#AND IS KNOCKING. A SHADOW IS KNOCKING. ITS TRYING TO TALK TO YOU. NO ONE ELSE KNOWS. ok anyway good morning did u sleep well :) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ki-yomii · 5 months

Text

down on you | jjk

➥ pairing | jeon jungkook x f!reader ➥ word count | 4.5k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; dirty talk, pet names, mild praise kink, squirting, hair pulling, standing missionary, rough sex, porn w/ plot, mafia!jk, detective!reader, established relationship, mild angst, mild violence ➥ summary | It’s true, he owns you: blood, bones, and all. ➥ notes | the mafia!jk au no one asked for aka an excuse to write smut w/ feeling lol.

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On his knees staring down the barrel of a loaded gun with a mouthful of blood, he knows this is the end of the line. He’s going to die like a rat in the gutter - no mercy to be found, loopholes to exploit or bribes to be made.

This is the real deal, and there’s no coming back.

Judgement Day comes in the form of a man with dark eyes and a dangerous smirk: Golden, the deadliest guard dog of the underground.

Credited with dozens of hits, you won’t know he’s there until it’s too late. Trying to keep him pinned is like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands, or a whisper on the wind.

And you won’t know he’s coming until you feel the breath on the back of your neck, hear the crack of a bullet ringing in your ears.

Belonging to one of the most powerful men in the world: Kim Namjoon, he’s more war machine than man.

“Go ahead, do it!” He spits at Golden’s feet, a mess of blood and drool staining the crisp leather of his combat boots. “Killing me won’t change a goddamn thing.”

A coy smile tugs at Golden’s mouth, his grin all sharp teeth and violence. He stays where he stands, his silhouette haloed by distant streetlights.

Water laps at the docks, the tang of salt heavy in the mid-summer Seoul air. There’s no rush; they both know he’ll be dead and dumped just like all the rest of the garbage in this rotting city.

“Come on, you prick! Pull the fucking trigger already.”

Golden cocks his head, and hums in the back of his throat.

“Tch! I hope you’ve got a lot of bullets - we’re gonna knock the crown off Kim’s head one way or another.”

Golden thumbs at the safety of his gun, the barrel glinting through the shadows. “Ahh, is that what you think?” He shrugs, a lazy ripple of muscle. “Well, I have to say: I’d love to see you try.”

The night is shattered by the resounding crack of a gunshot and an echoing splash of something heavy dropping into the water below.

You climb out of the nondescript government-issue car. The faintest tremble of your fingers nearly gives you away but you’re able to reign in the impulse to smooth your hands over your clothes at the last second.

Showing weakness is the last thing you need to be doing right now.

Especially here.

Right in front of where you’ve parked - shoved between two looming apartment complexes - sits a quaint, vintage building. The rough brick face is at odds with the sleek surroundings, but tinted windows keep prying eyes at bay while the classy signing hanging above the door reads The Red Bullet written in caps.

If you didn’t know better, it would be hard to believe this otherwise mundane storefront is a cover for one of the most dangerous international organizations based out of South Korea.

Not only do they hold the keys to the kingdom, but their success is largely in part because they spearhead operations from government espionage all the way to simple blackmail.

Even though it’s been several months since you darkened its doorstep, the familiar sight is enough to steal the breath from your lungs. Send your heart galloping into a tailspin as your stomach swoops.

While time away helped clear your head of stolen kisses and promises whispered in dark rooms, it also drove the longing bone deep.

In those quiet moments to yourself, when you have nothing else to distract from how lonely you are, you miss this place like one misses a limb.

You didn’t realize how attached you were to these four walls until it was too late: the hazy air filled with whorls of smoke, the overhead lights that bathe everything in red, the plush chairs you spent many nights sprawled across, the glossy black stages.

You don’t know how, you don’t know when but at some point it (he) started feeling like home. A luxury you can’t afford. Not again. After all, if you give in, any progress you made outside of his gravitational pull will be for naught.

Which puts you in a dangerous position as you find yourself back where it began; feelings at war with duty, mind vs heart. Because even if it leads you to a place you could go a million years without ever seeing again, you have to follow the trail of bodies.

A bouncer grants you access, the heavy door slamming shut behind you like a death knell as he herds you towards the back of the club.

It’s outside of official operating hours but it’s no less busy inside, men and women alike in scattered conversation as you pass through.

“It’s nice to see you again,” the bouncer murmurs, chancing a quick glance at your profile. “Been a while.”

You swallow, gaze darting down to your shoes. “Ah - yeah… Got busy with work. It’s - it’s nice to see you too.”

The small talk fizzles out, a snuffed candle as you arrive at a cordoned off room, “Here we are. Mr Kim is already expecting you.”

Any further pleasantries grow stale on your tongue as you enter the private booth, fighting against the lump in your throat to manage a hoarse ‘thank you’.

And then you find yourself left alone with the man himself, Kim Namjoon. He’s as intimidating as you remember, lounging back into the leather booth with his ankles crossed.

A lukewarm smile stretches across his lips, the slightest hint of a dimple peeking out from the valley of his cheek. Standing at attention on either side of his reposing form are two massive bodyguards. Their hands rest on the butts of their guns, daring any who enter to try and make a move.

“It’s good to see you again. But I gotta ask - what’s the occasion, Detective?” Namjoon hums. “I thought we were past all this.” He waves a nebulous hand between your bodies. “After all, you’re practically family.”

You ignore the hidden barb with a wince. “Mr Kim, you know why I’m here.”

“I used to know why a long time ago.” A well-groomed brow raises, his gaze glacial as it spears you in place. “But now I’m not so sure.”

“Please, Mr Kim. I don’t want to make this more difficult than it is. I just need to know about the man they fished out of the harbor, and then I’ll be on my way. So… who was he?”

Namjoon scoffs. “What makes you think I know more than the police?”

There’s a flash of a smirk, barely noticed, before his face returns to its neutral expression. As calm and cool as a placid river. “A john’s a john. What I do want to know is why you care so much?”

The underlying question is clear; why are you really here?

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss such matters with civillians.”

“Oh? So I’m a civilian now.” His expression is not unlike the cat that caught the canary: vicious and delighting in the discomfort his evasions are causing. “Gotta say that’s a new one for me.”

Sighing in defeat, you say, “Alright, enough. I get it. I’m wasting my time with you. Let me ask this instead: where is he?”

“He doesn’t know any more about this than I do,” he says, waving a blase hand towards a door off to the left, “But if you insist, you can find him in the office. Oh, and Detective?”

“...Yes?”

“Take your time, I’ll be out on business all afternoon.”

With a curt nod, you flee the room amid low-throated chuckles and enter the office. Standing near the desk, his broad back turned towards the door, you find the man you simultaneously want to see the most and run from the fastest.

He turns around, the muscles of his back rippling with the movement. Your breath stutters in your chest, and you nearly swallow your tongue as your eyes trace over the cut of his body.

The moment your eyes meet, those many months spent cultivating time and distance turn to ash. You forgot how even the mere sight of him affects you, any resistance to his many charms virtually nonexistent as the world falls away.

Rich, coffee dark; his gaze sucks you in until it’s all you can do not to reach out, to brush your fingers over his edges and feel them soften beneath your palms.

Rocking back on your heels, you clear your throat and glance to the side as you remain standing in the entryway, more than a little off-kilter.

Coming back after so long apart, only to find him the same as the day you left… How do you reconcile everything that’s changed with everything that was?

“Well, hello there.” Jungkook croons, leaning his hip against the corner of the desk with a roll of his shoulders. His arms cross over the trunk of his chest, accentuating the bulk of his chest, the flex of inked bicep. “Long time no see.”

Shifting, you gulp. “Ah - yeah…”

The burn of his gaze - a palpable sensation prickling across your skin - tracks a path from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes as he gives you a thorough once-over.

“You’re looking good,” Jungkook hums in approval, “real good. I’ve missed those pretty eyes of yours.”

“You - you too.”

Your attention doesn’t know where to settle: drifting from the curve of his shoulders to the jut of his bloody knuckles, the tuck of his trim hips to the thick-soled combat boots.

Tiny hairs at the back of your neck stand on end, and your palms slick with sweat.

“I mean, you look… y’know, uh, good too.”

A flash of a crooked smirk, the raising of a pierced brow gets your blood pumping, your heart tattooing a rhythm against your ribs. Emboldens you to reach back with shaky fingers to turn the lock. The sound grates down your spine, bolts of anticipation slicing through you.

It was dumb to think coming here, seeing him again, would end any other way than his taste on your tongue and his cock in your cunt. Hope makes fools of us all.

Should’ve known better but you’d been hopeful those days were long behind you. Now you realize it was inevitable.

After all, Jungkook is magnetic.

The black hole at the center of your universe, consuming everything in its path until he’s what remains in your head, your heart. You’re helpless, ceaselessly drawn to him like a moth to flame.

And try as you might, you can’t say no to a face like that.

Never could, in fact.

Failure to extract yourself from his orbit during your not-relationship is nothing new. That doesn’t mean you can’t make it difficult.

After all, you still have some dignity intact.

So try, try, try again.

“Ahem.” You try to banish the heat from your cheeks, guiding the conversation into the correct territory. “I’m not here on a-a social call, Jeon. I need to know: were you the one that killed and dumped the john in the harbor?”

Stalking closer, a lazy jungle cat on the prowl, Jungkook crosses the distance between you. He only stops once your bodies brush with every labored inhale. Heat radiates from him, and you’re achingly aware of every point of contact.

The light scent of his cologne teases your nose, and his eyes - god, his eyes. They’re shaded and hungry, devouring your expression with single-minded possessiveness.

“What makes you think I know anything about that?”

“Jeon -- Jungkook.”

He hums.

Your heart thrums, pulse rushing hard through your head until you feel faint, blood surging the longer you stay in close contact. The shameful clench of your cunt makes your cheeks burn all the brighter.

The last time you were looking up at him like this, his hand was on your jaw while his cock thrust balls deep.

“C’mon, you know that isn’t going to work. This is me you’re talking to, not some rookie.”

“Mm,” he purrs, “it is you I’m talking to, isn’t it?”

You manage to bite back the groan but can’t stop your eyes from rolling even if there’s the slightest hint of a stutter when you reply, “Please, I just need to know if you killed him.”

Jungkook looms tall and proud, crowding closer. “And if I did, baby?” he asks.

Instinctively you back up, only to be followed step by step. A game of cat and mouse that finds you pinned against the wall before long. With nowhere to run, you watch, heart in your throat, as Jungkook dips his dark head.

His nose runs along the length of your neck, breath puffing across your sensitive skin as he inhales the pleasant scent of your perfume.

“I - I…”

“Would you see me in handcuffs?” His lips caress the underside of your jaw, a soft groan escaping him. “… C’mon, answer me. Would you?”

“I would - if I had to.”

As much as you wish that was true, you know in your heart of heart's you would do everything in your power to make sure that never happens.

No matter how much you like to think you’d do the right thing when push comes to shove, you’d choose him a thousand times over.

His eyes dance playfully. “Careful, I might like it.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” you say with a snort.

Jungkook chuckles low and warm, using the arm around your waist to tug you into the safety of his body. The softness of your breasts presses into the hard planes of his chest, your nipples pebbling through the thin cotton shirt you wear.

With a deep-throated groan, his hands encircle the curves of your hips as a thickly muscled thigh slots between yours.

An answering quiet sigh gets his blood pumping and his cock twitching.

“Mm, something tells me you’d enjoy it just as much, Detective.”

The use of your title is a rude awakening.

“Jungkook,” You warn, moving to push him away. Only once you start touching him, you can’t stop. His muscles flex beneath your curious fingertips. “We really shouldn’t.”

You’re sure if he could, Jungkook would spend days worshipping between your thighs, velvet heat wrapped around his tongue and hands in his hair as he brings you to peak again and again until you’re a sobbing, sopping, boneless mess beneath him.

“Come on, I know you want me - that you’ve missed me. I can see it in your eyes.”

He kisses the corner of your mouth, tongue flickering out for a brief taste before a rough thumb skates across your bottom lip, tugging down to expose your teeth, the glitter of your tongue as it darts out to flick over the pad of his finger..

“I’ve certainly missed you, baby. Want me to show you?”

Even though you refuse to admit anything out loud, you can’t help but angle your throat back and grind into his hips pressed against yours.

Jungkook tsks, “That’s alright. I’ll get that pretty mouth open one way or another.”

Before you can retort, a mouth swoops down to fuse with yours in a fierce, all-consuming kiss. A low, broken moan punches from your chest.

Reaching up, your fingers sink into the mane of dark hair that brushes the cut of Jungkook’s jaw. Soft, thick, and wavy in your grip; you tug at the roots.

Jungkook hisses.

Teeth nip at your lip, kittenish licks soothing away the string as blood bursts across your tongues. The thigh shoved between yours grinds up with every wet, sloppy pass of your lips.

Thick muscle spreads your pussy open through the thin slacks of your work uniform. Sparks of pleasure dance down your spine with every rock against your swollen clit.

“S-Shit!” Your shoulders curl in, a shudder jerking through you. “K-Kook, I… !”

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me.” Jungkook growls, rutting his cock against the jut of your hip. The wet patch you’re making on his jeans grows larger with every filthy grind. “You’ve been gone too fucking long. Never again, you hear me?”

You claw at his shoulders, stuttering out, “there’s noth-ing you can do t’stop me.”

“If you don’t come back to me,” his eyes are dark and stormy, voice whiskey rough, “I’ll find you.”

It’s not a threat - it’s a promise.

“Then make sure I never want to leave,” you challenge breathlessly, staring into his blown out pupils, “Make me want to stay.”

Above all else, you think.

The words are barely past your lips when Jungkook accepts your challenge with gusto (just like you knew he would). Without delay, he thumbs open the button on your pants.

Refusing to let you look away, Jungkook yanks them to your feet and swings you up into his arms one-handed. They hang from your ankle like a chain.

Your surprised squeak is quickly swallowed up by a moan when he settles you over the bulge in his pants, your cunt hovering over his erection.

The heat of his skin sinks through the thin cotton of your panties, so, so close to where you need him. Slick soaks into the fabric, and clings to your inner thighs.

Every shift is a smooth, sticky glide of folds that stirs, and stokes the ember of desire smoldering behind your navel.

“Kook,” you breathe. “Please.”

Your head rolls back, and you sag into his chest. Your hips twitch in pathetic little attempts, trying to get pressure where you need it. Having him hot and hard and all for you; any distance between you is suddenly unbearable.

He needs to spread you wide and stuff you full with every inch of his thick cock until he’s so deep you won’t be able to walk for days.

“Shh baby, I’ll give you what you want,” he says, gaze heavy and possessive. “I’m gonna ruin you so good, you’ll have no choice but to come back. You’re mine.”

“Says who?”

“Hmm. You don’t think you are?”

Nibbling on your ear, Jungkook slips a finger under the hem of your panties. He smirks when you keen, rubbing his knuckle up and down your sloppy folds with teasing pressure.

“How about I show you what your body already knows?”

Wasting no time, he lifts you off his cock, the scrap of cloth fluttering to the ground. His free hand dives between your bodies. Then comes the clink of a belt, the sound of a zipper pulling down.

Your heartbeat thunders in your ears, your body coiled with anticipation as your stomach swoops at the brush of his fingers along the underside of your thigh.

“Look so pretty like this, baby.” Jungkook twists his wrist, hips arching back. “And it’s all for me. Fuck, I can’t wait to get inside this pretty pussy.”

Any response dies on your tongue, brain short-circuiting as the slick, fat cockhead rubs along your slit. Pressing against your entrance the slightest bit before slipping up to nudge at your clit - coating himself up in your sticky juices.

The ultimate tease - something Jungkook’s always been overly fond of doing until you’re out of your mind with desperation.

“Please, please, please,” you chant, cheeks on fire and eyes half-lidded as you circle your hips. “Stop playing around. I want it - want you, Kook.”

“Oh, baby,” he smiles, ducking down to kiss your forehead. “You’ll take whatever I give you.”

You can’t stifle the broken sob, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. Liquid fire surges through your veins, a thousand bolts of lightening crackling beneath the surface of your skin. Your pussy is tender, swollen. Walls fluttering in time with your heartbeat.

“Ha, you’re so needy for me.”

Jungkook’s lips brush away the moisture around your eyes, his thumb drawing soothing circles into the base of your spine. All the while, his torturous grinding never ceases.

“Aren’t you?”

You croak, “I can’t – Kook, please. Anything, I’ll do anything you want just fuck me.”

The flash of his eyes is your only warning before he’s right there, your walls embracing the girth of his erection inch by inch. Every ridge, every jerk as he seats himself as deep inside your silken heat as he can is absolute heaven.

The stretch as you take him to the hilt sends you careening towards the edge, eyes rolling back and toes curling in your shoes.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit!” you whimper.

“Shit!” Jungkook grits his teeth, squeezing the base of his cock as you tighten around him. With every deep inhale, his pelvis brushes your swollen, needy clit. “Forgot how good you feel wrapped around my dick, baby.”

“Me too,” You gasp, tightening your legs around Jungkook’s hips.”Me too, Kook.”

Dropping his forehead to yours, he says gruffly, “‘m not gonna last long.”

Making a noise of acknowledgement, you wiggle your hips. Sinking your teeth into the side of Jungkook’s jaw, you bite and suck at his skin, wanting to leave a mark to remember you by. His reaction is instantaneous, releasing the grip on his shaft to grab a fist full of hair.

