leaving you only with a pounding head—just another one of the many wonderful side-effects of the parasite.

You didn’t take any heed of whatever thoughts the tadpole forced upon you. You knew that Karlach would never hurt you, or any of the others for that matter—not by choice, anyway. However, those flashes of betrayal and blood were starting to wear you down a bit, especially with the lack of sleep; the very notion of it had been non-existent since you escaped the nautiloid and accepted the leadership that everyone had practically forced upon you.

You weren’t exactly a natural-born leader; hell, you barely managed to keep yourself alive never mind a whole group of people.

“That’s going to need stitches,” Astarion said as he observed your hand more closely now that the two of you were in the privacy of his tent. Heat flushed around your cheeks at how close the two of you were. Flashes of that night you had shared a bed—or well, the forest floor—came to mind, and you hated how flustered it made you. It was a one-night stand, a bit of fun to ease the stress of adventuring; clearly it meant nothing. At least... that was what you were made to feel.

What had been a night of passion for you, had been the same old dance for him.

“Take a seat there,” Astarion’s said, his voice cutting through your thoughts like a knife. “I should have a needle around here, somewhere.”

“You know how to sew?” You asked, settling down on a cushioned stool.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he said, and a sting of guilt surged in your chest. “How do you think I’ve kept these clothes looking so good for over two hundred years? Certainly not by magic.”

“Why not just buy new clothes?”

Your prodding seemed to hit a nerve as he paused for a moment.

“Why waste the coin?” He finally replied, sounding a little dejected.

“Sorry,” you said, biting your lip as you tried to think of a way to quickly rectify your carelessness. “You do look great, by the way—y-your clothes, I mean,” embarrassment takes over as you trip over your own words. “The gold embroidery is um *cough * it’s nice.”

Astarion seems amused at your inability to grasp basic English as he chuckles, the sound deep and almost musical. “Why thank you, darling. I’m glad someone around here appreciates the finer details.”

The vampire kneels next to you and threads the needle before gesturing for you to hold out your hand. “It has been a while so... let’s just hope I’m not too rusty, hm?”

Those words don’t instil a great deal of confidence within you, but you won’t allow it to show, trusting in him to get the job done. If you ended up getting sepsis, well... Withers was always on stand-by.

“Now, hold still,” Astarion instructed. “This may sting a little.”

You nodded, only wincing a little when he made the first stitch, the pain became more bearable as you watched him focus with the kind of laser-like precision that only came with a practiced hand; it made you wonder how many times he had done this. His methodical movements almost lulled you into a sort of relaxed trance, had your mind have not been working overtime, you honestly might have fallen asleep: Gods know you could have done with a bit of shut eye.

Ever since the ship crashed, your problems just seemed to keep piling on top of each other: Lae’zel was hellbent on getting to that githyanki creche, and there was the matter of Karlach’s engine, Gale was close to blowing to kingdom-come if he didn’t get another magical item to consume soon, Astarion would probably need another feeding at some point, not to mention the dog, Scratch, and the owlbear cub who had started hanging around the camp. A dog was one thing but how much did owlbears need to eat?

It was fine, you reassured yourself. Everything would be fine.

“There we go,” Astarion said, relinquishing your hand back, freshly stitched and cleaned. The pain was still there, dull and throbbing, but it wasn’t anything a quick healing spell couldn’t fix.

“Not my best work but it will just have to do for now,” he huffs, as if he was annoyed with himself. “You’ll have to excuse the sloppy stitching, it’s... been a while.”

“It’s beautiful work,” you can’t help but admire the stitching; it was flawless. “Thank you, Astarion.”

His gaze remains on you for a moment, as if he were expecting some sort of quip or punchline, and his eyes widen slightly when he realises you’re being genuine.

“I... uh... you...?” He pauses and squints; still nothing. “You are... most certainly welcome.”

You raise an eyebrow; did he really think so lowly of you that he believed you simply weren’t capable of a simple 'thank you'? Or was it himself that he had no confidence in? Your thoughts turn to when you asked him about how he came about becoming a vampire. Astarion kept most of his history closed off from you but told you just enough to let you know that this ‘Cazador’ fellow had treated him poorly. Belittled him. Enslaved him.

You couldn’t begin to imagine how horrible it must have been; no wonder he didn’t trust anyone.

A part of you wanted to pry into his thoughts, to let him know that you were here for him should he ever want to talk, but a new figure entered the tent, startling you into closing your mouth.

“Hello!” Gale cheerily greeted with a smile, his eyes latching onto you immediately. “How are we feeling?”

“Oh, we’re feeling quite dandy, thank you,” Astarion interjected with a frown. “You didn’t think to knock before deciding just to barge in?”

“Well, given the materialistic structure of this very sound establishment, I think you’ll find it’s a little difficult to uh...” Gale trailed off, attempting to rap the tent flap to no avail. “...knock on.”

“Then why not just knock on the wooden beams with that...” The vampire waved lazily towards Gale’s staff. “Very large stick of yours.”

“Duly noted, but I think we’re getting a bit off track here,” the wizard said before turning to you. “I need a word.”

You were taken aback slightly by his bluntness, and you couldn’t help but notice the almost pained way he was wringing his hands and how his eyebrows subtly twitched. He looked incredibly... uncomfortable.

His hand hovered over his chest briefly, just above the mark that glowed whenever he consumed magic.

Shit. Was it that time already? But hadn’t you given him something only yesterday? Or had it been a few days now? With recent events, it was hard to keep track of the time anymore; day and night just meshed into one big messy blur.

Judging by your panicked look, Gale held up his hands in a placating manner. “Now, I know you’ve had a lot on your plate recently but this little uh... situation of mine is growing quite dire again so... if you could just relinquish whatever magical artefact you have, then all will be fine and dandy.”

“I... don’t have anything on me at the moment.”

Gale’s expression dropped. “Come now, you must have picked up something along the way, surely?”

You grimaced.

“In a dungeon? Along the road? What about that little goblin camp you rampaged through recently?”

His sudden passive-aggressiveness made you feel uneasy.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Astarion cut in, folding his arms. “But we were a bit preoccupied with fighting for our lives to be on the lookout for any magic boots for you to chew on.”

Gale chuckled dryly and drew the vampire a dirty look. “I don’t think you quite understand the gravity of what might very well happen if I don’t find something to contain the beast within me very soon- “

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, darling.”

“This isn’t a joking matter!”

“Ugh! Just shut up!” You snapped. “I do get it, Gale. Because you remind me Every. Damn. Day. About this big, scary, mystery catastrophe that might happen without actually explaining anything about it! A bit of context would go a long way!”

Gale’s hurt wince suddenly had your stomach churning in guilt; you shouldn’t be snapping at people; you were better than that.

“I’m sorry,” you quickly apologised. “As soon as we’re out on the road again, I’ll make it our priority to look for an artefact for you, alright? You have my word.”

Astarion scowled and Gale forced a smile; his lips too strained for it to be genuine. It seemed like you couldn’t please anyone today.

“That’s all I can ask for, and I promise... all will be revealed soon, otherwise the tadpoles will be the least of our worries.”

When Gale left, you plopped down to the ground and took ragged breaths to calm your nerves, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of hurt as you nestled your injured hand in your lap. Had Gale only checked in on you so he could ask you for a magic item in return? Was he really that desperate? He must have been, seeing as you had completely forgotten about his predicament.

What kind of leader were you?

“You know, you can’t go making promises all willy-nilly like that,” Astarion said. “We have enough problems as it is without having to worry about...”

His chastising faded into white noise as you grasped your head, the sting of your fingers curling and tugging through unkempt hair was just enough to distract from the pounding that came from within your brain. The ability to focus was suddenly lost to you as your heart raced, and dark emotions swirled within your chest like a wild tornado; it was tempting to let them sweep you away, to ride the waves into the unknown. To be anywhere but here without anyone depending on you for so, so much.

“Hello?” Astarion drawled. “Are you even listening to- Darling...?”

He moved closer to you; his steps measured and deliberate as he lowered himself down next to you, still allowing you enough space while being close enough to reach out a hand to your trembling shoulder, his touch cold yet oddly comforting.

“Hey,” he spoke in a soothing, soft tone, his crimson eyes locking onto yours with unwavering support. “I’m right here with you, you’re safe, just breathe along with me, alright?”

You nodded, albeit shakily, and tried to mirror his calm, measured breaths, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, attempting to regain control over your racing heart.

Astarion’s voice never wavered as your frantic gasps slowly started to synchronise with his calm breathing. “I know things are tough right now, but these feelings will soon pass. You’re stronger than you think, darling.”

He continued to gently rub your back, tracing comforting circles with his fingertips, a rhythm that matched the cadence of your breath. Your hands slowly unlatched from your hair as you felt Astarion’s reassuring presence and honeyed words grounding you.

“There we go, you’re regaining control,” he encouraged softly. “Now, I’m going to get you a glass of water, will you be alright for a moment?”

You nodded again, and with a quick squeeze of your shoulder, he left. As your panic attack started to ebb, your breathing evened and your heart slowed as you felt yourself returning to the present moment, the tension that had your body rigid starting to ease.

Astarion was back by your side within moments, gently pushing a glass into your hand and helping you lift it to your lips for a small sip of water, the cool liquid soothing your parched throat.

“How do you feel?”

“I’m-”

“And don’t you dare say ‘I’m fine’,” he scowled. "Because we both know you’re clearly not.”

You racked your brain to try and find a way to explain that you were okay and that this was just a small moment of weakness, a blip in the road, that there was nothing to worry about and you had it all figured out.

But the words never came, instead you draw your knees up and hug them close to your chest as if to hide away from his piercing gaze.

Astarion lingers by your side for a moment, his expression unreadable.

“Would you like to stay in here for a while?”

Unable to find the energy to speak, you simply nod.

“Then come on, scooch over.”

As you shuffle slightly to the side, Astarion sits down next to you, draping an arm over your shoulder and allowing you to settle your head into his side and cling to his shirt in a way that a child might cling to their mother.

“...I’m sorry."

From the corner of your eye, you could see Astarion’s expression soften as he waved a nonchalant hand. “Oh, you have nothing to be sorry for, dear. If anything, I should be the one apologising, who knew being in my mere presence would be so breathtaking?”

You managed a small chuckle at that.

“But in all seriousness,” he continued. “I know a thing or two about putting on a façade and... well...,” he paused. “Just... know that if you ever want to talk, I’m all pointy ears.”

You hum in acknowledgement, though you can tell by his undertone that he’s being disingenuous, kindness wasn’t exactly his forte after all, but you appreciated the attempt all the same. But you were just content to sit in his arms for a while, and he seemed pleased enough with the silence. So, for now, you inhale the comforting aroma of bergamot, rosemary and brandy, letting yourself get lost in his comforting presence.

And exhale.

xxx

Hellooooo Baldur's Gate 3 has me in a chokehold and the brainrot is real. I'm only in Act 1 hence why this fic takes place so early in the game but this idea wouldn't leave me alone so here we are. Apologies for any inconsistencies :'3 Let me know what y'all think!

*Edit - since this has been pretty well received, I've opened up requests! Pop me an ask if you would like one :)

#astarion x reader #astarion x mc #astarion x tav #astarion bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #my writing #tw panic attack

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twigg96 · 1 month

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Hi! Can you do daryl dixon x y/n where Daryl gets protective over y/n when a creepy guy won’t leave her alone no matter what she says so he punches him across the face, ending in like comforting fluff/ smut or both ❤️

Hello @dustbunniess!! This sounds like a great idea! I'm so so sorry it took me so long to get this out to you love so much has happened since you asked for this I'm just trying to get by.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon X Reader

Era: Post-Prison, Pre-Terminus Era (Claimers Era)

Pronouns: You/Your, She/Her (No use of Y/N)

Warnings: The Claimers, Daryl with the Claimers, Attempted Sexual Assault, Crass behavior and language, Swearing, Physical Violence, Assault, Blood, Panic Attacks, Confusion, Delusion, Daryl becoming a literal savage, Abuse, Death, Beatings, Daryl reliving past traumas, Doing what you have to survive, Things happen off screen,

Summery: After the prison fell you were left alone in a world you felt was unfair and cruel. And who could blame you? Truly after all you'd been through? You changed from the person you were in the prison. But then... so did everyone else... When Daryl your boyfriend is the first to find you out in the world you see just how much things have changed with the new group he's in.

Separate Ways

It was when the prison went up in flames that you knew it was over. There was no going back. No redemption. The governor… in some sick twist of fate. Had won. Although your family had taken his life, and the lives of all his followers. You were all left to suffer, and after such a horrendous outbreak that you all had thought you defeated too… The difference was. This time you were completely on your own. No friendly face to turn to. No guiding hand to help you. Just you and the corpse you stabbed in the skull.

You had followed the screams out. So sure you were following Rick and Carl… but so soon you realized you were completely and utterly wrong. Trudging through the woods towards the highway you knew was your Emergency escape route you cursed your lack of preparation. No water, no food. You knew you had to act fast. Find shelter before the sun completely set for the night, find food before you starved... trudging through the thick forest you quickly found a path to follow. It had paid off to have followed your boyfriend on so many hunting expeditions and to help him on runs.

Coming to a stop you stilled your breath slowly scanning the wooded area around you. Nothing but trees and leaves surrounded you even though you had thought you heard the soft crackle of leaves, the snapping of a twig behind you. It wasn't loud and obnoxious. Something you've come to expect of walkers by now. Nor was it natural and fluid like the wildlife you had so greatly come to miss. It felt human. Large and concise. Hunting. Shivers ran down your spine. Bobbing and weaving through the tree line you darted back out onto the road that you had left in favor of the camouflage of the forest. Pulling your rifle you aimed blindly. Footsteps coming nearer. Louder. Like a bear charging it even growled. Placing your finger on the trigger you stepped back. "Stop!" You yelled.

A boy scrawny and pale came tumbling out of the brush. No older than Carl he looked up to you, his eyes wide and fearful he shivered in fear. Plastered in mud and blood you stared him down panting as the adrenaline left you both. Slowly he raised his hands high, shaking like a leaf he shook his head. "I-I'm so sorry." He whispered. One of the governor's, you realized. "I-It's my sister. She's hurt real bad... please..."

Glaring daggers at the teen you hissed through your teeth, stepping forward your weapon still raised and pointed directly between his eyes. "And why should I help you?" You growled. "She's all I got left." He whispered a tear running down his cheek. Hmm... at one time in life you would have felt pity. You would have run to his aid in a heartbeat. Now... Now however you scoffed at him. "Shoulda thought about that before you got yerself blown ta hell and back." You hiss lowering your gun. With wide eyes the boy watches in disbelief as you sling your pack off your back and rummage through it. "Y-you're just going to let her die?!" He screamed. "Pretty much sounds like you are kid." You growl, pulling out the last of your protein bars before slinging your bag back over your shoulder. "Standing there ain't doin' her no favors so I'd hop to it if I were you." You muttered taking a bite of your bar and walking down the road a stretch. Stomping on the ground like a toddler who didn't get his way the kid whined. "No I'm asking you for help!" He yelled. You wanted to turn and glare. You wanted to yell and scream. Hell you wanted to shoot him. But the growling and the thick rustling of leaves alerted you to the oncoming horde early. In his rage he must not had heard. Until they were right on top of him. You wondered briefly if his sister was among them.

Alone again you let the road take you where it will. across a bridge and through a town that was overrun with walkers. It was there you adopted a few walkers to help you navigate the thick hordes in the streets. Releasing them into the next life once you made it to the next side of town you sighed the tire marks in town leading to a hospital you'd rather not go near. So instead a set of train tracks that you crossed became your path. Instinctively you listened for trains. Your boots worn with wear stuck in the wood and on the nails. It was there you saw the first sign. "Go to Terminus." Your heart swelled. You didn't know where they were. How close they were. But you had to hope. Maybe. Possibly. They were safe.

Resting against a garage for the night you closed your eyes for what felt like a mere second. It most certainly wasn't hours... or so you had thought. Leaves and twigs had become your best friend in this world. The early indicator of something to come. But this time it was more. Loud. Uncaring if it was heard. Jumping awake you reached for your gun by your side but before you could grab it a large boot kicked it away. The large man standing before you sneered at you. "So she's awake." He laughed as you pressed yourself as far into the metal wall as possible. Three more men stepped out of the woods around you both. The laughed and jeered at you kicking at your feet as you tried to make yourself as small as possible. "Bet she's good." One said. Another had the sheer audacity to grab a handful of your hair and sniff it. As you went to slap him another grabbed your hand the leader with the grey hair chuckled.

"Claimed."

Two voices chimed out at the exact same time. The leader's sleazy voice and another more familiar voice that made your chest hurt with expectancy. You had waited. Hoped. Dreamed. Hell you even dared to pray for the day to come again where you'd hear your love's sweet voice again. But not here. Not now. Not looking down the barrel of weapons pointed against you.

The leader turned. Glaring at the man who dared to oppose him. Stepping into the light of the moon Daryl looked... different. Changed. His eyes were distant and dark even in the night. "Daryl..." The leader hummed his scowl melting as he turned to the archer. Tutting slightly he shook his head snapping his fingers the other men moved in on you. Two men grabbed your upper arms, hauling you to your feet while the others grabbed your shit. "C'mon now..." He growled. Giving your boyfriend a look. "Ya know better by now than to try and just claim whatever ya want... specially if ya know I'm gonna claim it." He cooed circling Daryl menacingly.

You had expected Daryl to act. The Daryl you knew would have. He would never have stood there and took the shit these creeps were giving either of you... but this Daryl... this one you knew in passing but never truly met before... he bowed his head. He turned away. He simply murmured something low. Soft. Something you couldn't hear.

The leader nodded eyeing you. His expression morphing. From wolfish and greedy to concentrated and scanning. "A'ight..." He sighed running his hand through his hair. "You gonna let us teach him a lesson?!" One of the men currently bruising your arm screamed. The others rallied behind him. Cheering and jeering they whooped and hollered. The men holding you jerked you back and forth making you stumble back and forth between the two. There was silence and for a moment contemplation on the leader's face that made your heart race. "Search her... Daryl and I got business to discuss." He growled turning around he spun your boyfriend with him grabbing him by the shoulder and dragging him into the woods.

They dumped the contents of your bag onto the ground. Screams of "Claimed" ripped through the air and you were certain you'd be overrun by a horde any moment. Ripped apart limb from limb by the dead you had survived for years because of a few fucking morons. When all of your supplies including the bag itself and your rifle and ammo were claimed... the men turned their eyes on you.

"Can't touch 'em til Boss gets back." One chimed in as a particularly greedy one stepped forward. "Yeah... but she got pockets don't she?." The man hummed placing his hands on your waist. The others whistled and hollered once more as you backed away as far as the other two would let you.

"Don't you fucking touch me!" You hissed, baring your teeth to the bastard. Nodding he chuckled following you he grabbed you once more this time burying his hands deep in your pockets, attempting to cop a feel. Rearing your head back you growled and head butted the man landing a blow directly onto his nose. The satisfying crunch it left and the blood that trickled down between your brows onto your cheeks like war paint was proof enough. "I told ya not ta fuckin' touch me!" You screamed.

"Hey!" You heard the leader scream from inside the barrier of the forest. Immerging from the shadows of the trees the leader stormed up to the group with Daryl following behind like a kicked puppy. The one you hit writhed on the ground holding his face he whine and whimpered as the others parted like the sea for the leader who grabbed you by the jaw getting close enough to smell the rancid canned food on his breath. "You really got some fuckin' nerve." He bit out. It took everything in you not to spit in is filthy fucking face.

Standing back up straight the man huffed glaring down at you a glint in his eye you didn't like. "Now boys... as you know Daryl and I both called dibs at the same time..." All eyes on you. You swallowed the thick lump in your throat ready to fight to your last breath. "Now Daryl has made me aware of something very important here... a rule. See he did... in fact... call dibs first. He called dibs Long LONG before he met us. This here... This is his wife."

Wife? You blinked but tried not to look too surprised. Daryl was locking eyes with you. A quiet desperation there only you could see. Keep the act up. Stay strong. You glanced between Daryl and the leader. You felt the man holding your right arm tighten his grip adding another fresh bruise to your bicep. "Bull shit." He growled, his hands slid down your arm to your wrist twisting it back and up painfully so that you yelped out in pain and doubled over. "I don't see a fuckin' ring on her finger!" He yelled.

You heard footsteps. Not one set but two approaching you. "He's right... no ring..." The leader spoke directly above you. His boots shufled to turn towards Daryl's. "But..." He spoke again his boots shifting again as you felt a new calloused hand take your left hand, the promise ring you bore sliding off your ring finger made you feel naked and cold. "You were looking at the wrong hand..." The leader said his voice low and cold. The man holding your right arm released his grip stumbling back. Sitting back up you twisted out of the other man's hands for a second before he took your wrist lightly.

The leader held your promise ring up examining it. Your initials were carved into the inside of the ring. Something Daryl had done himself with his knife back at the prison when he found a set having stolen the idea from Glenn of course. "Teach him a lesson boys." The man grunted out gesturing with his head to the man who shook his head and begged for his life. You stood stock still as the others circled him like sharks to the drops of blood that fell from his face. Even Daryl who's eyes went as dark as the night nodded to the command, picking up something from the ground.

Your vison blurred, all you could see was Daryl's back. Blood splattering. You heard the screaming. Jumping at the hand on your shoulder you looked to the man turning you away from it all. "I haven't properly introduced myself yet." He murmured watching you swipe pink tears from your cheeks. "I'm Joe. I'm the leader of this here group. The Claimers. We don't normally keep women long... They get passed around a bit and then... well we get bored and they end up roaming as one of the other biters." He chuckled eyeing you up. Hyperventalating you shook your head pulling away slightly when you felt his arm wrap around your waist. "Now now," He whispered in your ear. "You're a valued honorary memeber." He cooed but his expression became cold and dark. "That means... you work for what you keep. You start with shit. And half yer shit goes to Daryl. Like in any good marriage." He said menacingly, grabbing your wrist. "Oh and one last thing... I get to taste you one time... just part of the deal Daryl and I worked out to let you live."

Cut between confusion and pain you wondered if all the promises Daryl ever made to keep everyone safe were in vain. Who was he? Was he really the man you met back at the Quarry and fell in love with? No... Probably not... He was different. Changed. Evolved into something different. Looking over your finger as Joe slipped your ring back on your finger you felt sick to your stomach. This Daryl, dripping in another man's blood was animalistic. He was brutal and cold.

