#finally a skin fer all of us!

[gutsby]

Best Served Cold

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Summary: Since your fiancé can’t seem to keep his hands off of Lori, you decide Daryl is the perfect way to make him pay. Revenge sex has never felt so good.

Warning: NSFW. Attempted SA. Unprotected p-in-v. I don’t condone cheating (unless it’s on abusers lol). Semi-public sex and getting caught doing it in a tent 🫣 Based on this kickass idea from @dilfsandmartinis (I'm so sorry it took this long for me to post the story) !! 💓

Your man returned to your tent that night like he did most others: slick with sweat and too tired for sex. At least not again, not with you. He would undoubtedly claim to have been checking the perimeter, standing guard like a good leader should, but any blind man in that quarry camp could’ve seen he was just boning Lori.

A lot.

You were really more offended that he thought you stupid enough to abide by his lies than the fact he was fucking someone else. That part wasn’t new—his dick never knew how to stay in one hole longer than a month or two—but in an apocalypse? With his newly-deceased best friend’s widow? That was low, even for Shane.

Which was why you felt no compunction yourself as you slipped quietly from your tent toward the water’s edge that night, pink vibrator clutched tightly in hand.

Useful little thing that it was, a six-setting suction device that worked wonders on your clit, even underwater. You figured since Shane couldn’t be bothered with you or your sexual pleasure so long as the former Mrs. Grimes was occupying his time, you’d make use of this sex toy instead and start really leaning into the “self care” you’d been craving for so long.

The water was warm all the way up to your chest, and the air around you tepid. You moved around, treaded in place, and finally reached comfortable bearings a couple yards from shore. You relished the solitude and silence.

The moment you felt the toy come to life in your hand, you couldn’t help but smile. Exhaling as you brought the tip close to your center.

“Shit.” Even the gentlest setting too harsh on your clit, you nipped your lower lip and bit back a whimper.

You swirled it lightly on your inner thigh, tried painstakingly as ever to acclimate yourself to the buzz of the rubber, but damn were you sensitive. Almost too tender to be touched, too ripe with excitement and aching for the feel of something on you, or in you, or just barely skimming the surface of your skin underwater.

A low moan escaped your lips the second the head drifted back to your clit. Your toes curled into rough, rocky terrain underfoot, and your breaths started to quicken. You made a gentle motion with your hips—a sweet, semi-circular thing you’d been doing over Shane’s lower half as long as you could remember—begging for more friction, needing more of that mechanical hum.

You pressed the button for a higher setting. The peaks of your pleasure soared to new heights.

You were helpless to the trembling of your knees and felt immensely grateful for the water’s aid in keeping you straight. You pressed the rounded tip of the toy even tighter to your core and didn’t heed a thing around you as you sighed several expletives under your breath. A jolt of bliss washed over your body.

Your eyes had just started to close in the first throes of that wild sensation, when a new sound startled you.

“Ya done pissin’ or what?”

You shot a look toward the shore and saw a slightly less-than cheery individual standing at the edge of it, the toes of his boots grazing the incoming waves.

You froze in place. You hardly knew what to say.

“Ain’t safe fer you out here ‘n you know it. Come on.” Daryl beckoned you with one hand and started to turn.

At what point was it appropriate to tell him you were naked?

You thought he could surmise from the fact you were neck-deep in the water and refusing to move that maybe something more was keeping you in. Daryl seemed clueless, however.

“I ain’t got all night, kid,” he snorted, “’f you don’t hurry, Shane an’ the rest of ‘em’ll be out and— ah.”

Ah.

At the last, he stepped on a pile of clothes folded neatly on the shoreline nearby, undergarments and all.

So this wasn’t a midnight swim or a late night piss at all, but a full-blown skinny dip. He should have known you weren’t the bikini type.

Awkwardly, almost begrudgingly, Daryl gathered what clothes of yours he could and chucked them closer to the lake. Then he turned on his heels and stalked up the beach without another word—fuming, it seemed to you. Once averted, though, Daryl’s face betrayed a look of horror. Like a parent who’d just stumbled upon a box of condoms in their daughter’s sock drawer after swearing she was still a virgin.

In the few short weeks since you’d been thrown together in this mess, Daryl had practically taken to you like family. He hated Shane ‘Shit-for-Brains’ Walsh most days, it was true, but the fact that you were you, and times were tough, and nothing seemed to occupy Daryl’s mind quite like the thought of keeping you safe, that he had to keep you close at all times. He just hadn’t imagined your proximity would turn this intimate so suddenly.

“Keep up,” he spoke more sharply than usual. Didn’t even wait for you to dry and dress completely before snagging your hand in his.

You glanced at your taut, hardened nipples poking up through the damp material of your tank top and suddenly wished you’d brought a towel. Or a bra. Your shorts, too, clung to your ass like a second skin and made you feel extra bare before Daryl’s eyes—even if he hadn’t spared a look at you once as you’d traipsed behind him through the woods.

When you tripped, he held you up; when you nearly ate shit over several rocky spots, he carried you over them. His eyes never strayed toward your body, though.

Once you’d made it to the clearing where your group had made camp, Daryl lowered you to the ground and still couldn’t find it within himself to look your way. You shuffled uncomfortably on your feet, now standing inches away from the tent you shared with Shane.

“Thanks for...that,” you said, flatly.

Daryl managed a curt nod.

Before you turned in, you decided to venture a look at Daryl’s chest, and you felt an influx of embarrassment. The taupe-colored cutoff he wore as a shirt was soaked with water. Instinctively, you brushed your fingers over the stain—as if touching it might dry the fabric, or else mask your humiliation at being the cause. You tried not to evince a hint of surprise at how sturdy he felt.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Daryl.”

You hadn’t thought any man was capable of looking more afflicted than Daryl did before, but somehow, incredibly, he appeared even more ill at ease when you touched him. You immediately retracted your hand.

“’S’okay,” he managed. He would’ve given anything not to be where he was, or who he was, at that moment.

Just when another apology leapt to your tongue—feeling even worse that you might’ve crossed a physical boundary you shouldn’t have—a twig snapped close-by.

You and Daryl jumped in your skin. You turned toward the source of the sound.