He yanks back.

The long, elegant line of your throat is exposed to his butterfly kisses and scolding love bites.

“Now you’ve really asked for it,” Jungkook huffs out with a dirty chuckle.

“Then give it to me.” You lick your puffy lips, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. “Show me who I belong to.”

The brewing hurricane in his eyes is unleashed. Wide palms and strong fingers grip your hips so tight you feel bones grind together. His stance widens, his unwavering gaze locking onto your face, brow pinched, and mouth slack.

His lip piercing glints in the light, his tongue sliding out to wet his bottom lip. Dark curls tussle about his head, a wild halo that sweeps down into the burning umber of his eyes.

Helpless, you succumb - enchanted by the darkness peering at you from behind those dangerous eyes. He’s ethereal; a siren song that threatens to drown you, swallow you whole.

You’d happily let him, you realize with a shiver.

It’s true, he owns you: blood, bones, and all.

“Hold on tight,” Jungkook says, hooking his hands under your bottom.

And then, he’s jackhammering into your cunt so hard and fast all you can do is hold on for the ride. Punch drunk and moaning as he manhandles you how he likes, spreads you wide and stuffs you full until you’re panting for breath and clinging to sanity by your fingernails.

“Fuck yes, that’s it. Look how well your pretty pussy always takes my fat cock.”

His low voice whispering filthy praises in your ear makes you whimper, whine, and writhe as the band of pleasure coiling tight in your belly comes close to snapping. It’s the fastest he’s ever fucked an orgasm out of you, and it feels so good you don’t even care.

The pace is brutal, slamming into you so hard you’re sure you’ll have bruises on your hips come morning. But it’ll be so fucking worth it. You’re going to cum hard and long, you just know it.

About to melt as Jungkook fucks the slick out of you, groaning as you drip down the base of his cock, his balls - his very own pretty little mess.

“Yeah, you gonna cum, baby?” he laughs, pressing a sweaty kiss to the side of your face. “Can feel how - haaah shit - how tight you’re squeezing me.”

“Uh-huh,” you cry, holding onto the tops of his wide shoulders. Every thrust has his cockhead dragging over the spongy patch of your g-spot, sending fissions of pleasure rocketing through your nervous system. “So - so close, baby. Just a little more, I--”

Balancing yourself, you lift up only to slam back down, meeting Jungkook’s thrust with all the force of gravity. “Oh fuck, oh fuck!”

Crashing over you like a tsunami, your orgasm shoots through your limbs and zips down your spine. A warm rush of cum soaks Jungkook’s shaft, the wet and messy sound of your squirt splashing against the floor secondary to the cry that claws its way out of your throat.

“K-Kook!”

Jungkook grunts, his fingers digging into the fat of your hips as he helps you keep bouncing up and down on his erection. “Yeah, that’s it - keep going, baby. Wanna feel you keep cumming all over this cock.”

Aftershocks slice through you like lightning, tiny jolts of electricity. As you come down from your high, your gummy walls pulse, milking at Jungkook’s thick shaft.

He groans softly whenever your muscles tense, release; your body a worn-out rubber band as your breath stutters from you.

Then a hand pets down your flank, your skin shivering with hypersensitivity at the tender touch. “S’okay. Just breathe, baby.”

Peeling open your heavy eyes, you look up at his face. Take in the crinkle of his brow and the ravenous expression. Even floating on a sea of bliss, white noise fills your ears, you want more.

You slur, determined, “Kook, baby, please. Cum in me, want you s’bad.”

“Fuck! Can’t just say shit like that to me or I…” Jungkook bites down onto the tender crook of your neck, muffling his grunts in your flesh. “Shit - ’m so --”

You cry out, nails digging into the meat of his shoulders, “A-haah, K-Kook!”

Snapping his hips forward one last time, Jungkook grinds as deep as he can get and lets go. The fat head of his cock kisses your cervix, his length throbbing in time with his heartbeat as a rush of cum floods your insides.

“Yeah, just like that,” he grunts, rutting once - twice into the cradle of your body, “take it like a good girl.”

He croons when you whine at the press of his pelvis against your oversensitive clit. Thready sparks of pain shoot down your legs that hang limply over his forearms. Every breath stutters from your lungs, slow and deep.

“No more, can’t - can’t…” Shifting, you arch your spine and burrow your head into his chest, nearly catatonic in his arms. “S’too much.”

“Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” Fingers brush over your closed eyelids, smoothing over the arch of your brow. With every kiss dropped to the top of your head, he mumbles in dulcet tones, “I really have missed you, you know.”

You mewl in response as strong fingers knead the backs of your thighs.

“You’re not allowed to go anywhere.”

“Oh,” you can’t muster up enough energy to say anything more, body tender and trembling with little aftershocks, “s’that right?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” He chuckles. “You’re staying here - right where I want you.”

In lieu of a response, you pick your head up off the pillow of his chest and seek out his gaze. Liquid soft; he’s looking at you like you hung the world on a string.

“I’ve missed you too, Kook,” you say with a gentle smile.

You’ll allow yourself this moment of weakness when there’s no space between your bodies or hearts. Titles don’t matter much when he’s cradling you to his chest like a piece of precious china.

Between the two of us, you’re the one who hung the moon and stars, you think while combing back his sweaty bangs.

And I think I love you, you whisper voiceless against his lips.

#jeon jungkook x you #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #bts fic #jungkook #bts jungkook

1K notes · View notes

aphroditelovesu · 6 months

Note

Yan! PJO + HOO the first time they tell that they love the Reader? You can choose the characters you want to write! Love you work 🥰💕

❝ 🌊 — lady l: I only did a few, since you gave me the freedom of choice. I hope you like it and if you want a part 2 with other characters, I will do it! Good reading and forgive me for any mistakes!

❝warnings: none, just fluff, very soft!yandere and me being a cheesy romance reader.

❝🌊characters: percy jackson, annabeth chase, grover underwood, luke castellan, jason grace, nico di angelo, will solace, piper mclean and leo valdez.

❝dividers by: @cafekitsune 💙

❝Yan!PJO/HOO ❝The first time they say: ''I love you.''

Percy Jackson had never been good at expressing his feelings in the healthiest way. He knew he loved you, he knew it from the first time he met you but he didn't know how to put those feelings into words, he just knew how to show them.

And he showed in an unconventional way how much he cared about you, how much he loved you. His favorite way and the one that worked the most, in his mind, was being a bully to those who bothered you. He once almost drowned Clarisse to death after she knocked you down in training. Percy only stopped when you begged him to do so.

He knew there was failure at the moment, so he decided to have another strategy. He needed to confess what he was feeling, get those suffocating feelings out. With the advice of some friends, Percy decided to ask you to go swimming with him. When you were sitting on the riverbank, chatting away, Percy used his powers and made several hearts with the water, along with the sunset, it became a romantic environment.

He got close to her face, held her hands tenderly and whispered loud enough, ''I love you.''

When his lips connected, Percy knew he had known true happiness.

Annabeth Chase always knew what she wanted and when she wanted it and she knew she wanted you. She knew it since she met you at Camp Half-Blood and she knew you were meant to be hers.

Due to her more reserved personality regarding her feelings, Annabeth didn't have much of an idea of how to express them to you. A simple ''I love you'' could be enough, but she wanted something more. She was proud and wanted something that really screamed for her.

So she spent weeks planning how everything would go. The atmosphere, the lighting and the exact words she would say to you. Annabeth had a whole plan, everything was carefully planned. She invited you to go with her to a more distant part of the camp, where you could be alone.

Everything was going as he wanted, the silence was good, the light was beautiful and most importantly, you were there. After you ate some fruit and talked a little, Annabeth knew this was the time. But she got nervous and could no longer say the speech she had planned, so all that came out of her lips was, ''I love you.''

But that was enough. She was slightly blushing and felt her chest fill with happiness when you said you felt the same and when you kissed her.

Grover Underwood is much more cautious in its approach. He is a satyr who is shyer than the others, more reserved, especially towards you. He knew he was in love, but he wasn't sure if you loved him back.

And the gods knew how much it would break him if you rejected him.

So Grover chose to just be friends with him, to yearn for you from afar. He was satisfied with this choice, with this position in his life, but it didn't take long for him to be consumed by jealousy when he saw another demigod or satyr near you. That's when he knew he couldn't stay in the shadows any longer.

He asked Percy and Annabeth for advice, who advised him to be direct, but be more romantic when confessing to you. Grover was still afraid of being rejected, but he couldn't live with himself if he didn't at least try. When the moon was in the sky and the stars were shining and the two of you just watched it, that was when he gained courage.

Grover was a bit confused with his words, but he managed to say everything he wanted. When he said, ''I love you'', you pulled him into a breathless kiss, sealing your love. Grover almost melted in his arms.

Luke Castellan was much more interested in his revenge against the gods than in his feelings. He tried at all costs to ignore them, that is, ignoring you, but it got to the point where he could no longer ignore what he felt.

He was soon overcome by feelings of jealousy, of anger that left him breathless when he saw you near another demigod. When you spent your time with others other than him. He knew he was being a hypocrite, after all, he was the one who left but that didn't mean you could replace him.

When he saw you laughing with one of Aphrodite's children, that's when he knew he had to make it clear who you belonged to. During a cold, calm night at camp, Luke invited you to walk along the beach because he wanted to talk to you.

His eyes widened slightly when the son of Hermes held your hands and with gentle words, the gentlest you had ever heard come out of his mouth, he confessed how he felt to you. You were surprised, even more so when you heard him say, ''I love you.''

Luke waited for your return and when you said you felt the same, he kissed you. For the first time in a long time, he actually felt happy.

Jason Grace was nervous about his feelings, shy even. He was confident in many ways, but he didn't know how to tell you, the person he loved most, how he felt. He had no idea how to make you see the truth, see what he really felt and not just words that could be empty depending on the context and the person.

He was sitting by the lake, watching the gentle waves as he tried to collect his thoughts. Jason knew he needed to find the courage to express his feelings, but every time he tried, the words seemed to slip out of his mouth, leaving him even more frustrated.

He picked up a smooth pebble and began to throw it into the water, watching the circles form and slowly dissipate. It was like his feelings, he thought. They were there, clear as water, but they were lost before reaching the surface.

The sun was setting over the horizon, dyeing the sky in orange and pink tones, while Jason felt increasingly restless. He knew he needed to find a way to show the truth, to make you understand without his words faltering. With his mind made up, he got up and walked to where you were sitting, looking at the sunset.

With a lump in his throat and his heart pounding, he sat next to her, took a deep breath and, on impulse, took her hand and let the words full of feelings come out of his mouth, in love, ''I love you. '', it was said and when he finished speaking, you kissed him passionately, admitting that you loved him too. Jason could die right then and there and he would be happy.

Nico di Angelo was afraid to admit what he felt, he was afraid for you. He didn't want to accept that he was in love, no, that he loved you deeply because he was afraid. Being a demigod was already a danger in itself, but being a child of the Big Three, a forbidden child, only made everything more difficult. But he was selfish, he couldn't stay away from you.

He struggled daily with his own feelings. The weight of being a demigod, a son of Hades, added an extra burden to his already tormented heart. Nico tried hard to hide his passion for you, fearing the consequences of this forbidden love.

Yet his soul longed to be close to you, even if it meant defying divine rules and risking his own safety. He found himself torn between the responsibility to protect himself and the uncontrollable need to be by her side. Every moment together was an internal battle for Nico.

He tried to be distant, but your presence next to him was constant. His eyes held deep secrets, and his silence hid the intensity of what he felt.

One day, when the pressure became unbearable, he summoned the courage to confess. With hesitant words, he revealed the whirlwind of emotions he carried with him. He was afraid of her reaction, but he could no longer deny the love that consumed him. Nico just let the words come out, he didn't try to stop them or control them, he just vented his feelings and when he said, ''I love you'', that's when he knew there was no going back. When you kissed him and returned his feelings, Nico almost cried.

Will Solace was excited to confess to you, to the person he loved so much. He could already imagine your future together and happily. But he was still unsure how to confess to you and he knew it would need to be at least perfect.

He was determined to make this confession a memorable moment. Will spent days thinking about how to express his feelings in the most sincere and meaningful way possible. One afternoon, while walking through the Camp, he saw some flowers that were planted by Demeter's children and, after asking their permission, he had an idea.

With determination, Will began to set the stage for his confession. The chosen location was a clearing near a waterfall, a peaceful place full of meaning for both of them. He spent hours arranging the petals, creating a delicate, winding path to a central point, where he positioned a carpet of grass, adorned with more flowers, forming a heart.

When you arrived at the place, with your heart pounding, Will took a deep breath and, with all sincerity and love, expressed his feelings. He talked about how much the person meant to him, how precious every moment shared was, and how he envisioned a future filled with adventure and joy together.

''I love you.'' Will said, his eyes shining with love. He waited for his reaction and when you hugged him, kissed him, he knew it was worth it. You were worth it.

Piper McLean was confident that you loved her back, not more than she did because no one else could love you like she did. She was very confident and knew exactly what to say and what to do to tell you how she felt. For her, all that was needed was words and a kiss to seal everything. She was a daughter of Aphrodite, after all, no matter how different she is from her half-siblings.

Her confidence was like an aura around her as she approached. Piper knew how to seduce with words, but this time, it was something deeper, something that went beyond the persuasion skills typical of a son of Aphrodite.

She approached you with a smile, her eyes full of determination and tenderness. It was like she knew exactly what you were thinking, like she could read your mind. With a gentle touch to her face, she whispered words that would echo in her mind for a long time.

''I love you.'' It was her first words after a long look and when she saw your face blush slightly, Piper knew what she would have to do.

You felt the warmth of her hand on her face, her eyes shining with a rapturous sincerity. Piper approached slowly, lips hovering close to hers, an emotionally charged silence stretching between you. When they broke apart, she looked into his eyes, a tender smile playing on her lips. There were no more doubts, no words needed. What existed there was a mutual understanding, a palpable love that no divine power could overcome.

Leo Valdez was always that type of person who lit up any room with his contagious energy and playful way. His relaxation and optimism were like magnets, attracting those around him. However, behind his constant jokes and his eccentricity, there was something deeper that he couldn't easily express: his love for you.

He looked for ways to show his feelings, but his mischievous nature and his difficulty in saying what he felt complicated him. He wrote letters, tried to be more serious at times, but always ended up turning everything into a joke, too nervous to express his true affection.

One day, in the middle of one of your games, Leo suddenly stopped, looked into your eyes and, with a somewhat awkward smile, said: "Did you know that I love you?" You almost spat out the drink you were drinking, without having not sure if he was just joking or serious.

When it became clear that it wasn't a joke, you stayed quiet for a few seconds, until Leo pulled you into a hug, placing his head in the crook of your shoulder. You closed your eyes and melted into the warm embrace.

''I love you.'' Leo whispered, holding you tightly.

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lurochar · 17 days

Text

The Buck Stops Here

His shadow must be punished. You find out Alastor did not put his shadow up to your little play date.

Warnings: Reader's name game sucks

18+ MDNI

Part 1

-------------------

“Oh, dear.”

It hit him in more than just one way as soon as he entered your shared room. He had used his shadow travel to simply slip in the hotel without bothering to talk to the others, wanting to greet you first to bring up his mood.

It had been an irritating day, dealing with territorial disputes and all.

He hadn’t bothered to knock and just bypassed the door, emerging from the floor and expecting a cheerful greeting from you when his senses were seemingly all bombarded all at once.

The room smelled almost entirely of you – of your sweat, of your tears, of your cum.

He almost found himself thanking some unknown deity he had not called upon his shadow earlier that day, otherwise, he would have been put in a highly uncomfortable situation where he would have no other choice but to slaughter any and all witnesses.

His shadow was a part of him after all – it felt what he felt and vice versa.

Though it sometimes did go rogue.

Alastor knew his blasted shadow liked to watch and never really thought much of it, but he never imagined it would take the visuals as knowledge and actually use it against you.

“I believe I told you to behave, didn’t I?” Alastor finally spoke, watching with a tight smile as his shadow’s ears perked up – as if it was only just realizing he was standing in the room – and its head lazily lifted from its position between your legs.

You were passed out.

He vaguely wondered how long his shadow had you going for if the scent of you was this strong and taking another inhale, Alastor could feel drool drip down his fangs and his antlers growing.

His shadow had the nerve to lick the slick from its lips before it chattered at him, resting its head back on your thigh and licking the skin there. You shivered unconsciously, letting out a sigh and the shadow cooed at your sleeping form.

“What. Did. You. Just. Say?” A screech of static escaped him before Alastor could help it and he quickly looked over to see if it woke you. Luckily, it did not and he felt his eye twitching in annoyance. “You do know this is the opposite of ‘behaving’, don’t you?”

The shadow actually seemed to huff at him, snuggling deeper against you while its ears twitched wildly as if to mock him. It let out a series of chirps and titters before settling down again.

Alastor felt his own ears twitch. “Cute? She thought it was ‘cute’?” He murmured, his expression scrunching with bewilderment.

Would a moment of bliss be worth it in exchange for the humiliation? Of you stroking his ears for a bleat? Sex was the only time he could not control the damned little noises and so, he had been very careful in not allowing you to touch that part of him during.

His shadow chittered again from its place and Alastor did not give it a response. Instead, he snapped his fingers a few times, regretfully clearing the room of your heavenly scent.