That night Joe told everyone to just bunk down in the garage. Safer. He said. You tried to clear your head of the mess of a human corpse outside the metallic walls. Following close behind the others you followed Daryl like a lost puppy. "Claimed" Echoed through the building as all the "good" spots were being taken. But Daryl just stood. He waited out in the open and waited with you by his side. Never once looking at you or acknowledging your existence. "Dar-" You tried to speak but was only ignored as he turned away once everyone went quiet. "Claimed." He yelled out when he found the most secluded spot in the garage behind a tarped tactor.

Pointing to the ground he looked around for a moment, waiting for your to sit on the ground. "Dar-" Shaking his head he knelt pulling a blanket from his bag he tossed it over you. "Here." He muttered. Not looking at you. Never looking at you. He stood and walked back out of the garage.

Even with the wool blanket you felt alone and cold. Even more so than when you were actually traveling alone. You hated it. This feeling of abandonment. Blinking back tears your glared at the ceiling wrapping yourself tight in your blanket you tried to fall asleep.

Hours passed. You hadn't slept. How could you with the men snoring like chainsaws all night. But the door opening and closing quietly didn't go unnoticed. Rolling over you turned to Daryl as he approached you slowly. Kicking his boots by your feet he laid down beside you. Lifting the blanket you welcomed him into the warm environment you created with time. You fully expected him to turn you away. To roll away and huff. But instead he scooted close. pulling the blanket over you both.

His arms were around you in a second. Finding tender blossoming bruises he burried his face in your neck. The wetness of his cheeks stained your dirty shirt. "Thought I lost you." He whispered. "Wasn't gonna let anyone take you... Not..." He went silent pulling you as tight as ever. Happiness and warmth swelled in you. Love and security. Wrapping your arms around his neck you kissed the top of his head, running your fingers through his wet hair.

Truth be told he still smelled like a wet dog. Musty and damp. But he washed off. Didn't stop you from feeling angry and betrayed. "Daryl... Why did you tell Joe..." You swallowed the doubt that still reigned suprieme and rampaged like a tornado in your mind. "Why did you tell him he could... have me?" There was a moment Daryl was silent. You thought he would lie. He would divert the situation. But instead he pushed himself up on his elbows and cocked a brow. "Never said that." He whispered. "Did that prick say that to ya? Say ya owed him somethin? "He whispered his eyes scanning you worriedly. You nodded slowly watching his reaction. Nodding Daryl hummed. "Ok."

Blinking you tried to read his face in the dark. "O-Ok?" You whispered. Nodding he lowered himself down to your ear. "Can't say out loud what I want to do ta the bastard. Someone could hear." He breathed. "Oh..." You tensed. You eyes instinctively scanning for threats but the dark felt claustrophobic and you wanted to simply run.

You were kicked awake early the next morning. You hadn't even realized you had fallen asleep. Another night of closing your eyes and suddenly jerking awake to danger feeling entirely unrested... Nothing new but you could never get used to it either. "Up an 'em, sweetheart." The man with greasy hair murmured. In the morning light you could see the shiner that was swelling half the man's face. A large cut ran down his forehead to his cheek that in the old world would have required stitches to keep it from scaring but now would just prove as a lesson to the man to listen better in Joe's twisted system. "Waistin' daylight..." He growled once more glaring at your boy- No. Your husband.

Daryl seemed to respond in kind. Huffing at the man he stood with a low painful groan. "Let's go." He murmured softly offering a hand to you.

You followed on Daryl's heels throughout the day like a duckling to their mother. Keeping your eyes on the wings on his back, you tried to stay strong and keep from physically acting on the men who treated you more like an object than a human. "Why you carryin' yer own bag when you got a bitch ta do it fer ya?" The rotund one called, chuckling as you moved to Daryl's left away from him. "No on would blame ya if ya went off and unwound on her for a bit... hell I'd even let the boys have a turn when I was done." One of the men with a beanie called out smirking at you from across the crick you had all stopped at to refill your canteens in. Holding your middle you glared at him. Daryl stood handing you your canteen. Reaching out you caressed his arm to sooth him. You were safe if he was here. He couldn't be if he was hurt or dead. He needed to act rashly.

"Shut up." He hissed despite it all. The Dixon temper was never one that could easily be quelled. When pushed down it only became more explosive. More dangerous. "What did you fucking say to us?" The three men rounded you. "We're just tryin' ta be friendly like." The greasy haired man that woke you growled. "Don't need no friends." Daryl growled stepping up to him. "Daryl." You whispered, reaching out to touch him but decided against it when you saw the crazed look in your husband's eye.

"Enough."

Joe's commanding voice ripped the fight apart before it could start. "Len, go fetch some firewood and scout the area. Got a feeling we could get lucky 'round here. Tony, go sharpen that damned blade of yours it couldn't cut butter if we had any for fuck's sake let alone take a biter down if we needed. Dan, fuck off with Len. Set up a perimiter. Daryl. Go hunting for dinner." Joe gave out orders like it was nothing. But your heart pounded in your chest and and nearly leaped into your throat when he met your throat reaching into his bag to grab something. You watched Daryl closely. Every muscle tense and primed to act in case Joe acted pulling something. His hand snaking to the pistol he had hidden at his back.

"Honey, I need ya ta wash our shit. Our clothes, specially our socks and boxers are really starting to get ripe and chafe us. I think you could handle that much... huh?" He purred walking up to you handing a small bundle of used men's socks and boxers. The smell was horrendous and made bile rise to your throat. You had to force yourself to breath the same way you would in a hot summer day around a horde of walkers to get by. "Ok..." You whimpered nodding. Freezing when you felt his hand on your shoulder you stood stock still. "And, sweetheart..." He hummed, his grip becoming incredibly painful his soft expression turning hard. "It's sir to you... Yes, sir. Say it." Whimpering you tried not to give into him. You didn't fall to your knees or bow as he desperately wanted you to. Instead you turned to glare at him your hair swirling around your, a single tear as his only satisfaction. "Sir, yes, sir." You growl stumbling as he pushed you forward into the water.

Hours passed by. Joe gave you meaningless task after meaningless task. Anything to see you in a compromising position. Scrub his boots. Wash his hair. Wash your hair. Sort their bags. Weave a basket. (Something you didn't know how to do and utterly failed in doing.) When he ran out of tasks to give you he made things up. Jump in place in front of him. He tried to make you bathe in the crick but when you threatened to cut his balls off he laughed and said it was a joke.

"Hey..." Len's voice cut through your newest meaningless task. picking up acorns while Joe watched. Looking over your shoulder you cocked a brow at the man that seemed far too excited to have just been told to fuck off for a few hours. "We found something." Dan muttered. Walking out of the woods with a string of rabbits Daryl glared hard at the ground. You'd seen him through the treeline throughout the course of the day. Taking aim at Joe at certain angles when he was certain the older man wasn't looking. But Joe always laughed or shook his head. "I know your watching Daryl. Go back to hunting." Or a promise of "I won't touch if you don't shoot."

"We found a camp!" Len cheered, pulling you from your thoughts. "A camp?" You breathed without thought. "Hell yeah girl." Joe murmured misreading your concern for excitment and curiousity. Or rather ignoring it completely as he slapped you hard on the back making you drop the acorns you gathered. "Come on let's show our newbie how it's done..." Joe said smiling so much like the devil that when you actually met him years later you'd never believe it.

The camp was small. It only housed two people. A man and a woman. The woman gathered baby supplies on a pink baby blanket before her. Brunette hair caught the wind just so that her face was concealed an you never truly saw her face. The man was undoubtedly in love with the woman. From the distance you hid you swore the couple were Glenn and Maggie. Your heart pounded deep in your chest. Your breath caught in your throat and you had to stop the scream that threatened to rip through you.

"We flank from all sides." Joe whispered so low you could barely hear him over the ringing of your ears. "Daryl." He whispered, moving closer to the two of you as the others moved into position. "I want to actually see you in there this time. No late arrivals." He hummed nodding as Daryl grunted in response.

"C'mon." No.

"Darlin'... We need ta move." Daryl whispered. No, God please no.

Your entire body shook, your eyes wide as saucer plates. Moving forward in the brush you only stopped when you felt Daryl's hand on yours. Turning to Daryl fear in your eyes you shook your head. Not again.

Pulling you away into the denser brush as Joe began his speech to the couple you could just barely see the others moving in.

Your body jerked when the screams started. Pulling at Daryl's hand you sobbed hard. "Daryl!" You wailed only to be pulled back his hand covering your mouth so your sobs were muffled. "It ain't them." He whispered. Pulling you incredibly tight you felt him bury his face in the crook of your neck hot tears rolling down your collar bone mixing with your own. "It can't be them."

That night you all slept under the stars. Fire lit and as warm as you could be in the middle of fall you and Daryl were of the first to retire, finding a spot in the dirt to bed down you laid against a large tree your back pulled against him. Just like when you two started dating out on the road. His wool blanket provided enough warmth to the both of you that the ground didn't bother you. Even with the rocks and roots digging into your side.

Just as you started to nod off you jerked awake to the sound of sets of heavy drunken footsteps. Daryl's arm wrapped tight around your middle. pulling you close. The others had found liquor at the camp and indulged heavily in it. Only Daryl and Joe refused to touch it.

"Claimed!" One man screamed loud. Belligerent. The smell of booze stained the air and made your empty stomach turn. "Nuh-uh." Another hissed. "I already claimed that spot." Len... Daryl had told you to watch out for him. He had an issue with claiming what wasn't his. he'd claimed what little food Daryl could get out hunting while on patrol.

"Bull shit!" The other man, you assumed to be Ivan screamed back. "It's true!" You tried to tune them out, squeezing your eyes shut breathing slowly, hoping you and Daryl went unnoticed. But as the fight got worse and worse you couldn't help the way you physically jumped when Tony landed on the ground on his back near by the two of you. Covering your mouth Daryl pulled you tight against his body as the two men rolled onto the wool blanket then off again.

You couldn't sleep after that even if sleep found the two that fought just a few moments ago. Turning to Daryl you buried yourself deep in his chest. "What was the wife thing about?" You got the courage to ask when all was quiet and the snores of the men matched the previous night. Shaking his head Daryl laid back staring at the night sky. He was silent for a moment. Whether he was waiting for a break in the snoring or simply listening for any eave's droppers you'd never know. "Probably shoulda done it a long time ago... just..." His words fell off going silent. Sitting up you captured his eyes in yours. "I love you, Daryl." You whispered. "We'll find them... I promise." But he remained cold. His eyes dark, distant. "Get some sleep."

Time seemed to go in a blur after that. Days and nights melded together. Didn't matter which was which truly. You never felt rested. Your stomach never empty. Daryl attempted to feed you his portions. But as the lowest on the poll he got scraps as it was and you hated taking what he had.

You were tired and underfed when you found Rick, Michonne, and Carl. You had believed that they were just visions when you first saw them. Len held you by the arm. "Gotta make sure she gets in on the action with this one!" He yelled, jerking you around. Wide eyed and in disbelief you gapped like a fish. These people looked just like your family.

"Rick?" You managed. Silence. Joe turned to you his eyes questioning before he gripped you hard. Jerking away you tried to free yourself from his grasp. "Hey! Let her go!" Michonne screamed from the grasp of another man. "Don't you fuckin' touch her!" Carl cried. You nearly wailed out and fell to your knees in pure bliss and euphoria. Hearing their voices. Knowing for a fact they were real. But you were on the ground before you could act. Your face to the pavement you groaned as a boot ground against the back of your skull holding you there. "I've got one free ticket to paradise here boys... why not use it while the pickin's good?" Joe hummed.

You screamed as hands grabbed at you before you could even process the cold pavement below or the screams of your family by your side. Swinging with all your might in any direction you could get a good hold on you connected a few good hits. The yelling from your family was nightmarish. You forced yourself to close your eyes Not wanting to witness or watch what could possibly be happening. Daryl had shielded you last time. Alone you felt vulnerable and terrified.

The boot on your head made your head pound and ache. It was crushing your head and it felt as if your brains would spill if they stepped any harder. Your hair was yanked. Your blouse cut down the back. But before anything else could happen. The person on your head. Joe you believed. Stumbled off. A resounding smacking of knuckles to skin echoing through the woods. Sitting up your shirt slid from your shoulders as you stared wide eyed at Daryl. He had gotten one good swing in. Glancing to you was his downfall. He was dogpiled before he had the chance to say otherwise but the others forgot the knife in your boot. They forgot to check Carl or Michonne in their haste.

Blood pooled on the highway. The five of you stood gasping as one family unit once more, covered in blood but victorious above all odds. Gasping and staring down at the ugly hideous creatures below you, tears rolled down your cheeks. Daryl once again refused to look at you. Instead he offered his vest to you to cover you up with. Instead he turned and glanced to Rick a heartbroken boy staring at a man looking for forgiveness.

You were enveloped by Michonne and Carl before you could say other wise. Not that you would ever pull away ever again. Pulling them close you watched the makeshift brothers share a silent conversation. One guarded and afraid.

The other loving and accepting willing to forgive.

Rick held Daryl tight as he cried and the three of you migrated to them. Hugging them tight you rested your head on Daryl's shoulder, closing your eyes. For the first time since the fall... there was a small flicker of hope.

#the walking dead #twd #daryl dixion x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl x reader #twd daryl #the walking dead daryl #dark fic #dark themes #dark thoughts #the claimers #twd the claimers #tw violence #long post

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turtletaubwrites · 4 months

Text

Gag Order

Thank you, @princeasimdiya12 for this request, I had such a great time writing it!

*Please read the tags!! This is very DubCon!

Pairings: Sanji x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3268

Ao3 Link

Summary: You catch your boyfriend flirting with another woman, and you can't stop your worries. Until you decide to use your talents as a hypnotist to make sure you're the only one Sanji flirts with. He told you he only wants to be with you, so what's the harm in helping him keep that promise?

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, 18+ Only, MDNI, Reader-Insert, Modern AU, Implied/Referenced Cheating, not confirmed but Sanji flirts and reader gets worried, Alcohol, Hypnotism, Manipulation, Gags, Bondage, Swearing, Smut, Hand Jobs, Established Relationship, Pet Names, Sub Sanji

A/N: The reader uses hypnosis and sex to manipulate Sanji into not flirting with other women, controlling his behavior. Please do not read this one if those themes may be triggering.

Extra A/N: I DO NOT CONDONE THE ACTIONS IN THIS FIC. This is not how hypnosis works, and I would not condone it if it did. Our subconscious minds won’t accept suggestions that go against our interests. (Cults are a different story, but hypnosis sessions could not do this.) Any who, I hope you enjoy it 😊

You remembered the way you’d blushed, shaking your head at his cheesy line. Still, something about the way he’d tilted his head, crinkling his eyes just a little, made his excessive compliments creep in like teasing fingers on your skin.

And he’d gotten you. Sanji was yours, and you were his. That’s what he promised you.

So why were you in the parking lot of your favorite coffee shop watching him tilt his head at the barista, waiting at the counter to keep talking as she prepared his drink? Why was she blushing, looking at him through her lashes?

You started the car before he grabbed his drink from her hand, chewing the inside of your mouth as you drove to a bar instead.

I knew what he was like. He’s just a flirty person. I have no reason to doubt him.

But what if I do? That’s how he got me. What if he just can’t help himself? What if it’s all a lie?

Those thoughts burned more than the scotch you sipped, failing to calm your nerves.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, opening a new email from your business account.

It should be a run of the mill client, and you fell into the rhythm of scheduling and exchanging details.

Hypnotizing clients to break bad habits was your bread and butter. Your lips twitched with a hint of pride in your work.

At least I’m confident in one area of my life.

That thought brought that sickening, writhing mass back to your gut, and you hated yourself for feeling this way.

Bad habits…

You held your glass in the air in front of you, forgetting you were about to take a sip as your mind started racing.

No. Fuck. I couldn’t…

Leaving the scotch on the bar with a tip, you followed your worst impulses out the door for an impromptu shopping trip.

‘I’ve got a surprise for you. My place tonight?’

He answered that text almost immediately, and you let out a nervous giggle as you set things up.

Part of your brain was screaming at you, logic and morals getting squashed by your determination.

His knock on the door felt like the point of no return.

“Hello, my love. I can’t wait to see what kind of surprise my darling has in store for me tonight.”

His hands and lips were already on you, just enough to send heat to your cheeks.

He’s so good at getting me flustered.

The image of that blushing barista cooled your blood, and you placed your hands on his face, willing yourself to keep steady.

Pressing your lips to his, you grabbed his wandering hands, pulling him to the bedroom. You turned on a dim lamp to reveal the chair you’d set up, displaying your new toys.

The sight of the ropes and gags made Sanji stumble, an audible moan making your own body tighten.

“I take it you’re interested?”

His heavy lidded eyes pulled away from the chair, meeting yours as a small shudder ran over his skin.

“What are we…”

“I thought I’d finally treat you to something you’ve been asking for.”

“Mm, and what’s that, my dear,” he asked, recovering enough to tease, running his thumb along your hip as he drew you closer.

“I’m going to hypnotize you.”

Sanji’s eyes widened, excitement evident in his features, before he tilted his head toward the chair.

“Do you normally tie up and gag your clients, angel? I didn’t know you were in this line of business.”

He breathed his words along the skin of your neck, his voice raspy with heat, and you let out a soft moan.

“No, sweetie, that’s just for you. If you’re open to it, of course.”

Sanji released a low laugh, placing the ropes and gags on the bed. He sat down, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair as he grinned at you.

“I’m glad you’re so eager,” you teased, standing in front of him. You slipped into a colder, almost professional tone.

“Do you consent to being bound, gagged, and hypnotized?”

Even in the low light, you could see the imprint of Sanji’s dick, hard and straining against his slacks as he shivered.

“What are you hypnotizing me to do?”

He was practically liquid on the chair, breathing heavily. You leaned in over him, letting an evil smile touch your lips.

“To be a better boyfriend.”

The small shock, and mock outrage on his face made you grin.

“If you consent, you can strip now.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart.”

He narrowed his eyes, shaking his head as he removed his clothes. You enjoyed the show, especially as you watched his face.

I didn’t lie. He said it’s okay.

Your excuses were pushed away, along with your guilt and doubt as you watched his gorgeous, naked body sit before you, his heavy cock twitching occasionally as his eyes roamed your features.

As you knelt beside him, tying him to the chair, you let your voice sink into that soothing cadence. You explained what was going to happen, the process of induction, of bringing him to the relaxed state of mind needed for hypnosis.

Trailing your fingers along his body, you asked permission to gag him, and permission to touch him.

I’m doing all of this right. He said he wants to be with only me. He wants to be mine. I’m just helping him.

The sight of Sanji bound before you, helpless to whatever you chose to do next, sent a thrill through you.

“We’re going to begin now. Are you ready?”

“Yes, darling. I’m all yours.”

Sanji’s mouth was parted as he stared up at your fingers, your hand above his head so that he was looking as high as he could without tilting his neck. Your other hand lay loose at your side, ready.

This process was so natural to you now, that it had almost become your own hypnotic state.

“Sanji. You will be totally relaxed. You will be able to hear me, and feel me, and answer my questions, and your mind and body will stay in a deep level of relaxation.”

“I am going to count from ten down to one, and with each number, and each breath, you will become more and more deeply relaxed, moving gently down.”

As you counted down, repeating the commands for relaxation, you watched his body for signs. His eyes were already fluttering, then you allowed them to close as he continued listening.

He’s going to be so easy to hypnotize.

Smiling at the thought, you started your next test. Bringing your free hand to give a loud snap at your next command, you watched his body jolt slightly before practically melting.

“Every time you hear the snap of my fingers you sink even deeper, going deeper, drifting deeper. As your mind and body relax completely, you are open to hypnosis, open to my suggestions. As you go deeper,” *snap* “drift deeper,” *snap* “sink deeper,” *snap* “Your body and mind are accepting and welcoming suggestions.”

Normally, you’d test a client’s level of relaxation again with an arm test, but his were tied. However, you knew you didn’t need to. Some people take to hypnosis so naturally, they are the easiest clients.

And Sanji was so easy.

You finally brought the long count down to one, confirming and commanding that Sanji was ready to accept suggestions, and to answer questions.

“Alright Sanji, now that you are fully relaxed, you are going to answer questions easily and truthfully. Answer me now.” *snap* “Are you ready to answer my questions?”

“Yes.”

“Good, Sanji. As you answer each question you feel relaxation move through you. Do you want to be a better boyfriend?” *snap*

“Yes.”

“Of course you do. The feeling of wanting to be a good boyfriend grows even stronger now as you,” *snap* “go deeper, drift deeper. That feeling will continue to grow as you relax,” *snap* “deeper.”

You continued snapping and repeating throughout your commands, loving how easily, and quickly he took to them.

“In a moment now, Sanji, you will feel my fingers on your skin. You will stay relaxed as you follow my suggestions. But first answer this question honestly and truthfully.”

“Do you flirt with other women?”

“Yes.”

“Is that something a good boyfriend would do?”

“No.”

*snap*

“Good, Sanji. You want to be a good boyfriend, and now you know what not to do. It’s just a habit, and habits can be changed.”

Sanji let out a little whimper, a common thing for clients to do when facing uncomfortable information or guilt during session.

“You are doing so well, your mind and body are relaxed and accepting suggestions.” *snap* “Now Sanji, we are going to help you become a better boyfriend. You will feel my touch now, and every touch will only bring you deeper into relaxation.”

You picked up the ball gag and traced it along his chest and arm before touching his face. You coached and guided him to open his mouth, using your fingers to gently pry open his lips and jaw. Soft noises left his throat as you fastened it behind his head, checking that it was a good fit.

He was so helpless. You didn’t realize how much you’d enjoy the sight of him like this.

“You are doing so well, Sanji. So relaxed, breathing through your nose so well.”

Sanji gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head, and your mouth dropped open when you noticed his swollen cock, precum leaking down his shaft.

You had to pause for a couple minutes at the sight. Luckily, when clients are in such deep hypnosis, you can often take a short break without them noticing. You normally need to stretch, have water, and a cough drop halfway through a two hour session.

Right now you needed to catch your breath, trying to focus on your goal instead of Sanji’s gorgeous cock crying out for your attention.

Fuck.