Shane was tugging his pants into place, pulling the zip up in haphazard fashion as he marched out of the woods.

He’d either been blowing Lori’s back out (again) or off to take a piss in the bushes. By the looks of his dazed and drowsy expression, you guessed it was the latter.

“Got a nice rack, doesn’t she?” Shane observed, careless as ever.

He walked past the two of you and unzipped the tent.

“I was jus—” Daryl started.

“Don’t care,” Shane cut in, “Goodnight.”

You were amazed at the level of nonchalance your fiancé exhibited. On finding you soaked to the bone and touching another man in the middle of the night, the old Shane probably would’ve laid Daryl flat on his ass.

But overprotective, possessive Shane was no more.

Before disappearing into the tent, Shane reached for your elbow. You barely got another glimpse at Daryl as you were ushered inside.

The tent was re-zipped in an instant, and you assumed Daryl would be quick to leave the scene, too.

You turned and saw Shane fumbling to unscrew the lid of his canteen. Taking several big gulps before re-fastening the top, tossing the jug to the side, and letting out a sigh.

“You get a look at the hard-on he had?” Shane chuckled.

You almost choked on your spit.

“What?”

“Pitched a tent in his pants bigger’n this,” he returned, gesturing to the polyester enclosure overhead. Then he got back to his feet, walked over to you, and kept going, in spite of your perplexed expression, “He must really wanna fuck you.”

You blinked up at him, unsure if you were more baffled by Shane’s serene demeanor or the fact that you hadn’t noticed Daryl’s boner. You decided to overlook the erection for the time being.

“And you don’t...care if he did?” Instantly chiding yourself for the twinge of indignation in your tone.

“Nuh-uh,” Shane said. His hands came to rest comfortably on your hips, and he seemed to be hearing your words without really comprehending what you meant. As usual.

If he picked up on the irritation in your voice, he didn’t show it. He just rolled the denim of your shorts between his fingers and pulled you closer.

“This,” he hummed, fingers sinking between your legs, “is not for him.”

And Shane was community dick. Made sense.

You didn’t attempt to conceal your annoyance this time as you rolled your eyes and pushed his hands away.

“Well maybe if Daryl asked nicely…” you trailed off, starting toward the bed.

Shane stopped you before you could. He took a firmer hold of your sides and showed the first real hint of jealousy in his eyes. You were almost glad to see it.

“No,” Shane said, shaking his head. Then, snaking his touch back down your legs—with the fabric of your shorts fisted in his hands this time—he continued amidst your quiet protests.

You were gripping his wrists, trying to keep them from moving any further. But Shane was insistent.

“He wouldn’t get to ask nicely, because I’d blow his fucking brains out before he ever got the—”

“Shane.” You were actively shoving his hands off now. You didn’t mind this envious side coming back to the surface, but you would not, under any circumstance, be Shane’s sloppy seconds the same hour he’d fucked Lori.

“No. You— you smell like—” you cut yourself off before the woman’s name could leave your lips.

“Like what?” Shane snapped. Suddenly intrigued to hear what you had to say.

You tried to wriggle out of his grip, but when you couldn’t, and when he pressed you again, you sputtered some nonsense about his drinking—how he reeked of booze, not Rick’s wife.

“Thought you liked it when I fucked you drunk,” Shane grinned, voice dripping with condescension, “Said it gave me stamina.”

You’d said no such thing. You groaned lightly as Shane managed to pull your panties and shorts, together, to your ankles. When he started to take them off at your feet, he hardly seemed to notice your nails dig in his shoulders, silently begging him to stop.

“Think I should invite Daryl back over? Let him watch me fuck you stupid?” Shane’s mouth was hovering close to your center, hot breaths fanning over your lower half.

In any other situation, you would’ve craved him here: on his knees, ready to suck and lick and dick you down like he always used to do. But things were different now, you had to remind yourself. Apart from the walking dead invading your world, there was no Rick in the picture, no semblance of platonic feelings between his widow and your fiancé—you felt physically sick at the thought of Shane touching you now. You tried to stand the instant he threw you on the bed.

“Shane, I don’t wanna—”

“Fuck? Yeah, I figured,” Shane shrugged as he tried to peel your shirt off your body.

“Then quit,” you hissed. You were starting to fear the fabric might tear if you held on any tighter.

When it seemed evident you weren’t going to give in on the top, Shane let go and turned to his pants instead. Pinning you down with one hand, he unbuckled his belt as you whimpered and pleaded that he stop. The sounds only made the mound in his pants more pronounced.

The two of you had dabbled in CNC before, but this was not that. No safeword, no fallback, no trace of consent between you, and to be frank, you were starting to get scared. The second Shane freed his cock from his boxers, you felt a surge of panic rise to your chest.

“Fuck— STOP!” Without thinking, you jerked your knee.

You hadn’t meant to hit his balls so hard. But you did. And he folded in half, seizing with pain, while you took that as your chance to slide off the bed, slip on your panties—and hightail it the fuck out of there.

Shane’s cries pierced the night air like a blade through rotted flesh. You stumbled, half-blind in the dark, and blazed a reckless path through the tents all around you. Weaving in and out of neighboring spaces, searching desperately for any lone, dim glow of a lantern to tell you someone was awake to hear your pleas if needed. But sadly, no tent was alight but yours, and the entrance to that was presently being torn open once more as Shane staggered out there himself.

“Y/N!” he bellowed.

In your haste, you’d tripped over Glenn’s knapsack. You scraped your knee, scrambled back to your feet, and tried with everything in you not to make a sound as you retreated further from Shane’s voice.

You probably looked feral, weaving in and out of tents with your knee leaking blood and your pupils grown wide with fear. You scampered fast across the rocky campgrounds and made a beeline for the woods.

Until Shane’s footsteps fell heavy mere feet away.

Quickly changing course, you dove for the nearest tent and ripped it open. When you slipped inside, zipped it up, and went crab-walking backward like a panic-stricken animal, you hardly saw much of anything else.

Had your pulse not been pounding in your ears and your gaze not glued to the front of the tent, you likely would’ve gotten a pretty good laugh at the sight behind you.