The bed and sheets were cleaned next and you didn’t even stir when Alastor cleansed you of your bodily fluids. The shadow snickered when Alastor eyed him for a moment and the snicker instantly turned into a whimper with his next words.

“Since you couldn’t behave, I won’t allow you to watch for the next week.”

(So harsh, Master!)

–

“Tell me, Darling.”

You try to talk, you really do, but how are you supposed to, with a tentacle shoved in your mouth? All you can do is let out muffled moans and heaving sobs when you feel Alastor’s fingers trail up and down your thigh.

What are you supposed to tell him?

“You have been a naughty little brat, my dearest Doe.” Alastor purred, grinning wide as more tentacles appeared from the shadows, wrapping around you and restricting any and all movement. “And brats must be punished, don’t they?”

What are you supposed to tell him!?

Alastor spreads your legs, before throwing them over his broad shoulders. “What do you want? I want to hear it from you.” He teased, just barely rubbing at your folds as you tried to bite down on the tentacle gagging you. “What would a fitting punishment be? Should I leave you wanting, needy and begging for more?”

You could feel his thumb swipe over your clit, beginning to rub the bundle of nerves in tight little circles and you clenched your eyes shut, feeling that familiar warmth heat up in your belly. You tried to arch up into his touch, but the tentacles allowed no movement.

“Open your eyes.” Alastor commanded, his thumb leaving your clit and you whimpered, quickly complying as his fingers went to stroke your cheek, smearing your slick across your heated skin, “Keep your eyes on me, dearest.”

You gasped as the appendage from your mouth retracted, drool trailing down your lips as tears began to form in the corner of your eyes, “A-Alastor.” You choked, “W-what am I… I supposed to..?” You couldn’t even finish your sentence before he cut you off.

“Should I fuck you with my fingers? My tongue? Are you greedy tonight, Darling? Do you want my cock?” Alastor smirked as you gaped at him, before throwing your head back and letting out a wail when a tentacle slid up into your dripping cunt. “Where have your words gone?”

You see stars when the tentacle jams up against that spot in your pussy and your toes curl almost painfully. “F-fu–” You panted as another appendage toyed with your clit, knowing you’re on the edge and about to fall over any second now.

“Language, Darling, language.” Alastor sighed in mock disappointment, ceasing all movement and you almost sob at your broken orgasm. Should he ask while you’re incoherent? It seemed a little more entertaining that way, certainly. “What did that damn shadow of mine tell you?”

Huh?

What?

Your brain isn’t exactly completely in the realm of reality when you feel the tentacle slowly slip out of you, wriggling against your wet walls and leaving you clenching nothing but air. ��S-shadow?” Ah, that’s right – you haven’t seen Alastor’s shadow in a day or two. “W-where is… where is Shadowy?”

Shadowy?

‘Shadowy’?

You gave it a name?

(And one as simple as that!?)

“As a result of misbehaviour,” Alastor’s grin widened, fangs gritting in irritation. He shuffled his position, “it must be disciplined. Deprivation of you – an entire week’s worth – should be sufficient in teaching it a lesson.” He gripped your hips, fucking his cock into your slippery hole. “Must you think of my shadow when I am right here, my dearest Doe?”

“H-hah!” Your eyes rolled back, feeling your arms strain as they were still restrained above your head by Alastor’s tentacles. “I-I…” It felt good, your mind felt like mush, but Alastor wanted something out of you, didn’t he? “I thought… you put Shadowy up to it.”

Alastor gradually unravelled the appendages from your restrained arms, watching as his drool dripped down into your face while he deepened his thrusts, each deeper, harder, and faster. “You believe I would reveal such a… humiliating secret about myself?”

Your glazed over eyes seemed to gain coherency with his words. “Your shadow is a part of you, right?” Your arms trembled. “Maybe, maybe you did? I would never make fun of you, Alastor. I love you.”

Alastor tensed, but wrapped his hands around your wrists, slowly bringing your arms up to his head. Your hands shook and his ears flattened against his skull. “Well? I would like to get this over with.” His grin seemed to wobble.

You squeezed his ears and jumped, watching in awe as Alastor’s eyes instantly shut and he quivered. “Harder, dearest.” Your warm wet walls were starting to flutter around him and he felt the sound get caught up in his throat. “Fuck!”

Once more, another squeeze.

And you finally shattered.

“A-Ala–!” You whimpered, feeling Alastor bury his face in the crook of your neck and you clamped down on his cock, just barely hearing that same sound you had heard with his shadow even through your bliss. “Alastor.” You hesitantly stroked his ears, becoming more assured when he relaxed against you.

“Fuck.” Alastor twitched inside you, shuddering after his own pleasure. He kept humping into you, trying to fuck his cum deeper in you until you whined in clear overstimulation. “Oh hush now.”

He hoped you didn’t hear it.

That sad little bleat.

“I… I like it.” You finally said after long yet comfortable silence. Alastor seemed to let out a huff and you did too. “I mean it! It’s… ‘en-deering’!”

“Please Darling, no.”

----

Taglist:

@cosmiccandydreamer

#alastor x reader #x reader #alastor smut #alastor's shadow x reader #hazbin hotel x reader

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cowyolks · 10 months

Text

TO DULL THE SHOVELS & SMOKE

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Female Reader

Prompt: In which Simon Riley doesn’t hear the gunshots and yells when he’s around his next door neighbor.

Words: 4.2k

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of gore, mentions of torture based on the Ghost comics, drinking, major PTSD.

At first, it annoyed him.

The thin walls of his Manchester apartment blocked absolutely no sound. From one end, near his desolate kitchen, he heard the half-arsed sounds of a couple at all hours of the night. At the other end, nearly midnight on the dot, a bow would pull over strings.

He thought it to be a violin, but the sound was so horrendous and screeching that he couldn’t quite figure it out. Never less, he couldn’t find it in himself to move from the spot on his hard mattress.

It wasn’t like he could sleep anyways.

Gunshots bled into his ears warm and sticky, curses and cries of civilians slammed against his chest and made his eyes feel like sinking weights. Bombs screeched and blinded him, even though he could see the shadows of his wardrobes and chipped wallpaper.

He was there. On the battlefield.

That was until a particularly awful note would catch his ears, digging through all the horrible sounds of war.

It would make the corners of his lips perk up, especially when he heard the gentle curse of the “musician.” He figured horrible orchestral music would do rather than gunshots. He even managed to acquire at least an hour of sleep before he was stirred awake again by the sounds of death.

He’d wake up as he always did. A horrific grunt and a call for his teammates. It was pathetic, but the usual. Simon couldn’t recall the last time he woke up refreshed. He hadn’t slept well in decades, even his childhood was thrashed with harassment from his father who kept him up. He maybe had a couple good nights of rest as a recruit, while his brother and mother were still alive and his father was long gone festering in the hospital with cancer.

Still he was used to the dark circles under his eyes and the constant urge to yawn.

He’d gone about his civilian life as he usually did. Wake up in a sweat, take a cold shower, drink some breakfast tea, and watch the news. That was until three knocks sounded from his door chipping green paint. He had half the mind to ignore it, Simon didn’t know anyone around the area— After all, he was a Ghost. He chewed on his lip, If it was a threat they wouldn’t have knocked. He settled on placing his steaming mug on the wooden side table and huffing to stand. Curiosity won him over as his creaky joints shuffled its way over to the door.

He creaked it open only a couple inches, cautiously glancing around to see no one in the hallway. Scratching his five o’clock shadow, he blinked, feeling slightly paranoid that maybe he was imaging the knocking. That was until his dark eyes settled upon a half open box of what looked to be tea bags.

A note lay scotch taped to the front, written in the most interesting handwriting Simon had seen.

Heard the screams, I won’t pretend to know what it’s like. I figured you wouldn’t want me to pester you, so I’ll save you from the awkward small talk and leave these here. Not sure if you’re a tea person, but they help me sleep.

-your next door neighbor

He couldn’t find himself to move for a short while. His brain clashed in conflicts, as if he couldn’t settle on a single emotion to feel. It swarmed him at once— annoyance, embarrassment, gratitude.

His neighbor had took time out of their day to drop tea off at his door. He tried to think back to when the last time someone had done something genuinely nice for him. Besides his makeshift family of broken soldiers, he couldn’t think of a single occurrence. Zeroing in on the box, a twitch in his nose gave away his reluctance of the flavor. Lavender and Chamomile. So different than his simple breakfast tea.

But, it wouldn’t hurt to try it. Maybe then he’d be able to silently thank the mysterious neighbor for a good night of sleep.

He figured out who you were when he’d exited the shaky and completely unsafe lift onto his floor. In the crook of his arm he carried a brown paper sack full of his weekly groceries. It wasn’t the most fanciful of ingredients, the most extravagant being simple cuts of chicken breasts. He’d shoved the bag further into his grasp, reaching into his dark colored jeans for his room key when he heard your muffled curse.

You were hunched over your doorknob, pulling helplessly on the metal to unlock it. Hurriedly he changed his footfalls, switching from silent to knowingly hitting the creaks in the aged carpet. Your head tilted at the unpleasant noise, eyes widening in embarrassing anticipation.

It took Simon a moment to truly access the situation. It was as if his brain had slammed into a wall, colliding and knocking all of his thoughts astray. When he finally did come to his senses, the only thought he could repeat was— pretty.

Simon would be the first to admit that he had not been around many women in his life. Therefore, he didn’t have much to draw comparisons to—regardless you had to be the most beautifully unique person he had ever seen.

You wore a knitted sweater, likely homemade by the barely noticeable tears of threads and flaws. His eyes filtered down to your jeans, then his attention drew to the absolutely ridiculous socks clad to your feet and ankles. Bright purple, decorated with pink polka dots. He’d glanced up, embarrassingly distracted enough to not be able to listen to your moving lips.

“Hmm?” He grunted, thankful for his black surgical mask that covered half of his face. He felt secure being covered, as if all the bad things couldn’t penetrate through the flimsy material.

“Oh! Sorry for mumbling,” you apologized, which made Simon’s head tilt to the side. Why apologize for his lack of hearing?

You cleared your throat, releasing the doorknob from your hands and instead twisting them together in a nervous habit. It seemed you could hardly sit still, all in the span of thirty seconds Simon caught on to your spastic fingers and tapping foot.

“I don’t suppose you know how to pick a lock?” You squeaked, instantly cringing at the horribly put together question.

“Excuse me?” Simon spoke, a hint of surprised amusement coating his tongue. Of course he knew how to break into buildings and pick locks, but you didn’t need to know that.

“I uh, locked myself out of my apartment. I forgot my purse and I keep my keys in there. I was just in a rush for food before my favorite place closes, and well— I’m rambling.” You sputtered, looking like it would be a better option to break through your door than stand under his burning stare.

He didn’t expect himself to extend towards you, settling his bag of groceries on the floor near his door. You slid out the way as he approached, not before he caught a pleasant whiff of lavender and something floral.

Simon shuffled in the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a floss pick from the material. Call it his nagging habit, but he hated having shit in his teeth. He wasn’t used to eating or drinking with his balaclava on at work, so on the rare occasions he ate, it absolutely irritated him. Now the floss pick came in handy as he bent the hard plastic to fit into the lock of your door.

He was aware of your stare as he lay crouched, catching the puzzled yet intrigued look from his peripherals.

“Are you some type of cop?” You blurted, making Simon’s lips peek up in a half arsed amusement. A cop? This girl was funny.

“No,”

With a final click, your door creaked open with a whine of its hinges. He rose off the old carpet with a sigh, immediately going back to his groceries so he could be left in his solitude. Then before he could reach down and pick up the bag, your words cut him short.

“Thank you. Um… did you like the tea?” It was a simple question, but not one he was expecting. “It was alright.” He lied, the untouched box still rested on his cold countertops.

“You didn’t like it did you?” You chuckled, reading right through him. All he gave was a shrug of his shoulders, not confirming nor denying. “I knew it. You probably drink your tea black and food bland.” You teased lightheartedly, making an equally playful offended sound fall from Simon’s lips. It occurred to him that he’d smiled more in these last five minutes than he had in a whole year.

“It’s only for mature palates.” He heard himself joke, nearly shocked at his own behavior.

“Sure…” You introduced yourself at last, finally able to have a name to your face. “Simon,” he only thought it fair to state his own. Although it sounded weird coming off his lips instead of the usual introductory Ghost.

“Well Simon, if you’re ever on Bakers Street, there’s a Korean Barbecue place that is delicious. Now that’s real food. I’ll just have to wait until tomorrow since I pulled this stunt. And thanks again!” You smiled, an awkward wave marking your goodbye.

Simon nodded and entered his dark flat, once again drawn into his own mind and the sound of warfare.

He made sure, a few days later to pay you back for your kind words and the disgusting tea. He knocked on your door, hurriedly rushing back to his own and out of sight, hoping the white takeout box of barbecue would make your evening.

He had a particularly rough morning on an autumn rainy day. The chill of the air and racket of raindrops on the window was enough to startle him awake. He was reminded of the cold chill of Russia, as well as the raindrops hitting way too similar to the sound of bullets. It nerved him, nearly taking him several minutes to be able to breathe properly again.

He’d done what his therapist had mentioned, pinpointing colors, sounds, and textures.

Yellowing wallpaper, humming ventilation, scratchy blanket.

Gray clouds, rattling ceiling fan, his own warm skin.

With a sigh, he curled his palm over his eyes, rubbing away the awful reoccurring night terrors, and settling for getting dressed. He wore the simple clothes he always did, black hoodie, jeans, and boots. Simple, yet effective.

He grew rather sick of the walls of his apartment. The plaster suffocated him, the air suddenly too stuffy. For a short moment he was stuck in that coffin again, maggots wriggling at his flesh and the scent of rotten meat flooding his nostrils.

He stood suddenly, attempting to calm himself. He was in Manchester, he was standing. Something he couldn’t do in a coffin. It was a shitty autumn day with rain battering his window sill. He wasn’t in the desert, he wasn’t half dead. He was here.

He let his body lead him out the door with no destination. All his mind happened to scream was out, out, out.

He’d barely been able to grab the door handle and twist, fingers shaking in such a pathetic way it had him wrinkling his nose. He was underwater, shoved into the bucket as they held him under, making him lose his breath and weakly fight.

No he was here. Manchester! In Manchester.

“Simon?”

He was suddenly lifted up, finally able to push the freezing water out of his lungs and suck down oxygen. His head swiveled weakly to you, eyes likely looking dead and cold.

You were dressed warm. A coffee-colored sweater swaddling your form and a burnt orange cardigan hanging from your shoulders as well. You wore typical jeans and slip-ons, but bright orange knitted socks peaked from your jeans. They were even littered with pumpkins and leaves designs.

He hummed in your acknowledgment, letting himself worry about his breathing once again. Colors, sounds, textures.

Orange Cardigan, your slow breathing, soft knitted socks.

“Are you okay?” You’d squeaked, barely audible over his massive heaving breathes. He instinctively nodded his head, knowing that if he showed any sign of weakness he’d be terminated. That’s how it’s been since he was four years old, being terrified of his father but not being able to express such fear.

“You know, it’s okay to not be okay.” You read right through him. Taking an inching step towards him. He said nothing, still shocked that you hadn’t left in a disgusted manner. He was weak and terrifyingly broken, and yet your sweet gaze never broke into pity.

Orange cardigan, quiet steps, smooth skin against his wrist.

He’d instantly felt relief from the lack of stinging pressure against his palm. Not realizing he’d been digging his nails into the calloused flesh, causing angry red crescents to print into his skin.

“Would you like a tea? I was about to go to the place across the street?”

His mind screeched no. He wanted so badly to be alone. To break something, to laugh as he bloodied his knuckles. He also wanted to shield his too pleasant neighbor from his violent tendencies. To keep her from him, to protect her. But his cold and dead heart managed to thaw and break all in one. The vile organ spoke for him as he found his head bobbing, lungs sucking in a big breath.

“M’kay.” He mumbled, following after your sweet lavender perfume down the lift like a sickly bloodhound.

He’d followed like a shell, hardly memorizing the turns and passing civilians until he was blasted with warm air from a cozy little cafe. He was slammed with comfort instantly, thrown back into the present world instead of the bloodied one he was used to seeing in his mind.

String lights hung above your head, illuminating your warm skin and kind smile. You’d ushered him to sit in the far corner, the leather booth squishy and comfortable. Simon had tuned into the fluttering orchestra of some jazz band, relaxing his bones and tired muscles only slightly.

Golden lights, swaying music, brewing coffee.

He startled when a thick paper cup slid in front of him, the fresh scent of breakfast tea relaxing him further, among with the smiling face blinking at him.

“Got your favorite, bland breakfast tea.” You quipped, taking a sip of your own lavender fruity tea. He let a soft grin cross his lips, pushing the invasive thoughts away while you were with him. “I told you it was an exquisite taste, you drink tea for a child.”

A bubbly laugh escaped you, making Simon freeze in pure awe. He’d never heard something so beautiful, a real authentic laugh. One that he caused.

“You should try it.” You eased, pushing your cup towards him with amusement. Simon’s eyes managed to squint in disgust, glancing down at the odd beverage.

His hand fit around the paper material, warmth meeting his fingers as he brought it carefully up to his scarred lips. The taste was sugary, but floral and rich at the same time. His tongue retreated away, and instantly he swallowed it like it was burning alcohol.

“I don’t like it.”

This tea perfectly matched your personality. Bubbly, overly sweet, and calming like the essence of lavender under his tongue. He’d rather have you than the tea.