“Sanji, as you relax, you notice how your body feels. You are relaxed as you pay attention to how your lips, your tongue, and your jaw feel. As you relax now Sanji, you will continue to answer my questions. Do you flirt with other women?”

“yhh.”

The muffled sound strained from the back of his throat. You knew his answer was the same as before.

“Is that something a good boyfriend would do?”

“ghn.”

“Good, Sanji. Now let your body remember how this gag feels. How it presses your tongue, and stops your words. You are going to use this feeling, your body is going to carry it with you, to help you be a better boyfriend.”

He nodded, small tears forming under his closed eyes.

“Take yourself back now, going back in time to this afternoon. Picture yourself at the coffee shop. You are there now, you can see what you saw then. The smells, and the sounds wash over you. The power of your subconscious mind is bringing you back to that moment. That woman is there, the barista, speaking to you while she makes your coffee. Are you there now?” *snap*

“yghh”

“Were you flirting with that woman?”

A few more tears fell down over Sanji’s stretched cheeks as he grunted his ‘yes.’

“Is that what a good boyfriend would do?”

You paused after his muffled ‘no,’ his admittance of his behavior fueling your desire to see this through.

I’m just helping him with a bad habit.

“As you relax deeper,” *snap* “going deeper, you will go back to that moment. You will look at that woman that is not your girlfriend. And when I snap my fingers you will flirt with her just like you did then.”

*snap*

With his tongue fully pressed beneath the large ball gag, whatever his line was that he’d used on that woman was lost, only grunts and drool spilling from his lips now.

“Your body remembers this feeling. It will carry it through, beyond this session. You want to be a good boyfriend. So now, when you want to flirt with a woman that isn’t your girlfriend, your subconscious mind will bring back this feeling. Flirting is just a habit. Now your body is helping you change that habit. Because you want to be a good boyfriend.”

Each command was accompanied by a snap, and you relished in how deep he was in hypnosis, how pliable.

This is going to work.

“When I snap my fingers, you will say that you want to be a good boyfriend.”

*snap*

“Mn mwnn gh ghm mm ghmm ghmmrrmn.”

“We’re going to practice this again. Your mind is taking you now to another moment when you flirted with a woman that was not your girlfriend. Your mind is traveling there now.”

Sanji waited so perfectly for you as you removed his ball gag. You grabbed a soft cloth from the bed, wiping the spit that was dripping down his chin, before stuffing the fabric into his mouth.

“When I snap my fingers, you will flirt with her like you did then.”

This fabric wasn’t as effective as the ball gag, and you tried to makeout what his line had been.

“Whths ah ghoohthy lch ygh ghnng ng ah ghlsh lch thss?”

Even through the gag you could feel the hint of his purr, and it spurred you on.

“When I snap my fingers, you will say that you want to be a good boyfriend.”

*snap*

“Eh whnn gh ghh ah ghoogh ghhrrnngh.”

You commanded again that his body would remember this feeling, carry it over. Then you removed the fabric, bringing your final tool in front of his face.

“Now, Sanji, in a moment I will have you open your eyes, just enough to see what I have in my hands.”

You showed it to him, then started trailing it slowly over his thighs, chest, and arms.

“This is your handkerchief now. It will be your anchor. Everyday, you will put it in your pocket, and it will remind you of your goal to be a better boyfriend.”

You brought it to his hand, rubbing it gently over his fingers.

“Each day that you touch it, your subconscious mind will remember.”

You brought it to his lips, covering his mouth and clamping your hand over it.

Again, you led him to a memory of flirting with another woman, training him to remember how this feels.

“Your subconscious mind is accepting these suggestions, and they will carry over. Your mind will recall exactly how you have felt tonight. The next time you feel the urge to flirt with another woman, your body will remind you of these feelings.”

You folded the handkerchief, stuffing it into his pants’ pocket, unable to stifle a small smile as your heart raced, the reality of what you’d just done hitting you.

You knelt in front of him, amazed at how hard he still was after all of that work.

“You’ve been doing so well, Sanji. I know you want to be such a good boyfriend. And good boyfriends get good things. Would you like something good, Sanji?”

“Yes,” he stuttered, finally free from the gags.

“Soon I will count back up from ten to one, and your conscious mind will let go of all that we’ve done, but your subconscious mind will remember. Your conscious mind will only remember the relaxation, and the pleasure, but your subconscious mind, and your body will remember it all. You will carry all of these suggestions with you.”

“And as I count you back to this moment, you will feel so much pleasure. You will be completely present, and happy to be with your girlfriend. You will feel so good knowing that you are a good boyfriend. Are you ready to feel good, Sanji?”

He nodded, making sweet, needy noises for you.

You started to count him out, going slowly as you traced your fingers on his lap. Continuing your commands as you teased his tip, his body started shaking as much as the ropes would allow.

“You’re being so good for me, Sanji. So good. Three.” *snap*

Stroking his cock now, you knew it wouldn’t be long. You spaced out your count, bringing him out so slowly so you could time it right.

“I wanna be a good boyfriend…”

The words came out of him without your command, Sanji’s pathetic whine making you drip with need.

“You are.” *snap* “You are a good boyfriend, Sanji. Now, when I snap my fingers one more time you will be awake and alert with me here and now. You will open your eyes, and you will feel so good, and your body will remember.”

The feel of his swollen skin in your hand set you on fire, and you waited until you watched him twitching, feeling him pulsing.

*snap*

Sanji opened his eyes, mouth slack as he met your gaze. Then his eyes rolled back, his come shooting straight up over his lap, making a mess.

He let out the most gorgeous, unrestrained moans, and you kept going until every drop spilled out of him, dripping down your fingers.

His head was still tilted back, and his breath was heavy for a few long moments.

“Are you okay,” you asked, your voice soft with worry.

What if he remembers? What if he’s angry?

“Mm, I feel incredible, my love. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more relaxed in my life.”

You let out a tiny squeal of happiness, standing up to reach his lips for a kiss.

He’s all mine.

You waited in the parking lot the next day, hoping he’d stick to the same schedule. Again, shoving aside all the guilt and worry, you just focused, obsessing over if this worked.

Huddling down in your seat with a gasp, you watched your boyfriend walk in, staring at his profile as he waited in line.

Sanji got to the front, pulling out his wallet as he pointed to the menu. It was the same woman from the day before, and you cringed at her playful smile.

Sanji smiled back, and your heart sank.

Until he reached his hand into his pocket, pulling out the handkerchief.

Sanji looked away from her as she took his card, and you watched in sick pleasure as he covered his whole mouth with the fabric, holding it over his lips just as you had.

The woman tried to talk to him after she returned his card, but he could hardly look at her, still holding the handkerchief to his face as he nodded.

He walked away, standing against the wall as he waited.

Guilt and triumph filled you, and your hands were shaking as you grabbed your keys.

You let out a little scream when your phone chirped, dropping your keys, then laughed at your nerves. You started the car, wanting to get out of there before he came outside, but you saw his name on your phone’s screen.

More fear flooded you, and you saw that he was still waiting against the wall, staring at his phone.

Holding your breath, you checked the text.

‘Can I cook dinner for my beautiful girlfriend tonight? Already missing your face, my love 💖’

You tossed your phone to the passenger seat, and drove away, body buzzing. You couldn’t believe how giddy you felt, and you kept squealing and biting your lip.

Amidst the giddiness you still felt guilt, but you kept shaking it away, telling yourself it was for the best.

Now he’s all mine, and I’m all his. That’s what he promised me anyway.

Thank you for reading! 💜

a/n: Once again, hypnosis can't do that, and I wouldn't condone this either way. But I had fun with this one, and I hope you did too!

buy me a coffee ☕💜

#sanji smut #cw dubcon #cw hypnosis #sanji x reader #One Piece smut #reader insert #fem!reader #smut #mine #opla smut #sanji fanfiction #sanji fanfic #x reader #turtletaub fics

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autumnleaves1991-blog · 8 months

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"I don't actually believe you." Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F! Reader x John 'Soap' MacTavish

Summary: After returning to base in Las Almas, the team gets a surprise when Graves turns out to be the true enemy. During the confusion you get injured and taken with Alejandro. To bad for shadow company you're more than a teammate to Soap and Ghost, and their coming for their girl.

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F! Reader x John 'Soap' MacTavish

Warnings: 18 + for language, canon typical violence, blood, guns, reader goes by the callsign Phoenix, poly.

Cross Posted on AO3

“Let’s not make this any harder than it has to be, gentleman.” You clear your throat, “and lady.”

“My men are in there!” Alejandro holds out his arm, his voice impassioned, “let them go.”

“No can do, amigo,” Graves chuckles, “I like this base. I think I’m gonna keep it. And everyone that comes with it.”

You turn your head, Ghost already has his eyes on you. “So what’s the plan then Graves?” You turn to look at the shadow leader, “you gonna kill us?”

“No,” he shakes his head, “absolutely not. No one has to die tonight.”

“You know what? I don’t actually believe you.” Alejandro takes a step closer getting in the commander's face.

“I’m not leaving without my men.”

“We’ll then,” Graves grabs a hold of Alejandro’s vest, pushing him into the van, shadows holding both his arms as Graves knocks him out with the butt of his gun. “Grab the girl!”

You scream, fighting like hell, Shadows falling down around you before someone grabs your hair and pulls you back a gun under your chin. “Let me go, you piece of shit!”

“Tsk tsk Darlin’. You kiss your momma with that mouth.” Graves grins looking ahead and you see Ghost and Soap staring you down. Their jaws are locked, pissed off beyond belief. “Or just these two boys?” He laughs, “This little girl is the key to keeping you boys compliant. I control her, I control you.”

Ghosts finger tightens on the trigger, Soap going for a knife strapped to his side. “Let. Her. Go,” Ghost growls, his chest heaving, “I won’t fucking tell you twice.”

“Oh so you’re the one she’s been fucking?” Graves tightens his grip and you hate the whimper that slips through your teeth.

Simon raises his gun, blowing the head off of the Shadow beside you. The soldiers lift their guns, all of them focused on Ghost. “Next one goes in you,” he aims at Graves.

“I wouldn’t do that,” he digs the gun harder into your throat. “You shoot me and she dies.”

“I wouldn’t be so worried about her,” you can hear the smirk, “she can take care of herself.”

“Seems I got the upper hand this time,” he gropes your breast, “and what a nice handful it is.”

“Fuck this,” you slam your elbow into his stomach, whirling and dropping as the bullet flys directly over your head. You lift your leg and kick him in the sternum as the bullets fly. You toss your body, rolling down the hill with a pained cry as a rock hits your shoulder, dislocating it.

“Fuck,” you groan, grabbing your gun and shooting blindly back at the Shadows.

“Phoenix!” you hear Johnny shout, and you look around blindly when something hits you hard on the back of the head and the world goes dark.

When you come to, the room is dark but you can see two Shadows in the corner their guns resting lazily against their chest. The floor beneath you is cold and you sit up, biting your lip and muffling the scream when you notice your shoulder. “Fucking asshole didn’t pop my shoulder back,” you mumble, cursing his name.

“Graves,” one of the Shadows mumbles into a radio, “she’s awake.”

“Fucking finally,” you can hear the smile in his voice, “I’ll be right down.”

The door slams open a moment later and you flinch, your vision swimming. “Seems like you haven’t lost your fire, Phoenix,” Graves strolls in like he owns the place, pulling a chair to sit down before you. “I’m glad your awake, had me worried there for a moment.”

You ignore him, focusing on a point on the wall behind him and retreating to the recesses of your mind. This isn’t the first time you’ve been tortured but a first for it being someone you know. “Aww, don’t do that, Sweetheart,” he leans forward putting his hand on your neck and squeezing as he brings you to your knees.

He squeezes tighter and your eyes widen as you struggle to take a breath, digging your nails into his wrist, your right arm hanging loosely at your side. “It’s rude to ignore your hosts.”

He lets go and you fall to your side, coughing and sputtering as the air reinflates your lungs. “I’m surprised,” Graves stands looming over you, “I thought Ghost would be into a little choking.”

Ignoring him you think of Simon and Johnny, and you laugh. It starts off as a giggle, then a chuckle before you’re laughing manically on the ground. Graves doesn’t like that very much, standing quickly and putting his boot on your arm, pressing down. You scream, blood curdling as he presses harder, leaning down to your face, “you think this is funny?” he shouts, “tell me, bitch, what’s so fucking funny?!”

He finally lets up kneeling beside you, his gun in your face, and between the tears streaming down your cheeks you see the two shadows stepping closer. “TELL ME!” he screams, and you start laughing again.

“They’re,” you gasp between each word, “gonna, fucking, kill, you.” The blood stains your teeth when he wacks you across the face with his gun, the metalic tang on your tongue.

“We’ll see about that,” he stands, staring down at you for a minute before, looking over his shoulder, “put her in the holding cell with Alejandro and lock it down.”

“Yes, sir,” the men nod, watching him retreat before they lift you, ignoring the way you cry when your obviously broken shoulder jostles.

They dump you on a stale mattress in the corner of the room, another soldier holding a gun on Alejandro. “What the fuck did you do to her?!” he screams fighting the one holding him back. They slowly retreat out of the room before locking the door to the cell behind them. Alejandro rushes to your side, brushing the hair out of your face, “Jesus.”

“Looks worse than it is,” you whimper, allowing yourself a moment to cry when he tries his best to clean you up.

“Graves really fucked you up,” he mumbles, tearing off his shirt, leaving him in a white t-shirt, “this is going to hurt,” he warns before popping your shoulder back down. A scream tears its way out of your throat, and you clutch at his arm, sobbing. “It’s broken,” he whispers, “but that should take some of the tension off.” He makes a sling out of his shirt, and helps you sit up to rest against the wall.

The room is silent save for your heavy breathing, and the drip of water in the corner. “He-” Alejandro starts, rubbing his hands together, “he didn’t-”

“No,” you cut him off, understanding, “no he didn’t.” You close your eyes, “doesn’t mean he won’t take the chance the longer we’re here. Or maybe he’ll hand me around to the Shadows. I think this has shown us, Graves is the furthest thing from a man of honor.”

“They’ll come for us,” he looks up at the ceiling, “they’ll come for you.” You turn your head and give him a small smile, he turns and returns it. You sit in comfortable silence, your head resting on his shoulder, hating how your body tenses when you hear the slightest noise from outside.

Hours later, the building shakes with a boom, and Alejandro leans over you covering your head as a few small rocks rain down from the ceiling. “The cavalry,” he pulls back smiling down at you, “has arrived.”

“Johnny,” you whisper, closing your eyes, “they’ll alive.” Soldiers shout outside the room, and Alejandro stands, hiding behind the door ready to pounce. You hold your breath, hearing shots down the hall and screams through the thick metal of the door.

Another boom rocks the complex and it makes you smile, “that’s my demolitions expert,” you whisper, “come find me, baby.”

There’s suddenly a scream of terror that is quickly silenced, closer than the others. “Ghost,” you whimper, pushing off the ground with a gasp and taking a shaky step towards the door.

“Stay back, Phoenix,” Alejandro holds out an arm, “we don’t know for sure it’s them.”

But you do, the door bursts off the hinges and Alejandro strikes, Johnny pins him to the wall. “It’s us, Amigo,” he shouts.

“Ghost, Soap, Rudy,” he looks at the three men and smiles, “am I glad to see you!”

“Where is she?!” Ghost pushes his way past them, looking around before his eyes land on you. “Phoenix,” he whispers, taking a step towards you.

You step, your knees collapsing but before your knees hit the ground he’s holding you. You gasp, pain shooting up your arm and he quickly lets go, assessing the damage.

“Lass,” Johnny comes around and leans you against his chest. Ghost pulls off his pack and grabs a syringe from a small bag, “relax,” Johnny presses his lips to your head, "we got you."

"Fucking Graves is a dead man," Ghost growls injecting your arm with the good stuff. Your arm aching but nothing compared to the agony of the last few hours. Ghost leans closer, his eyes rimmed red before he checks you over for any other wounds.

His hands tighten painfully when he sees the fingerprints on your neck, "did Graves do that to you?"

"Yes," you whisper, his finger softly trailing down the purple bruise on your cheek, "and that one too."

"Death is too quick," he mumbles, glancing at Johnny, "fucking bastard is going to suffer."

"Aye, I'm right there with you L.T.," Johnny wraps his arms around your waist, "had us scared to death, love."

"We need to get her out of here, I'll go help Alejandro free the Los Vaqueros, then we get the hell out and kill Graves." Ghost stands walking towards the door but freezing when he hears you.

"Simon," you whimper, reaching an arm out for him, "Johnny, help me up." Johnny helps you to your feet, keeping himself pressed to your back. "I thought you were dead for the last day. I thought Graves was gonna come back and touch me, or give me to his men. I just fucking need you right now."

"I got you, Phoenix," he pushes his body to your front and you're sandwiched between the two men you love most in this world. "We'd have burned this entire fucking world apart to find you, love." He chuckles, "I don't know how well you could hear the explosions from in here, love. But Johnny got a head start."

"I knew you'd come for me." You rise up to kiss him, his left hand quickly lifting up his mask before kissing you with all the passion, worry, and fear since you were taken." Simon turns your head and Johnny is there, waiting for his chance to steal your breath away. Safe for the first time since you were taken.

"I fucking love you, lassy," Johnny kisses your nose. "Let's go home."

"I love you too," you whisper, turning back to Simon, "both of you."

"And I love you," Simon pulls his mask back down, "bloody both of you. Between you getting kidnapped and him blowing everything up it's a wonder I'm not dead yet."

"But you love us anyways," Soap grins, kissing your head and helping you towards the door.

"You're right," Simon nods, aiming his gun, ready to defend, "I bloody fucking do."

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #autumn writes #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mactavish #Female Reader #Poly #Our boys go a little feral for their girl #Autumn Writes

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faeriekit · 9 months

Text

Health and Hybrids (XI)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

PART ONE is here PART TWOis here PART THREEis here PART FOUR is here and PART FIVE is here PART SIX is here and PART SEVEN is here PART EIGHT is here PART NINE is here PART TEN is here and this is part eleven.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts

Where we last left off... Bart and Wally bonding! Wally met his kid relative's weird friend. Stuff got thrown. Everyone enjoyed the thought of playing around with offbrand floam in the ao3 comments.

Trigger warnings for this story: body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) | my awful attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

Danny’s alone when the itch starts.

And. When it starts. It’s just that: an itch. It tingles, and Danny tugs at the loose skin with his claws, and it fades into the choir of background pain in his mind.

It happens a few more times. In his stomach. In his eyes; Danny bats at the sensation with his hands, curled and careful, and it…tamps down. A little.

And then the itch stops going away.

He gets visitors; the humans like to play with his toys, and Danny lets them, because they’re young and he’s nice and they’re not mean to him. Not like— Their names escape him, but all the beings in his head are blue and firey and loud and not nice, and the green inside his blood burns instead of soothes.

Danny presses himself against the mattress of the cot. His towel wraps around his middle, to catch the Grossness. The young humans are nice. They are not a threat. Even when they’re loud, they’re not mean; they’re just young, and just playful.

He doesn’t want to play with them today, though. They ask him to play, and he bats them away with his claws put away inside his skin.

The itch has become a burn. He can’t play with them today.

It hurts.

Danny hurts.

Danny hides under his blankets and then he doesn’t, because the blanket on his cot scratches up against his itchy parts and he can’t sleep away the burn.

He wants to hide in his core. He wants to hide. He doesn’t, because he’s safe here, and if he goes back into his core then his flesh body won’t heal.

But it hurts.

Danny doesn’t even notice he’s curled up and crying until something touches his shoulder. It’s gentle, but Danny is so scared. He bolts upright—

Oh. The touch is from the alien’s friend. The lady.

He knows this lady.

…Danny starts crying again. He doesn’t know why—except everything hurts, and he’s unhappy, but he’s well fed and well watered and clean, so why does his body hurt so bad?!

The lady pulls back his sheet, makes quiet, insistent, worried words, but Danny can’t understand her and everything hurts and he doesn’t know why and he wants his mom. Danny wants Mom, and she’s not here, and she never ever ever will be ever again—

There are gentle hands on his body. They hurt, even when they’re light and gentle.

Danny cries.

The human lady peels back his towel, and—he doesn’t know what she sees, but she says something stern and not as gentle-quiet and Danny hisses, scared, so scared, so hurt, so frightened.

The soft words come back. A soft touch to his shoulder. An apology.

The whole world hurts, and no one can help him.

…And then there’s a hissing sound.

Something very very cold touches him.

It’s not real cold because it doesn’t make him feel better, but his nerves are trying to interpret what he feels and what they come up with are a “????” that blisters across the wildfire of pain burning through him.

The hissing sound comes back. Again. More cold. More—something else touches him. He’s moved. Something else touches him again.

It hurts. Everything hurts. Everything hurts and Danny wants to go home and go to bed. And he can’t. And—

Someone pulls his blanket. Something pulls at him. There are hands, and there is a hissing sound, and there is a sensation of something Cold and Wet touching him across his burning abdomen.

Danny cries.

He cries.

He cries when a pillow appears in his arms and he cries when his spaceship appears there too. He cries when he’s alone and he cries when he knows humans are there. He cries, and he cries, and he doesn’t stop crying until the wildfire pain becomes only a burn, and then only a pain, and then only an itch again.

It itches.

Danny sniffles through brand-new sinus cavities. He itches. Everything is sore and he’s unhappy.

He’s also…on his back. The lady is there in the chair the buzzing-human-adult left there after its own visit. She is slumped over.

Danny doesn’t have the strength to purr for her attention. He’s too tuckered out.

He just. Warbles.

Thankfully the noise is enough. The woman carefully rises in her chair. She doesn’t move for a second.

Danny warbles again. A little quieter. A little more scared.

She leans closer. She says something—the syllables don’t make sense, but she sounds wet, and she sounds tired, and she sounds sad. And she’s still sitting with him anyway. There’s something in her hand, and—

Danny taps the occupied hand. What is it?

She makes a noise. She lifts her hand.

Danny moves the hand instead of the object of interest. It’s objectively easier.

The item is a spray bottle. He sniffs it. Smells kinda weird. Does it taste like anything? He presses his tongue to it.

Well. That tastes bad.

…And then his tongue goes numb.

Oh.

Oh!

And Danny’s still too tired to purr, but he makes a few grateful noises anyway, and the lady pets his hair with her blue-gloved hands.