At the very least, a chuckle or a smile or a slightly sheepish blush would’ve been supplied in a second, seeing someone wide-eyed and holding his cock in a death grip just inches from your rear.

You’d unwittingly scrambled into the tent of a man who’d just been beating his dick off furiously to the thought of you—and there you were, sitting pretty in pure, unadulterated fear for the sight of your fiancé any second now. When you turned your head, your hand flew to your mouth.

“Dar— oh!”

Like before, your heads snapped in the direction of a new sound, quick to sense that it was Shane, and this time, you went crawling over to the archer without a second thought. Hardly noticing his pants were down, you leapt into his lap.

“Y/N—” Shane hissed as he tripped over something outside. You heard a clatter and a bang, the sound of a few curse words sputtered in vain, and a groan. Daryl’s arms snaked around your sides and pulled you closer.

“What’ve ya gone and done this time?” he whispered.

“Told him no,” you murmured back.

You pretended not to feel the singe of Daryl’s gaze boring straight through the side of your head. Then a little lower, to your near-bare lower half and shaking legs. It didn’t take long for him to piece together what had happened.

“Y/N,” Daryl started, far louder than you could bear. You shushed him swiftly, ignoring the flare of anger in his eyes that told you he was currently conjuring up fifty different ways to kill Shane and just aching to act on it.

“Don’t. Please,” you said.

“Did he—”

“No. I...kneed him in the balls before he got the chance.”

“Oh.”

Shane was pacing outside, like he knew you were somewhere close. He called your name every now and then, drew near enough to send you rigid with fear. Then Daryl would hold you tight, stroke your hair, or else just graze his lips on your shoulder to let you know he was there, and eventually, the fright would subside. You nestled yourself into that touch and felt something far kinder than fear for the first time in a long time.

You felt aroused.

Ever more inspired by the sound of Shane stewing, fuming outside within earshot and the nudge of Daryl’s member against your barely-clothed core. Well…you were tempted, to say the least. You just weren’t sure if Daryl would be on board for being your lightning-quick rebound fuck of the night.

You sighed as his hips moved gently against your own.

“You think maybe—” you started.

“Yeah?”

“—you might…tell me what you were doing before I barged in here?”

Even in the dark, you could sense a blush creeping up his neck. You loved to see a man like Daryl flustered.

“Oh, uh, that?” he said in half a chuckle. Glancing down at his groin and going back and forth between two thoughts in his mind, most likely. Tell you the truth or come up with a half-assed lie on the spot.

“Just…jerking off to you.”

He never had been any good at a bluff.

Your face visibly brightened in the dim glow of the tent. You tried not to let your elation get too far ahead of you, though, lest your voice raise above a whisper and draw Shane’s attention.

“Yeah? What about?”

Daryl never thought it possible for a woman’s enthusiasm in a question to turn him on, but yours did. He looked to your lips and swallowed, suddenly at a loss for how to answer.

“I…well…”

“You’re fucking dead to me, Y/N. If you don’t—”

Your fiancé’s voice was as close, and as terrifying, as it had ever been. You eased Daryl onto his back.

“Were you thinking of this?” you teased.

You made that soft semi-circular motion with your hips and watched a brand new face contort with pleasure. The footsteps outside hardly registered in your mind any longer, as your attention was singly focused on Daryl.

He fought a groan in his throat as you grazed your slick heat over his length.

You coated him with your arousal quicker than even you had expected. You knew you were turned on, but never had it been like that, where you were damn near dripping sweet nectar all over a man’s cock. You let a little whine leave your lips.

You couldn’t help it; your cunt rocked back and forth over Daryl’s fat, throbbing cock and made obscene sounds as you did. The archer’s hands found your hips and gently guided you up and down as his own moans struggled to break loose.

You could’ve stayed like that forever, you figured—if you hadn’t been so fucking wet that the head of his cock slipped inside of your heat the second you and Daryl bucked your hips together. An inch was quick to stretch to seven before you could think or blink or do anything else but groan in pleasure, and suddenly, he was bottoming out inside you.

“Fuck!” Daryl hissed.

“Daryl!”

“Daryl?”

Fucking Shane, of all voices you didn’t want to hear in that moment. Fortunately, he’d heard Daryl’s voice alone and not the sound of your moan, calling his name at the same time, for entirely different reasons, it seemed.

Daryl gritted his teeth as you bounced on his cock,

“Yeah?”

“I’m looking for Y/N. You seen her, brother?”

Seen you, felt you, fucked you, yeah—he had.

Daryl closed his eyes and tried not to blow his load on the spot as you squeezed around him.

“No— no, I haven’t. Not since earlier,” he grunted.

“You sure?” Shane pressed, dissatisfied, “I heard her running around this way.”

You braced your knees against the ground and rode the man beneath you even harder, taking every ounce of resentment you felt toward Shane out on Daryl’s cock. Fuck if revenge sex didn’t feel nice when the object of your ire was standing right outside the tent.

You almost wanted to moan, wanted to whimper, but were quick to think better of it the longer you spent moving up and down his length. Seeing shades of lust in his eyes like never before, you just couldn’t bear the thought of having to pry yourself off any time soon.

Daryl sank his fingers into your thighs and sighed, leaving ten perfect crescents in their wake.

“Don’t you fuckin’ stop,” he murmured.

“Could ya— could you come outside and help me look?”

‘Come the fuck on’ seemed to be the silent, shared sentiment between you and Daryl as your bodies writhed fast against each other and your highs came close into view. You braced your hands against his chest and begged him not to answer with your eyes, but you also knew Daryl couldn’t not say something to him, either.

“I…I’m sure she’s fine.” Daryl tried, weakly.

He flipped you over so you were flat on your back, hands careful not to make much noise or cause you discomfort as he did. Cock never leaving your wet, greedy hole, he found it easier than ever to resume the pace you’d made above him—now pounding you quietly into his sleeping pad.

You gripped his back and, simultaneously, bit down on his shoulder to keep from letting out a shriek when he grazed a particularly sensitive spot inside you. Tried not to whine when he hit it again. And again. And again.

Shane was growing impatient. Hovered close to the front of the tent so you could see the outline of his shadow.