“Well what do you like, oh mysterious neighbor?” You chuckled, taking back your tea with a happy grin. His dislike hadn’t irked you at all, instead you seemed more intrigued than before. As if he was enough to quirk your interest.

“Football.”

“Man United?”

He nodded.

“I’m a Liverpool fan.” You sighed, a guilty and mischievous grin passing over your lips.

“That’s more disgusting than that tea!” He growled out, a chuckle breaking through his chest at your lit up face.

“Yeah? What’s your favorite food or drink then? If you’re so quick to bash my tea!” You bickered back, happily noticing his shoulders relaxing and eyes softening.

“One of my Sergeants lives in Glasgow, he frequents at this pub with the best fry up you’d ever eat.”

“Breakfast in a pub?” You questioned, taking a sip of your tea again.

“Best hangover medicine.”

You’d scoffed, hiding your smile between your empty cup. Simon was surprised just how easy it was to talk to you. Here he was, just a man having a tea with a woman. Perhaps even a date? He didn’t have to worry about following orders or barking protocol to privates. Here he could be Simon, the man under the mask and war paint. It was… nice.

“So you’re in the military. That makes sense why I haven’t seen you over the last couple months.” You observed, but didn’t push. You were hanging the metaphorical bait, but he didn’t have to bite it if he didn’t want to.

He nodded, simple enough to confirm, but not enough to feel exposed.

“Well Simon, I have a train to catch. I’m going into Liverpool to see my Mum.” You explained, offering a polite smile.

“Sure.” He mumbled, watching you shuffle to leave the booth. “We should do this again sometime, it was nice to talk to someone besides my cat.” You urged, a laugh encasing your words.

His heart threatened to bounce out of his chest, but he pulled himself together with a subtle pinch to his thigh.

“Sounds nice.”

Dried blood coated his mask and stained his gloves to the point that he had to pull extremely hard to take them off. His shoulders slouched significantly and his eyes grew such large bags under them he could feel his skin sink into his skull. He was tired, exhausted, and needing a warm, long shower.

“Good te’ be back, yeah, L.t.?” Soap threw himself against a bench, groaning as he bent down to untie the laces of his boots. The Scot likely had the same idea as Simon, to shower all this blood off their bodies.

“Sure. Back to morning drills and bland Mess Hall food.” He added in monotone, eyes twinkling in amusement as Soap let out another dramatic groan.

“Oh don’t be like that.” He teased again, constantly pushing Simon out of his dramatic and lone atmosphere. It was nice in ways, how Soap managed to brighten up his day and keep him on his toes.

Speaking of toes, a frown worked its way onto his face as he caught the state of his freshly knitted socks. Dark mud and seeping blood rubbed uncomfortably against his toes, soaking the material of all its purity.

Soap followed his eye line, latching onto the pattern of white ghosts against black knitted material. A chortle escaped him, “Where the bloody hell did ye’ get those?”

“My Neighbor.” He answered shortly, taking note of the crimson color bleeding into the white ghosts.

“D’aw, little gran’ made ye’ some socks?” Soap teased, making the wrong assumption that you were some sweet elderly lady. Simon shook his head, peeling off the socks begrudgingly as he looked forward to his hot shower to warm his bones.

“She’s my age.”

His mind travelled to you. How you’d begged and begged for him to tell you his callsign, bringing up Top Gun of all things.

“Oh my gosh! You need to watch more movies. I can’t believe you don’t know who Tom Cruise is. Top Gun!” Your ecstatic voice carried as you sat in the now familiar booth the two of you shared.

It’s become a common occurrence for him to go out with you on Saturday mornings, sometimes you’d bring your laptop and study for an upcoming test in uni, other times you’d ask him any question under the sun, just to get to know him better. He was comforted by your mindless chatter, even more so when you’d avoid certain topics that made him uncomfortable.

You’d hardly pushed on his childhood or career, that was until you’d thought him traitorous that he’d never seen either of the Top Gun movies.

“Maverick and Goose? Never heard of them?”

“No.” Simon shrugged, sipping on his tea as your eyes sparkled again. “Do you have a callsign?”

His teeth grit at the question as his airway slightly closed. It was dangerous to identify himself off the clock, even more so in a public area. He studied your antsy form, noticing your hips hanging off the booth in curiosity, as well as the soft flesh of your lips pulled between your teeth. How could he ever say no to a creature so effortlessly beautiful?

“Ghost.”

A few days later, a knock on his door startled him from his routine of watching the local broadcasting. He’d approached the door, only to find a black pair of socks with little white ghosts knitted against the seams.

“Is she fit?” Soap found himself asking, a happy grin shining through. Simon was glad for his mask, for when he pictured your smooth skin, beautiful eyes, and stunning frame he could picture no flaws. Fit? That didn’t even begin to describe you.

“You have no idea, mate.”

He’d returned home Christmas Eve, tired and worn from all the flights and jet lagged beyond belief. His muscles were stiff and his heart was heavy. This was always his least favorite time of year.

Horror flashed before his very eyes, usually he’d get away with spending the holidays on base, catching up with his paperwork and training privates a little more to reduce his thoughts of his late family. Instead, Price all but forced him to go home, after a certain Scot let slip that his Lieutenant fancied his own neighbor.

He had nowhere to hide this time. He was home, and at the worst time of the year. Near instantly his nostrils filled with the smell of burnt Christmas ham, charred and ashes by the time he’d opened the front door. But that wasn’t the worst smell, not even close. Coppery tinges of blood clouded his nostrils as his eyes glazed over.

Hidden and reflected off the ornaments on the tree was his family. His poor sweet mother, who’d done so much and tried so hard to raise two boys with an abusive husband— she lay face first on the festive rugs. He’d rushed to her, only to nearly trip over his brother. Tommy’s hand was outstretched, blood trailing as he’d likely tried to crawl to his dead wife.

He couldn’t breathe, sheer panic and despair crawling on him like millions of slippery bugs. He’d vomited all the contents of his stomach as he caught the crib in the corner. Not his little nephew, not little Joseph.

Loud honking from below drew him out of his mind. He’d been standing idly in front of his door, duffel clutched so tightly in his hand he was sure he’d had punctured skin.

White snow, soft violin, warm coat.

Violin?

His feet had already carried him to your door, hand cautiously rapping against the thin wooden material. He knew it was late— hell, it was likely already midnight and Christmas Day. Yet he needed something, he needed to hear your voice and smell the lavender and floral ofyour perfume. He even wanted to see the orange fur of your pet tabby cat.

“Who is it?” Your soft voice carried through the door, successfully halting some of the tension in his shoulders.

“Simon.”

The door cracked open almost immediately, revealing you in red flannel pajamas and sleepy eyes. He’d never felt such a relief as he had just now. Seeing you, your warm smile peeking through all the tiredness.

“You just get back?” You asked, slippered feet already sliding to the kitchen to turn on the electric kettle.

“Yes.” He replied, bending low to pat the orange ball of fur dubbed Garfield. The cat mewed happily, even going as far as letting his belly be scratched. He’d missed your eyes curiously glancing at him from behind a cabinet, two mugs clinking as you pulled them out. He’d had the same cloudy eyes and sagged shoulders he always did when he was plagued by bad memories and PTSD.

“I was just about to put on a movie, if you want to sit on the sofa.” You’d suggested, seeping the leaves of his breakfast tea in a fluid motion. Your warm and inviting voice broke him away from thinking of his family, especially when the steaming scent of tea crept up his nose.

“What movie?”

“I was thinking Home Alone, or maybe even The Grinch. Tis’ the season and all that.” You bubbled, taking your own seat against him. He’d stiffened slightly at the mention of the holidays, but his thoughts quickly vanished at the subtle brush of warm skin against his side.

He wasn’t able to breathe properly as you laid your cheek upon his shoulder, right in the dip between his neck and clavicle. But no, it wasn’t the suffocating and violent loss of breath like before, when he thought of war and bloodshed. No, this was a dull ache of his heart, as if telling him that yes, this is where I want to be.

Red Flannel, shifting bodies, soft lips.

“How about we watch Top Gun?” He asked in a whisper, still feeling the absolute sweetness of your lips, the pleasure and love that was you.

You’d single-handedly dulled his pain, silenced the noise, and picked him up on the darkest of his days.

He loved you.

Tag list: @mykneeshurt

#simon ghost riley #cod #call of duty modern warfare #modern warfare #call of duty #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x you

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killerpancakeburger · 3 months

Text

Imagine: Ghost giving you the shovel talk after Soap and you made your relationship official

It's the evening, you two are smoking outside in companionable silence, taking in the star-spangled sky. Suddenly his voice pulls you out of your daydreaming.

"So... you n' Johnny, eh?”

You feel an ominous shiver run down your spine - you do not like the turn this conversation is taking. His tone is steady, like it usually is, but it means nothing when that specter is involved. He could be slicing a throat and his voice wouldn't waver a iota.

If there was anything you learned about The infamous Ghost, in the absence of his identity and the face beneath the mask, it was that the names he used for the people he considered his family were anything but random. Soap was the most common way he refered to his Sergeant, but a Johnny could slip here and there. "Johnny" was personal; intimate; vulnerable; and possessive all at once. Not in the way an insecure lover would act - although...? Maybe...? -, but in the way a pack member would bare his fangs at a newcomer to protect his mates.

There was something animalistic buried within him that would resurface from time to time, when the risk was too great, when the survival of the 141 or of any of its members was jeopardized. Something you would not risk to vex. Simon was extremely protective behind closed doors, it wasn’t a scoop, but you thought yourself safe from his fangs... or at least you did until now.

"Yeah?"

How you hate the interrogation in your voice. As if you were seeking his permission. Like a child knowing they're asking for too much but doing it anyway.

You busy yourself with your cigarette, trying to look unfazed.

"He may sound like a fuckin' playboy most of the times, but he's actually a sensible kinda fella. Doesn't go around givin' his heart to just anyone, y'know?"

You gulp. Take a deep breath. The only way out is through. Might as well be done with it.

"So, is this the part where you swear that no one will ever find my body if I hurt him?"

You're proud of how casual you managed to sound.

He actually chuckles at that. A relaxed, raspy, unbothered kind of sound. Maybe you will walk away with your life tonight after all.

"Got it all figured out, don't ya? But that's good. Saves us some time."

He tosses his cigarette and, for the first time since you’ve been outside, he turns to you and look you in the eye. His stare is as intense as ever.

"We're in agreement, then? Ya'll treat mah boy well?"

"Wouldn't dream of anything else."

"Good lass."

A pause, then:

"This works both way, y'know that, right?"

"Hmm?"

Too busy celebrating your escape from the valley of the shadow of death, you haven't been completely paying attention.

"If he gives ya trouble, I'll knock some sense into that thick head of his."

You look at him again, your face beaming and your chest tingling with a newfound joy.

"Thank you."

You smile, unable to stop the motion of your lips. Your gratefulness is not for the threat he proclaimed, but for the friendship he extends to you.

He doesn't answer. He doesn't need to.

Suddenly a burly arm wraps around your neck.

"What were ya guys talkin' about!? You’ve been there for ages." Pouts Soap.

Glancing over at Ghost, you can see that Johnny has tried to grab him by the neck too, with a lukewarm success, considering the height difference between the two of them.

"Nothin' ye need to concern yerself with", retorts Simon, lying as easily as he breathes.

As Johnny turns to you in hopes of finding an easier target that will confess everything, you nearly miss the conspiratorial wink Ghost sends your way. The action is so far removed from his usual character, you understand that the discrepancy is made to amuse you. So you giggle.

Tonight the sky is full of stars, and your heart full of bliss, the way you feel like your chest might burst with happiness at any moment, with those two men at your side.

A/N: Platonic!Reader x Ghost my beloved 😫 🖤 Tried to make Ghost the less OOC as possible, as usual >_< but man its not a walk in the fookin park.

Trouple potential tho? 👀 sorry not sorry, I can't help it, I love the ambiguity...

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jyoongim · 3 months

Note

Hi!

I really love the outcome of the Prisoner Human Alastor and Police Reader the one i request and i really love the story of it🥹 Thank you so much for making it🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

I have another request :3 (Please do take a rest if you needed)

I would like to request another Human HusbandYander!Alastor x Wife!Reader

Belive it or not Human Form of Alastor is Making Giggle and kicking my feet

The story is about reader finding out that her husband being the killer of the town and try to run away from home but eventually Alastor caught her and fuck her in their bedroom and saying things like Obbsesive person would say.

Like for example "Mon cher, Are you trying to get away~?" "Didnt you said you love me no matter what am i my dear?"

So like i have a breeding kink :>

So alastor is breeding or making her pregnat his belove wife to carry his next geneartion and told the reader "You will never leave my side Cher,you will be taking care of our baby and stuck in this house forever with me~" and maybe some yandere stuff like saying he would cut off Reader feet if reader tries to run again. My english is bad but you can correct my words if anything is wrong with it :<

THANK YOU SO MUCH AND I REALLLLLLLYYYYYY LOVE YOUUURRRRRR WOOOOORRRRKKKKKKKKKKKKKK

MWA MWA🫶🏻

I also have other things in my mind but i will save it for another request 🫶🏻😊

Yandere!husband human Alastor x wife!reader

themes: yandere behavior, possessiveness, breeding kink, noncon, threats, mentions of pregnancy

Note: I like yandere but have never written it before so I’m sorry if its not your typical crazy obsessive lovesick personality!

———————————————————————————————

You whimpered as the bedroom door rattled. Loud banging made you curl into yourself, hoping the door held.

”Dearest open the door, we can talk about this” a muffled voice said behind the door.

“N-No! Stay away! I don’t want to talk!” You shouted, frantically packing random clothes in a bag.

Several thuds sounded against the door before it went quiet.

Thud!

CRACK!

You froze. Did he just…

”You think I’m gonna let you out this house to tell a soul? Haha my dear don’t be stupid” Alastor hissed as he hacked at the door, the wood splitting open.

You shuffled to the back of the closet, closing the door, listening as the door groaned at his assault.

You heard the lock click and the bedroom swing open.

Alastor huffed, throwing the axe down.

His eyes scanned the room, he knew you were in here.

He walked around slowly, footsteps making the floor creak.

He stopped when he heard something.

Shuffling. It was subtle but he heard it and it was coming from the closet.

You watched as his shadow flitted about the room from the crack at the bottom of the door.

A soft knock made you jolt

”Darlin we can do this the easy way or the hard way and I promise you wont like it. Your choice” his voice brawled, toying with the knob.

You whimpered and pressed yourself against the wall.

The door swung open and everything that followed happened in slow motion.

Alastor covered in scarlet blood, a sharp smile on his face as his eyes narrowed on your shivering form. He growled as he got a hand on you, grunting as your fight or flight kicked in. You tried to kick and claw at him, but your husband was stronger.

“No!No!No! I’m sorry Al! please!please!” You cried as he wrangled you onto your shared bed. He held your hands fast in his as he used his weight to pin you down.

Alastor huffed, finally pining your wrists and lowering his face to yours, his ragged breath fanning over you.

”You never chose the easy way out darlin. I thought I taught you better than that” he said, smiling down at you.

Fear radiated in your eyes as he kissed your plump cheeks, making you flinch when he went to kiss you on the lips.

”A-Al…!” You tried to turn your head away but your husband wasn’t thrown off by your action.

”You vowed to love me no matter what. Thick and thin, for better or worse. You said you’ll love me no matter what my dear. Did you lie before God?”

You trembled as you watched with wide eyes as he nudged your legs apart, slotting his hips against yours, grinding into your clothed heat.

You tensed as he chuckled “But don’t worry baby you can’t lie to me”

Your lip wobbled “Y-You’re the liar. All those huntin trips, the late nights. You’ve been pickin people off and just coming home like nothin ever happened! You’re sick! A sick bastard with no love for no one” your eyes narrowed angrily as he smiled lovely at you.

”Oooh baby but I do love you, just like how you’ll always love me”

You didn’t grasp the meaning of his words in time as Alastor pulled your panties to the side.

”A-Al n-no don’t don’t please” you tried to close your legs, pushing a free arm against his chest.

Your husband cooed at you as he pushed your thighs apart and lined his cock up against your slit and face contorting as he pushed through the rim of tight muscle.

Your back arched involuntarily as he grinded his hips into yours.

Soft, strained moans left your throat as Alastor slammed his hips down into you.

Tears rolled down your face as the man, you thought you knew, had his way with you.

Your cunt burned at each thrusts, trying to accommodate the brutal assault leashed upon it.

Thick, scarlet blood clung to you as Alastor covered your body with his, caging you against the bed.

”fuck you always take me so well baby” he whispered down to you, watching you try and squirm away from him. Your pretty big eyes focused on his; they were swollen from tears, fear, betrayal and mistrust swirled in them.

”Ill let you in on a little secret darlin”

His pace picked up as a wicked grin crossed his face

“You ain’t got nowhere to run. Where would you go? Who would you tell huh? You think anyone would believe that I’m the terror of this town? Nooooo baby they wont” he licked a tear from your cheek as he angled his hips into that sweet spot that always made you melt.

Your toes curled as delicious tingles ran through your body.

”and they’re never gonna know you know why?” A sharp thrust had you biting your lip to contain your moans.

Alastor grabbed your face, mushing your cheeks as he pounded your poor pussy. He let out a soft grunt, nose scrunching “because you’re gonna be my good little housewife and be stuck taking care of house and babies.”

Your eyes widened.

Babies? You’d be damned if you give a murder a child.