The itching is gone. Numbing spray doesn’t last forever, but it’ll work for now. He has to rest while he can.

The burning will be back.

But for now...he’ll nap.

#Diana: !!!!!!!????????????!?!?!?!??!?!?!??!?!??!?!?!!!!!!????!!#Diana: *yanks phone off hook* HELLO HEALERS. WHAT DO I DO.#Victor (on help line duty): ?? Wh— Medical? This sounds like...I'm forwarding you to medical. one sec. Hold on.#dp x dc #tw gore #tw medical #tw body horror #health and hybrids #dpxdc #dcu crossover #danny phantom #cryptid!au

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ooihcnoiwlerh · 2 months

Text

New chapter is up for my Feyd-Rautha/Reader fic. I'll provide the AO3 link here: And I Don't Want Your Heart - Chapter 3 - ooihcnoiwlerh - Dune (2021) [Archive of Our Own]

But if you'd prefer to read it here I can provide it under the cut. As you can imagine, there are trigger warnings for this fic in general as well as this chapter.

TW: arranged marriage, forced marriage, dubious consent, implied/referenced self-harm, implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced incest, heavy violence, first times, rough sex, blood kinks, and of course Feyd-Rautha who is his own walking content warning.

If you haven't read my fic yet I do recommend reading the prologue and first chapter to get what's going on. It's all on AO3.

CHAPTER TWO: THE MOMENT YOU'VE BEEN DREADING

“It’s time, Na-Baroness.”

You turn to look at her. She keeps her head down. “We need to get you to your bedchambers to prepare,” she adds.

You take a breath. He and everyone else need you to be living and healthy at least for the time being. You’ll be able to manage whatever happens tonight, you tell yourself.

You give a small nod, reach for your goblet, and finish the contents in three big swallows before setting it down.

Your mother sees you get up and her eyes widen just a fraction. You smile at her as you make a detour to wish your family a good night.

“I’ll see you in the morning for breakfast,” you tell your parents. Afterwards all off-world guests will be going home, and you’ll have to deal with the fact that this desolate killing field of a planet is your home now. You try not to think about how you probably won’t be seeing any of your family again until the next wedding or funeral as you give each of them a crushing hug. When your younger sister hugs you back, you wonder if she’s thinking about her future, if she’s terrified that she’ll have an even worse match.

“You look beautiful, Y/N,” Father tells you as you pull away from his embrace. When he looks at you, you can tell he’s thinking, I’d give anything right now for you to have been born a son.

“Thank you, Father,” you tell him, thinking, Come on, now. You can’t put me up to this marriage in the first place and then act as though I’m going to my execution. You need for them to have hope that you’ll be okay. One of you has to believe that I can get through this.

You sense the Baron watching you. You can feel his distaste at the open sentimentality but he doesn’t say anything, so it seems that he’ll allow it. How kind of him, you think bitterly.

When you start to move past them your mother tugs at your wrist one last time and you turn to face her. She doesn’t say anything, so you end up speaking for her.

“It’ll be alright,” you say softly, taking her hands.

She almost smiles, then swallows. “I should be the one saying that to you,” she says. You just give her a small smile of your own and kiss her cheek. You end up letting go of her hands first, but it takes only the first tug for her to relinquish yours. You resume your trek out of the Great Hall when you reach the head of the table and stop, remembering one last obligation before you go.

You need to pay your respects to the Baron first and it makes you hesitate. You don’t want to talk to him, don’t want to look at him, don’t want to even think about him. His nephew strikes fear in you, but there’s a kind of revulsion that the Baron inspires that is tangible even as you can’t quite explain it. Even if you didn’t know his reputation as a bloodthirsty warmonger that makes your father seem like a pacifist by comparison, even though you’re sure that there’s more you haven’t discovered yet, even with the limited interactions you’ve actually had with him, he makes your skin crawl. You step forward, eyes downcast, incline your head, and dip into the deepest curtsy you can manage in your gown.

“Thank you, Baron, for your gifts, your kind reception, and your hospitality,” you tell him.

After a pause he seems to think you’ve expressed an adequate amount of gratitude and says, “May you continue to please my lovely nephew,” he responds, voice low enough that your family won’t hear but the people next to him will. He knows that you know what he means.

Contempt and shame war within you. You refuse to look up at him. “Yes, Baron,” you manage, face flushing. Your hands shake. You rise and turn away. Idrisa’s there within arm’s reach to escort you out.

It’s a long stretch of silence to get from the Great Hall to the Harkonnen private chambers, but neither of you know quite what to say that you’d be willing to risk anyone hearing.

She guides you back into your bedchambers. Once there, you stand in the middle of the room, frozen and useless. “Will he want me in this?” you ask after a moment. You picture him tearing the fabric of your underskirts, maybe slicing your bodice with one of his hidden blades. It’s easy to picture him desecrating a symbol of your union. It’s also easy to picture him simply pulling down your undergarment, bending you over the nearest flat surface, and debasing you as you’re still fully clothed.

Idrisa shakes her head. “The Na-Baron had some specific requests. He’d like you out of this,” she says. “I’ll help you.”

She’s so gentle with her touch and the meticulous way she undoes your bodice and arranges your skirts that it unnerves you rather than soothes you. It’s such a contrast to how you’re certain you’ll be touched as soon as you leave these chambers that you tremble at her fingertips.

“It’ll be alright,” she says softly. “You and the union between the Houses is too important for him to seriously hurt you.” You don’t miss the disclaimer of ‘seriously’. You have nothing to say to that, only watching as she sets the gown back on the mannequin it arrived with and turns to you, in just your boots and undergarments.

You sigh and take care of your boots and the stockings underneath as Idrisa reaches into your drawers for a chemise and robe.

“He wants you to take off your undergarments,” she says over her shoulder.

“Of course he does,” you mutter, working on those next, stripping down bare. “For ‘ease of access.’”

“It’s not an unreasonable request,” Idrisa says mildly, taking your discarded clothes and handing you the chemise to put on. “We’re almost done.” She sets down a pair of slippers for you to step into and gives you your robe before taking a step back and taking inventory of you. She tilts her head and bites her lip.

“Hair down, I think,” she says. “Your make-up held up well, so we won’t need to reapply anything.”

“We could, you know.” It’ll buy me some time to collect myself. Although that isn’t entirely true; you’ll still be just as nervous an hour from now as you will be five minutes from now, and you both know it as Idrisa quietly arranges your hair into a style she thinks your groom will find suitable.

His chambers, as it turns out, are just next door. “Thank you,” you tell her when you get inside. It’s a large room, as austere as all the other rooms but the limited furniture within it is of high-quality. A black armoire against the opposite wall with dressers and a desk and chair to match, and then of course the bed.

It’s a massive four-poster with a steep headboard. You can’t help but notice rings and hooks lining each bedpost. You don’t think you’re ignorant by any means, considering your overall lack of experience, but you’re not sure what they could possibly mean. In the next room you can faintly hear the sound of running water.

“The Na-Baron is finishing up in his bathroom. He’ll be ready for you in just a moment,” Idrisa tells you, before reaching for your robe. You instinctively move away, wanting the barrier between your skin and the suddenly oppressive air of an unfamiliar room.

She holds on, undeterred, to your sleeves. “The Na-Baron said that he would have his wedding gift already unwrapped and in bed waiting for him,” she says apologetically.

You think of your father’s words from days ago (“oiled and trussed up before being thrown into his bedroom”) and take a breath before shedding the robe and stepping out of your slippers yourself. You don’t look at Idrisa as you raise the chemise up and over your shoulders before tossing it to the floor and once you’re completely bare try to cover yourself with your arms as you take a few steps back. It feels dumb; she’s already seen you naked and so will the man on the other side of the bathroom door in just a minute, but you want to hold on some semblance of modesty in this unfamiliar room.

Idrisa looks away as she picks everything up. “I’ll leave you to your privacy, then,” she says.

“I’ll be nearby,” she adds, folding your clothes and setting them on the dresser and the slippers on the floor just beside it. She glances over at you one last time as if to say, Good luck, before turning and leaving. The door clicks and you’re left in silence. The water stops.

Better get moving, then, you think as you stare at the bed. You wonder briefly what such an intimidating piece of furniture has seen over the years, and you’re honestly not sure how to present yourself once you reach it. Do you lie on your back, like you’ve been told, is the civilized, kind manner in which to take a bride?

You think of the way your groom prowls, the way he kills. He’s barely civilized and he’s certainly not kind; the animalistic way he moves and looks at you suggests that he’ll fuck you like an animal too, on all fours and without preamble, but the idea of getting into that position, of presenting yourself to him in such a way, makes you wince the moment you imagine it.

So you compromise and settle on your side, facing the bathroom entrance where he’ll soon emerge.

Your heart races as nearly a full minute ticks by before the door opens and Feyd-Rautha emerges, as naked as you are.

You try to stay composed and keep a sense of demure composure about you as you take inventory of him and what is meant to go inside of you tonight. He is indeed smooth everywhere, and half-hard. You digest the fact that even without a full erection, he's larger than the limited sample size you've witnessed. You think that it’s kind of funny that he looks more powerful naked than he does in his armor, or even in his undergarments but to your relief he’s also as unarmed as he can possibly be. And if this is to happen, it is a comfort knowing that it will be with a man whose body you find beautiful to look at.

His eyes drift over yours, mapping everything as he takes his fill,of the rest of your body. “Have you ever taken a man inside of you?” he asks.

You shake your head and try not to let your nerves get the better of you as you wonder how much this is going to hurt. He sees the fear in your eyes, though, as he crosses over and slides into bed alongside you without another word. Your breath hitches, your heart pounding. Not for the first time he makes you feel like a rabbit in a field. It’s hard to reconcile that and the excitement within you; perhaps it’s adrenaline.

He slowly angles you to lay back as he props himself above you. Your pulse thuds in your ears and you hear your own gasp as if it’s coming from somewhere else.

There’s a moment he’s looming above you, and you’re caught between fear and a growing heat between your legs, your nerves on end, before you surprise the both of you. Without allowing yourself to think about it you lean up, cup the back of his head and pull him into a kiss. This much you’ve done before, anyway. You hope that it’ll help ease you into everything else.

It catches him off-guard, which gives you a brief sense of satisfaction, feeling like the playing field has been leveraged, before he kisses back. He seems to like it, the hint of a challenge, and responds in turn by deepening the kiss and pressing his tongue into your mouth. After a moment’s hesitation, unsure where to put your hands, you find that trailing them along his arms and back feels right.

For the first minute it actually feels nice. Then the first brush of the tip of his cock against your stomach makes you gasp. You can feel him filling out the rest of the way and try not to look down. It won’t help settle your nerves at all to see just how large it is when fully engorged. The soft skin of it bumps against your bare stomach again before he shifts his legs so both are between yours, forcing you to spread your thighs around his hips. He breaks the kiss and watches your face as he shifts one hand from beside your head to between his legs, taking himself in hand.

You clench your thighs and gasp, heart racing. Without thinking you give a small cry when he guides his cock along your slit. You feel stupid for it; he’s not even inside of you yet, but you can feel yourself seize up.

He pauses, as if trying to gauge something. Then he releases himself to slide his fingertips between the apex of your thighs instead. Your chest heaves as you think about how you’re the only one who’s ever put a hand there, and even then only a few times. You have enough time to think that you’ve never felt more helpless in your life before he brushes his fingers along your slit, all the more sensitive for the lack of hair, and then brings a thumb to the bud between your legs you only discovered for the first time a few years ago by accident. He circles his thumb lazily, watching your stomach clench and your lips part in a gasp. You shut your eyes, the intimacy of it already more than you could’ve anticipated.

“Look at me,” he says sharply, and you force your eyes open. He tilts his head ever so slightly as his thumb presses down and your hips arch up. You hold onto him, your hands gripping his shoulders as you bite your lip, trying to breathe normally. He blinks as he takes in your reaction, his gaze traveling from your face to your hips before moving his hand, shifting his fingertips to your entrance.

The press of one finger inside of you is a stretch, unfamiliar but not unpleasant once you adjust to the feeling of being penetrated for the first time, and you want to look away, embarrassed at just how exposed you are to this man but as soon as you do, he repeats, irritated that he’d have to say it again, “Look at me.”

Your eyes snap back to his. He curls his finger inside of you and your mouth falls open in a silent cry, your stomach clenching, and he tilts his head slightly, pulling his hand back to add a second finger alongside it, and this time the burn of it’s just a little too much. You try to pull your hips back, face pinched in discomfort, and he gives a frustrated exhale as he tries twisting his fingers, only to get the same reaction. He pulls his fingers out, and seems to think about what to do next.

He glances down at your chest, at your stiffened nipples, and lowers himself down onto his forearms, his head down to your breasts, teeth and tongue scraping against one, then the other. As you whine and cradle the back of his neck you wonder if this is like a game for him, trying to see what noises he can pull from you where, and doing what, as he travels from one part of your body to another. You try to collect your breath as he stops, traveling lower, his body sliding almost serpentine along the length of the bed and you can’t help but watch the muscles in his back and shoulders.

You briefly notice that there are old scars there that you hadn’t been able to see properly in the semi-darkness of the fighting halls. They look like lash-marks that span from his shoulder blades to the tops of his buttocks. But that’s the last coherent thought you have before Feyd-Rautha’s face disappears between your spread legs and you cry out, back arching at the first contact between his mouth and your lower lips.

You were expecting and fearing a lot tonight but hadn’t accounted for your groom licking your newly-shaved privates. It’s shocking enough that it takes you a moment to understand how nice it feels. You pant and squirm, your moans pulled out of you with each swipe of his tongue along your slit, each flicker of it against your bud.

“Oh!” you manage, incapable of saying anything else as your thighs shake and you wish he had hair that you could bury your fingers in as he laps at you.

When the heat of it really starts to build and your whines start sounding more desperate, the very core of you slick along his lips and tongue is when he stops. It’s all a means to an end and as far as he’s concerned he’s done more than enough to prepare you.

He ignores your whimper of protest as he pulls away and props himself up above you again, taking inventory of your flushed face and chest, your parted and kiss-swollen lips.

Good, you’re ready, he seems to think. He lines himself up, and your breath hitches as you shut your eyes.

“Keep ‘em open,” he says immediately, and you relent, gazing up at a pair of eyes that glint nearly silver, pupils wide.

The blunt head of him is wide, and you realize that the preparation, his fingers and tongue, weren’t enough to ease the passage. He’ll tear you open. He watches your face and the growing panic in your eyes and presses forward.

Fear is the mind-killer. It is the little��

The first press of him knocks the air out of your lungs in a sob. You lurch up, clutching at his back as your inner thighs clench around his sides as he thrusts in the first couple of inches. You squirm around him, shifting, hoping to get unstuck like you’re a worm on a hook. He just pushes in deeper with a grunt, his hand clutching your hip to keep you still so he can bury himself within you the rest of the way.

It hurts, you want to protest, as if he can’t tell already. As if he doesn’t enjoy how he’s skewering you onto him.

You’ve been in worse pain than this. Remember when you broke your arm when you were nine? If it weren’t for the fact that you’ve never felt more vulnerable in your life to the most frightening man you’ve ever met who–you hope–is now fully inside of you, you’d almost laugh.

Virgin sex: not as painful as breaking an arm.

You dig your nails in. Feyd-Rautha gives a breathless laugh and a sharp thrust that has you crying out and digging your nails in deeper.

“Does my little pet want to get her claws in me?” he says, the first time he’s spoken in several minutes. You try to relax your hands, just gripping onto his back. “I didn’t say ‘stop,’” he adds.

He likes pain, the Reverend Mother told you.

Well, alright, then.

You grit your teeth and scratch down the length of his back. He groans, a rumble deep in his chest before pulling out nearly to the tip of him and pushing all the way back in again. It helps, in a way, the feeling of reciprocating the pain. The difference is that you’re barely tolerating it, but he’s enjoying it. He seems to like the pressure of your kneecaps digging into his sides, the nails down his back.

Curiosity strikes and you reach up and pull him down close enough to bite down on his collarbone and he gasps, hips stuttering for a moment, a moan pulled out of him before he resumes thrusting into you with deeper rolls of his hips.

You’re not sure when the moment happens that you start to adjust, the sting of it fading to a sore stretch. You still feel impossibly full, but the ache of it feels like a minor tear, not like you’ve just been split in half.

It’s soon after that he draws the first real moan out of you since before he entered you and it gives you pause; the stroke of his hips had been just right, you’d tilted yours in just a way that actually felt good in a way that tugged at your insides. After a moment he tries again and you can’t help but make the same noise, holding onto him as the push and pull of his thrusts finally starts to feel right, like an act that’s natural rather than a punishment.

It’s then that he pulls out, and you yelp in shock; you were only starting to get adjusted to having him inside of you and he hasn’t spilled his seed yet. You barely have time to understand what’s happening as he flips you onto your front and hauls you up, grabbing your hips.

It feels like another invasion, the angle tighter. You won’t be able to hold onto him or take your pain out on him. You scramble to get your forearms under you as he well and truly starts fucking you. You hadn’t realized that he’d been holding back at all.

You do realize, though, that he not only tolerates your hair but likes it, when he wraps your tresses around his hand and sharply tugs like your hair’s a harness. You can’t help any of the desperate noises that you make, shaking, as you’re repeatedly pulled back onto his cock. The heat of tears builds in your eyes as you lower your head, only for him to tug it back by your hair.

You give another cry, which spurs him on. Pleasure, pain, it seems like it’s all the same to him so long as he can keep pulling desperate sounds out of you. He speeds up, goes harder, the snap of his hips against your ass loud to the point of obscene within the echoes of his room.

And then you feel it, warm and viscous inside of you as he gives a choked moan, grunting as he thrusts into you one last time and holds still, his hands still on your hips. You gasp, freezing, before moaning even though you're not entirely sure if you like the sensation of it or not.

You feel him pull away from you and twist onto your back, your legs bent to avoid colliding with him, as he kneels on the edge of the bed and wipes his bloody cock off on the sheets.

You catch your breath as you bring a hand against your forehead, trying to think.

It’s done; you got through it.

He turns to look at you, at your parted lips, your breasts rising and falling as your breath evens out, your inner thighs where a small smear of blood remains, and wordlessly brings a thumb to the tacky skin there.

You blink, eyes widening as he looks you in the eye and licks off the already-drying blood. He tilts his head, still looking between your legs, when his fingertips slide against your slit, collecting both a little blood and a dribble of his seed that leaked out of you. Without a word he settles back over you and brings his fingers to your lips.

You try to think about what he’d want from you at this moment, and all that comes to mind is to mirror him. You try to shut out the part of you that feels revulsion at the sight and the smell and part your lips.

You can’t look away from him as he presses the calloused pad of his thumb on your lips and pushes further, onto your tongue. You want to flinch away at the salt of your blood mixed with the viscous salt of his seed, but with his other hand he cups your jaw. His movements could be seen as gentle and if he were a different man this act could be seen as intimate, but no, not with him. He’s trying to humiliate you, you’re sure. Because he then says, quietly, “Close your mouth,” and you hesitate, face heating up with shame, before you do.

For a moment you want to pull back and spit the mixture back out into his face. There must be a flicker of that want in your eye because he tilts his head in a silent challenge.

Go on. Try it, he seems to say.

You want to, but you do the opposite, the new goal to be to catch him off-guard again. You force yourself to taste the residue from both of your bodies off his fingers. You lick delicately around the digits and watch his eyes widen just a fraction. You do it again, slowly, realizing that you’ve surprised him again.

He pulls his fingers out, his full lips parted.

“Don’t swallow,” is all he says before crushing his mouth against yours.

You didn’t think you were ignorant, but you don’t fully understand what this is, what it’s called, why he’s enjoying it so much. It’s a tool you think you might have but don’t have any frame of reference for and aren’t sure how to use as he groans as the liquids merge between you in a desperate open-mouthed kiss. You just know that you’re learning enough to keep him interested. He lays fully against you, and you have enough time to think that his chest feels nice pressed up against yours before he reaches in between your legs to feel the puffy, bruised apex where he’d buried himself.

Is he already getting aroused again?

You get your answer when he flips you onto your stomach for the second time and pulls your hips up just enough for him to settle behind you. For a moment you lurch forward, away from his grip but of course he pulls you back. Alarm sets in. I need time. I’m still recovering from the first time you split me open. You hear yourself whine as he slides his rapidly-stiffening cock in between your tender folds as if to plead for his mercy. He doesn’t grant it, moaning at the desperate sound. You realize that he’s working himself the rest of the way in his own hand before pressing it back up against you and pushing inside of you in one sharp thrust.

In some ways it’s easier; you’re sufficiently stretched out at this point to take him inside of you, and the combination of blood and semen’s added second and third coats of lubrication.

But then he’s rougher; there’s no preamble, no brief moments of letting you adjust to the intrusion. He goes hard and fast on your torn and bruised insides, and this time he doesn’t say a word. All you hear are beast-like grunts as he pulls you onto him.

Just finish. Please just finish and get it over with, you think as your cries become hoarse, and then nothing more than pathetic whimpers. That in itself seems to spur him on, how much he’s wearing you out and taking you to the very limits of what you can handle.

You collapse the rest of the way onto your front, panting and sweaty, and you shut your eyes when you can sense he’s almost done, shuddering as his thrusts become more erratic and he finally–thankfully–comes, filling you up a second time and you could cry with the relief of it.

He holds on for a moment, as if trying to make sure as much of him as possible stays inside of you as he settles down, his front against your back, his breath against the nape of your neck. And then he pulls out and you wonder if this is how it feels when a person who’s just been stabbed feels the knife leave their body right before you sense him turn and fall onto his back against the sheets.

You remain on your front, the side of your face resting on your forearm as you just don’t have it in you to move again. You just hope that Feyd-Rautha’s finally done for the night. You turn your head to the other side to look at him and confirm.

His penis looks a lot less intimidating when it’s soft and resting against his thigh. You watch his chest rise and fall and briefly think about running a hand over it, and long the ridges of his abdomen even as you can’t say you’re proud of yourself for the instinct. He just seems almost docile now, reclining on his back, after he’s rutted inside of you twice. It's almost like wanting to pet a sedated dog that had been trying to bite you. You watch him raise one leg slightly, enough to bend his knee, and you notice more scars along his inner thigh that are even paler than the rest of him. They don’t look recent, but not as old as the ones on his back.