“You got something better to do, Dixon?” he snapped.

Yeah, fuck your fiancée, Daryl thought with a smirk. You wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him even deeper.

That light, airy feeling preceding ecstasy was close at hand. You wanted to give in—let the levee break and just relish the sweet sensation quick to follow—but you knew you couldn’t. Knew yourself too well to be a screamer not to hold on a little longer, until Shane had left.

But the way Daryl’s cock was pumping in and out of you at present made it hard, to say the least.

“Just…tired, ‘s’all,” Daryl groaned close to your ear.

“Tired from what?!” Shane jeered, “Wrist been hurtin’ from how hard you’ve been jerkin’ it to Y/N, huh?”

You almost burst out laughing. Daryl quickly cupped your mouth. Fucked you harder to shut you up.

And shut up you did; but not for long, you feared. The faster he pounded you, the more that coil in your stomach came to swell, and soon enough you might—

“Eat shit, Walsh.”

“Just help me out. Please.”

Daryl shook his head and fucked you harder, much to your chagrin. You didn’t want him to stop, but you needed him to, in truth, or that swollen thing inside of you just might get the better of you and burst. You pressed your hands to his chest and tried to whimper something softly, but Daryl just hushed you with his hand to your mouth and kept on at that breakneck pace. Your eyes rolled back, your legs started to shake, and if Daryl hadn’t had to tear his attention away to say something to Shane, he might have seen how close you were to blowing your cover…before it was too late.

With one more stroke inside your wet, sensitive hole, you felt a cord inside you snap and a flurry of wild, unbridled bliss take over, stronger than you’d felt in ages.

A shriek desperate to escape your throat, your teeth raked down Daryl’s flesh with the force of it, and, instinctively, the man yanked his hand away and yelped.

You hated to do it, but the feeling was just too good. Your lips parted to release one of the most lewd and obscene sex screams of your life—with Daryl’s name following over and over as you came.

Daryl’s eyes grew to half the size of his face, it seemed. Stilling inside you, feeling your sweet, hot juices flow down him in waves, he sat there and couldn’t quite decide if he was more turned on or terrified.

When Shane tore through the fabric of the tent and charged inside, he figured it out pretty quickly, though.

[euthymiya]

for you, i’d do it all again — ft. alhaitham

the story of how you replace the acting grand sage as the permanent one. alternatively: three times alhaitham wanted to say i love you and one time he finally does

before you read: 6.2k word count ; fem reader ; friends to lovers ; former bimarstan nurse to grand sage reader (girlboss hours) ; reader is ambiguous but from the desert ; themes of prejudice against desert folks ; lovesick alhaitham ; nahida appearance (she’s very sweet) ; mentions of blood and injuries ; reader sits on his lap ; fingering ; semi public sex/office sex (the door is locked) ; slight hand jobs ; unprotected vaginal sex ; pulling out ; soft linguist alhaitham :(

His head is pounding. Hard.

Alhaitham fights mercenaries often—far too many of them are easy to run into deep into the desert. They tend to get territorial over ruins, too, not too keen on rainforest folk. Their teeth always grit, and their eyes always glare at him like he’s more than just an intruder.

He supposes he is.

For far too long, the desert population of Sumeru has been an afterthought. For far too long, they’ve fought tooth and nail for an opportunity—any opportunity. The desert ruins and their secrets are the few things that they have, the few things that they can cling to. The ruins are one of the rare things that are theirs to control.

Alhaitham doesn’t blame them for being hostile when he approaches. They scoff bitterly when he offers up his Akademiya-approved stamp on a paper to be there.

Get out, they grit, in their mother tongue.

It’s a language Alhaitham recognizes. Something entirely different from anything people speak in the rainforest. People in the city. But he knows what they say—he learned this particular tongue some years ago from a book in his father’s collection. This version is vaguely different, though, something of a dialect, he assumes.

I don’t mean harm, he says quietly, hand held up in surrender.

They pause. One of them, the leader, he deduces, steps up and chuckles.

“Fancy fer a little ‘ol scholar, ain’t ya?” He asks gruffly, “so ya know ta speak a few other languages. So what?”

His grammar is slightly off, Alhaitham notes. He must have picked up what he knows from traveling to and from Caravan Rivat. It’s impressive, Alhaitham thinks.

Only a sharp mind could pick up a language so easily just from hearing bits and pieces in a bustling place like the trading hub between the two borders. He imagines with proper education, this man could put even him to shame with how easily he picks up new tongues.

“I mean no harm,” he repeats. “I’m just here to explore these ruins for research.”

The words seem to do little to ease their minds. Instead, they draw their swords, and just like that, he prepares himself for another grueling fight.

As usual, Alhaitham wins in the end. Not without a good few hits landed on him, though—this particular bunch was a rough fight even for him. The blunt head of a sword handle hitting his head is particularly rough, hence why he lays in the bimarstan, eyes closed as he holds an ice pack to his temple.

“You don’t have to fight every person who picks one with your first,” you chastise, rolling bandages around his bicep where a small gash is littered on his skin.

He grunts, fighting through every pounding thump in his skull as he says hoarsely, “I don’t particularly have a choice. It’s either fight back or be killed.”

“You could always seduce them,” you tease, giggling when he opens a weary eye and gives you an unimpressed stare.

“I have my doubts about that plan,” he says dryly.

“They don’t mean any harm,” you hum quietly, tossing away the dirtied rags you’d used to clean his blood. “The desert folks aren’t exactly the happiest with Akademiya ones, you know.”

“I’d appreciate it if such grievances didn’t have to end with knife fights,” he says tiredly.

Alhaitham, no matter how bloodied or bruised he could show up to you in the hospital, finds that you always have a soft spot for those of the desert. It makes sense, he supposes, seeing as you come from there yourself—still, he’d really appreciate it if you could acknowledge that he’s been a victim of unwarranted violence.

It’s not that he particularly blames them for their actions. Researchers are quite pushy—too pushy, in fact. They take up room in villages they’re unwelcome in often times. They build institutions they’re not permitted to build. They claim ownership of ruins that aren’t theirs to claim.