You tried to hook your feet into his hips and push, but he wasn’t having it

You started to thrash but that only encouraged him too further bury himself within you, pushing deep as if he wanted to penetrate your very cervix.

”A-Al no! P-please anything but that please! I don’t-Ah! I don’t want a baby” you choked out as your pussy clenched around him

”You’ll look so sweet round with my child. What ya say darlin? Hehe its not like you have a choice anyway.” He snickered.

Harsh thrusts had you jolting as you cried, frantic as your husband forced your orgasm from you.

A loud squeal filled the room as your back arched.

You shook as you cummed around him, sobbing as he worked your sensitive walls.

”That’s a good girl, yeeeessss that right, fuck! Take my cum Take it take it baby” his hips slammed into yours and with a groan his cock twitched before you felt the warm feeling of his cum.

Alastor grinded his hips into yours, riding out both your orgasms.

You panted as you looked at him with glossy eyes.

He smiled softly as he wiped away at your tears.

You tensed as you felt his hips start to move again

He chuckled

”Ill never let you leave darlin, not when you gonna be having my baby”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #jyoongim #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x y/n #alastor smut #human alastor x wife reader #human alastor x reader #yandere smut #yandere x reader #yandere x darling

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downwiththemutantnjnjaturtles · 10 months

Text

Raphael's First Love—A Talk With Splinter

part of the First Love Talk miniseries!

sfw 💫 word count: 1.2k

The old metronome in the corner of the dojo ticked on incessantly as Raphael sat in indignant silence with Master Splinter. After four outbursts, a fight with Leonardo, and days of distance, Splinter had put his foot down and called his son in for a talk about his behavior. Beneath his stern exterior, Splinter was concerned.

"Raphael, explain yourself," Splinter demanded with a calm voice, treading a thin line with his angriest son's temper. Not out of fear—Splinter could and would easily put the giant back in his place even as an old rat. That was no issue. "What has gotten into you?"

Weeks of this crap, that's what, thought Raph bitterly. Weeks of feeling sick to his stomach every time she was around, trying to put up a good front and getting embarrassed by himself or his brothers; he felt stupid. Weak. Utterly at her mercy, and she didn't even know. Good. I don't want her to. Splinter gave him a skeptical eye. He shifted his position multiple times, uncomfortable and trying to look casual. Grunted dismissively. But he knew his father was not going to take that for an answer. He let out a scoff, dodging eye contact, "Things gettin' under my shell like usual."

"But not like usual, because you are worse-off than usual," observed Splinter.

His mental health was actively declining the more he deliberated on the pang in his heart he felt when he thought about her. It made his guts twist to think about why he was so angry, why he was even afraid of her, deep down. The last thing he ever wanted to admit to himself, let alone Splinter, was that he cared what she thought. A lot.

Too much.

All of his brothers seemed so confident, and yet he was self-conscious. Why? Why do I gotta be like this?!

Raph shrugged. "You know me, master. Comes with the whole package, whether all of you like it or not." He was already moody, prone to rapidly-changing emotions. That was never a guess, it was a given. "Look, I'll do us a favor and just end this convo now—I ain't in a bad way. And Leo needs to stay in his lane comin' to you over a little fight." He started to get up, leave the terrible silence of the training room and that god awful ticking metronome. Splinter jabbed his cane into his plastron, knocking him back, and then brought it down hard on his foot. Raph yelped and stumbled down, quickly reassuring his seated position.

"Enough!" Splinter barked. "Sit, Raphael."

Splinter had his full attention, now. The top of his foot ached dully.

Raph was seething on the inside. On the outside, he slumped over his knee, hiding his face behind his thick forearm.

This was all her fault. If she hadn't fallen—literally crashed—into their lives, he would be fine. There would be no question about what to do or what he was feeling. It was always them and the shadows—no people, no complications. He always knew that would never be accepted despite craving it with every ounce of his being. Why change that? Why suddenly bring more emotions into the mix? Before her, it was all straightforward. Now, he worried if he was too brutish, too much of a freak, if his normal habits weren't so "normal". He didn't want to feel like he was under one of Donnie's microscopes, with her eye looking through the lens.

Splinter furrowed his gray brow at him, resting his hands on his cane. "This is about your self esteem, is it not?" he questioned carefully. Prying.

"You couldn't know anything about it!" Raph shouted back. He swung his hand as he spoke. "I'm a six-foot turtle, there's no changing it! No changing me!"

Sighing a light breath, Splinter closed his eyes. This was going to be the challenge for the day. No day was without its challenges. He recentered his thoughts, looking for a different angle. He wanted to speak his son's language.

"Correct, there is no changing you."

Raph stuttered on his response as his face fell almost imperceptibly, but Splinter knew every minute expression of his kids.

If she knows, I'm done for. Raphael's mind was swirling and his thoughts were reaching dead-ends left and right. There was no changing. No hope? He couldn't tell. He'd given up before he'd even tried. Because like his weapon, he was defensive, and did everything possible to protect what? Himself. His big, soft heart in there that needed some serious attention. The thought of telling her made him want to hurl. But like a moth to a flame, he kept coming right back to her, torturing himself with "what-if's" and doubts he had all the while.

"What do you want me to say, Splinter?" Raph spat with a low voice.

"I want you to be honest with yourself," Splinter replied.

Raph poked the tip of his sai into the mat before him, digging it into the material. "Okay, I'll bite," he said, "what do you think I'm lyin' about? Huh?"

He already knew the answer to that. It was everything; he rejected the shyness he felt inexplicably when she was around. He felt dirty next to her, or if he accidentally touched her, it was an ordeal. Because he was a mutant and she was a human. Out of all of her pick of people, he never could have been at the top of her list. He doubted he even made the list as an option.

Knowing Raphael was lying then, too, Splinter simply lifted his chin at him, and waited for the real answer.

The silence was getting to be too much for him. He jammed his sai into the mat, stabbing through it. But in his face was sadness, not anger. He finally admitted, "I just want to be accepted. Even just by her." Fiddling with his sai, he averted his eyes to stare at something random next to him, adding quietly, a little bashfully: "Aaaaaand sometimes I think Leo has a…better shot than me. That's why we were fightin'. I went nuts because he was gettin' along with her and it made me feel some stuff I don't want to feel."

There it was, thought Splinter, bingo. "Well, you are certainly not the first young man to make a fool of yourself over a girl."

"Master, I don't even know what to do with myself. How am I ever gonna know what to do with her?"

"The first step would be to stop ruining my mat," Splinter said as he bonked his son's head with the end of his cane, irked that he was creating a hole in it with his sai. Raph quickly tucked his weapon away. He muttered an apology. Splinter cleared his throat before continuing. "The second step would be for you to face your fears, Raphael. Accept them, conquer them. You are as you are—what humanity thinks of you is not your concern. You know who you are. I would like to think that [y/n] does as well."

Raph shifted, uncomfortable. "Yeah, I don't think she does. I don't really…"

She was all too kind, beautiful, and smart; a deadly, terrifying combination, in his predicament. He'd been plagued with dreams of being with her night after night. Not worrying about a single thing until the moment he woke up—he was stressing every morning. His anxieties always seemed to curse him cropping up in his dreams; not even in sleep could he escape her sphere of influence.

Placing a gentle hand on Raphael's shoulder, Splinter looked down at him, "Then, you show her who you really are. Raphael."

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt raphael #raphael x reader #tmnt raph #tmnt raph x reader #tmnt x reader #tmnt fanfic #master splinter #tmnt bayverse #bayverse tmnt #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #tmnt raphael x reader #tmnt requests #tmnt first love #raphael

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goldenlikedayl1ght · 6 months

Text

born to die - m. murdock

a/n: IM NOT DEAD i am very busy with finals but this has been rattling around the old noggin for a while now. i took a lot of inspiration from @ellephlox 's fic strawberry rhubarb which i 100% reccomend bc its better than most fics including this one! hope you enjoy! as always reblogs and comments are always appreciated! <3 warnings: oh boy. torture (cutting, burning) some sexually suggestive talk (nothing happens but it's not consensual) readers dad abused her, nightmares, lots of major character death (but not permeant) ANGST!!! but with a happy ending! kidnapping, medical stuff, cursing, and if i missed anything, let me know! word count: 4.8k summary: as matt murdock's wife, your life is rather full of surprises. getting kidnapped by wilson fisk takes the cake as the worst one. pairing: matt murdock x wife!reader now playing: born to die - lana del rey "choose your last words, this is the last time/'cause you and i, we were born to die"

You would think after patching him up too many times to count, five years without him, and countless sleepless nights worrying if he was alive, you would think you’d be used to Matt Murdock and his world of surprises.

And then you get kidnapped, so maybe you’re not so immune to surprises.

It’s really such a shame too, because you’re storming out of the apartment, too angry to take notice of your surroundings.

Silly, foolish, ditzy you.

Because it isn’t like Matt hasn’t told you time and time again that you need to be careful, especially when you go out alone at night. But he’s so angry that he doesn’t even think about the potential dangers of Hell’s Kitchen at three a.m. when Daredevil has been tucked away for the night and Matt Murdock comes back out to play.

He’s been taking more and more patrols because with Fisk being out of prison he can’t help but be constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop.

How silly he was to think that maybe he could have it all—A successful law firm, good friends and a loving wife.

Silly, foolish, ditzy Matt.

But after a week of nonstop patrols, you’re both fed up and tired, and above all, you’re yearning for each other. Neither of you allow yourselves to be totally happy all the time. It would just make everything too easy.

So, after yelling at each other over, what? Patrols? Cases? Burnt dinners? You’re freezing on the streets, and you get about five blocks before you stop and rub your eyes.

This is dumb, you rationalize. Of course, you’re both stressed out and tired, but you’ve gotten through rougher times before, and you both made an oath. To each other, in front of his God, to love each other no matter what.

You realize you left your wedding ring on the table, the ghost of the metal around your finger haunting you. You were dumb for leaving and Matt was dumb for telling you to go. You’re made for each other.

You turn around to go back to your shared apartment, and then, someone grabs you from behind. Your first instinct is to yell for your husband, but you don’t get the chance to before you’re knocked out, by what you can only guess to be a gun or maybe a large fist.

• • •

You wake up in this dingy room, the lighting not suitable for much of anything except to make you afraid. The set up is almost comical and in a fucked up away, stereotypical for a kidnapping. You’re tied up to a chair, and the lights shine only bright enough so you can see shadows and rats scurrying along.

The air is this weird musk of salt and earth, and you realize you’re near the docks, and that’s about all you know about your current location.

Your head is still pounding from whatever it was you were hit with, but you can see another chair a few feet from you and a wooden table with various weapons laying on it. You don’t feel good about this one. Also on the table is an old school record player. You have no idea what the intention is with it.

You try to keep your cool, knowing that wherever you wander, your husband will not be very far off. That whatever is happening, he will be coming to find you no matter how upset he is for whatever it was you were fighting about earlier.

And then, out of the shadows, there he is.

But he’s too big to be Matt, and he has a man standing next to him.

Frank, maybe?

And then you realize who this man is.

He’s Wilson Fisk, the kingpin who has done nothing but torture and kill people, shoving it in Matt’s face for years. Matt only met you after Fisk was put back in prison, and you know at some point in the five-year blip without Matt, he had escaped prison.

So, this is the first time you’ve had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Fisk. When he meets your eye, you do nothing but stare.

“Good evening, Mrs. Murdock. It’s a shame we must meet under these circumstances.” He tells you, taking a seat in front of you. His henchman stands behind the chair.

“It’s regretful to say the least.” You tell him, not intending to make any more of an enemy out of him than Matt already has, not right now.

“I wanted to congratulate you on your wedding. I remember my own, it was a rather special day.”

You know that was the day Matt took him down. The night that he, Karen and Foggy took him down.

“I’ve heard stories. It seemed like a lovely day.”

“You’re a much more gracious guest than your counterpart.”

“Well, I’m sure people say similar things about you and yours.”

He seems to consider this for a moment before nodding.

“You’re probably right about that, Mrs. Murdock. I wanted to tell you I’m terribly sorry these are the circumstances in which we are finally introduced. But it seems Mr. Murdock has been interested in finding out more about my endeavors. And you see, we simply cannot have that. I made a promise not to hurt Miss Page or Mr. Nelson but it seems you were not included in that deal.” Of course not, it had been a long time before you showed up. “So, you’re how we’re going to send Mr. Murdock a message.”

Huh.

So, this is how you die.

Well, you might as well go out with a bang.

“You see, Mrs. Murdock, When I was a boy—”

“I’m going to stop you, Mr. Fisk, because your sob story is rather dull. I know who you are. You were beaten by your father, just like I was. The difference is that I don’t use that as an excuse to murder my way to the top of the food chain. And you can torture me, assault me, whatever you feel you need to do. But if you think for a second that I’ll forget who’s coming to stop you, you are sorely mistaken. And if you think he’ll ever stop trying to find me, you do not know my husband very well.”

Fisk stares at you for a while, his gaze hardening into a glare.

“You’re right. You do know who I am. Because we’re rather similar.” He stands up and nods to the man nearby. “If Murdock can hear her far from here, make sure he hears her screaming.”

Then Wilson Fisk walks away, and you are left with the sickening gaze of a man who has no good intentions.

The man goes to the record player and starts to play a song you recognize quickly as “Fly Me To The Moon” by Frank Sinatra. As he does this, he speaks,

“Hello, Mrs. Murdock. I’m John.” You stay quiet, and he just enjoys the song.

He picks up a knife from the table and goes to you, this grin on his face that makes you sick.

But you remember a trick from not only your childhood, but also from Frank who told you the key to remaining strong under torture—Distraction.

You stare straight ahead, trying not to mind as the man runs the knife over your skin. You think about Matt. You imagine him in his wedding suit, the smile he had on as you approached him down that aisle. You think about when he asked you to marry him, and—

A sharp pain slashes down your arm, cutting open the shirt you’re wearing. You yell in pain, before moving in to try and take deep breaths.

You can do this. Matt will be here soon.

You continue to breathe through the anxiety and the pain, trying not to think too hard about when John hums along to Sinatra’s voice, guiding his knife around your skin. Another cut finds itself on your shoulder.

This goes on for a while, with the classic song looping over and over again. John never seems to tire of it, no matter how badly you will for it to end. As the song ends in one particularly good loop, John hits your face hard, and your nose starts bleeding.

You try to think of Matt’s voice. You don’t listen to John’s torments, knowing it will only egg him on further. You just want him to burn at that point.

By the end of… Countless Frank Sinatra serenades, you have cuts littered around your body, dry blood on your face from your nose and tears running down your face. When he’s eventually done, two men cut you out from the chair and drag you along to a smaller, darker room. You are left in there with a small meal, and you just huddle against a corner, nearest a barred window out of your reach.

And then, you begin to speak for the first time since you saw Fisk.

“Matt,” You whisper, “I’m by the docks.” You tell him, not sure if he can even hear you. “Please, I’m sorry for everything, please just come find me..” You mumble, too tired and aching to try and do more.

• • •

The next day, or what you presume to be the next day since you have no way to tell how much time has passed, you’re woken up by a loud banging on the door of your.. cell..?

The same two men enter and drag you back to the room, where John waits for you.

“How are you feeling today, Mrs. Murdock?” He asks.

You glare.

“Fuck you.”

He laughs and shakes his head.

“What happened to the polite young woman Mr. Fisk and I met yesterday?”

You’re filled with unprecedented anger.

“I said, Fuck you!”

He wastes no time, grabbing a lighter off the table and starting the record player again. Once more, Frank Sinatra’s voice fills the room, and you’re pretty sure once you’re done with John, and then Fisk, you’ll bring Sinatra back from the dead just to kill him again.

You’ve never really been a violent person, but you suspect that it lives in the worst parts of you, just as it did with your own father. You’re much better at keeping it all at bay. Besides, it does you no good to be violent while you have Matt. He’s plenty angry for the both of you.

Oh, Matt..

This is how time passes for you. While John tortures you, burning you or carving into your skin, you think about how great it will be to choke the life out of the singer… And you think about Matt. When you’re in your dark little room, you talk to him. Even if he can’t hear you, you must hope that he’s looking for you.

• • •

Days pass. How long have you been here?

One night, you have the following dream:

It starts out as a memory. A memory of you and Matt. You’re lying in bed with him, and the sunlight is hitting his face just right. You love this memory, it’s one you recall often. He just has this angelic look to him.

Yeah, most people who encounter him, especially at night, meet the devil. But occasionally, you get glimpses of the angel you know he is. He’s sleeping, and you think in this state, he is the most relaxed you’ll ever see him.

Then, before your eyes, the dream shifts and you’re in this black void, on the ground.

Foggy, Karen, Frank, and Matt stand around you. You run to Matt but hit a clear shield keeping him from you. You bang on the glass, well, maybe it’s glass, you don’t know. You try to scream, but your voice never reaches your ears. You begin to look around, looking for a way out.

An eerie version of ‘Fly Me To The Moon’ plays as you glance over to Foggy and watch in horror as his body begins to turn to ash, just like Matt and Karen did when they were blipped. You scream, banging against the shield, but your screams are silent.

You glance back and see the same thing happening to Frank. No, no, no! It was never supposed to happen this way! Frank and Foggy, they lived! They got their time! They don’t die like this!

And then Karen starts too. You start sobbing, not wanting her to go. You had missed her so much, and you only just got her back. But soon enough, she’s gone too, and you’re left in front of your husband.

His hand comes up to rest on the forcefield and he frowns softly.