He turns his head and looks at you, and reaches out, bringing a hand to your backside, lazily caressing a cheek before bringing his palm down in a hard smack. He smirks at how the soft flesh jiggles and at your responding yelp.

“It was right there,” he says by way of explanation. You’re tired enough that you can’t help but snicker as you keep your head pillowed on your forearms and try to focus on the softness of the sheets under you rather than the unrelenting ache between your legs. You look at each other, him likely surveying the damage as you catalog him in what is probably the closest he ever gets to a relaxed state.

“Can you stand?” Feyd-Rautha asks after a moment.

You’re not entirely sure you can move your legs. “In a moment, maybe,” you admit.

“Then take a moment,” he says. “Then you can call your girl to take you back to your quarters.”

You get up on your forearms to get a better look at him. “You’re sending me away?” you ask. You don’t mean the hurt tone in your voice. Not that you even want to stay the night, but his dismissal feels insulting. You’re the one whose insides are sore and bleeding, after all. Is he not even going to give you more time to recover and just relax here? Maybe kiss you one last time?

“It’s more practical if I do,” he says. “I’ll be up a few hours before you tomorrow.” His tone is so matter-of-fact that any trace of intimacy over the past couple of minutes dissipates into thin air and you remember who you’re with.

“Right.” You look over at your clothes on the dresser. You wince at the effort, but turn to your side and sit up facing away from him. You can feel his stare burning into your back.

You wince as you sit forward and try to get your limbs to coordinate with you as you shift your legs.

You look down at the sheets and wonder if Feyd-Rautha’s going to have someone come in to clean them immediately after you leave.

No, you realize. He’ll have someone come in to put down new ones, certainly, but he’ll be holding on to the bloodied sheets. They’ll serve as a trophy, proof that he deflowered the heiress to the House of Y/H.

You don’t look back at your new husband as you get up, shakily at first, needing to hold onto the bed to stabilize you.

You need to walk gingerly, and the feel of Feyd-Rautha watching your discomfort makes it worse. You feel tears build again, this time from anger. You think to yourself that you might’ve been able to handle everything else tonight better if he were a little kinder to you afterwards, and gave you something to temper the roughness as he’d prepared you beforehand. And here he is smugly watching the pain you’re in because of him, congratulating himself on how he wrecked your virgin cunt.

This is fucking undignified. I’m part of a Major House, too, you think as you pull on your chemise and step into your slippers. Finally you’ve decided that you’re not going to let this insult pass and turn to him. He’s sitting up, his knees drawn up and his arms wrapped loosely around them as he watches you and that somehow makes it even worse. “Is this amusing for you?” you demand, thinking, Of course it is, you stupid girl. He and his kind get off on this sort of thing.

He looks neither embarrassed nor smug, but leans forward a little as he considers you. “You did well tonight,” he says.

“Thank you, Na-Baron,” you say coldly as you reach for your robe.

“I like it when you call me husband,” he adds, and you glance back at him. “That’s what you should call me when we’re alone together.”

You look at him a moment longer. You realize that this is just about the closest he can get to being kind to you, at least tonight. Whatever tenderness he’d shown when he first touched you was to serve his own purpose. Now that he’s taken what he wants there’s nothing else to give you. It’s not even intentional cruelty on his part, you don’t think. It’s just the absence of everything else.

With a resigned sigh you pull on your robe and give him a curt nod. “I’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow, husband,” you tell him, pad over to the door, and open it just far enough to see Idrisa standing post just outside. You head into the hallway and shut the door behind you without another word or glance backwards.

“How much of that were you able to hear?” you ask her.

She tries to spare you. “The walls are thick, Na-Baroness,” she says, and you’re even more grateful for the short distance to your chambers than you’d been before.

At your bedside you notice that there’s a jug of water and a glass, then beside them a dish. You head for it to inspect closer and it turns out there are two small white tablets. You turn to look at her.

Idrisa shrugs one shoulder. “Part of the benefits of being promoted to your attendant,” she says. “I felt it would be safer to take precautions and assume you’d need pain relief after…” she trails off, realizing there is no polite way to say getting fucked hard for the first time by a man who delights in your pain and just repeats, “after. I spoke with a Healer who agreed that it would be safer to plan for that.”

As you reach for a tablet she adds quickly, “I wouldn’t take more than half if I were you.”

You pause, the tablet to your mouth. “Why?” you ask.

She hesitates. “I wasn’t sure how severe your pain would be afterwards,” she says. “I really didn’t know how to predict so I requested two tablets. Looking at you now, half a tablet should suffice.”

You look down at the dish and then back at her. Just how badly did you think tonight would go for me? you want to ask, but then realize that there are some questions you don’t actually want answers to.

You smile at her in gratitude, snap the tablet in half, and wash it down with the offered water. “Will it help me sleep?” you ask.

She inclines her head in the affirmative. “Now let’s get you cleaned up and ready for bed,” she says.

“It’s alright. I can handle the rest myself,” you tell her.

Her brow furrows and she frowns. “It’s my duty to look after you,” she says.

“I understand, but right now I need to be alone,” you tell her.

She looks nervous, as if her dismissal is some kind of failure on her part and something for which she’ll be punished later.

“You’ve done a great job,” you tell her. “But the best way to take care of me tonight is to let me do this myself.”

“Whatever you wish, Na-Baroness,” she says finally. “Good night, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

……………..

You pad over to the bathroom and a minute later find yourself sitting on the edge of your bathtub with a warm, wet towel in one hand as you inch up the hem of your chemise with the other.

You wince at the first press of the towel against your tender skin. You don’t want to look directly at the damage, wishing you still had hair down there to obscure some of it. You shut your eyes as you wipe around your inner thighs. You wipe directly between your legs and the sharp bite of the pain makes you briefly double over. After a moment you look down at the used towel; there’s not as much blood as you thought, as it feels like it was spilled out of you, but you’re going to have to wring it out and start over if you want to feel clean. Maybe you won’t feel clean again.

The reality of it all hits you, sharply, and you feel like you’ve been stabbed and a part of you realizes that the worst is yet to come.

For the first time since finding out you would be linked to Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, you break down and cry.

#feyd rautha #feyd x reader #feyd x you #feyd rautha harkonnen #dune part 2 #feyd-rautha harkonnen #feyd-rautha

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braineater444 · 4 months

Text

To Be a Princess

Chapter 1

Start/Next

fem!reader x kokonoi

TW: Violence, Kidnapping, Abuse, Death, Blood, Strained Mother/Daughter relationships (other trigger warnings to be added)

Synopsis: What is a good relationship without its ups and downs? You and Hajime have never had a serious down until now. You can run away, but it's never that easy.

“My mother texted me,” Exasperation coats your vocal cords. A smirk paints your face when you see Koko roll his eyes, still looking down at his paperwork. You should be in bed, but the multiple sharp dings of your mother's messages forced you awake. Now, you can’t go back to sleep.

His eyes settle on you, a fond smile brightening his features. “Well, good morning to you, too.” His attention is on you as you make your way further into his office and sit on his desk to peek over at the papers he’s going through. You could count every crystal in the chandelier above you through its reflection in his eyes as he gazes up at you.

“Good morning.” You giggle when you lean down to kiss him. His chin rests in your palm as you guide him towards you. The moment your lips meet, you feel all the tenseness leave his body.

“What did she say?” He rests his head in his hand.

“Something about reconnecting and wanting to see me. I don’t know, I didn’t really read it.”

His brows furrow, and he leans back in his chair. You take him in. He smells of Bibliothèque by Byredo he bought a while ago, a recent favorite of his. The fruitiness and woodiness add an air of maturity to his already put-together demeanor. It makes sense for someone so beautiful. He shakes his head. “But if you want to, I won’t stop you.”

You smooth over your silk nightgown and shrug. You consider his face for a moment. His red eyeliner isn’t on. His skin and eyes look dull. His hair is pulled back into a half bun, half ponytail fusion. He yawns.

“How long have you been up?” You remember going to bed with him last night. When you woke at three to get water and crawled back into bed, he was there and pulled you back into his chest to cuddle. You know he’s slept, but for how long?

“I don’t know...” He taps his phone to check the time. “Maybe since five or six? My boss called and asked me if I could rush some stuff.”

His workaholic tendencies make your head hurt sometimes. You’ve told him before that you think he’ll die at that desk. “And when he called, you just got up and started working?” He rolls his eyes. “Koko, did you even eat?”

“No.”

“You’re going to have a heart attack in this office.”

“But I’ll leave you so much.” He smiles playfully, but none of this is funny.

“It’s not funny! Let’s go out for breakfast.” You hop off of his desk and head towards the door. You look back and see that his head is in his papers again. “Now!” With that, he’s moving.

✮✮✮

“Mom?” You try to sound composed over the phone as tears stream down your cheeks. You’re unsuccessful, and she starts to scramble and beg you to tell her what’s happened. You can’t. Your throat hurts and you still can’t process what’s going on. “I’m- I’m at a ho-hotel right now,” You sniffle and cough and wipe away snot. “I’m going to take a trai-n and be there tomorrow.”

You grow nauseous as your mom pleads with you to tell her what’s wrong. You hang up and collapse into a ball on the floor. Sobbing doesn’t help, but it’s the only thing you can do right now. It’s the first time since you left that you’ve had time to break down.

You fall asleep like that.

The next morning, you wake up in pain. Your eyes burn, your mouth is dry, and your bones ache. This is the lowest your life has been since meeting Hajime and possibly the worst it could be. Rock bottom. And as much as you miss the feel of your bed and his kisses on your cheeks telling you it will be alright; you know better than to return.

“It’s not his fault.” That’s what you’d thought when you came into his office last night to see the guest, you’d let in slumped over in a chair with a bullet through his head.

There had been no commotion until the sound of the gunshot. You had run to check on Hajime only to find out he was the assailant. You hadn’t even known he had a gun. Why would he have a gun? And why would he kill a random client of his? They came over all the time and nothing like this had happened before. It couldn’t have been him. Why would he do this?

You hadn’t even reacted when you saw it. You only felt your heart drop and your body tremble. Brain matter, blood, and little bone fragments covered the room. The man’s eyes were glossed over with no life inside of them. Your heart was on track to beat out of your chest and maybe you were going to pass out, but you had said little to Hajime in the moment. You stood in shock for a second before he opened his mouth to say something you didn’t quite hear, too busy processing the scene.

“Do you need help to clean?” Were all the words your mouth could form. Neither of you had expected that to be the first thing to find its way off of your tongue. Mouth agape, he nodded slowly and confused.

You left to go rummaging through the cabinets with unstable hands. You’d grabbed as much as you could hold. Never had you been prepared to clean up so much blood. There was no thought as shaky hands grabbed at glass cleaner and air freshener. When you’d come back, Hajime was staring at the body in disbelief.

“Is this the first time?” You’d asked.

He’d come clean about everything. Words spilled like water from a broken dam. He was an executive in a high-profile gang. Bonten. You’d heard of it, but only on the news. They’d been less of a gang and more of a terrorist organization. Selling drugs, dealing weapons, killing people and so much more. Hajime didn’t seem like the type, but he said it wasn’t his first time killing. He clarified that it’s not a hobby of his like it is for other people he knew. Tears filled his eyes as he told you, but they didn’t fall in that moment. He was pulling himself together as best he could. He’d never intended for you to find out. Hajime just wanted to keep you safe and take care of you. He promised.

You listened silently while scrubbing the walls as he said something about not wanting you to leave. How he couldn’t stand to lose someone else to a life like this. He’s sorry, but this is all he’s known since he was a kid. He doesn’t know how to get by in any other way. You have to believe him. He loves you. He can’t stand the idea of you leaving him.

His propositioning became a blur when he began to break down. You stopped hearing him when the tears started to fall and the look in his eyes changed from sorrow and guilt to something unhinged. His hands came up to pull at the roots of his hair and you’re sure he was screaming apologies and begging you not to leave. His mouth moved like he was begging you to say something, but all you could was scrub the wall and look at him. You don’t remember the time cleaning after that.

For the first time, you feared him and felt alone all over again. He’d become another stranger. Your heart was sitting in your lap and you were watching it beat as you figured out what to do.

While he showered, you packed a bag for when you’d make a run for it in the dark hours of the morning. You took some jewelry to pawn, comfortable clothes to make the trip in, and some of the fancy hygiene products he bought you. Then you hid the bag in one of the spare rooms, before climbing into bed to wait for him. With the state he was in, surely, he’d hurt you if he knew you were going to leave.

His kisses felt like sandpaper against your cheeks. Every time his lips touched your skin was a silent question of whether you still loved him. You did, but you couldn’t stay. Not like this. When he fell asleep, you took some cash and ran as far as you could. It wasn’t very far at all. An okay hotel near the train station about an hour away.

Twice now you’ve thought about calling the police and having him locked away forever. Once last night and now as you step out of the shower and see an accomplice in the hotel mirror. You can’t bring yourself to do it. Your head aches at the thought of him behind bars, in a small room, taking communal showers. You don’t want that for him. What you want is the normalcy back. You want him holding you. You want him telling you that you had a nightmare. You want this nasty breakup over with.

Your eyes become faucets of emotion again as you mourn. You cry and heave naked over the sink. For the first time in a long time, you’re alone in this life. Hajime cannot come to comfort you when you cry. You are at your lowest.

It comes up faster than you expect. Your stomach. Milky vomit splatters into the sink. You run the water over it as your body tremors. The sound calms you.

Your hand dips into the stream and comes up to your mouth. You gargle and spit twice. Then you splash water over your face. You’re fine.

There’s no time for this. You need to leave.

Pulling on your clothes has you thinking about other things or at least trying to distract yourself.

“What’s worse, living with a murderer or my mom?” You halfheartedly laugh to yourself. It’s too much to think about right now.

You haven’t worn a sweatsuit in quite some time. Koko hated what he called “lazy clothes” and insisted you are too beautiful to wear them. Of course, you still had some, but you could never do more than look at them. Not until now. You’re sure your mother would be just as disapproving for similar reasons.

You laugh again at the thought of neither of them liking this outfit. A soft yellow sweat suit and white sneakers. It’d break both of their hearts.

A soft knock at your door interrupts your thoughts, and you stiffen.

“Room service.” Says a gruff, masculine voice on the other side.

Just room service. You unclench.

“No, thank you!” You shout as you grab your bag and ready yourself to leave.

“It’s important.” The voice sings back. “You left something at the front desk. I need to return it to you.”

Oh?

You crack the door open just enough for your foot to fit through. The man is tall and angular. Dress shirt. Tie. Black slacks. Loafers. Expensive Prada Loafers. He reeks of cigarette smell. Acrid and off-putting. Nothing in his hands but the rings that adorn his scarred fingers. Your eyes travel up to his face.

Slicked back black hair. Prominent streaks of grey in thick stripes. Massive scar across his eye. He doesn’t work here. Your heart jumps to a start.

You scramble to close the door, but he’s strong enough to just push his way in and have you falling on your ass in the process. The door swings shut, the lock clicks, and a gun is pointed at you. His finger comes to his lips to hush you before you can think of screaming.

“It’s early. I’m tired. And I don’t want to be here.” He reaches his free hand out to help you up off the floor. You stare frozen in fear, labored breathing, unable to think until you notice his gesture and offer a hand so he can pull you up. “Can you just come with me so I can drop you off to Koko and go about my day?”

Your saliva becomes glue holding your mouth shut. You can do nothing but stare into his eyes.

“Hello?” He waves his gun in your face and you flinch away.

You offer a slow, cautious shake of your head. Your feet carry you a couple of steps back. He follows.

“You have to.” He asserts, shoving the gun’s muzzle under your chin.

For some reason, you're embarrassed by your trembling. You try to stop it, but can’t. Your eyes are blown wide and your hands shake as you grab the man’s wrist to pull the gun from under your chin.

“I can’t.” You barely manage. Tears fill your eyes as you back away again. The man doesn’t move with you. He looks more confused and irritated than anything. He’s nothing but furrowed brows and hard eyes.

“Listen…” He groans as he watches you wipe away tears as they fall. “I don’t know what the hell this is about, nor do I care, but my boss told me to get you and bring you to Koko,” He steps closer and shoves the gun into his waistband. “I’m not a fan of brutalizing attractive young women, but I will if I have to. Then I’ll carry you out of here and take you to him.”

You understand you’re leaving with him either way.

✮✮✮

He’s enough of a gentleman to have grabbed all of your stuff for you and thrown it into his backseat, but not enough of a gentleman to not kidnap you. Enough of a gentleman to open the door to his SUV for you, but not enough of a gentleman to not point a gun at you.

When his car starts, the feeling of dread sinks in. This is happening. This is not a dream. Your ex is a man powerful enough to have you kidnapped.

You try to suck it up and stop your tears, but you keep sniffling. Hajime is a sick bastard to send a man with a gun after you. How could he?

“What’s your name?” The man's voice interrupts your thoughts. You say nothing. “Fair.” He brushes you off. “I understand it. I’m human too.”

Hard to believe.

“My name is Takeomi.” He looks away from the road to shoot a halfhearted grin. “I’ll have to learn your name later, right?”

“Please let me go.” You demand through sniffles. You try to toughen your act as the tears dry up. Still, you feel pathetic.

He ignores you.

“I thought he was gay.” He doesn’t turn to look at you this time. “You know, I thought I’d be picking up a man.”

Oh?

“…but you’re incredibly beautiful so, I understand if he suddenly changed his mind.”

What?

He doesn’t say much after that, and just drives. You stare out of the window and hold back tears.

By the time you arrive, you’ve calmed down. You linger in the car as Takeomi grabs your things and calls Hajime, but the moment he opens the door it’s a march of death.

Takeomi waits with you at the elevator. He can’t stand this, you can tell. Even without moving, his stance is impatient. You can hear the hum of the elevator moving. The closer it sounds the more your heart races.

DING!

No. No.

You take a step back as the elevator doors open. You look at Takeomi who looks back at you and shrugs.

No.

You’re half ready to run when a hand guides you into the elevator. You keep your head down. Hajime mutters out a thank you and you see them exchanging your luggage. They don’t say goodbye.

The penthouse is the same. Same sweet smell. Same shiny wooden floors. Same warmth. But it’s not your home anymore. It’s your new gilded cage.

Hajime drops your bag and suddenly you’re surrounded by a familiar warmth and scent. He’s everything you can sense. His floral conditioner. His musky cologne. His well-trimmed nails against your scalp.

“Hajime…”

He pulls away. There’s a darkness in his eyes when you finally look at him. His hair is a mess. He hasn’t brushed it like he usually would. His makeup isn’t done. He is still in his pajamas. It’s been less than a day and already he’s in disarray.

“Why did you abandon me when all I do is take care of you?” He stresses. “I do everything to keep you safe and beautiful and you run after one mistake?”

“Mistake?” Your voice shakes. “Killing someone is a mistake?”

“I was doing my job.”

“Fuck you.” An immediate slap to your cheek blurs your vision.

First, it’s shock, then it’s anger, then it’s tears. Koko doesn’t seem remorseful though. With furrowed brows, he says, “I love you and you abandoned me. I took care of you when that bitch of a mother threw you out and you crawled into Tokyo from the shithole you came from. But fuck me?”

Crazy. He’s actually crazy.

You slap him back and the look on his face changes from seething anger to hurt. Before he can react, you dart from the doorway all the way to the bedroom unsure of if he’s chasing you. Immediately you lock it. Finally, you can breathe, but the air is full of him.

#tokyo rev x reader #koko x reader #tw: violence #tw: abuse #tw: kidnapping #bonten x reader

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lily-174 · 1 year

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Explosion- matt casey x reader

overview: after being called to a building collapse while searching through the rubble you find an explosive, luckily you being ex military had some idea on how to handle it. but when your husband and the rest of your team hear you say ‘clear the block’ tensions rise

trigger warning: fire, explosions, bombs, IED

prompt: ‘i’m 75% sure this won’t explode’

now Matthew Casey was the man you’d dreamed of, the type of man you wanted to end up with as a teenager. you both being firefighters you knew the strain the job put on you both. you were on squad and joined after leaving the military whereas your boyfriend was lieutenant of 81. matt had saved your life many times, not just at work but with your ptsd from the army.

you loved him so much, the majority of your time at the firehouse would be spent in his office joking around while he was filling out paperwork, that’s what you were doing as you laid on his bed.

“do you want to be a firefighter forever matt?” you asked, you’d thought you’d be in the army forever until you got shot and were honourably discharged luckily enough you healed better then expected and got into the fire department.

“yeah i mean this has been my life for such a long time. i love this job y/n i love this family” you smiled at his words as you got up walking over to his desk and sitting on his lap.

“i love you matt” he smiled and kissed you holding your waist tightly just as he started to deepen the kiss you were interrupted by the bells.

“Engine 51, truck 81, squad 3, ambulance 61-“ you groaned getting up as you both rushed to the trucks. building collapse. you knew this wasn’t gonna be good as you jumped in the squad truck sitting behind your lieutenant.

as you arrived on scene you were shocked seeing the rubble that used to be buildings, police were already on scene having set up triage. you got out the truck listening to your lieutenants orders. 81 and squad had to clear the rubble search for civilians so that’s what you did.

you and tony began covering the deepest part of the rubble, using all your strength you carefully moved pieces of rubble careful as what you were standing on could be unstable. you and the rest of your team called out looking for civilians, mass casualty situation you knew the paramedics would be swamped as firefighters pulled people from the rubble handing them over to triage.

it had already felt like hours when it had probably just been one, you’d only found 2 civilians and handed them over to triage to be treated multiple firefighters searching for people some even helping paramedics you looked around and couldn’t even spot half your team everyone busy and stressed looking for people.

you continued your search sweat pouring from your forehead, you didn’t have your turnout jacket on only your boots and trousers, chicago summer it was too hot for that. you kept searching finding another civilian a young woman, you carried her over to triage handing her over to any paramedic you could see, you knew she wasn’t in good shape, head injury easily a spine injury and internal bleeding. she had liquid coming from her ears blood pooling under her shirt, you watched as the paramedic shook their head and landed her with a black tag. you sighed and shook your head wiping your eyes as you turned heading back to the rubble, some people couldn’t be saved you have to fight for the people who can still be saved you told yourself heading back to the rubble.

you climbed back up into the possibly unstable rubble, passing a few firefighters on the way as you continued calling out for people and digging through the rubble your muscles aching as you lifted a few chunks of the rubble you noticed wires and you knew straight away. you very careful lifted one more piece of rubble putting it to the side when you looked back it had revealed a bomb, upon the sight your mouth went dry as you reached for your radio.