Researchers like Alhaitham, who intend to observe and do nothing else, aren’t trusted, regardless of their intentions. The mercenaries have taken to force if that’s what it requires to keep the desert rightfully theirs.

“Akademiya-approved exploration permits mean little to them,” you shrug, “the only person I’m sure they’d make an exception for is Cyno—only because he’s one of them. But a lot of people have much to say about him too for leaving nowadays, anyway.”

“How would you know?”

“My mother writes to me,” you say, wrapping up the bandage around his bicep before pulling away. He misses the heat of your fingertips almost instantly, fighting back the urge to grab at your retreating hands.

“Lord Kusanali sent me,” he says quietly. “She…she was looking for something.”

You don’t press for more, thankfully. His vagueness is enough to tell you he probably can’t share much of what he was sent for, and you don’t seem offended even the slightest.

Alhaitham appreciates that. Not many of his friends (if he can call most of them that, anyway) are ever too pleased by his curt, dry answers. Perhaps Cyno is the exception, but the General Mahamatra is equally as curt as the scribe on most days. Kaveh is too nosey for his own good, Dehya is just as pushy for details, and the traveler wouldn’t be so bad if not for that irritating little pixie friend that floats by her head, always demanding for more information.

You never ask for more, though. He likes that about you.

He likes a lot about you. Alhaitham, as emotionally stunted as most people assume him to be, is aware of most of his feelings. Perhaps expressing them is a different story, but recognizing them for what they are is an easy enough step.

He knows early on that he’s deeply enamored by you. Later, he’s not too shocked to come to the realization he’s in love with you, either.

He comes close to saying it sometimes. It’s a dangerous, slippery slope to tread—sometimes whispering I love you feels as natural as saying thank you when you patch him up.

Probably because he says it so many times in his head.

I love you, he says in his mind when you laugh.

I love you, he thinks, when you worry over him.

I love you, he realizes, when you attach yourself to his side and accompany him to Puspa Cafe.

“Speaking of the Archon,” you perk up, excitedly putting away the medical equipment in a rush as you turn to him and add, “did you hear? Sumeru is finally expanding the Akademiya’s education to the desert!”

Alhaitham wants to tell you he’s one of the first to know. He was part of the operation that resolved conflicts and led to this evolvement, after all, but he doesn’t tell you that.

Instead, he nods and smiles softly at you. “I did, yes.”

“It’s wonderful,” you beam excitedly, “I’ve always felt guilty for leaving the desert. Not too many get the opportunities I had—it’ll be wonderful if the children there are granted the same ones, don’t you think?”

I love you, he wants to say when you’re so happy and thrilled by changes he had a hand in.

Pride swells itself into his chest at the look on your face. Alhaitham doesn’t help people for this sense of pride or self-fulfillment—it’s simply the right thing to do, and the course of action that leads to less catastrophe.

The lesser the catastrophe, the easier his life will be.

But for once, he’s proud to have done something for the greater good if it means painting a smile on your face like that.

“It’s great news, yes,” he confirms.

“You’ll have to tell me how you and the others pulled off such a grand scheme sometime,” you say casually, fighting off a knowing smile when he shoots his head up to look at you.

He groans at the sharp pain in his head at the action, rubbing his temple as you laugh.

“How—how did you—”

“I may be out of the loop, but I’m not clueless,” you snort.

You hand him a pill and a glass of water, making him stare up at you before he mumbles, “they’ve asked me to be acting grand sage. Just for the time being.”

“Will you accept?”

He swallows the pill down with a long sip of water before handing you the half-empty glass. With a slow nod, he sighs, “I don’t have too many options on this matter.”

“Well, I’m sure you’re more than capable, Haitham.”

I love you, he thinks, when you make it so apparent that you believe him like you breathe. So easy, so natural. So involuntary.

—————

Alhaitham is tired of being the acting grand sage. He doesn’t mind stepping up and doing something for the sake of his nation—especially when he’s one of the only seemingly capable individuals, too.

Lesser Lord Kusanali requests him to temporarily take the role until she finds someone suitable to take his place. Alhaitham is not one to put his faith blindly into divinity—he doesn’t care much for the divine as it is.

But Sumeru’s archon is one who loves her people. He can admire that much.

So, with a slightly mournful goodbye to his free time, he accepts.

“I’m tired of paperwork,” he grumbles. You giggle, earning a more sour look from him. “Glad you’re amused.”

“Sorry,” you clasp a hand over your mouth as you apologize through your fit of laughter, “it’s just funny to hear from the scribe of all people that paperwork is the main trouble of grand sage duty.”

“It’s an entirely separate realm of paperwork,” he scoffs. “It’s quite tiring.”

Alhaitham, on a normal day, would not accept an offer to stargaze in place of going home, taking a hot shower, and going to bed. Not before reading a few chapters of his book, of course, but that’s beside the point.

It’s a little different when the offer comes from you, though. If it’s you, he has a hard time declining. You don’t seem to notice that yet, which is a good sign, but it leaves him a bit painfully aware of just how much control you hold over his mind.

“I’d love to be grand sage one day,” you sigh, looking up at the stars as you admire them.

They’re not as nice here as they are in the desert, you’d told him one night. In the city, the lights make the stars hard to see. In the rainforest, the thick layer of leaves from the trees makes them nearly disappear. In the desert, however, where there’s nothing to block out the darkness and the fluorescence of the stars, you can see them clearly.

He grunts, hand itching to run a finger over your cheek as he stares at the shadow of your lashes against the swell of them.

“You would?” He raises a brow.

“Yeah,” you nod, humming as you let out a soft exhale. “It’s about time we get a grand sage that doesn’t just care about the rainforest, don’t you think?”

“It’s not easy work,” he responds flatly, “being a sage.”

“So?” You turn to him with furrowed brows, “I don’t mind.”

“Having the power isn’t as great as you might think.”

“I don’t want to be grand sage for the power,” you say through a clipped tone, glancing at him from the corner of your eyes, “I want to be sage for the opportunity to make a decision. Not a lot of desert folks have that chance, you know.”

Alhaitham is silent.