He says your name gently, and then adds, “You know it couldn’t last forever, right?”

And then just as quickly as before, he is gone again. You remain there in that void, sobbing and screaming though no noise reaches you. This can’t be it! You just got him back, you needed him! You couldn’t take being alone for another five years… Or more…

The dream transforms and you’re in this grand ballroom. People are dancing elegantly and you’re in this.. obnoxious ball gown. But across the room, you can see Matt. He’s dressed in an all-black suit, with a red masquerade mask covering his face. The mask has little red devil horns on it.

Now, the orchestra plays their rendition of Sinatra’s romantic classic. And you step towards Matt, attempting to make your way towards him, only to be met with a masked man, beginning to twirl you around.

You jump from man to man, until eventually, you’re dancing with a man in an all-white suit, a man you quickly recognize as Fisk. No matter how hard you try to escape his grasp, he holds on tighter. The two of you stop dancing now, amid the crowd of moving bodies.

Fisk grabs your chin and tilts it in Matt’s direction, just in time for you to see him bowing to another woman, kissing the back of her hand. Your eyes widen and you think, this can’t be real.

“When I kill you,” Fisk says, “He’ll move on. You’re easily replaceable, Mrs. Murdock.”

And then, in an instant, the woman with Matt pulls out a dagger and plunges it deeply into his abdomen. It’s then that the other dancers, besides you, Fisk, Matt, and this mystery woman, disappear. Matt turns to you and falls to his knees, clutching his stomach.

He tries to crawl to you, blood seeping onto his hands and the beautiful ballroom floor. He yells your name, and the woman stabs him again from behind, and you watch as your husband dies. You hear him screaming, hear him yelling your name. But Wilson Fisk keeps you in place. You can do nothing but watch as Matt Murdock meets his end again, unable to save him. You start to scream, thrashing against Fisk, ready to claw your way to Matt.

You wake up screaming, the nightmare haunting you. A guard bangs on your door, yelling at you to keep it down.

It was just a nightmare, you tell yourself. Maybe Matt heard your screams.

Maybe he’s already dead.

You force yourself not to listen to the voice in your head that says that.

• • •

One day, Fisk visits again, only this time, He’s covered in blood. That damn song is still playing.

You just stare. They have long since stopped tying you up, recognizing that you no longer have the energy to try and fight back. He has this sick grin on his face.

“Good evening, Mrs. Murdock.” You say nothing. “Have you been enjoying your stay with us?”

You glare.

“I hope Matt kills you when he gets here, because it will be a lot less painful for you if he does it instead of me.”

Mr. Fisk just laughs at this and tosses something at your feet. You get down off the chair to see what it is.

Your face goes pale with realization. You pick it up and slip it on your thumb, with it being too big for your other fingers. Matt’s wedding ring. You know it’s his, it has your name engraved in braille on the inside. How did he get this?

As if reading your mind, Fisk speaks again. “I took it off his body after I killed him.”

Your head shoots up to him. What did he say?

“No.” You deny. “Fuck off, I don’t—I don’t believe you.”

“Your husband is dead, Mrs. Murdock. I killed him with my bare hands because he was stupid enough to come after you. Your friends will mourn you and Matt Murdock for a while, and the city will come to the realization that Daredevil did nothing but harm. I win, Mrs. Murdock.”

You feel tears start to fill your eyes, and you realize, no. He hasn’t won because you’re still alive.

Maybe not for long, but you are.

You gather the rest of your energy and leap up, lunging at the large man covered in the man you love’s blood. And there’s a part of you that gets it. Okay, universe, you win. Most people don’t get a second chance like the two of you did. And now he’s dead, and soon you will be too. You can at least try to kill Fisk.

But you barely get a scratch in, yelling and screaming obscenities at him, as John grabs your arms from behind pulling you away. Fisk laughs and shakes his head again.

“It’s been lovely knowing you, Mrs. Murdock. I’m sorry you’ll have to die, you had so much potential. John, when you’re done doing whatever you’d like to her, kill her.” You hear him say it, but you’re blinded by rage, by grief.

John laughs behind you and forces you back into the chair, tying you back up once more. He looks at you, enraged and grief stricken, and just shakes his head.

“You and I are going to have a lot of fun.”

He leaves for a few minutes, and you realize this is the first time you’ve been left alone in this room. You tug at the knots and realize that while John is a gifted torturer, he’s not much of a knot tier.

So you manage to wiggle out of the rope, approaching the table in front of you. You don’t have much time. Okay, maybe you won’t be able to kill Fisk, but John will do. You take a golf club off the table in front of you and turn to the record player.

You begin to smash the thing in, angrily cursing at it as Frank Sinatra’s voice fades off into nothing. When the song ends, the lights turn off. And then, red flood lights turn on in their place.

A back up generator. Lovely. You think that your smashing of the record player couldn’t possibly make the whole building’s power go off, but you don’t really care at that moment.

You’re tired. You won’t make it far, but you need to try. You grasp the club and open the door, being greeted with a man you don’t recognize. You smack him in the face with the club hard enough for him to fall to the ground.

The red lighting adds an eerie tone to the hallways as you creep around, concussing various henchmen that Fisk has working for him. You don’t mean to kill these ones, only John.

But you’re running out of stamina, peeking around corners. And that’s when you see him. John is just standing there like he knows you’re there.

“Come out to play, Mrs. Murdock?” He calls, approaching the corner where you are waiting on the other side.

You focus on his footsteps, taking a swing around the corner when you know he’s close enough. You hear a sharp crack! As he falls, and you can’t see the blood in this lighting. Good. You begin to hit his head in, sobs mixing with yelling. You hate him. You want him to die before you’re killed.

But you don’t get the pleasure, because a pair of arms are pulling you off him, and you begin yelling.

“No!” You yelp. “No, Fuck you! Let go of me! Stop!” You think it’s another one of his goons, and you just want to be able to finish the job before you die. The figure forces you to drop the club. “Please, stop, don’t hurt me—”

But he’s saying your name and turning you around to see him. You know that voice.

“Sweetheart, hey, it’s just me—” He pants, his hands going to your cheeks. “It’s me, It’s just me. I’ve got you.”

And you can’t believe your eyes.

“Matt..?” You whimper, not able to believe it. “No, you’re dead, this has to be—”

And then, Matt does something he wouldn’t do for anyone who wasn’t his wife. He pulls off his helmet so you can see his face. Oh.

“I’m right here. I’ve got you.” He says softly, his thumb gently rubbing against your skin.

That’s when you start to sob, falling against him, no energy left to carry yourself. His arms wrap around you, and you say it again.

“He told me you were dead..”

“I know.. I’m sorry, I don’t know how he got my ring but we’ve gotta get you out of here.” He tells you.

You’re so tired. You’re slumping against him as you try to walk, the warmth radiating off his body just drawing you to sleep.

The last thing you hear before you fall asleep is Matt’s voice, begging you to stay awake.

• • •

You see flashes. Your parents, your dad. Nightmares of Fisk killing Karen, Foggy, Frank, and worst of all, Matt. You see John’s sickening grin on the body of spiders, and you’re chased by his cruel laughter.

But the dreams are filmier compared to what’s happening around you. You know Claire shows up at some point, and you’re thankful to her. Karen sits next to you sometimes, petting your hair, or sometimes it’s Foggy, talking your ear off.

You have fever dreams of Frank in full military gear, tormenting you.

“Not so tough now, huh, girl?” He teases. “You really thought you’d kill the big bad wolf? Solve all your boyfriend’s problems?”

You say to him, “Husband, He’s my husband.”

• • •

Even in your dreams, where you were slashed and burned aches, and you long for the pain to end.

You wake up only once throughout these dreams, and it’s when Karen is playing music to try and calm you from your insistent nightmares.

Only one song snaps you out of it, and you hear it clear as day.

‘Fly me to the moon,” Sinatra sings, “Let me play among the stars,’

He only gets through a few more lines before you’re sitting up on the couch, screaming.

“No! Stop, please!” You cry, and in an instant, Matt’s arms are around you. “Matt, please, don’t let him hurt me, please! Please don’t die, don’t let him keep hurting me!” You beg, in a hazed, frenzied state.

“I’ve got you, No one’s going to hurt you..”

Karen turns off the music somewhere deep in the apartment.

“No..” You begin to grow tired in his arms again. “Matty, please.. You can’t die, please..” You whimper out, continuing to mumble out pleads as you fall back into your weird dream state.

• • •

You really wake up two days later. Matt’s hand is clasped over yours, and he’s just.. Sitting on the floor next to the couch, praying into your clasped hands.

Praying for what, you don’t know.

Your body aches. But something in you tells you you’re safe.

“Matt…?” You whisper gently, and his head shoots up.

“Hey..” He says softly, one hand leaving yours, coming up to brush your hair out of your face. “There she is..”

“You’re alive..”

He seems a little concerned you still had some doubts about this.

“I am. Fisk lied to you.. He never even touched me.” You nod.

“Did I kill him? The man you found me..”

“No. He’s just in a coma, I checked. He’ll be brought to justice.”

“I only wanted him dead when I thought you were too..” Because really, you would have nothing if Matt wasn’t there. Nothing to live for. When he was blipped away, you had the hardest time readjusting to life. Now you know if he died again, you’d probably go off the rails.

No love story is saved more than once. You used up all your luck. Now it will be doomed if he’s ever killed again.

“I know.” He said gently.

“How long have I been out? How long was I in there?”

“A week, and then you were out for four days here. They got you good, baby..” He says gently. “I’m sorry I didn’t find you earlier.”

You frown softly.

“You did find me though. That’s all that really matters anymore.” You know you’ll be nursing scars for a long time. Physical or not.

“Still..” He said gently, and he brings your hand up to kiss it gently. “And I’m sorry I told you to leave that night. I was just upset, but this past week and half.. I feel like I’ve been going crazy without you. No matter how mad at you I am, I never want to spend another night without holding you. Knowing that you could have been…” His voice breaks, and he just sighs, taking a moment to lean his head on your hand. “I love you, so much.” He kisses your palm again.

How are you so tired again? All you’ve done is talk to him, but it feels like you just ran a marathon.

“I love you. It’s why I married you. Because you and I, we were always meant to be with each other. No matter what.”

He smiles weakly and reaches over to the coffee table to grab something. He slips it on your finger and for the first time in over a week, your wedding ring is back where it belongs. You see Matt is wearing his. Your Matt. Your husband. The only one you were ever meant to be with.

“Did Claire patch me up? I remember her being here..” He nods softly.

“Yeah, we.. we really owe her one. She was a huge help..”

“Karen and Foggy were here… And Frank?”

“No, no, Frank’s still in Illinois, I think?” You nod softly. “You were mumbling to him, though. I heard you… you were telling him you had a husband.”

You would laugh if it didn’t hurt.

“He called you my boyfriend. I had to correct him.” You grin.

“That’s my girl.” He hums. Matt gently lifts you so you can sit up and drink some water. Then, he climbs onto the couch and brings you close. His arms wrap around your freshly wounded skin and you have a rare moment of gratefulness for his blindness.

You sit in silence for a while.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks gently.

You think about it all. The torture, the cuts, burns, the small room. Fisk’s laughter, John’s grin. But something sticks out to you.

“Fisk said I was just like him.”

“What?”

“We.. We grew up similar, Matt, I mean.. What if he’s right? What if the only thing separating him and I is one bad move?”

Your husband frowns and shakes his head.

“Sweetheart, you are the.. the most amazing person I’ve ever met. You’re the complete antithesis of Wilson Fisk. Yeah, you grew up like him, but you’re living proof that you don’t have to go down the path he did just because of his background. You and I both know that there will never be a world where you end up like him. Especially not with me.”

You find comfort with his words. Not only did you make every choice not to be like Fisk, but you must’ve also made all the right decisions if in the end, you ended up with Matt. Oh, it won’t be easy, you know that for sure. You’ll never be able to listen to Frank Sinatra, and your upcoming nights are filled with nightmares and hauntings.

But one day you’ll be okay. One day You’ll be able to sit in the silence without thinking about it. One day you’ll get the image of dead Matt out of your head. You’ve spent many nights wondering about who will go first, you or him.

And then you realize the best-case scenario is that the two of you die at the same time, never living another moment without each other.

How would there ever be a world where you and your husband weren’t with each other, even just for a moment?

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #daredevil #daredevil x reader #daredevil fic #netflix daredevil #matt murdock angst #matt murdock x you #matt murdock fic #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock hurt/comfort #matt murdock my beloved #hurt/comfort #angst with a happy ending

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wynnyfryd · 2 months

Text

Trailer park Steve AU part 61

part 1 | part 60 | ao3

cw: mentions of canonical minor character death

Chapter 14

It's twilight by the time they make their way to Rick's place — gnat clouds swarming, sun dipped low, Lover's Lake an inky smudge beyond the blur of passing pines. Steve’s not totally sure how they got here, this dusty service road that's more pothole than pavement; one minute he's bitching about doomed love and double VHS, the next he’s taking the scenic route to a drug den.

There were some important moments in between, he’s pretty sure.

He’s also pretty sure he blacked out somewhere around the moment the morning news reported that an-unidentified-Hawkins-student-who-very-well-could-be-Eddie-Munson was found dead in his fucking trailer.

Kinda difficult to resurface from that one.

Feels like his soul’s got swimmer’s ear.

Even hours later — after Dustin and Max burst into Family Video talking a mile a minute about how Eddie was alive and they needed to use the phones; after Ernie stupidly gave a reporter Steve’s name, swearing up and down on the TV that his neighbor Steve Harrington was an upstanding young man who would never do something like this; after they spent an agonizingly long afternoon lying low and taking backroads to avoid the cops because the cops probably suspect Steve of murder now, oh god—

“It’s this next right up ahead,” Max says from the back seat. There's a map spread over the bench between her and Dustin, and Steve blinks himself awake; gives her a nod in the rearview.

Beside her, Dustin’s munching on Twizzlers he stole from the store — window down, easy slouch, just way too chipper for the situation at hand. "So Steve," he says conversationally, "now that you're a fugitive, does that mean—?"

Steve cuts Robin a pleading look.

Robin reaches back and smacks the little twerp upside the head.

"Ow!" Dustin whines.

"Shut up, please," Robin smiles.

Max makes a sound like she's trying not to laugh and checks the map again. "Right here," she says, pointing. "After that weird tree stump."

They turn onto another road that could be generously described as paved, once, several decades ago, and eventually, the winding path lets out onto a slightly nicer street. Aging but cared for, Holland Road is a crowded row of little lake houses, trailers and shacks with manicured shrubs and chipped fence paint, weeds growing through the sidewalks beneath pristine American flags. Steve pulls into the driveway of #2121.

It looks abandoned. Dark inside and out, a truck parked on the curb that's likely been there for a while, its tires sagging in a mulch of old wet leaves. There’s an autumn wreath on the front door.

“You sure this is the place?” he asks as they climb out of the car.

Max sasses him for questioning her navigation skills, Dustin unsuccessfully tries to land a revenge slap on Robin — a move that earns him a retaliation wedgie and a wrestling match he was never gonna win — and Steve pops the trunk and feels a hundred years old. Feels every bit the exhausted dad trying to keep the family road trip together as he grabs his nail bat and slings his duffel over his shoulder.

"You planning to spend the night?" Dustin teases from Robin's armpit, still bent double where she's got him in a headlock.

"No, just-" he drops the bag at their feet with a grunt, “doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

Dustin’s eyes bug out. “Is that a can of goddamn bear mace?”

“Keep your voice down!” Steve hisses.

“You keep your voice down!”

"Should I just go ahead and choke him out?" Robin offers.

Steve considers it for a second: knock 'em all out, stuff 'em back inside the car. Go do this shit quietly by himself.

He rolls his eyes and puts his hands on his hips.

"You're no fun," she pouts, but she lets Dustin go.

Dustin grabs flashlights and walkies out of the bag, passes them around the circle. They take a moment to steel themselves — huddled together in the dark, shoulders tense, the creepy house looming ahead. Sharp shadows stretch toward them. Croaking sounds creeping from the edges of the lake.

Robin puts her flashlight under her chin like she's about to tell a scary story. "Alright, kiddos," she says in a deep, ominous voice. "Let's go rescue Steve's ex."

Stunned silence in the sudden vacuum her words create. Steve lets out a tired sigh. Dustin’s jaw is on the curb.

“His WHAT?” Dustin shouts.

Oh, my god. “He’s not my ex."

Robin rolls her eyes and says ‘sure’ under her breath, and Max turns to Dustin, laughing. “You didn’t know they were a thing?”

“We’re not—” Steve tries again.

“What were you trying to get them back together for then?”

She seems genuinely curious. Dustin seems three seconds from spontaneous combustion. “What was I WHAT?!” he yelps, limbs everywhere. Reminds Steve of Eddie so bad it hurts.

“Okay,” Steve interrupts, clapping them both on the shoulder; drops his voice to a harsh whisper. “In case you two forgot, we’re here to rescue Eddie.”

“Who you’re dating.”

Dustin’s voice is small, disconnected, his gaze far away. Like he’s shellshocked.

“Jesus Christ.” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. “I— Yes. No. It’s complicated.”

Max snorts at his answer, Dustin makes a series of faces like he's gonna need seven years to process, and Robin interrupts his crisis by waving her flashlight like a traffic guard, walking backward up the hill as she directs them toward the house.