“chief boden report” you said voice shaking in your radio, you hear static then a voice.

“go for boden”

“clear the block. right now” you spoke in your radio looking away from the bomb and looking around you noticed a few of your team members look up at you from their positions having heard on the radio.

“right now! everyone get as far away from this area as you can i have a live bomb. get bomb squad here now.” you exclaimed as you watched your team jump into action.

matt heard your call over the radio and his heart dropped running over to boden, bringing his radio to his mouth.

“y/n why aren’t you moving we gotta evacuate!” casey exclaimed through the radio, you turned looking over at him.

“matt i’m pretty sure i can diffuse this okay? listen to me. i love you. get everyone to safety. you love this family i love this family keep everyone safe” his heart hurt as he listened to your words, he knew you were smart knew you were capable but diffusing a bomb one that was crushed in rubble was awful.

“no no. i’m not letting you get blown up bomb squad is 15 minutes out.”

“15 minutes is too long matt. clear the block please just listen to me” you spoke into your radio, you didn’t hear matts voice again, instead bodens.

“are you sure you can do this y/n?” boden spoke firmly into the radio.

“yeah i’m sure ex military remember chief” you smiled, you were the type of person to always make light of situations and matt loved that about you but right now right now he needed you to be safe.

you heard no response just looked over at boden and saw him nod as he and matt rushed off to clear the area, you glanced around noticing no one was now in your sight before you looked down at the bomb infront of you with a bleeping red light, you examined the wires coming from the small contraption attached to multiple explosives.

“i love you y/n be careful please” that’s all you heard through your radio, matts voice. god you loved that man.

“i’ll be okay matt, i love you too.” you raised your radio to your mouth.

“i have someone who wants to speak to you” you heard matts voice and then some static followed by jay halsteads voice. you and jay served together.

“y/n what type of bomb is it?” jay asked through the radio, you could hear the concern in your best friends voice.

“homemade IED, non military components. halstead i got this. i’m like 75% sure this won’t explode just let me do this. just keep matt well away from here” you spoke the longer you waited the longer people distracted you the more dangerous this became.

“copy” you heard, jay trusted you he knew you could do this. you were glad he was with matt. you looked down at the wires. one red, one green, one blue. you carefully looked to where the wires were connected. and pulled the blue wire disconnecting the trigger from the large explosive material strapped to the back the sweat beading on your forehead as you pulled the wire, you were good at staying calm but you felt like you were back in the military. you then pulled the red and green wire at the same time diffusing the bomb you felt a weight being lifted from your shoulders and you let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding in as you stood up and got off the rubble, and away from the ied as quickly as possible it still wasn’t that stable. you let bomb squad take over as you rushed down the block to where the rest of your team were. you saw jay and matt stood and you ran into matts arms. he pulled you into him tightly holding you against his chest.

“you’re never doing that again” matt said holding you tightly against him, you chuckled and pulled away from him pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

“i’m alright matt, i’m okay” you whispered pulling away from the kiss, you knew matt now wouldn’t leave your side for a few days he was always like that, if something dangerous happened he couldn’t bring himself to leave your side.

“good job with that y/n glad your okay. call me later if you need anything” jay smiled and he shook your hand, he was your best friend but you were both military people, he was proud of you and you both helped each other out with the memories from war you’d both brought home.

“thank you, just fine out who did this okay?” he nodded before walking back to his team and then you walked back to yours with matt.

“well done y/l/n i think everyone owes you a drink tonight” kelly smiled shaking his hand, you laughed and thanked him. your team, matt they really meant the world to you.

you rode back to the station with matt and returned to his office, you collapsed down on his bed exhausted as you thought about the events that took place today.

“how are you feeling babe?” matt asked sitting on the edge of the bed, taking your hand in his.

“i’m good matt don’t worry, i’m just tired” you smiled tiredly it’d been a long day, you couldn’t wait until you could go home get in your warm bed and eat food with matt.

he nodded and kissed your forehead gently, you shook your head sitting up and hugging him, he hugged you back tightly.

“i love you so much y/n” he whispered in your ear you hated how bad he felt after situations like this, matt was your rock you loved him so much.

“i love you too matt”

#one chicago fic #chicago fire #chicago fire imagine #matt casey #matt casey x reader #matt casey imagines #matthew casey

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myuntoldstory · 17 days

Text

i'll marry you after this

Written for @jilymicrofics Mystery Microfic May Event. Everyone's guessed me right!

A special thanks to @eastwindmlk for the wonderful banner as well.

Prompt 9: Whisper

“I’ll f-fucking marry y-you after this,” James breathes. “You’ve already proposed to me,” she jokes, voice low and devoid of humour. It takes all her effort not to let her focus slip. “N-no, fuck,” he grits his teeth. “I m-mean marry you after t-this. I don’t want to wait. W-we can v-very well die soon and I d-don’t want to d-die without b-becoming your h-husband.”

During a mission, Lily and James find themselves in a noise-activated trap. With James injured and time running out as the Death Eaters close in on them, Lily has to work fast to save her fiancé and get out.

read on ao3 or under the cut

warnings: blood, pain, mild violence, references to dying

“James!”

A whistle, a gasp. Lily stares at the arrow with wide eyes. The head is embedded into the stone where she used to stand. She moves, foot slipping across the small puddle of blood. A loud thump echoes in the room as she falls. Panels open on the walls. She dodges the arrows flying straight at her. Something clicks as the last arrow whistles past her ear. She looks around the room where she and James have jumped in to escape the Death Eaters.

James.

He’s on the floor, teeth gritted, breathing heavily. He seems to be close to screaming. Lily shakes at the sight of him. Panic bubbles from the bottom of her stomach, and she tamps it down. Carefully, quietly, she crawls towards her fiancé, eyes darting at the walls, terrified of anything that’ll trigger it. But thank god, thank god. She reaches for him, pulls him towards her lap.

Blood. So much of it. So much of his life leaking out of him and onto stone. Her breaths come out in strained bursts. Trembling fingertips reach towards the arrow sticking out of his abdomen. She presses her hand around the wound, a futile effort to keep what’s left of him inside—her mind blanks; the four walls around them close in, trapping her, draining all hope.

“Lily—”

“Shh—shh…” she whispers, pressing crimson fingers against his mouth. “Noise… activates…”

James’ eyes flutter and dart around. “O-okay…”

“D-don’t move—”

“Fuck!”

“Sorry—I’m sorry.” She looks closely at how bad he is, how hard she has to fight the fates this time to keep him alive. She bites back a cry. “Oh my god—no, no, it’s f-fine—you’ll be f-fine.”

“C-comforting after that l-little f-freak out...” He musters a pained smile.

“S-shut up.” That’s him trying, but she can’t smile for him. Not this time. “Shut up. It’s deep and poisoned—Christ, James.” She sniffles, pushing back the tears, the panic. “I-I have a fix, but I have to—I’m sorry—I have to pull it out.”

“... I h-have to be q-quiet?”

“Y-yeah. I’m sorry—”

“F-fuck it. I-I’m ready.”

“Okay.” She braces herself. It’s like the poison inside him is transferring to her, spreading dread and an unshakeable feeling that they will not survive. Not this time. “Just… deep breath, okay, and keep quiet.”

Lily barely moves, but James hisses. She tenses, but all remains quiet. She pets James’ hair, kisses him. He barely kisses back, lips trembling, all of him shaking—whether from pain or because he’s dying. She doesn’t know—she doesn’t want to. He’ll live. She’ll make sure he fucking does. They’re not dying here. Dying here kills everything they ever fought, sacrificed, and died for, all to keep a man hellbent on destroying everything they loved at bay.

She hears the thundering footsteps of the Death Eaters in the distance. It won’t be long before they find them. If she doesn’t move now, if she keeps hesitating, then they will die here. It won’t matter what she wants. She steels herself, looks down at James, curls her hand into a tight fist and pushes her arm along his lips.

“W-what are you doing?” he murmurs.

“Bite on me.”

“What—”

“Do it, Potter; I’m pulling it out in one go.”

She shoves her arm into his mouth as he protests, at the same time pulling the arrow out in one movement. She grits her teeth, a whimper hissing out as James’ teeth sink past her skin. A quiet, muted grunt escapes him—not loud enough for the trap. They stay still for a few seconds, laboured breaths stuttering out.

Then, she gets to work.

She’s best at non-verbal healing spells, but it takes immense concentration. She stitches the wound, stops the poison from running its course, but she can’t expel it. That’s for the healers at St Mungo’s to deal with. For that to happen, they must get out. Now.

The footsteps thunder closer.

“I’ll f-fucking marry y-you after this,” James breathes.

“You’ve already proposed to me,” she jokes, voice low and devoid of humour. It takes all her effort not to let her focus slip.

“N-no, fuck,” he grits his teeth. “I m-mean marry you after t-this. I don’t want to wait. W-we can v-very well die soon and I d-don’t want to d-die without b-becoming your h-husband.”

“Okay. Marry me.” Tears sting her eyes. “Marry me. Let’s have kids.”

“R-really?”

“You want a son, right?” she grins at him, tears falling down her cheeks. “I’ll give you one.”

“I l-love you so m-much.”

“Don’t,” she grits, not mistaking the tone he let slip. “Don’t you dare.”

James nods, falling silent. They need to escape. She props James against her, looking around. Despite the trap being noise-activated, she can still do magic. An idea occurs to her—risky, but it’s their best chance. And it has to be non-verbal. Doubt makes her pause, but one look at James, and she knows it’s a risk she must take.

Holding him against her, she closes her eyes and concentrates. Two spells—both have to be perfect. She steadies her breath. In a split second, explosions thunder overhead. The panels open, and arrows rain towards its direction. At the same time, she grips James and apparates them out of the trap, leaving a loud crack in its wake.

They land on wet grass—the rendezvous point. Lily on her back, an unconscious James in her arms. There’s noise—horror, joy, alarm, familiar, safe, but it’s all fuzzy. She loses sense of everything. It all converges and crashes on her like a wave, dragging her in the rip, weighing down her lids. Her left arm throbs from James’ bite, pinpoints of pain on her shoulders, extreme heat…

But it’s okay.

They’re now safe with the Order, their friends.

So, she lets darkness overtake her.

#jily #jily fanfic #james potter #lily evans #jple #james potter x lily evans #james x lily #marauders era #harry potter fanfic #hp fanfic #mus writes #mus writes fanfic

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spacedace · 1 year

Text

Here have a quick blurb I wrote partially inspired by that AU where Kon thinks Danny is a clone of his that has been mixed with Kryptonite, but it's Elle who's just escaped from the GIW instead (as always feel free to use this as a writing prompt if anyone is interested):

Trigger warning for mild gore in the form of implications of dissection/vivisection, torture, dismemberment/amputation as well as implied starvation. Nothing too detailed, but Elle is in bad shape and I want to give fair warning that it is there.

Kon was the closest when the glowing green tear in space and time ripped open in the sky above Metropolis.

Which meant he was the first to see the tiny, injured figure falling out of it, plummeting to the ground in tattered hospital scrubs stained red and green. He moved before he could think, darting forward in the air to grab the battered body, not caring what else might come out of the ominous tear in reality above them. He didn’t care if he got chewed out for being careless, not when the body in his arms was so light and the hazy eyes looking up at him were so scared.

It was just a girl.

White hair darkening to black at the ends, blue eyes ringed with glowing green, little fangs and ashen skin with an arm severed at the elbow and a horrible Y incision carved into her chest seeping through the thin fabric of the medical scrubs she was wearing. She couldn’t be any older than Jon, weakly grabbing at his jacket with her one remaining hand as Kon flew her away from the - thankfully? - closing portal and towards the nearest emergency medical team as quickly as he could. Super strength meant he never really felt the weight of anyone he carried, but there’s something about how gaunt and thin she was that made her seem as solid as sea foam and shattered glass in his arms.

“D…anny?” The girl asked weakly, voice a painful rasp full of such weak hope as she blinked up at him through tear filled eyes. Her head lolled so she was tucking her face into his chest, fragile body shaking with sobs she wasn’t really strong enough for. “Th-ank you, thank you.”

He looked down and saw this injured girl and all that’s been done to her - her green-red blood is seeping into his uniform, her body going cold, cold, cold - and all he wanted was to crush her close and give her the kind of protective hug he’d give Jon after a rough battle. He was too afraid of hurting her more to dare to try though, instead settling on the soft hushing reassurances that she was going to be okay, that he was going to get her help as he pushed himself as hard as he could to get her to medical as quickly as possible.

When he touched down at the nearest JL base, a swarm of doctors and nurses already there and waiting with a stretcher and a crash cart, the girl in his arms gave a weak wail of terror, clinging to him as hard as her frail body would allow her to. “Please don’t let them take me again, Danny, please I can’t - I can’t…”

“Hey, hey, hey,” He shushed her, “It’s going to be okay,” He said, careful as he gently shifted her down onto the stretcher. “They’re here to help. I won’t let anyone hurt you.” It took barely a touch to pull her too-thin hand from his jacket, her small body trembling as she laid there looking up at him. The green was bleeding further into the blue, but the glow of it was starting to dim. The white in her hair sunk down further, leeching all the color out of the black, letting him see the green and red of her blood staining it as it did.

“Promise?” She was so small, Kon felt his heart breaking at the hoarse desperate whisper in her voice as she wept. He wanted to find whoever did this to this girl and tear them apart with his bare hands.

“Promise.” He swore, giving as much of a squeeze to her hand as he dared. “They’re going to fix you up and I’m going to be right here. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

—

Tim found Kon exactly where he expected to: curled up in an uncomfortable plastic chair next to the bed of the mystery girl in the med bay.

Kon hadn’t left since he’d brought the girl in, stubbornly staying at her bedside and only able to be separated from her for as long as it took for the medical staff to stabilize the girl. She’d apparently not reacted well to the doctors, even less so to the prospect of the sterile white medical bay, and Kon had been the only one that had been able to get her to calm down long enough for them to actually work on her. Eventually the doctors confirmed that she was at least enough human that standard sedatives and anesthesia would work on her safely and they were able to knock her out, but even then Kon had refused to leave.

Looking at her in person for the first time, Tim could see why.

Their young Jane Doe was cleaned up compared to the state she’d been in when Kon had caught her falling out of the portal, but she was still a long way from out of the woods. Bones predominant beneath thin, sickly skin. Bruising and scars evident and recent. Left arm already partially gone when she’d appeared, now amputated up to just below her shoulder due to the amount of damage the doctor’s had found when going over her injuries.

She was small, smaller than Damian, and best estimates had her at about the same age as Tim’s youngest brother. Same age as Jon, too. And with some of her features similar enough - the blue in her eyes, the black in her hair, the glint of fangs - that it wasn’t hard to tell that Kon saw a nightmare of the things that could happen to his baby brother when he looked at the injured girl.

There’d been a bleak joke, when medical had sent pictures over of the girl for their investigation, to try and break the painful silence that filled the room when they all looked at this battered kid. That she had Bat-adoption written all over her face and that Tim should get ready to have another sibling. Tim had a feeling though that Kon wouldn’t let her go without a fight.

“Hey,” Tim said quietly, knocking softly on the door of the room. Kon blinked up at him blearily, dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, clearly tired enough to have not even noticed Tim’s arrival to the base. “She still hasn’t woken up?”

Kon shifted on the chair, rubbing his face with his one free hand - the other still firmly curled over the sleeping girl’s where it lay on the hospital bed - before shaking his head. “No. Doctor said it might be awhile. She has some kind of regenerative ability, but from what they can tell her body is so stripped of energy and resources it’s not able to fully kick in.”

Tim sighed softly, closing the door behind him before walking over to hold out the bag he brought. “I grabbed you a couple changes of clothes and some stuff from your apartment. I figured you’d need it.”

His boyfriend looked relieved, “Thanks. One of the nurses grabbed me some spare scrubs they had lying around, but uh,” Kon lifted his foot and wiggled it, showing off how short the pink and blue bunny scrub pants were on him. “They’re not exactly the most comfortable thing. Can you?”

He motioned towards the bed and the girl laying motionless and Tim nodded. “Yeah, go ahead. I’ll watch her.”

They swapped places, Tim taking over the chair Kon had been keeping vigil in, his gloved hand reaching out to cover the girl’s instinctively as his boyfriend slipped into the adjoining bathroom to change. The girl was cool too the touch, another oddity that the medical team hadn’t been able to say for certain if it was normal for her or a sign of something wrong. She had an abnormally low heart rate as well, though any attempt at raising it to healthy levels hadn’t proven successful.

DNA tests had been attempted on the blood they’d gotten off of Kon’s uniform, but there’d been…difficulties…with the system. Bruce and Barry were working together to try and fix the strange errors they were receiving, but there was no telling how long that would take. With the portal closing as soon as it opened and no good explanation of what had caused it or where it had led to, their only real source for answers was the unconscious girl. A girl who, while perhaps not at risk of flat-lining any second anymore, was still hanging uncertainly in the balance.

“Any news on her DNA?” Kon asked as he stepped out of the bathroom, looking softer and more comfortable in a pair of sweats and a hoodie. He moved to curl up in Tim’s lap, neither of them caring that the chair was in no way meant to hold two grown men, his eyes were back on the girl again nervously chewing on his bottom lip as he did.

Tim shook his head. “No. Every time they try the system just,” Tim made a vague motion to try and explain went up in sparks, “Flash & B are trying to work it out.” He studied Kon’s face, noting the lines of worry that crept in at the corners of his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Kon curled an arm around him, other hand moving to cup the girl’s so that her frail hand was cradled between their larger ones. “I think…” He paused, huffing for a moment before letting out a soft rumbling purr. One of those that Tim understood was meant for self-soothing. “I think she might be Kryptonian. Partially, at least. She’s obviously has more going on but…” He motioned with his hand, “Here, listen.”

He pitched his purr a little higher, smoothing it out to that low murmur that never failed to pull Tim into a comfortable sleep. Tim kept quiet, head tilted as he waited for what Kon was showing him. It took a moment, but at length he did hear it. So faint he could almost dismiss it as the hum of the AC, but no. It was the girl, still unconscious, but softly, softly responding with her own weak little purrs.

Tim frowned, mind casting back to the fact that the girl had bled both red and green. They’d assumed it was due to her alien biology, but if she was at least somewhat Kryptonian…

“I’ll have B test the samples for Kryptonite.” He said, curling around Kon a little tighter as he saw his boyfriend’s eyes widen at the idea before reaching for his com. “It’s something they can look at while waiting on the DNA results. We have an antidote if it comes back positive.” He tried to reassure.

He kept his hand curled around the girl’s fingers twining with Kon’s. He would make sure she made it.

287 notes · View notes

venus-haze · 2 years

Text

The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter - Part 2 (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Summary: The whole world knows you’re engaged to Elvis. As you try to navigate the increasingly troubling relationship with your boss-turned-fiance, you seek answers—and a way out—before you legally become Mrs. Presley. No matter what you do, it seems like he’s always two steps ahead of you.

Notes: I want to say thank you so much for the overwhelming support for part 1 of this fic (I can’t believe it has almost 300 notes)🖤 I hadn’t anticipated the overwhelmingly positive response or the interest in a second part. I hope this lives up to everyone’s expectations. I think this part is darker than part 1, so please look at the warnings before reading this because I added additional ones. I left it open for a part 3, if enough people are interested. Requests are open🔮 Do not interact with my blog or posts if you are under 18 or post ED/thinspo content.

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: This is a yandere fic, so expect dark themes such as emotional blackmail, obsessive and manipulative behavior, physical violence (blood), and abuse of power, which some people may find disturbing or triggering. Emetophobia warning for one short part of the fic. Some sexually explicit content that involves coercion. Do not interact if you are under 18.

Prequel | Part 1 | Part 3

After the extremely public engagement, you could hardly watch TV for weeks. The press was having a field day calling you a gold-digging home wrecker, crafting stories about how the engagement ring was one of the most expensive on record, and distorting your and Elvis’ professional history, as if you’d deliberately taken the job in ‘68 as part of a years-long scheme to slowly chip away at the foundation of his and Priscilla’s relationship, which was showing signs of strain by the time you met them, away.

You knew you wouldn’t get any peace by trying to be combative with him, not with how unpredictable his behavior had become. Instead, you had to exhaust yourself on a daily basis, trying to keep what remained of your boundaries while not setting him off, which was easier said than done. It was like he’d become physically attached to you, and would sink into a dangerous paranoia when you were away from him for too long. As you played with the ostentatious diamond ring on your finger, you worried that marrying him wouldn’t be enough, that he’d resort to increasingly deranged and desperate measures to keep you from leaving.

There was only so much of it you could blame on the drugs, as he caught on to your distaste for Dr. Nick and began using his ‘services’ less and less, which could have meant he was going through withdrawals. No matter how much you tried not to, you kept making excuses for him, as if he weren’t a grown man capable of making his own decisions.

He didn’t expend this much effort trying to mend his and Priscilla’s relationship, as far as you were aware. From what he’d told you, he woke up one day and she just left Graceland with Lisa Marie. If only you could be so lucky.

You could understand the newfound distaste Priscilla had developed toward you, greeting you with a polite coldness a few days prior when she brought Lisa to spend a few hours with Elvis. You wanted so desperately to pull her aside and let her know none of it was true, that you didn’t even want to marry him, but you were never away from him long enough to be able to do so. When she had picked up Lisa later that evening, Elvis was clingier than usual, perhaps watching his ex-wife leave again, move so freely, made him more determined to ensure your proximity to him.

When you’d told him you wanted a small, private wedding, he was irate, going on an irrational rant where he accused you of being ashamed to be with him. You were only able to calm him down with claims that you thought it would be more intimate if only a handful of people were in attendance. "It’d be so special," you’d said softly. "Why let people who won’t appreciate it ruin our day?" He was silent for a few agonizing moments, before conceding that you’d made a good point. Considering it a win to get him to agree to your reasoning, you found yourself having to pick and choose your battles when it came to him.

In a little less than a week, his annual residency at the International would be over, and he had a while in between the marathon of a US tour he normally did. You knew that meant a few weeks in Graceland, and you were oddly looking forward to it. The mansion had acres of land to get lost in, and far more privacy than the International. You couldn’t even go anywhere in Vegas without being recognized, especially since any time you wanted to go out, at least two security guards accompanied you if Elvis couldn’t go with you himself. It’d become so much of a pain that the only place you had any peace was hiding out backstage, where the band and the Memphis Mafia at least still treated you like a normal person.