Not many people can say they’ve left him with no retort or smart comment to throw back. It’s easy, he thinks, for someone like him to think of Akademiya work as a chore. So many rules and regulations to remember, so many demands people make that he has to keep up with. Request after request. Proposal after proposal. Decision after decision. This type of work seems like too much trouble than he can be bothered with.

Not for you, though. Someone like you has never had a chance to find a chore out of a job you’ve never been granted. Someone like you would never complain over an opportunity you’ve always dreamed of.

He’s quiet for a while longer before he finally murmurs, “you’d make an excellent grand sage. Better than me.”

“You think so?” You beam instantly—he’d chuckle at how easily a little praise brightens your earlier mood, but he’s too busy eyeing the dimple at the corner of your mouth. He aches to trace it with his thumb.

“Yes,” he says simply, “the Akademiya is extending opportunities and developments into the desert. You’d make an appropriate individual to oversee that.”

“Maybe one day,” you whisper, “for now, as long as we get some books for the kids out there, I’ll be happy.”

He loves you, he thinks. He loves you and your kindness, and your ambitions, and your dreams. They’re crystal clear, always so tangible, even if they used to be so far out of reach. He doesn’t think he’s ever had that.

When was the last time he dared to let himself dream? He’s never had any long-term goals that really mattered.

Graduate.

Get a stable job.

Live a peaceful life.

His goals have always been so dull compared to yours. Important things to achieve, nonetheless, but nothing worth remembering.

I love you, he wants to say.

Instead, he mumbles, “there are six libraries approved for construction as of now across a few villages.”

“Did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Approve of them. As grand sage.”

He doesn’t look over to meet your eyes; just nods before swallowing thickly as you grin. You reach over and give his hand a tight squeeze.

The words bubble up his throat once more before dying down from another heavy swallow.

—————

Lesser Lord Kusanali thinks it to be a great idea to allow people to apply to be grand sage instead of appointing someone. Something about getting to see the enthusiasm of the Akademiya and its scholars! as she says.

Alhaitham thinks it’s silly. Naturally, many people apply just for the ambitions of a high paying and largely powerful position. He couldn’t be bothered to glance through most of the applications. He declines half of them as they come—he recognizes enough names to know that none of these individuals have a place in the mechanics of running a nation.

Still, Lesser Lord Kusanali is hopeful. She’s certain there will be a promising applicant who can be relied on to carry the responsibility of leading a nation and its government on deft shoulders.

The only good thing about this system, however, is that Alhaitham gets to make his own suggestion for someone to take his place from the pool of applicants, seeing as he is, of course, the current grand sage. This means he can suggest you through your application—unsurprisingly, you do apply.

The Dendro Archon offers him this as a means of a truce.

He sifts through applications, and she considers his suggestion. It’s a fair trade, he thinks—especially because he can reject everyone who’s not you.

The only trouble is that he has to formally submit his proposal to the sages, too. Should all six approve of his recommendation, Lord Kusanali will accept his decision without any further action.

Should even one decline, you are to meet with the Archon herself alongside Alhaitham so he can defend his position.

That’s a problem—Alhaitham knows you won’t be too pleased to know your position was achieved through his influence, and even more, he doesn’t exactly want to explain all the reasons he admires you in front of not just you but the Archon herself.

He’d rather let a couple of mercenaries in the desert draw their blades on him again than go through that humiliating exchange.

For their own sakes, Alhaitham hopes the sages have accepted his proposition.

And then he sees it—your name on the paper. He stills, carefully plucking out the page and glazing his eyes over the words over and over again before he quickly stands and leaves his office.

“Grand sage Alhaitham, there’s a formal request submitted here for—”

“Not now,” he walks through the doors of the Akademiya in long strides, leaving the poor man to follow after him as best as he can.

“B-but it’s rather important—”

“Leave it on my desk for my return. I’ll look then.”

“It’s rather urgent, you see. We must—”

“I said not now.” He halts to a stop, eyeing the man with deadly, narrowed eyes as his voice comes out in something just short of a growl.

Alhaitham is known across the Akademiya for being dry. Blunt. Painfully stripped of any and all emotion. This sudden show of not just emotion, but pure rage has the man stunned to stiffness as he nods tensely and quickly walks away. He lets out a fuming sigh as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

Three out of six sages have declined.

Three. Out of six.

Alhaitham knows that at least two of them have made their decisions simply based on the fact that you come from the desert. He’s never been more certain of something in his life—the sages have yet to all be replaced themselves, and there are two that still remain from the original appointees from Azar himself.

There is no denying Azar’s distaste for those of the desert, and Alhaitham is certain the sages he once appointed years ago would be no different. How else would he hold onto such power all these years if they did not share similar views?

There’s a burning, unsettling rage simmering in his ribcage, pounding into his heart and pumping adrenaline into his veins.

With the power granted to him by the Dendro Archon herself, he’ll take matters into his own hands. (And no, this doesn’t mean his power as the grand sage. This means the much more powerful authority he holds as a vision wielder. A power that none of the sages seem to have acquired yet).

—————

“Lord Kusanali,” Alhaitham greets, bowing slightly as he walks up, noting as you fidget when he joins you to stand in front of the Archon herself. “You’ve summoned me?”

“Grand sage Alhaitham—”

“Acting grand sage—ow,” he hisses, glancing at you as you elbow him.

“Don’t correct the Archon,” you scold quietly. “Apologies, Lady Kusanali. Alhaitham tends to be…stubborn.”

The Archon smiles—it’s hard to think that someone as small and innocent-looking is meant to be the embodiment of wisdom. Divinity that is all-knowing.

Does she know that Alhaitham has made his decision solely based on his heart alone and nothing else? Sure, he thinks you’re very capable for the job—more capable than himself, in fact. And as much as he dislikes this position, Alhaitham will not deny that he does it quite well.

But this decision is based on his feelings. Not his logic. Something he doesn’t do often—if ever at all.

“The scribe and all of the sages have confirmed you to be a suitable candidate for the grand sage of Sumeru,” Lesser Lord Kusanali begins, “as such, I’ve summoned you both here to discuss this possibility.”

“I…oh,” you breathe, voice practically an inaudible gasp. “Me?”