“Why don’t we just go find him first?” she suggests, making a rainbow with her hands, flinging light through the grimy windows. “And then Stevie here can answer alllll your big gay questions.”

Steve glares at Robin. Dustin glares at him, narrowed eyes for a full ten seconds like 'yeah, you fucking better,' and then he takes off up the driveway hollering Eddie's name.

—

part 62

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #max mayfield #dustin henderson #reefer rick #my writing #my fic

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behindthesoul · 8 months

Note

hii, dear! could you write a smoke x princess!reader request? (a small detail is that reader's Mileena and Kitana's sister.) but if you can and want, of course. 🥺

Smoke Dating Outworld’s Princess

Masterlist

Tomas swore he heard wedding bells ringing when he first laid eyes on you. His eyes immediately softened, and he couldn’t stop sneaking glances at you.

Kuai Liang encouraged him to talk to you, and just a few short months later, you were together.

Tomas just can’t believe that he has the privilege of courting a royal. His favorite thing to do is call you your highness. He finds it funny when you roll your eyes and laugh, before telling him to drop the formalities.

If you ask him to join you at any formal events, his eyes will widen. Even if you’ve been together for years, he’s still shocked that you want to show him off at royal banquets.

You haven’t had many opportunities to speak to Kuai Liang, so you don’t know him too well. On the flip side, Kuai knows everything about you. He knows your favorite color, your favorite food, and the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you; all because Tomas never stops gushing about his princess. Kuai smiles and nods during these moments. He’s happy for his brother, but doesn’t understand why he has to know your shoe size.

A princess seemingly has never ending duties, and a Lin Kuei never rests. The two of you are often busy and cannot meet as much as you’d like. At night, it’s not uncommon for Tomas to sneak into the palace and knock on your bedroom window, asking if he can talk to you. You’ll either let him into your room, and you cuddle until he has to leave, or the two of walk the palace gardens until sunrise. You’re both a little sleepy the next morning.

Being Sindel’s youngest daughter has its challenges. You often feel like you live in your sisters’ shadow. Your mother loves you very much, but her attention is drawn to your eldest sister, the future empress. If you ever feel insecure in your place in the royal family, Tomas is there to comfort you.

He praises your beauty, your smarts, your kombat skills, and your efforts to help the people of Outworld. He never wants you to feel less than your sisters.

During these moments, he’ll try to jokingly lift your spirits by calling you my empress instead of your highness or my princess.

There comes a time where Tomas wishes to be your husband. He wonders what a royal wedding would be like; will the two of you just have your closest friends and family in attendance, or will all of Outworld bear witness to your ceremony?

He imagines you in the most dramatic wedding dress ever. One created by the finest designers in all the realms, and tailored to your body to fit nice and snug. Tomas knows he’ll cry on your wedding day, but for now he has to hold back tears at the thought, or else you’ll think he’s upset.

#mortal kombat fanfiction #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat fanfic #smoke x reader #tomas vrbada x reader #mk1

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squerlly · 24 days

Text

Fair Exchange Chapter 5

------"some silences can scream louder than words ever could"--------

Alastor x (F! wife doe reader)

The Doe-----------------------------------------------------

It was later in the morning when Charlie wanted us to do a show and tell day, we all reluctantly agreed but Alastor stayed behind to eat his breakfast. it was Angel's turn claiming he wanted to show us his "best film." I figured it was a movie or play but... it was a porn video...

I tried to keep my eyes away, swiping invisible dust from my dress attempting to stay distracted. Husk eventually jumps in arguing with Angel "Everybody likes to bitch to the bartender! I know everything about you and these motherfuckers" he points at Pentious "That one's an insecure buffoon who watches you all sleep at night" he then points to Charlie and vaggie and then me "that one's constantly taking bullets from everybody because she's a pushover and nifty, tch you don't even wanna know what her deal is." I'm not a pushover...

the argument is short-lived when Angel gets a call from his boss calling him in for work, talking about some emergency shoot and storming out.

Charlie wanted to go and help get Angel some time off of work by talking to his boss, I would have gone with her but I know Alastor wouldn't be too happy if I was out in the Vees district without him. seeing as how our last visit went I don't think it would be a good idea.

Charlie left and I went back upstairs to Alastors room to pick up his dishes, knocking on the door "Alastor? may I come in" There was a long pause before the door opened, Alastors shadow giving me a grin as he stepped aside to let me in. I don't really see Alastor's shadow that often considering he only uses it for scouting, investigating, or fetching things when I'm not available.

however, when I stumble upon his shadow, it stares at me with that same evil grin. from what I have gathered over the years, the shadow is just an extension of Alastor, mimicking his personality and actions. Sometimes, if you look closely, it can display his emotions with its cold black body and inky blue tongue. It's more curious than Alastor, peering around people's shoulders and poking through others business. I never seemed to mind it.

there's something different this time, it's acting off. usually, it just pokes around and then returns to Alastor but not this time. No, it's staring at me, watching me, almost like it's inspecting me... I try to ignore it, walking over to pick up Alastors dish "Thank you my dear" "of course, is there anything else you need?" "no, your free to enjoy the rest of your morning"

I turn to leave but then remember something "Oh I almost forgot, do you mind if I grab a book from your shelf, I finished my other two.." not looking up from his desk he says "As long as you don't touch the books on the top shelf" I look at the shelf of various books next to his fireplace, walking up to choose one. I like to read romance and fantasy, but Alastor as romantic as people say he is, doesn't collect those types of novels. he likes books that are mostly nonfiction.

I ended up choosing a book that wasn't too thick just enough to pass the time and left the room, heading to the kitchen to drop off the plate. on my way there I see something rush from the corner of my eyes but when I look around there's nothing there, that was until I turn back to keep walking. I ended up running right through Alastors shadow, A cold chill running up my spine from its solvent body.

I quickly regain composure, making sure to not drop the plate in my hands "Oh for all that is unholy, you scared me!" I said looking at the shadow "Do you uhh... need something?" it cocks its head and smiles like I said the funniest thing in the world "ok... I guess not." I continue on to the kitchen, washing the dishes before heading upstairs to my room to read, all while having it follow me the entire time.

I walk into my room, kicking off my heels with a tired huff and I plop down on my bed "Are you going to stay here all day?" I say to the shadow that is currently looming around my room, snooping through drawers and various items. I should tell Alastor that there is something wrong with his shadow, but... I'm curious to see what it wants.

I decided to leave it alone since it's not causing much trouble, it's just exploring. I lay back on my bed against the headboard and opened the book to the first page, I only got to page 10 before the shadow poked its head through the book to look at me "Alastor will be mad if you're over here, I suggest you behave" it hovered over me with a frown and it felt almost illegal to see, Alastor never frowns and to see his shadow do it feels wrong "wait... I'm sorry I won't tell him you're here, promise" it doesn't smile but it's not frowning either, it just leans closer to me until I'm nose to nose with it.

it brought a hand to my face and to my surprise I could feel it, not just that cold feeling when it runs through you but its hand was well...there. not knowing what to do I just sat there watching as it caressed my cheek earning a blush from me. what is wrong with me, blushing at Alastors shadow, it's not even a real person, but it feels like it is "What is it you want...?" I say practically whispering.

the door opens startling me and making the shadow turn its head. Alastor stands at the door with a strained smile "Enough!" he says, his voice laced with static. the shadow frowns and retreats behind Alastor "Apologies my dear, it has a mind of its own..." he said through gritted teeth, shooting the shadow a glare "I-it's ok it didn't do anything bad-" "This will never happen again, I will make sure of it." he says in a harsh tone. I opened my mouth to say something but quickly shut it, not wanting to aggravate the situation more.

"Alright..." I say and he turns on his heel to walk back to his room, the shadow looks back at me one more time before it follows Alastor down the hallway. I feel almost sorry for it, even though it's not technically its own person it's still capable of feelings... Alastors feelings. but it makes me wonder, if that shadow is a part of Alastor, emotions, thoughts and all, what was it doing? Why was it following me? and why was Alastor so angry...

there was a loud thud downstairs and I slid off my bed, put my shoes on, and walked downstairs. Charlie had returned but she looked pretty upset "Charlie, how did it go with Angel?" "I messed up, I- I made him angry at me and-" vaggie walks up to her rubbing her back "Hay it's okay, maybe he didn't mean it!" Charlie bursts out in tears and vaggie whisks her away to comfort her.

Husk scoffs from the bar and I scowl at him "Don't be like that!" he growls and takes a swig from his bottle "She's too soft for her own good" I sigh and walk over to take a seat on a stool "a lot like you, showing kindness to other who don't deserve it" "is it so bad that I don't want to be like any other person in this horrible place!" he raises a brow at my sudden outburst "what's on your mind..?" "there's nothi-" "yes there is, your frustrated."

I stare at the counter thinking about my next few words before I speak "Do you think Alastor hates me?" I feel stupid for asking such a thing, but Husk doesn't question it "I doubt that creep likes anyone but himself" I frown and he seems to notice because of what he says next "But I wouldn't be surprised if he did like you" I throw him a puzzled look "why do you think that?" "tch, haven't you ever questioned why Alastor made you his wife" he was right, Alastor was an overlord, if he needed somebody to prepare his meals and clean his house he could just...buy a maid.

"no, I- I haven't..." When Alastor and I first discussed our contract, he said that he and my ex-husband would trade places, me being married to Alastor in exchange for complete devotion to him...and my soul. in the 1950s it was looked down on to divorce your husband or divorce at all, and now that I looked back at it I didn't care about my reputation enough not to get a divorce. but I was desperate for an escape, and desperation makes you do stupid things.

"if he didn't tolerate you, he wouldn't have married you, it's one of the weirdest contracts I ever saw but I wouldn't pry into it too much, just know you're the last person on his shit list" I nod but that doesn't explain why he was so angry, was he even angry at me? suddenly the door to the hotel opens and Angel walks over looking spent.

he plops down on the stool down from me and asks for the strongest drink Husk can make "Excuse me, didn't think this was a drink to forget kinda night" Angel and Husk end up fighting about Angels "acting" resulting in Angel throwing a bottle. I stand away and steer clear of the glass shards before watching Angel storm off "Angel wait..." he pushes past vaggie and out the door. vaggie tells Husk to go after him and Charlie leaves to go make "100 apology letters."

eventually, Husk returns with Angel, laughing and talking while being dirtied and damaged. Charlie rushes over to Angel and apologizes over 50 times before he reassures her "He he he he he said HE FORGAVE ME!!!" Charlie says in tears while vaggie carries her back to their room. I quickly run up to Angel checking up on him "Angel!! are you ok you- you're covered in blood."

"ahh don't worry tuts, I'm alright" I breathe a sigh of relief, thankful that Angel isn't hurt "Come on, let's go get a drink" "Oh angel I don't-" "I won't make you anything strong, Alastor would kill me if I did" I hesitate but agree "Ok, but just for a little while..."

so sorry this came out late but here it is!! chapter 5!!! I got writer's block halfway through but still managed to make it work. I will be gone for the weekend to Knots Berry Farm for a family trip so expect chapter 6 to be a little late. and with that have a wonderful day/night love you all!!!

-squerlly

@kimmis-stuff @pooplyface1423 @strippezzz

for more content and chapters please click this masterlist

#hazbin #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x reader smut #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x y/n #hazbin hotel

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dollcherray · 3 months

Text

୨୧ LAMB WITH TEETH ♡.°୭̥

Scout and Medic meeting an cutegore!reader ⁎⁺˳✧༚

Triggers: gore, lots of descriptive death, its TF2 so its the basic.

Reader's info: Reader is heavily implied to be a girl, very small (like five feet tall) and does blood rituals.

type: headcanons, romantic/platonic

୨୧ THE SCOUT ♡

୨୧ When scout first met you, he was heavily convinced you were not going to last in the battlegrounds, by your height and the way you dressed all in pink and cutesy ribbons, Not to mention that you had a bunch of stuffed animals in your bags.

୨୧ He would mock you for the first few days, calling you "short ghost", since you were always so quiet and observant, you didnt even greet him properly when he talked to you for the first time.

୨୧ The mockery would be often until the first day you had to fight together, and oh boy, shocked wasnt even close of how he felt after seeing you all covered in blood and pieces of organs.

୨୧ Your delicate and fluffy pink dress being painted by the vibrant red color of blood along with small pieces of the members of the enemy team's organs.

୨୧ Your chainsaw as pink as your dress, turned on and sawing your enemies in half without mercy, the sound of the chainsaw almost drowning out the enemy team's spy screams of pain.

୨୧ You turned off your chainsaw, leaving it aside stuck in the spy's stomach, you dashed away from the gory scenario you caused, pulling out a knife with a pink decorative bow on it, you were laughing like a maniac, ready to stab some bitches.

୨୧ he already was terrified by the thought that he understimated you who turned out being an total psycopath, and the sight he had of you chasing the other team's scout like your life depended on it didnt help at all.

୨୧ "IM GONNA USE YOUR HEAD AS MY DECORATION WALL YOU FUCKING BRAINLESS DEER" you shouted in the most terrifying, shivering voice chasing the enemy scout that was screaming like a fucking siren for his life.

୨୧ after the battle was over, Scout got real quiet around you, he wouldnt apologize or anything, he just would silently avoid talking to you.

୨୧ you noticed that, of course, but you didnt care at all, because you had other things to attend to.

୨୧ After a while, Scout little by little started trying to interact with you, to, you know, take away that guilt that he was excluding you from behind his back (or the fear that you will suddenly appears in his room to take all of his teeth out while he sleeps as revenge).

୨୧ and it turns out you're a chill person when not in killing mode or when your in "dont talk to me" mode, Scout hitted himself internally for subestimating you AGAIN.

୨୧ You two turned to be great friends in the end, but he still gets the creeps from you because of your brutal habits.

୨୧ he stays away from your room AT ALL COSTS.

୨୧ Seriously, the last time he entered your room without knocking, he witnessed you performing an creepy blood ritual with an Spy head (you TOTALLY didnt steal it from medic).

୨୧ You just waved to him like what you were doing was totally normal.

୨୧ But when hes not scared of you, he jokes with you alot, especially in the battlegrounds, he uses you as a threat alot to the enemies, or as a special weapon.

୨୧ "SAY HELLO, TO MY LITTLE FRIEND" he screams as he pulls you out of nowhere and throws you in the enemy heavy's face like a fucking bug.

୨୧ One time, you decided to pull a little prank on him, you hid yourself in his room's shadows, and when he finally entered, you jumped on him with the most terrifying screech ever.

୨୧ Lets say that Scout turned into Ariana grande that day.

୨୧ "ooo yeah your real scary." Scout said trying to keep his "toughness" after the most girly, feminine high pitched, chipmunking scream ever.

୨୧ meh, cant say that i see him dating someone as cruel as you, so 100% platonic

⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ MEDIC ୨୧

୨୧ OH NO, NOT HIM.

୨୧ Ok, i dont think he would take a liking to you at first, he would just ignore you, only thought he would have about you is that the way you dress is cute, but he would assume you were weak.

୨୧ Another one who would understimate you, the only difference is that he wouldnt mock you, its Medic, hes more mature than Scout. (anyone is more mature than scout.)

୨୧ He wouldnt even bat an eye on you, at most only wave or greet you shortly because he knows you're eerily quiet and doesnt really have a big habit of talking, until you two were in battle.

୨୧ He was healing heavy that time, and thats when he saw you stabbing an enemy demoman in the cheek repeatedly. your maniacal laughs almost silencing the demoman's screams and begs.

୨୧ He was STUNNED, he swore that he started seeing everything going in slow motion, your silky hair moving with each brutal and fast movement you did, the scarlet liquid flying into your delicate face and soft hair.

୨୧ You finished the demoman with only one hard and brute swing with your arms, your little delicate hands clutching the knife handle so hard that they were a little bit red, and with only one hard moviment, you carved your knife into the demoman's head.

୨୧ “Look! now your an unicorn” you mocked the now dead demoman infront of you, before grabbing your pink knife decorated with your enemy's blood and brain, getting up and running away like a possessed bug.

୨୧ The ex doctor's heart was beating like crazy, he didn't know what caused him to fall for you in that moment, you killing the man so brutally, or if it was your delicate pink clothes being dyed with blood. (or maybe both)

୨୧ After the battle, you could feel medic burning holes into you, he was staring you like crazy, not that it bothered you, it was just unusual for people to stare at you like that, especially when no one really dares to look at you out of feat.

୨୧ Medic would try to strike some conversation with you regardless if you answer him or not, he would just be happy with you listening to him.

୨୧ The thing that Medic most likes in you is how you can balance your cute aesthetic with your creepy habits, its really impressive to him, for him its either one or another.

୨୧ When he saw you doing your blood rituals, he would be interested, since.. you know, he already got involved with the devil himself, sometimes if you need he'll gift you with a kidney or two.

୨୧ "Well, my friend, i must say that i have subestimated vou in the first time we've met! i should judge a book by its cover less." he would confess in a casual discussion between you two.

୨୧ I think he would ask you out by gifting you a head with a note attached written: "will you steal organs with me?" real cheesy but creepy.

୨୧ He used uber on you once, not really a good idea... for the enemy team.

୨୧ You were tearing bitches left and right, there was guts and blood everywhere, in your face, body, floors, walls, EVERYWHERE.