Elvis had always been generous with you, but since the engagement, it was overwhelming. The dress he had broken the night he made his affection known to you was replaced with five others of the same style, in various patterns and colors. You appreciated that he didn’t try to overhaul your wardrobe, but you found it growing at an unmanageable rate as he always wanted you to match him. This included jewelry and accessories from designer brands you could only dream about in storefront windows before, but getting them this way made you never want to so much as look at them.

“You don’t listen to what they say about you in the press, do ya?” he asked, one night, when you expressed discomfort with the lavish gifts he’d give you. “See baby, I told you, from now on it’s you and me. They get to you, and they fill your head with so much garbage ya can’t see straight. I couldn’t live with myself if that happened to you.”

You shook your head, almost dizzy from how quickly his mood changed from the excitement at presenting you with yet another new pair of shoes to anxiety at your response. He continued, impassioned, “You know they say those things because those miserable sons of bitches don’t want us to be happy. I don’t–maybe you shouldn’t watch TV anymore.”

“Elvis, I hardly watch TV as it is, and when I do it’s Carol Burnette’s show or Columbo,” you protested, “and the one joke Carol Burnette made about me was funny, anyway.”

“No one should be makin’ jokes about you. I don’t care how funny they are,” he said, ending the argument.

You were aware of the incident where he was so drugged up and paranoid one night he shot each of the TVs on the wall. Not wanting a repeat of that, you kept yourself entertained with music and magazines instead. You couldn’t even go to the movies because someone would notice you.

The last night you were in Vegas, he kept the day free to take you out shopping. It was uncomfortable, in all honesty. People would stop to peer through the windows of the half-dozen or so boutiques you had gone to, just to get a look at the king and his bride-to-be.

Then, when you thought all you’d have to do was sit through dinner and be free of Vegas for a few months, Elvis surprised you with VIP seats to a variety show at another hotel on the strip. You showed the enthusiasm that you knew was expected of you when he told you. Sometimes you’d treat yourself to a night out, going to different variety shows either by yourself or with a few coworkers. It was always fun, but you had a sinking feeling in your stomach on the way to the hotel.

The two of you were immediately bombarded by crowds of people the second you stepped out of the car. Well, it was mostly for him, but some people gave you insincere congratulations on the engagement. You shielded your face with your hand when you noticed cameras flashing, and tugged on Elvis’ coat sleeve. He gave a final wave to the crowd, leading you inside the hotel.

As with most hotels on the strip, it was lavish and gaudy, with a busy casino, fully stocked bar, and an auditorium for a residency. Having lived in one for so long, you figured you could probably map the place in less than five minutes of walking around. Ignoring the whispers and murmurs as the hotel’s manager led Elvis and you to your table in the auditorium, you let yourself admire the place. A waiter immediately appeared with complimentary champagne and handed you your menus.

You hardly looked at the menu when you spotted a familiar dish, and decided on that. Elvis took a bit more time, but when he closed his menu, he put his arm around you, giving you a kiss. You kissed him back, figuring you could at least try to have fun. He seemed like he was in a good mood, and you had learned to enjoy that while it lasted.

The two of you were served your food before anyone else. You picked at your meal, sticking to the champagne instead. You hoped your appetite would return at some point during the show, one of the highlights of going out with Elvis was getting to order whatever you wanted at restaurants without having to worry about the bill.

You rested your head on Elvis’ shoulder when the emcee walked onto the stage, clapping along with the rest of the audience. You knew how the variety shows went, usually a comedian to warm up the crowd, a musical act or two, showgirls, a stand-up comedian, and some comedy sketches to round out the show, not necessarily in that order. Sometimes there was a magician thrown in, which you didn’t care for since they all did the same tricks over and over.

The warm-up comedian got some solid laughs out of you, and you felt your tension ease as the other acts went on stage. The show only had one musical act for the evening, a husband and wife team who nailed all of their duets and had you and Elvis practically dancing in your seats. You let the champagne flow, feeling better as the show went on.

Next were the showgirls, adorned in sparkling leotards that perfectly caught the stage lights so when they danced, it looked like the room was covered in glittering stars. While they mostly did the classic choreographed line dances, some of them did acrobatic tricks across the stage, no small feat in heels.

The emcee introduced the stand-up comedian for the night, someone you’d never heard of before, but figured would be good with how the rest of the show was going. He was. In fact, he had you in stitches until he got through two punchlines and then changed his tune.

“It looks like we have some very special guests tonight in the audience here, folks,” the stand-up comedian said, pointing right to where you and Elvis were sitting.

You wanted to slink down, hide beneath the table, but Elvis’ hand flew to your thigh, keeping a vice grip on it. Chattering and applause overtook the room, especially when the spotlight turned to the two of you.

You could feel your face heat up, resisting the urge to cry. Instead you hid your face in Elvis’ chest. He moved his hand from your thigh to hold you close, while you assumed he waved and smiled at the rest of the audience.

“The king of rock n’ roll, Elvis Presley, and his bashful bride!” the comedian announced.

Less than two weeks ago, you could be in a place like this and no one would acknowledge you. Now, wherever you went, whatever you did, turned into a spectacle.

When you could no longer feel the heat of the spotlight on you, you sat up, and pretended to listen to the next joke in the comedian’s set.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” you whispered to Elvis.

“Alright, baby,” he said, giving you a kiss on the cheek.

You kept your head down as you made a beeline for the bathroom. Locking yourself in the nearest empty stall, you put your head in your hands, trying to catch your breath. Why did he have to do that? The night would’ve been perfect if he hadn't done that.

Finally calming yourself down enough, you left the stall to wash your hands, focusing on the swan-head faucets attached to the sink. They were pretty, but something about seeing the water flow from the open beaks seemed odd. So caught up in your own thoughts, you hadn’t realized you weren’t alone in the bathroom while you were drying your hands.

“The future Mrs. Elvis Presley, fancy running into you in here,” a girlish voice said from behind you.

You could feel your stomach tense up. “My name’s Y/N,” you said, turning around to look at her.

Dressed in a gold sequin leotard with her elaborate makeup and hair, she was one of the showgirls from earlier in the variety act. She was beautiful, but looked almost unimpressed as she put her hands on her hips, giving you a once over.

“You know, I admire you. I really do,” she said. “I mean, getting a man like that wrapped around your finger is no easy feat, especially enough to divorce the mother of his only child. I guess the unassuming act goes far, huh?”

“It’s not like that,” you said defensively.

She snickered. “Well, maybe in a few years, I’ll take a crack at it.”

Be my guest.

As soon as she left, you ran back into the stall and threw up. You weren’t sure why her words struck you so harshly, perhaps being physically confronted with the public perception of you was a shock, as Elvis did his best to keep you blocked out from it all. Not to mention, it was like you had no identity anymore, not one outside of him anyway. No one cared about what your name was or how you felt.

You flushed your sick down the toilet, wishing you could disappear with it. Emerging from the stall yet again, you washed your hands before splashing some water on your face in a futile attempt to freshen up a little bit. You reached for the basket on the counter that had individually wrapped mints, ripped a few out of the packaging, and shoved them in your mouth. It didn’t make you feel any better, but at least you wouldn’t return with bad breath.

When you sat back down at the table, you knew you were visibly shaking. Elvis looked at you, eyebrows furrowed as your hand trembled while you picked up your glass of water, which you’d been ignoring for the champagne.

“Darlin’, you alright?” he asked, putting a hand on your shoulder.

You nodded, “I just need a ginger ale.”

“If ya don’t feel good, we can leave.”

“I don’t want to ruin the night.”

“You ain’t ruinin’ nothin’,” he said. “We’ll be back in Graceland tomorrow. The fresh air will do ya good.”

The stand-up comedian seemed to be wrapping up his set anyway, so all you’d be missing were the handful of sketches that wrapped up the evening while everyone drank coffee and paid their checks. How long had you even been in there?

Elvis escorted you out of the auditorium, and the hotel manager hastily led the two of you down a service corridor so you could leave without incident. Elvis spoke with the hotel manager while you waited for the car to pull up. As soon as it reached the curb, you practically dove into it. Elvis joined you, and the drive back to the International was uncomfortably silent.

He didn’t say much on the elevator ride up to the suite, except to check how you were feeling. As much as you hated the suite, it was at least a space that was somewhat yours. Still, you could tell he was on edge as you changed out of your clothes from the day and into your nightwear.

“Y/N, what happened back at the show?” he asked. He hadn’t changed yet, which was odd. Usually he liked the two of you to get ready for bed together.

“Something upset my stomach, is all,” you answered.

He hummed dismissively. “Yeah? You hardly touched your food.”

“The alcohol,” you stammered, “it doesn’t agree with—“

“Don’t lie to me, goddammit!” he roared, his face red, nostrils flaring as he pointed at you. “Were you in there doin’ somethin’ you weren’t supposed to do? I saw a man walk back from the bathrooms right before you did, lookin’ mighty pleased with himself.”

Your eyes widened at his accusation. “Why would I do something like that?”

“‘Cause you’re embarrassed of bein’ with me! Don’t want no big wedding, always hidin’ and coverin’ your face while we’re out together,” he spat. “Too good for your damn has-been husband.”

“You said you didn’t want me having to deal with all those people! That they’d put garbage in my head!” you argued.

He grabbed your face, squeezing your jaw so tightly you thought the rings on his fingers would break the skin on your face. “Oh, you’ve got somethin’ in your head, baby. Don’t worry, I��ll get ya all straightened out.”

You knew you were crying, with the way your vision blurred, but you could hardly tell anything else. You began to panic, and before you could even think about it, you hit him. Hard. He released your face with an unexpected force that sent you to the ground as he brought his hand to his own face in shock. If you weren’t terrified of the gun case before, you sure as hell were now.

The next few seconds seemed to drag on for eternity, your breathing labored as you waited for his response. Drops of blood pooled in the corner of his mouth, and he collected it on one of his fingers. To your surprise, he looked down at you, a terrifying fire in his eyes.

“You don’t want this to be easy, do ya, darlin’?”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” you choked out, trying to crawl backward away from him.

“You will be.”

He grabbed your arm, his fingers digging into the tender skin. You looked at him with fearful eyes, which amused him as he pulled you in for a painful kiss. You whimpered when he dug his teeth into your bottom lip. It was as if your act of self-preservation set off something primal, animalistic in him. His vice grip was doing you no favors, and you didn’t want to start thinking about how you were going to cover those bruises with the wedding coming up.

When he threw you onto the bed, you couldn’t tell if it was your blood or his on your arm. Regardless, seeing the blood smeared on your body sent you into yet another state of panic, and you began kicking wildly as he climbed over you, unbuckling his belt.

“I was wrong. I’m sorry,” you pleaded.

“I have half a mind to tan your hide,” he growled, ripping your panties down so they were between your knees. “I never hit you, have I? But you get one chance to and you fuckin’ take a swing at me, huh?”

“It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have done it.”

“It’s a mistake you’re never gonna make again, darlin’,” he said, venom dripping from the term of endearment. “I’ve been too nice. Let you think you run things around here.”

“No, no I–”

He held you down, his face inches from yours. “Sometimes I think I love you too much.”

You almost had to laugh. Almost. The wicked grin that spread across his face when he reached down, feeling the wetness between your legs. Without hesitation, you moaned at the feeling, but he brought his fingers up just as quickly, sticking them in his mouth and sucking your juices off of them. Your mouth hung open as you watched him, and he looked smug when he pulled his fingers out of his mouth.

“Guess you do too,” he teased, kissing you.

Tasting yourself on his lips, it was too much–too vulgar or too intimate, you didn’t know, but everything from there was like watching a movie out of order. You couldn’t remember when he’d done what or when. At some point he’d gotten undressed and tore your lingerie to pieces. You could feel that he’d finished in you multiple times, and your ass felt like hell.

“Rise and shine, darlin’. Graceland’s waitin’ for us,” he said, as you blinked awake.

Part of you was surprised to actually wake up, he’d been so wild the night before you were sure he’d kill you. Instead, you felt the familiar aches and bruises from the first night he, well, you didn’t want to think about it. You slowly sat up to see him looking at you with a handsome smile on his face, his eyes lighting up when they met yours.

You looked at the cut that was on his top lip where your hand had made contact. It was small, but still visible to anyone who really took the time to look. Your fingers hovered over it, your chest felt tight. He kissed your fingers before taking your hand in his.

“We’re gonna move past last night, alright? I just get a little jealous is all. I don’t wanna lose you.” he said calmly, as if his behavior was normal. “I love you.”

“Okay,” you whispered, not missing the pointed look he gave you before adding, “I love you too.”

He gave you a kiss, and you could feel the cut against your lips.

“Does it hurt, honey?” you asked, your habit of caring for him kicking in.

“No, I’m just gonna tell people I cut myself shavin’,” he said.

“I can dress it. There’s peroxide in the cabinet—“

“Baby, it’s fine. All I’m concerned about it gettin’ back home with you.”

Most of the stuff in the suite that would be going with you to Graceland had been packed in the days before. All that was left was what you were wearing, the few toiletries still in the bathroom, and the clothes you’d shoved into a carry-on. While there wasn’t a set schedule to return to Memphis, everyone wanted to go sooner rather than later, and you weren’t about to hold anyone up.

The two hour plane ride to Memphis was actually pretty fun. You played cards with some of the Memphis Mafia while Elvis spoke with his father. You lost horribly in each round, but everyone was cracking jokes and talking. It felt like back when everything was normal.

You knew the airport would be a circus when the plane landed, but you weren’t expecting the sheer amount of people that threatened to spill over onto the runway. Elvis waved to the fans, who were screaming and wailing in a way that was almost biblical. He kept his hand on the small of your back, ushering you into one of the cars that was waiting near the plane.

In theory, it should have been a quick drive to Graceland, but it ended up taking almost double the amount of time because of how many people were crowding the car at nearly every intersection. You knew Elvis loved his fans, he told you over and over again how grateful he was, after all, you’d been one too. You could tell, though, that he was getting tired, and you held his hand in an attempt to comfort him. He gave you a grateful smile, kissing your hand.

After what felt like hours, you arrived at Graceland, the gates slowly opening as the car inched forward so it wouldn’t run anyone over. You almost considered getting out right there and just walking up to the mansion, but thought better of it. Once the car passed through the gates, it pulled up to the front door, and you wasted no time in getting out of the car.

“Home sweet home,” Elvis said as he opened the door for you.

You were never more glad to be at Graceland. Even though you knew it was just the same prison with a different look, you were exhausted and welcomed the privacy it afforded. Of course, the calm would be over again in the next few days as the usual crew of friends and family made their way over to use Graceland as their stomping grounds, and you had to plan a wedding.

For now, though, Elvis was as tired as you were, and the two of you made your way upstairs. The energy in the familiar house shifted as you stood in the doorway of the master bedroom.

You’d never actually been alone with him in his bedroom at Graceland before. You always stayed in a guest room in another part of the house, and he usually conducted business in the living room or dining room. The only times you’d gone in before was with Priscilla to let her do your hair and makeup, or sometimes she’d give you pieces from her overflowing closet.

It was similar to his suite at the International in its style and the color scheme throughout. You approached Priscilla’s closet–no, it was yours now–slowly, cautiously, as if something would jump out at you the second you opened it. Instead, when you slid the door aside, you saw your clothes hanging up neatly, the shoe rack filled with your shoes.

“Honey, where’s the, um–my–” you didn’t know how to word it. Nothing in that room was yours. “My sleep stuff.”

“Intimates should be in one of the dresser drawers,” he said, as he changed into a robe. “Though I’d prefer if ya wore nothin’ at all.”

You hated how your face heated up at his teasing. You walked over to the dresser and found what you were looking for in the middle drawer, grabbing the set that was on top.

Hastily, you changed, as to not keep Elvis waiting while he sat on the bed. He opened his arms when you approached, and you settled in beside him, nestled next to his chest. He held you close, kissing the crown of your head.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

"Why do you love me?" you asked.

You knew what he felt for you wasn’t love, but rather a manifestation of misplaced obsession and fear. Still, you needed to know—why me?

"No one else knows me like you do, takes the time to talk with me and check on me," he said softly, as if lost in his thoughts. "You always take care of me. When I met you, no one had done that for a long time. Mama died after I left for basic, and I had to be the one to hold everything together for the family, halfway ‘cross the world by my lonesome and line everyone else’s pockets."

You nodded, listening to his explanation of his behavior, trying desperately to understand where you fit into this. Out of everyone in his entourage, you’d known him for the least amount of time in comparison.

"You’ve never asked me for a thing, ya know that? Everyone else it’s clothes and cars and god knows what else, and I don’t mind it, I take care of my own. You don’t want anything outta me. If I lose you, I think I’ll lose myself," he said, taking a long pause before adding, "I wish you’d met my mama. I think she woulda liked you."

There it was, that vulnerability that made you feel bad for him. Him of all people. The childhood of hardship and abandonment that was was only held together by his mother, the stabilizing figure in his life, who he’d lost far too soon. It was what made you feel like you needed to take care of him in the first place, that beneath this larger than life man was a sad and lonely boy. You knew that this was far from the truth, as more than anything else it was likely the root of the abandonment issues that evolved into the disaster of an Oedipus complex you found yourself the object of, but your heart still ached for him. Fuck. Now you were crying.

He had you so mixed up in your feelings you didn’t even know if he was playing up what he knew you wanted to hear, or was sharing all of this with you. His expression was unreadable as he observed you crying into your hands. A few moments later, he slammed his fist against the headboard, making you flinch.

"What? Was that not good enough for you?" he snapped.

"No," you choked out. "No, I just—I don’t understand."

"What don’t you understand? I love you, goddammit! You act so ungrateful sometimes it does my head in!"

"Love doesn’t look like this, Elvis!"

"How would you know?" he spat out, his venomous words biting your heart. "No one’s ever loved you right, ‘cept me."

"Stop," you mumbled. "I’m sorry."

"Now tell me why you love me," he demanded.

You wiped the tears from your face, sniffling as you looked at him. His expression was still hostile, but you could remember every smile and wink he ever gave you. You thought back to before all of this happened, what made you love him in the first place, feel so devoted to him despite all of the warning signs.

"Being there for you, taking care of you, it felt like the most important thing in the world, because you make me feel like I matter. You’re kind even when people don’t deserve it. Generous to a fault. I mean, you made the whole world fall in love with you. How could I not?" you explained.

You struggled to find the words to properly express yourself further, moving your hands as a placeholder to collect your thoughts. "The way you dream, make the impossible seem like it can become reality, it’s incredible. When we first met you said you were gonna travel the world, how you wanted to spread your wings and fly. I wanted to fly with you."

“We can still fly, Y/N.”

“Where, Elvis? Where else is there to go?”

"You and me, to the Rock of Eternity," he whispered.

You glanced down at your engagement ring. Seems like he already got that covered.

“Well, we can go tomorrow. I’m tired now, and I know there’s gonna be stuff to do in the morning,” you said, feigning a yawn.

“You’re lucky you got such a great boss; he gave ya the week off to spend with your fiance,” he said, eliciting a laugh from you.

“Yeah, he’s a real stand-up guy,” you smiled.

You wished he could always be like this, kind and playful, not the unpredictable lover you’d come to fear. You couldn’t understand how so much had changed in a few weeks, and yet in that moment it felt like nothing had. You would have been glad to marry this Elvis, your best friend. Whether or not that man had ever existed was a mystery, but you knew your life would be over the second you said ‘I do’ to the man you were sitting next to.

Taglist: @re3kin, @bobthefishiesworld, @ninebluehearts, @angryinternetmoon, @ratty-mcfatty, @pumkiinpasties, @dark-as-love, @im-lame-irl, @bobbykennedyfan, @queendelrey, @kaiabanslajabaj

#elvis x reader #yandere!elvis x reader #austin!elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #yandere x reader #elvis #elvis 2022 #austin!elvis #yandere elvis

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soulofapatrick · 1 year

Text

Home Is Where The Heart Is - Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: After a brutal fight against raiders with Ellie you feel like your bond with her and everyone in town is broken but Joel is there to show you otherwise

Words: 3k

Warnings; blood; injury

Notes: Platonic Ellie x reader too. I need more of this Joel; long salt and pepper hair and scruff cuz fuuuuckkk me man he looks fine af

Y/N’s POV

People stop and stare as we make our way back into town, Ellie’s sat upon Indiana with the two kids, trotting behind us. One is cradled in her arms being only four and the other is behind her with his arms wrapped around her waist. She’s wild eyed and clinging to the four year old like a lifeline while I have the mother stumbling beside me, arm over my shoulder as I take most of her weight and Indiana’s reins are wrapped around my left arm so Ellie can keep the kids safe. We’re covered in blood, me the most as I may have gone on a killing rampage after finding the kids locked up in those cages.

Tommy and Maria are rushing towards us, the gates slamming shut behind Indiana and causing the kids to cry out in fear, my heart breaking even more. Others are joining us, Jesse escorting the mother towards the makeshift hospital Jackson has with a promise her kids will be safe and reunited with her shortly but she needed medical care first. The reins are being taken from me and I’m stepping towards Ellie who is standing by Tommy, the kid still cradled in her arms, and she takes a step back. My world comes crashing down right then and there, the look of fear in her clover eyes when she sees me moving towards her, it draws a lump in my throat and I’m digging my nails into my palms to keep myself calm. Dina’s putting a hand on my arm, being one of the only people to know about my past and why I was so triggered by the raiders keeping this family hostage.

I’m throwing a glance back at Ellie when Dina begins leading me away, watching how Tommy and Maria are tending to her and the kids until they disappear around a corner. Dina’s firm hand in mine being the only thing grounding me from breaking down right then and there in the snow as I don’t know if I want to cry or scream or both. I’m angry and I’m hurt and I’m not good with emotions so all I can do is focus on her tight grip on my hand as she leads me home.

“N-no, Dina we can’t… Ellie-“ My voice cracks at Ellie’s name. She won’t want me being in the same house as her anymore. The look in her eyes said it all back there and I know… she won’t ever look at me the same way again let alone look at me.