You turn to Alhaitham, as if the idea of him accepting your application seems as something unlikely. He itches to poke your forehead and reprimand you for doubting yourself.

As thought she knows, like she can read his mind, Lord Kusanali eyes him with what almost seems like an amused stare.

“You’re very capable,” he nods, ignoring the Archon’s gaze, “your answers in the application, as well as your ideas, have merit to them. It would be wise for the benefit of all of Sumeru to put them into action.”

“All six of the sages? Approved of me?”

Something bitter bubbles in his chest at the sound of pure shock in your voice.

“Well,” the Dendro Archon hums, “interestingly enough, three of the six sages have decided to resign—it seems we have our work cut out for us to replace them, too. As it stands, we only have three sages—all three have approved of your application.”

“Looks like I’ll be demoting you of your job,” you glance over at Alhaitham. He smiles slightly, humming as he pulls out a book and opens it to his marked spot.

“My pay will remain the same, so I have no complaints. I much prefer the simplicity of the scribe’s role.”

“Oh, I don’t plan on making the scribe’s job too easy once I’m in office,” you tease.

I love you, he thinks, as you sit in awed shock, still processing your achievement.

Alhaitham is almost certain the Archon’s mouth twitches into a slightly wider grin as soon as the words materialize in his head, aching to exist between his lips as well.

———————

Sumeru, the nation of wisdom, is a land where the people are proud of who they are. It’s a nation rich in culture and heritage. There are so many traditions, that Alhaitham himself could never hope to learn of them all from his many, many books on history.

Still, in its surplus of years of being a proud, standing nation, it has never thrived like this before.

You are the answer to this recent development. Many older scholars in the Akademiya are unhappy with your presence at first. Slowly, one by one, they are relieved of their duties by the Dendro Archon herself.

Not many people give you trouble after that.

The first order of business you handle is allowing the Akademiya to grant new students. A good number of desert children and adults have been offered places to study here—more in the last few weeks than there have been in the last few decades. The children are bright, too. You’ve taken to scouting the most brilliant of minds. 

A number of them have even disproven the theses and dissertations of seasoned scholars regarding studies of desert ruins. (Alhaitham finds this slightly amusing, as do you. The irony is not lost on most that the same people who have been treated as lesser for decades have contributed more in just a few short weeks than some at the Akademiya have in years. The two of you have shared a good few laughs over the shame that one too many scholars must be facing right now).

Alhaitham has happily returned to being the scribe (with an added pay raise, of course). He’s back to his much smaller, much quieter office that is less akin to the door being knocked on (or being burst open) and intruding on his peace.

Except today. 

Today, the door is burst open in the middle of him examining files, making him look up unimpressed with an unsavory insult ready on his tongue. He quickly bites it back when he realizes it’s you. 

“Scribe,” you say simply.

“Grand sage,” he responds, raising a brow.

“A word, please,” you shuffle in, closing the door behind you before clicking it locked. If his eyebrow could raise any higher, it would—you’ve never needed to lock him in his own office to have a word with him before, no matter how private the matter. 

“Yes?” He asks smoothly, leaning back in his chair. 

“I’ve been looking to appoint new sages for the three we are missing,” you begin carefully. He stiffens slightly at the topics—he’s sure it doesn’t go unnoticed by you. It seems to be the confirmation you need. “I’ve heard a funny rumor.”

“And what would that be?” He shuffles his papers to seem uncaring, not meeting your eyes. “I don’t typically partake in Akademiya gossip. It’s a waste of my time.”

“Well this particular rumor is interesting—it might interest even you. There’s word that someone of a dendro vision user from the Akademiya has threatened the former sages to leave their positions. There is worry such events could repeat amongst potential candidates.”

“Interesting,” he says plainly as he nods. 

“There aren’t many dendro vision users I know of here,” you sigh. “Haitham, I’m not dense. I earned this position by having the approval of the only three remaining sages. After the other three quit. It wouldn’t take a particularly genius individual to assume what took place here.”

He swallows, taking a slow breath before he quietly murmurs, “I’m sorry.”

You furrow your brows. “What are you apologizing for?”

“You’re upset, are you not?” Alhaitham blinks at you in confusion. It’s one of the rare times you get to see him unsure, so unlike the usual know-it-all self he always is. “That I interfered with your application?”

“I’m upset,” you confirm, stepping closer as you inspect him. He feels oddly seen under your gaze. “But not because you interfered. Because that was risky—you shouldn’t go that far for me, Haitham. Why in the gods’ names would you attempt such a ridiculous thing?”

It’s easy, he thinks. Because he loves you. Enough that it’s easy to risk his career and credibility at this institution if it means he can help your dreams become something more than just dreams. He’s come so close to saying it so many times—this time, it falls from his lips before he can stop himself.

He’s not so sure he wants to stop himself anymore. You should know—even if you don’t feel the same, even if you do, you should know.

“Because I love you,” he murmurs. “I’d go even further for you. I can’t help it.”

Your eyes soften. They don't widen in shock or recoil in distaste. Instead, they well with glossy, wet tears that alarm him slightly as he sits up straighter. You let out a light, watery laugh before he can apologize for unintentionally upsetting you with his confession.

“Oh, you fool,” you shake your head, “only you would sooner risk your entire livelihood before you simply admit your feelings.”

“I—”

He’s silenced by the touch of your palm on his cheek. Any words he’d like to say get cut off from his tongue. (He has none, really—as embarrassing as that is to admit for someone of linguist such as himself.) 

“Haitham,” you say gently.

“Yeah?” He croaks.

“Don’t risk your reputation for me again.”

“I don’t know if I can promise that,” he mumbles, grabbing your wrist and pulling you closer. You follow his tug, carefully seating yourself on his lap before you frown, opening your mouth to protest—but he cuts you off before you can. “But, lucky for me, the grand sage has a soft spot for the scribe. I think that’ll be helpful for any predicaments I might find myself in.”

“Are you saying you want to have the grand sage use her power for corrupted reasons?” You gasp, making him grin as he chuckles. “And after all the trouble you went through to overthrow a corrupt government, too.”

“Is it really corrupt if it’s the only two logical individuals of the nation? I’d say it’s simply an executive decision.”