୨୧ You only stopped when you met your demise, and medic was admiring you the entire time.

୨୧ Medic likes your killer-machine behavior, he says it adds to your cuteness ♡

#team fortress 2 #X reader #tf2 medic #tf2 scout #medic tf2 x reader #scout tf2 #scout x reader #tf2 #fanfic #headcanons #tf2 x reader #tf2 fanfiction #x you #feminine reader #cute gore #୨୧ cherry works

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everythingelseisextra · 11 months

Text

Lingering In Doorways

Part Nine: First Time

Description: After a week of recovering from your confession, you return to see Tommy. Warnings: References to rape and trafficking, language, brief mention of self harm Word Count: 2565 Tag List: @babayaga67 @theshelbyslimited @ttaechi @weaponizedvirtue @majesticcmey @optimisticsandwichgladiator @zablife @princesssterek @shelbydelrey @globetrotter28 @look-at-the-soul

Talking about it awakens something in you, something that had been hibernating for years. A stagnate, deep-rooted fear raises its ancient head in you, and, for once, you don’t know what to do to quiet it. You push it away, shove it into the corner of your mind, and it creeps back within minutes. You’re feeding the horses and there are hands on your body, running down your hips, touching your breasts, feeling you. You’re trying to sleep and you’re back in those grimey hotel rooms, lying in bed while a client drips out of you, tears in your bleary eyes. You’re getting up in the morning to face the gray on your own, and the horses look at you with their empathic, liquid eyes, and you know that they know. They’re particularly gentle with you these days. Even the newer ones don’t bolt wildly the way they used to.

The part of you that’s hurt is young, and so you want comfort, want to be held and coddled and told it was all just a bad dream. You want to be told why it happened, that there’s some larger meaning to it all. There isn’t. Nothing bad comes with a greater meaning, you have to make it yourself. And, for you, your meaning is the horses, those half-feral freaks of nature you so adore.

Some nights, when it’s particularly bad and you’re shaking in the darkness of the cold kitchen, tears squeezed from your eyes and fingernails tearing into your own skin, you wrap his coat around you. It’s warm, and it smells of whiskey and cigarettes and some other scent that’s unique to him, clean and vaguely sweet. And you stare at the phone and remember the night he called you for help, and you wonder what he’d do if you did the same, looking for a reason.

You get to know your own heartbeat these days. You learn how it skips a beat before you fall into the chasm of your own mind. You learn how to slow it down, burying your face in a horse’s mane and breathing deeply, the scent grounding, bringing you out of the world that lives in your memories, grungy and shadowed. Hands shaking, eyes a little puffier than before, you relearn to master your own fear, to coax it back to softness like you do with the horses.

A week later, when you’re ready, you go to see him again. There’s no guilt in you as you make your drive. You didn’t abandon him. You needed to rest, to withdraw back into the quiet nothing that keeps you safe, and then you could face the world again. A knife sits heavy in your pocket, your assurance that you will fight back, that you will not lie there and let it happen like you used to. Your body is worth fighting for.

You walk down the hallway of the hospital alone, watching the doors until you come to his. One of your hands stays in your pocket around the hilt of your knife, the other is wrapped around your abdomen. Cold air washes over you. You sigh, and feel the familiar jolt of your heart, a precursor. You stand in front of his door and breathe, leaning your head against the chilled door, the hand that rests on your belly feeling the rise and fall. Chasing off your demons with even breathing seems too simple to you, but, inevitably and with patience, it works.

You lift your head and knock on the door. A muffled call to come in responds, and with a trembling hand, you push it open and step inside, closing the door behind you. .

His cool, clear eyes flick over you and he stands from his bed, his expression unreadable. Arms crossed against his chest, head tilted slightly, he appears defensive, as if ready for an attack. You stare back, unwilling to remove your hand from your pocket. You are armed, and you want him to know it, just in case. You stand in silence for a moment, considering each other, mirror images distorted.

He breaks first. “You decided to come back.”

“I said I would.” You refuse to wrench your eyes from him, refuse to be the one to shatter the contact between you.

“And it took you a week.”

“Yes. I needed time.”

“While you took your time, I relearned how to walk and sat in this room while my fucking family went on without me.” His voice threatens to boil over from the usual even, steady tone.

“I couldn’t have come. I wanted to, I did, but I couldn’t. I don’t always have the easiest time, Thomas.” Your hand tightens over the grip of the knife.

“No.” His voice softens slightly, though his shoulders remain drawn back, his eyes unbroken from yours. “You don’t.”

You release a slow breath, trying to relax yourself. Your grip stays taught. “The horses are done. I can stay as long as you like tonight.”

His brow furrows and he says nothing, his eyes moving over your face, trying to read you as you are him. Something about his expression, the way his head tilts, maybe, or how he looks at you with such a light touch that you’ve never seen before, makes your jaw tighten.

“What?” You step forward. “Talk, Shelby.”

“You’re brave, coming back here.”

You scoff. “Is that a threat?”

“No.” He straightens, eyes narrowing a moment.

“Stop looking at me like that.” Your voice hardens. You take another step towards him, trying to balance out the amount of space you take up, the scales shifting in his direction even with him standing still.

“How am I looking at you?”

“Like I’m some kind of tragedy. Like you’ll break me if you look too hard.” You drop the arm you have wrapped around yourself to gesture meaninglessly. “You can’t break me and you promised not to treat me different. You promised.”

He’s quiet for a moment before he speaks. “You told me, and it took a week away.”

“What’re you, worried we’re gonna run out of time?” Your demeanor softens slightly, dismay replaced with a kind of saddened curiosity.

“I had the rest of my life with Grace.” For the first time, your eyes break away from each other, and he looks up at the ceiling, fighting with something. “Until I didn’t.”

“I can’t make you any promises, but—”

“You can.” It’s the first time he’s interrupted you, the first time he’s butted in on your thoughts halfway through. He huffs out a breath. “You can promise me to linger in the doorways and keep— keep my coat in your house so I have an excuse.”

You’re at a loss for words. He’s earnest. Asking you for something small that means something much, much larger. Something long-dead in you flickers back to life.

“Okay,” you say quietly. “I promise to hesitate when we say goodbye, and I promise I’ll use what you’ve given me to fight off the cold.”

He nods once, and the earnestness is gone, his eyes back on you, bold and bright and challenging. “You’ll stay the night here, then?”

“Yes.” Your words come slightly hoarse. “Yes, I’ll stay.”

“Good.” He sits back down on his bed, and you wander over to the wooden chair. “How’s Draco?”

“He’s good.”

The night dissolves into quiet conversation, small-talk and faint laughter. You’re calm, for the first time in a week. Having someone like him by your side, knowing that he wants you there, that he worries about losing you, gives you a sense of protection, like only around him can you let your guard down completely. He has your back. He has your back in a way that no one has since you were a kid, and this time, your bond has been built not out of fear and necessity, but out of mutual respect, and, to be honest, out of loneliness. He knows who you are and has not looked away, has not faltered in his treatment of you.

You look at him and you see the part of yourself you always wished you could be; brazzen and bold, strong and solid, a fighter. And, undoubtedly, you see an echo of the trauma you’ve endured, buried somewhere in him. Like yours, his mind wanders on the edge, on a precipice of sand and insane, a sublime image of self-destruction and anxious megalomania combined. You don’t know him the way he knows you. You won’t force it out of him. But you meet his eyes while you talk, and you catch bits and pieces of who he is.

Freezing night air fills the room. The moon is high in the sky, and you’re still talking about nothing, still trying to burn the darkness away. You discuss methods of training horses, the complexities of their psychology, the fear that runs through every racehorse that they’ll be forced yet again to be pushed beyond what their bodies are capable of. You talk about his son, about how raising a child really isn’t all that different from horses, how Charlie has his father’s intelligence but his late mother’s reserve. You gently breach the subject of Grace, asking who she was, and you get a short but informative response.

“She was a spy who forgot which side she was on.”

You don’t ask about her again.

As the night settles over you and exhaustion hits, you begin to shiver, your body on the wooden chair unable to keep itself warm. You pull your knees up to your chest and wrap your arms around them, trying to bundle into yourself. Tommy, laying back in his bed, turns his head to raise an eyebrow at you.

“I’ll have them bring you a cot.” He starts to sit up, but you stop him.

“Used to sleep on a hard wooden floor, this isn’t bad.” You roll your sore shoulders. “Just… kind of cold.”

“It is.” He glances down at the bed he lays in, then starts to remove the only blanket. “Here.”

“I don’t need…” You sigh and take it. “Now you’ll be cold. All you’ve got is a sheet.”

“I’ll ask for more.”

“No, it’s the middle of the night.”

“Nurses work nights.”

“I know. I just—” You shake your head and hand him back the blanket. “Take it. I’ll survive.”

His eyes flick over you, that discerning look that’s trying to measure his chances. “I can take the chair.”

“Shut up, you have a fractured skull.”

His lips twitch up. “You could have a cot and blankets, and you insist on the wooden chair.”

“I’m a masochist. It’s in my nature,” you deadpan, staring him dead in the eye. Betraying you, your lips echo his, twitching into a small smile, then a big one. “I just would hate to take their attention away from people who really need it.”

His eyes travel away from you to the bed he lays on.It’s not large, but it’s not small, either, made to have space for someone to maneuver a broken body on. He stares at it, then looks back at you.

“No.” You follow his thought process.

“Why not?”

“Because.” You look away, your heart jolting.

“Not a good answer.”

“Because what if I wake up and you’re—” You swallow hard. “I don’t trust you for that.”

He blinks, and out of the edge of your vision, you see him sit up to look at you. The hair on the back of your neck stands up and chills run down your spine, making you clutch the edge of the seat you sit on, looking for balance and security and grounding. He’s waiting for you to look back at him, and you can’t, so he speaks.

“I can’t convince you, can I?”

You don’t respond, closing your eyes, head still turned away from him. You shiver, half from cold, half from the flooding of old memories cascading back into your mind. Men rutting on you, fingers gripping your hair and holding you back, your young body pushed to the furthest extent.

“You know what I used to do with Grace?”

You shake your head, eyes still closed.

“I’d keep my foot on her through the night. If she moved, I’d feel it. So I always knew if she got up, if she needed something.”

You take a deep breath. “I don’t know. I haven’t been touched by someone in… years. Not even in the sexual sense, just in general. It always leads to something I don’t want. Always.”

His voice is gentle. “I will do you no harm, love.”

You look back at him, trying to keep your words steady. “I have a knife in my pocket. If… if you move towards me, if you do anything, I will fucking use it. I spent too long not defending myself.”

He nods thoughtfully, sitting up and moving back in the bed, allowing you space. You stand up and sit on the edge, looking over at him, thinking.

“I want you facing away from me.”

He complies.

You hesitate, then, slowly, lower yourself onto the bed. There’s less than a foot of space between you. You lie with your knife in your hand, held out loosely in the middle of you and him, facing him. Your breath shudders in your chest and you can’t find a way to close your eyes, can’t steady yourself, can’t stop your heart from pounding.

“Would it help if I gave you my gun?”

“Do you… do you sleep with a loaded gun?”

“Under the pillow.”

“Jesus.”

“He has nothing to do with it.”

You manage a weak smile. “Yes. That would make me feel better.”

He sits up and lifts his pillow, revealing a sleek black weapon underneath. He twists to slide it over to you.

You let out a slow breath. The last time you had a gun was when you were young, terrified, trying desperately to protect yourself.

“Don’t fucking shoot it. Put it under your pillow.”

“I won’t kill you on accident, I promise.” You move it under your pillow as he asks and lay back down. “I know how to use a gun. The safety is on?”

“Yes.”

You nod, closing your eyes only to have your heart jump into your throat. You open them. Tommy still faces away from you. You can feel the warmth of him, see the outline of his skin underneath the pale white shirt he wears. Breathe, you think to yourself. Be brave.

It takes you several hours to fall asleep. Tommy stays silent and still, and you can’t tell whether he’s awake or not. But, eventually, you can’t help but slip off. The night air is cool on your body, but you’re warmed by his closeness, soothed by the steadiness of his breathing.

It’s a fight to trust. You have to choose with every moment that passes not to flinch away, but stay steady in the face of your past, refusing to allow it to hold you back. You have to choose to believe him when he says he will not harm you. You have to choose to step forward, to tell the stories that hurt you, even if you have to get drunk to do so. And, inevitably, you have to choose to let go of the knife.

It has been a beautiful fight.

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small-z24 · 12 days

Text

One-Shot: A Poet's Discovery

Summary:

Azriel finds Y/N’s journal filled with heartfelt poetry about a mysterious man, sparking jealousy and curiosity. As he tries to uncover the identity of her muse, Cassian's playful teasing leads him to a surprising revelation that could change everything.

Word Count: 976

Warnings: None

Azriel prowled the halls of the House of Wind, shadows whispering around him. He had been tasked with delivering a message to Y/N, a priestess living in the library. Rescued by Rhysand and Azriel from a brutal attack on her church, Y/N had since found solace and purpose among the books and scrolls. As he approached her room, he noticed the door slightly ajar. He hesitated for a moment before deciding to knock, but the soft sound of rustling paper caught his attention.

Curiosity got the better of him, and he peeked inside. Y/N’s room was a mess of papers and books, but one particular journal lay open on her desk, its pages filled with delicate handwriting. Azriel knew he shouldn’t invade her privacy, but the temptation was too strong. He stepped inside and picked up the journal.

His eyes skimmed over the lines of poetry, his heart pounding as he realized the words were filled with longing and admiration for someone. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy, wondering who had captured Y/N’s heart so completely.

His eyes, dark as the night, hold secrets I wish to unravel. His touch, gentle yet strong, leaves me breathless with desire. In his presence, I am whole, yet shattered by the distance between us.

Azriel’s jaw tightened. Who was this man she wrote about? He continued reading, the poetry becoming more intense with each line.

Oh, how I long for his embrace, to feel his shadows wrap around me, to be lost in his world. He is my night, my stars, my everything.

Azriel’s mind raced. Shadows? Stars? Could it be... No, it couldn’t. He shook his head, trying to dismiss the thought. It had to be someone else. But the jealousy gnawed at him, making his shadows swirl restlessly.

“What are you doing?” Cassian’s voice broke the silence, startling Azriel.

Azriel quickly shut the journal and turned to see Cassian leaning against the doorframe, a wide grin on his face. “Nothing,” Azriel muttered, trying to compose himself.

Cassian’s grin widened. “Nothing, huh? You look like you’ve just read something scandalous.”

Azriel glared at him, but Cassian’s teasing expression didn’t waver. “It’s none of your business.”

Cassian stepped into the room, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, but it is. You’re my brother, and seeing you all flustered is my favorite pastime. So, what did you find?”

Azriel sighed, knowing there was no escaping Cassian’s curiosity. “It’s Y/N’s journal. She’s written poetry about someone she’s clearly infatuated with.”

Cassian raised an eyebrow. “And you’re jealous because...?”

“I’m not jealous,” Azriel snapped, but the words lacked conviction.

Cassian laughed, clapping Azriel on the back. “Sure, you’re not. Let me see.”

Azriel reluctantly handed over the journal, and Cassian began to read. As he reached the parts about the shadows and stars, his grin grew even wider. “Oh, this is gold. She’s talking about you, you idiot!”

Azriel frowned, feeling a flicker of hope. “What makes you so sure?”

Cassian rolled his eyes. “Shadows, stars, night—who else fits that description? She’s smitten with you, and you’re too dense to see it.”

Azriel’s heart raced as the realization sank in. “You really think it’s me?”

Cassian laughed again, shaking his head. “Az, you’re supposed to be the smart one. Yes, it’s you. And now you have to do something about it.”

Azriel felt a mix of relief and panic. “But what if I’m wrong? What if she doesn’t feel that way?”

Cassian smirked, handing back the journal. “There’s only one way to find out. Talk to her. And maybe, just maybe, stop being so broody all the time.”

Azriel sighed, glancing down at the journal. “You make it sound so easy.”

Cassian shrugged, heading for the door. “It is. Now go, before I start writing poetry about how hopeless you are.”

Left alone in Y/N’s room, Azriel took a deep breath. Cassian was right. He needed to talk to her, to find out the truth. He couldn’t let jealousy and doubt control him.

Gathering his courage, he left the room and went in search of Y/N. He found her in the library, surrounded by books, her expression peaceful as she read. She looked up as he approached, a smile spreading across her face.

“Azriel,” she greeted him warmly. “What brings you here?”

He hesitated for a moment before sitting down beside her. “I found your journal,” he admitted, watching her expression closely.

Her eyes widened, a blush creeping up her cheeks. “You read it?”

He nodded, feeling his heart pound in his chest. “Yes. And I need to know... the poetry. Is it about me?”

Y/N’s blush deepened, but she met his gaze, her eyes filled with vulnerability. “Yes, Azriel. It’s about you.”

Relief and joy washed over him, and he couldn’t help but smile. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

She looked at him, her expression a mix of hope and uncertainty. “You were?”

He reached out, taking her hand in his. “Yes. Because I feel the same way, Y/N. I’ve just been too blind to see it.”

Her smile brightened, and she squeezed his hand. “Then we’re both idiots.”

Azriel laughed softly, leaning in to kiss her gently. “I can live with that.”

As they sat together in the library, surrounded by the quiet rustle of pages and the soft glow of lanterns, Azriel felt a sense of peace and happiness he hadn’t known in a long time. Cassian’s teasing might have been annoying, but it had led him to the truth. And for that, he was grateful.

And somewhere in the House of Wind, Cassian was probably writing his own poetry about how hopelessly romantic Azriel could be. But for now, Azriel didn’t care. He had found his light in the darkness, and that was all that mattered.

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