“We need to wash the blood away and I’m sure Joel will want to know.” She steels me with a stern look as I pull against her hand, digging in my heels but somehow she’s overpowering me and pulling me up the porch steps. She doesn’t hesitate to dive a hand into my pockets and pull out my keys so she can let us in. Joel’s jumping up when he sees me covered in still drying blood, mouth open in protest but silenced by Dina holding a hand up to him before she turns back to me, “Shoes off and go run yourself a shower. Now.”

I don’t argue, toeing off my boots and heading for the stairs, keeping my eyes down and shaking off Joel’s hand that reaches out to touch my shoulder lightly. The soft sound of emotional hurt he makes is another stab in my gut but this time they’ve twisted the knife and the floodgates of blood and tears all at once. I’m trying to hold in the sob as I sprint up the stairs, hearing the quiet mumbles of Joel and Dina and wanting to drown them out. My heart is pounding in my ears and I’m struggling to breathe, stumbling into the bathroom door before slipping to my knees inside. I’m having a panic attack and I try so hard to remember the tricks Tommy taught me, pressing the flat of my palms to the freezing porcelain, focusing on the contrast of temperature against my burning skin. Hands touch my shoulders and I’m spinning around, pinning them down until I realise it’s Dina. She doesn’t flinch and there’s no fear or hatred in her gaze and I’m falling, my cheek pressing to the cold floor as she watches. She leans over and brushes a strand of my blood-matted hair off my forehead and I’m squeezing my eyes shut to try and stop crying but it doesn’t work.

Dina’s pulling herself to her feet and I wait to hear the bathroom door open and close but instead the sound of the shower being turned on reaches my ears and the heavy pounding of the water against the bottom of the bath seems to blur out any possibility of thoughts. The comforting sound of the water mixed with the cool tiles calms my heart rate enough to drag myself into a sitting position, eyes sliding open to see Dina watching me from where she’s sat atop the counter, waiting me patiently to come around. Her smile is soft, her curls more prominent in the steam the hot shower is producing and I want to cry again but I can’t. It’s not the time.

“Ellie’s scared of me.” I croak, voice sounding wrecked and Dina’s gaze soften as she gently shakes her head, watching me pull myself to my feet, legs shaking from exhaustion. My hands tremble as I struggle with the buttons on my shirt until familiar hands are slapping mine away and deft fingers make quick work of it, helping me slide it off and it goes straight in the bin. I manage to kick my jeans off and Dina turns away so I slip out of my underwear and into the welcoming warmth of the shower. It draws a sound from my lips as my muscles begin to ache and the open wounds that adorn my skin let themselves knows. All I can focus my attention on is the way the water runs red, not stopping or fading back to clear until Dina’s sighing and she surprises me by stepping into the shower with me but fully dressed.

I should be yelling at her, asking what the fuck she’s doing but I can’t muster the energy to. Jesse; Dina and I have a pretty chill friendship and we’ve had to look after each other after particularly tough patrols or raiders getting into Jackson. Jesse had to help Dina snap out of her shock one time after her first kill of a raider and the three of us just sat in the bathroom, Jesse cleaning the blood and mud from Dina while I had my back to the door. It was the first time I had truly felt comfortable around people and I trusted them with my life, loving to see how happy Jesse and Dian were together. I hope Jesse doesn’t kill me for this, I’m the one who’s naked not Dina but it still feels strangely intimate. Dina’s definitely pretty but I’m not one to swing that way, especially with the weird bond thing Joel and I have.

“Joel?” I ask as Dina massages the shampoo into my scalp the water running even redder than before and my eyes are slamming shut because Ellie’s right. I am a monster.

“He’s gone to talk to Tommy,” She coos soothingly before speaking up again, a smirk in her voice as she washes the shampoo out and moves onto the conditioner, “What was he doing waiting in your house anyway, with a key by the looks of it.”

“I…” I have to actually pause as I’m not sure why Joel was waiting for me here. I usually come back from patrol, shower then head down the road to his for dinner, “I don’t know.”

“Well, he was so worried, thought you were hurt,” She grinning, I can feel it without turning around, shivering when she rinses the conditioner out and runs her fingers through my hair to tease out any more knots clinging together. It hurts but I don’t even wince as I deserve it after what I did today, “Joel was ready to shove me aside and come up but I didn’t think you’d want him seeing you so vulnerable just yet.”

The shower is turned off and Dina’s stepping out, leaving the room dripping wet head to toe before a towel is flung through a crack into door and I hear her race to the spare room as both her and Jesse keep spare clothes in mine. The privacy giving me time to dry myself and pad to my room, shutting the door behind me with a soft click as Dina’s footsteps can be heard on the steps before the familiar sound of the kettle boiling is following.

“I’m staring at myself in the cracked mirror an ache in my chest as the person I once knew is not the person staring back at me. Instead, it’s someone with bags under her eyes and a heavy weight of the past crushing them, leaving their mouth constantly turned downwards, eyes dull and eyebrows always in a scowl, no brightness or warmth to any part of them. Staring back is a shell of the person you once used to be, learning to slowly adapt and love again within the safe confines of Jackson. The walls may keep me safe but seeing others, like the mother and sons in pain and danger, makes me feel selfish for trying to be happy and build a life when they’re getting tortured and killed everyday. The scar across my cheek reminds me that I was once the person chained up and tortured for information I didn’t have and I was the one being saved by Tommy like I did that family. Maybe… Just maybe there is a possibility I deserve love and-

The opening and closing of the front door has me shaking my head, grabbing the first clothes I find in my drawers and haphazardly pulling them on: it’s a pair of grey baggy sweatpants and a somewhat matching sweatshirt in a deep blue colour. I’m drawing my damp hair up into a ponytail and before I can even open the door to head downstairs and find out why Dina left my bedroom door is being pushed open. Crowding the doorway is an almost shy looking Joel, salt and pepper hair shining in the sunset pouring through my window, beard finally having joined his hair in colour over the last year, tanned skin warm and glowing and a light pink dusting his cheeks. He’s still got his brown winter jacket on and that worn baby blue scarf tucked into it and if I weren’t so worried about Ellie hating me and the family I brought in I’d be on my knees for him already. I haven’t got much resolve after today and the things this man and his large hands do to me is almost embarrassing. He’s holding a steaming mug of what smells like coffee and the mug looks tiny wrapped in his hand.

“I-I thought you might like some company?” Joel’s stuttering and blushing and I’m just nodding, moving to my bed and he follows, setting the cup on my bedside table. He’s moving back to close the bedroom door, shrugging off that jacket and scarf to put them across my desk chair before finally sitting on the edge of my bed. I don’t think twice about pulling him down so he’s laying on his back and slotting myself under his left arm, laying my head on his chest over his heart so I can feel it beating comfortingly against my ear, “I’ve got you.” He coos, fingers gently pulling the hair tie from my hair so he can card his fingers through it and my eyes are fluttering shut when his blunt nails massage my scalp.

“Ellie hates me now, doesn’t she?” My voice shakes and I keep my eyes closed, not wanting to see his expression as he continues to soothe my hair and scalp.

“She doesn’t hate you, she just needs some time to process. She’s never seen you…” He trails off, chest rumbling when I push a hand under his shirt, feeling his soft stomach rise and fall with every breath. He may not have a six pack but he is in no way unfit, his pecs well defined and if you run your hands over his chest you can feel the beginnings of six packs but he’s perfect the way he is: equal parts buff and soft.

I’m gasping softly when the rough pads of his fingers ghost over my cheek, drawing me up to meet his gaze, honey eyes soft and warm as they search my face. Gentle fingers traces the scar down my cheek, nothing on his face but warmth and… love? It’s almost overwhelming and I’m letting my eyes slide shut, leaving into his warm palm that is now gripping my jaw, parting my lips when his thumb brushes over my bottom lip. His name tumbles from my lips in a broken whine and it’s as if the world is answering my prayers when plump lips meet mine in a soft kiss. My hands find the thick scruff of his beard, dragging my nails lightly through it and eliciting an addictive sound that I swallow. Moving my hands to tangle in his hair and pull lightly, deepening the kiss and opening my mouth for his searching tongue. Joel surrounds me in every way, his scent intoxicating, lips tasting of coffee as if he’d stolen a sip or two on his way up the stairs and his kisses leaving me dizzy with wanting more.

He’s pulling back too soon, stopping my lips from chasing his like I want to and honey eyes darker as he whispers out, “Y/N stop, I…” He takes a deep breath, hand cupping my cheek and thumb rubbing my cheekbone, “I want this, you don’t know how crazy I am for you but you’ve just been through something big… I want to know your feelings back are real and not just… not just adrenaline.”

“Stay the night?” I rush out, chest heaving with nerves and his eyes search my face again before he’s nodding and rearranging us so he’s spooning me. His left arm is under my neck, tucking it under my pillows so I can use both as a pillow and his right is resting on my hip but it’s not enough. I’m intertwining our fingers, pulling them to my lips to kiss his knuckles before letting our interlocked hands settle over my heart, a small smile on my lips when he presses a kiss to my neck and begins to whisper soothingly until my eyes are growing heavy.

Rolling onto my back, stretching, I’m greeted by Joel watching me with a soft look in his eyes, propped up on his elbow and fingers moving to brush my hair out of my face as he speaks quietly, as if trying to not ruin the moment, “Hey there baby girl.”

“Hey Joel,” I whisper back, raising myself to lean on my elbows, our lips a hair’s breadth away and his breath fanning over my face as I say the three words he wants to hear, “I meant it.” His lips are meeting mine in a gentle kiss, beard scraping against my chin and cheek but I would gladly suffer all the beard burn in the world to have him kissing me the way he is. He’s laying me back down and slotting himself over me, our bodies fitting together like a prefect jigsaw puzzle and the strangely comforting mix of burnt coffee, a woodsy musk I know is his cologne and something citrusy sweet has me reeling. I’m tugging at Joel’s bedhead, loving the longer look he has adopted over the last few months and my breath is being stolen with every push and pull of those tantalising lips.

“Y/N!” The door flies open and Joel’s rolling to sit next to me as we jump apart, Ellie standing in the doorway. Her mouth is hung open as her clover eyes flit between me and Joel, my heart pounding so loud I think they both can hear it as Joel’s placing a calming hand over mine. Ellie’s face twists and soon enough she’s beaming as she yells, “FUCK YEAH I GET TO CALL Y/N MUM!”

Mum?

“You don’t hate me?” I ask quietly as she sits on the bottom of the bed, legs crossed and facing us. Guilt fills those bright eyes but she’s shaking her head and I’m yanking her into a hug that I really need. She laughs sweetly, throwing her arms around my shoulders and burying her face in the crook of my neck.

“I could never hate you Mom. You mean too much to me, you were protecting us,” She pulls back, hand holding one of mine, “I was pretty badass the way you shot down every single one.”

“I love you.” I whisper, glancing between her and Joel and they both smile. Before I can ask they’re both tackling me into a hug and I just relinquish any fight I was going to put up as this is what I want. Ellie’s curled up in my arms between me and Joel as he looks at me with one emotion I never thought I’d get from him: Love.

It fills my chest with pride and I’m reaching out for Joel over Ellie’s now passed out form and he’s meeting me halfway, interlocking our fingers and pressing a kiss to my forehead over Ellie. This is really happening. I have to blink a few time in shock as yeah, Ellie is asleep between me and Joel and there’s a new found sense of place and belonging filling every corner of this house. Maybe things will be okay. They work out in the end.

Always.

-------------

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@words-are-cheap @clover723 @a-psych0s-w0rld @sexyvixen7 @iraot @gemimawrites @pedropascalsrealhusband @twopercentmilk @amythenortherner @sxnshinebxcky @nelsoomon @urnewghostfriend @grooveandshit @reyas-world @canpillowscry @androgynoysgaz @outl4wage @ginger-swag-rapunzel @quinnverses @librafilms @leonkennedyslefthand @notsosecretspy @intergalacticspacemonkey @certifiedhunter @yourmommilf @mediocrewallflow3r @thesapphirequeen @randomhoex @secretsthathauntus

#Joel Miller #joel miller x reader #Joel miler x y/n #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #Joel miller fluff #joel miller fanfic #Joel miller fanfiction #Pedro pascal #thelastofus #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us x reader #the last of us fluff #Joel miller angst #Joel miller smut #tlou fanfiction #tlou x reader #Pedro Pascal characters

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versegm · 1 year

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It’s night when it dawns on her that Bedivere is not coming back.

There is no no trigger to that realization, no dramatic epiphany. She opens her eyes, vision still blurred by dreams, and thinks: ah. He left for good.

Her body aches. Her soul aches. The pain pulses through her whole being like a heartbeat of its own.

She tries to get up, but she finds that she cannot move. The blood has dried into a thick crush jamming her joints. It takes her an eternity to flex her fingers. She tries to move an arm next, but something is holding her back. Something is wrapped around her flesh. There are roots around her flesh. How long has she been here?

Her memory is failing. It was night when she realized that Bedivere would not be coming back. How long since that epiphany? How long since Bedivere left at all?

She pulls with all her might. The roots tear and break under the strain. Some remain in the intersection between her armor and her skin. She does not have the strength to take them out, so they remain here.

It’s exhausting. She’s so tired. Just breathing fills her lungs with pain. She pulls with her other arm. Again. And again. And again. That single effort is enough to get her panting. She blinks, and-

-she’s standing on a bridge in a city she has never seen before. She’s not clad in armor. She’s wearing casual clothes foreign to Camelot. There is a boy with her. He is yelling.

She yells back. This idiot, this hypocrite- how dare he, how dare he ask her to give up on Britain, when he can’t even cherish his own life? The boy screams and she bites, an anger unlike anything she has ever felt before twisting her guts. He storms off in rage. She watches him walk away, becoming smaller and smaller, until she is alone. At loss as to what to do, she blinks, and-

-she’s crawling through bodies. Her legs won’t keep her upright, but she has to move regardless. She has to get to Camelot. She has to get to Camelot. She has to get to Camelot.

Her hands sink deep in the rotting flesh. The flesh of her men. Of Mordred’s men. The flesh of the men of Britain. People she had sworn to protect, people she had failed.

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, but she has to keep going. There is still something she can save. There is still something she can do. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. She closes her eyes, just for a second-

-she’s fighting an archer dressed in red. He’s sneering at her. Insulting her wish. Insulting her ideals. She should be offended, but she only finds it terribly sad. This broken man is raging and spitting, miserable beyond word, and she has nothing to give him other than her pity.

The boy is here too. He argues with the archer. The two of them will exchange blows soon. They each have an ideal to defend. She wipes the sweat off her brow-

(Which one is the dream? She cannot tell. Which one is the dream? She cannot remember. Camlann or this boy? Camelot or that archer? Which one? Which one?)

She reaches the castle at last. The white walls are stained in blood. There is no one left alive here. Her knights are gone. Her people have run away. Her country is crumbling.

She stumbles into the treasury. Quite a lot of her riches are missing. Good. Maybe they will keep someone alive out there.

She leans against the wall for support. The lance, the lance. She needs the lance. Her gaze wander across the room, and she blinks-

-mud, mud everywhere, around her ankles in her lungs something terrible seeping in her marrow. She opens her mouth to scream, but the sound is drowned by that dark flow. Finally, that divine darkness reaches her eyes, and-

-her hands close around Rhongomyniad.

The first change is her body. The light seeps beneath her skin like water, washing away her pains and injuries. Her cuts mend themselves. Her burns heal. In the span of a few seconds, a decade worth of growth hit her; her bones elongate, her muscles grow, the simple right to grow old given back to her.

The second change is her-

The boy is begging her to be a person for once-

The second change is-

The archer is mocking her for her constant self sacrifice-

The second change-

Mud, mud, all around her inside of her twisting her into something else-

Fear seizes her. The light is everywhere. The light is choking her. It’s in her lungs, in her marrow, the lights is everywhere and she knows the feeling of divinity forcing itself upon her, warping everything until she fit its mold, it may be light but it can’t possibly be any better than mud it’s going to change her it’s going to make her into a god it’s going to make her into someone harmful for Britain it’s going to

No.

She refuses. She won’t. This is her country. If the dragon is a threat to Britain, then she simply has to remove it. Even if, especially if, that dragon is herself.

The light is flooding the back of her mouth. She only has but a moment. And so she does the only thing she can do.

The King of Knights falls asleep, and Artoria Pendragon wakes up in a sea of mud.

#my writing #fate

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howdoyoudothedew · 2 months

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Rated: T

Pairing: Gen, Akako & Kaito, Akako & Hakuba

Word Count: ~1k

A/N: A bit of canon-typical violence

Akako was willing to let a lot go. Despite what Kuroba may say, she has patience. She has a lot of patience. It’s honestly amazing just how patient she is.

This is where her patience snaps. Her fists tighten.

There wasn’t really a lot to do today. It was saturday and Akako planned for it to be a quiet day. She’d watch a few movies she’s been putting off, eat popcorn, and maybe use her crystal ball to check in on Kuroba’s heist. But during the second movie, she feels an uncomfortable pinch. A feeling she can’t explain, one she’s never felt before, but something similar to a hose being bent and the water being forced to a trickle. She scrambles from the couch, calling her crystal ball to her and waving it through her friends. Aoko is in her kitchen, humming with the news of the night’s KID heist in the background. Hakuba is running outside, fear in his eyes. Kuroba is hanging off a fence, the spike of it sticking out through his back and blood seeping from the tear in his jacket to the dirt. His hang glider is splayed out beside him, broken and useless. He is going to die. It pings through Akako, the pinch now a burn, and she knows with certainty he won’t live past this night unless she intervenes. One of his crows has finally managed to break his wings and hold him so he can’t escape. Except this crow has apparently become a shrike. Her teeth grit. Her fists tighten. Before she fully thinks of it, she is by Kaito’s side.

The first thing she registers is the noises Kuroba is making. Small whines and quick, labored breaths. The second thing she registers is a gunshot and the sound of Hakuba crumpling. The third is a large man, wearing a black fedora and trench coat. Kuroba’s unlucky shrike. When the man turns back to Kuroba, he jumps.

“Where the fuck did you come from?” He snarls, raising the pistol he’d used to shoot Kuroba and Hakuba to align with her heart. She gives it an unimpressed look.

“Hell,” Akako says, looking up at him with a smile. She’s lying, of course. Tea with Lucifer only happens on the third friday of a month, and this is the beginning of the month. The man’s lip curls.

“Akako?” Hakuba whispers, looking up, and Akako inclines her head. It was enough already to have her magic tell her Hakuba wasn’t dead. She appreciates the confirmation nonetheless.

“Then let me send you back,” he says and pulls the trigger. The bullet flies toward her, its path and their close distance no doubt allowing for great damage and most likely death. If she were normal. If she weren’t a powerful witch. (Quite possibly the most powerful red witch alive, if you ask her.) But she is not normal, and is in fact quite pissed off at this man damaging two of her favourite things, so she stands still in the path of the bullet instead of dodging so this man can see just how much damage his little toy does not do. The man’s jaw drops when all it causes is a brief stumble, the force rocking her back as the bullet clatters harmlessly to the pavement. He fires twice more with the same results, his hand shaking. One of the bullets flies slightly off course and nearly strikes Kuroba. She mutters a spell and the bullet oozes to the ground, the kinetic energy transferring to thermal and melting the iron. The man drops the gun.

“Finished?” Akako asks with a smirk, flicking her wrist to send the gun spinning toward Hakuba before the man can say anything. He splutters, eyes snapping to the gun before returning to her. When she takes a step forward he takes a step back. “Are you afraid of me? Good.”

He glares at her, angered. “I don’t know who or what the fuck you are, but you don’t know who you’re messing with. I am part of a very powerful organization.”

Akako laughs, hand over her mouth like one of those 90s villains in the magical girl animes Aoko and Kuroba like to watch so much. He flinches back a step and she takes a breath to reign herself in. Or at least reign in the laughter. There’s been enough holding back, she thinks. She’s allowed the organization to play, because she knows Kuroba likes the show and Hakuba likes the chase. Because she doesn’t make a habit of placing her hands within dishes which don’t concern her. But they have very much made themselves her problem now, and she thinks maybe she has let them play for too long.

“You think what hides in the shadows is true power,” Akako says, tilting her head. “But you’ve never witnessed it before. Never seen even a taste of what they have you chase. None of you have, but they will all learn.”

“For who I am, I am no Kaitou KID, nor am I a mistaken curse like Pandora. I am not some crow hiding in the shadows, make-pretending power.” Akako straightens, expression flat but fierce. Her eyes flash like blood, like violence, like impending doom. “I am a true magician and I do not like having my things broken. I am a descendant of Sekhmet and I take my payments in blood.”

The man pales behind the shadows of his fedora. “You don’t even have a weapon,” he spits, wavered.

Akako smiles. “Cute. You think I need a weapon.” She waves her hand and the shrike falls to his knees, hacking up black bile. Akako turns to Kuroba, and her mind stutters a moment on his impalement. Disease she can do, but healing is something the Koizumi line lost long ago. All she can do is send him to the hospital and hope they are quick enough.

“Hakuba,” Akako says.

“Yes?” Hakuba says, looking away from the shrike to her. She looks him over, checks for where the blood pools. It’s in his side. The bullet which hung Kuroba truly was simply a lucky shot.

Or, perhaps, a very unlucky shot.

“Watch over Kuroba. And perhaps tell him you found him there after a watchful eye sent a note to your own room?” Akako says. Akako asks. Hakuba nods. “We wouldn’t want him to throw a tantrum.”

“He can be quite a kid when the mood strikes him,” Hakuba agrees with a pained smirk. The way he’s only looked at Kuroba once doesn’t escape her notice. “And you, Lady Akako?”

“I have work to do,” Akako says and sends them off, only KID’s suit left behind, impaled on a spike.

The sun rises in the morning with reports of several buildings razed to the ground, leaving nothing but ash in their wake; multiple cases of spontaneous combustion; and one unlucky dead man in a highrise, face locked in pain and diseased lines of red scarred deep into his skin, all leading out from a javelin-like wound in his torso.

Later that morning a first grader gets a packet filled with several files of research with a note taped to it, telling her it’s from “one fate-breaker to another”.

Kuroba Kaito wakes several days later to two worried parents, a worried sister, a detective in a cast, and one witch. He stares at the witch in surprise and says nothing when she tells him he’ll have to continue his search without the crow’s aid.

#magic kaito #koizumi akako #akako #hakuba saguru #kaitou kid #kuroba kaito #dcmk #link writes #protective akako

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