“That’s not how that works,” you giggle fondly. And then you’re kissing him—Alhaitham has wondered how your lips would feel many times before, but he’s never been fully prepared to truly know. They’re softer, warmer, gentler than he imagined. “I love you too, by the way,” you murmur as you pull away for a moment.

That confession makes him desperately close the gap again, tugging you closer on his lap as he kisses you harder. Deeper. Alhaitham has always admired your goals, your dreams and ambitions. He realizes that maybe he has never given himself enough credit until now. 

His goals, his dreams and ambitions, have always been you. There has never been a more beautiful dream, he thinks—nothing is worthy of comparing to you. He thinks, by default, that makes his ambitions admirable, too. 

“Those sages could not know wisdom, talent, nor brilliance even if the Archon herself presented it before them. Otherwise,” he kisses down your neck, “otherwise they’d have understood it was you. They would have approved of your application. I did this nation yet another favor by ridding the Akademiya of them.”

“I suppose all of Sumeru owes you twice, then,” you hum, breathlessly gasping as he sucks lightly on your skin, right over your pulse point. 

Your hands travel to untuck his shirt from his pants, letting them wander under the fabric to feel over the hard planes of his abs. They’re as defined as they look through the skin-tight shirt he always wears. He groans into your neck as your touch sears into him, just as you gasp when his fingers slip past your waistband and tug down slightly. 

He stops before he can expose anything, however, pausing through a labored breath as he murmurs, “can I?”

“Yes,” you plead, lifting your hips slightly so he can pull the fabric down your thighs, your panties following before he pulls you back down to be seated on his lap. Your fingers tug at his hair when his fingers prod at your entrance. An exchange of sorts—a touch for a touch. 

You whine when his thumb circles your clit as his middle and ring fingers pump into your tight cunt, burying past your folds and finding a sensitive, spongy spot in your walls that makes you bite your lips and stifle a sob. 

“Well,” he says amusedly, “I suppose neither of us are very good models for grand sages if this is the sort of activity we partake in while in office.”

“It’s your fault,” you pant, rocking your hips to meet his fingers as they thrust into you, searching for more, for a deeper, harder pace. 

“Oh?” He laughs, a low chuckle that he sears into your skin with a kiss, working his way up your jaw, “I wasn’t the one who locked the door when I came in. I wonder if you had motives of your own when you came in.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Haitham,” you huff, “I just didn’t want someone to walk in when I yelled at you. I was doing your ego a favor.”

“Do my ego one more favor and cum for me,” he murmurs, pulling you into a kiss as you whine into his mouth and shiver. Your belly erupts with a warmth of pleasure, snapping the coil that sends shockwaves through your whole body. An ache that was building in your core seems to have reached the tipping point, making you quiver on his lap as you shatter from his touch.

He groans, just from the squeeze of your walls around his fingers alone—only Archons know how much he’s itching to feel you on his cock. (He hopes Lesser Lord Kusanali’s seemingly all-knowing wisdom doesn’t extend to this. Sometimes, it feels like she can read his mind—he sincerely hopes she doesn’t have the ability to read just what goes on in his head when he thinks of you.)

He’s hard—it almost hurts from just how much so. You’re kind enough to reach over and slowly work him free from the confinements, letting his erection breathe from the strain of his pants. He tries not to let out a shaky breath when you slowly trace a vein along the underside and study his cock. 

“It’s pretty,” you murmur, “you’re so pretty, Haitham.”

“Stop,” he pleads hoarsely, blush dusting over his cheeks, “don’t stare.”

“Shy?” You giggle, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “C’mon, baby. It’s just me.”

And oh—he could cum from just that affectionate drawl of that pet name and that lingering sweet touch. He twitches in your delicate hold, making you hum in approval before you slowly stroke him, fist gliding up and down the thick girth of him. 

“F-fuck,” he hisses, bumping his forehead against yours gently. 

Finally, when your eyes meet, and you both seem to understand just what the other wants without an exchange of words, you lift your hips slightly, guiding him to your entrance. His hands settle on your waist, slowly helping you sink down on his length as you both gasp at the way he intrudes into your sweet, dripping cunt. 

You’re as tight as he is deep—it makes for a good connection. You squeeze around him the same way he rubs against you. Everything about both of your bodies joining feels like it’s meant to be this way. Him in you and you around him. 

“Fuck me, Haitham,” you whisper, cradling his face in your hands by his jaw. You feel it clench under your palms as he stifles a groan at your words.

“As you wish,” he murmurs. 

The first thrust of his hips upwards makes you collapse against his chest. The second makes you whimper as you cling to his muscled body. By the third and fourth, you’ve adjusted enough that you can slowly roll your own hips to match his rhythm and meet his pace. It makes him sink in even deeper, hit the right spots, and drag along every ridge. 

“S-so big,” you marvel, moaning as the fat tip of his cock brushes against that sweet, sensitive spot in your walls. “You fit me so well, Haitham.”

“And you take me so well,” he groans back, “so tight and wet. What if they’re looking for you right now? I wouldn’t be surprised if they were—imagine how surprised they’d be if they knew the grand sage was falling apart on the scribe’s cock. What would they say?”

“They’d think the scribe has some nerve distracting such an important figure for the nation,” you huff, biting your lip and whining his name when he sends a particularly sharp thrust into your walls. 

He chuckles, panting as he kisses your forehead. “Then I suppose it will be our secret. For the sake of peace.”

“Good idea,” you giggle breathlessly, pulling him into a passionate kiss. 

His hips drill into you, bullying his thick length into your tight cunt—splitting you open on him like you’re his to spread. You are. And he’s yours to have, too, as you pull on his hair and bring him closer, hands wandering over his body as you feel every tight, defined muscle. 

You breathe his name. He breathes yours. Somewhere in the mix, your thumb brushes over his nipples from under his shirt, and his finds your clit to rub teasing circles over. 

“I-I’ll cum,” you admit first, “again, Haitham.”

“Go ahead,” he groans, letting out a soft whine when you squeeze around him at the sound of his low, pleasure-hazed voice. “Cum for me, again. Cum around me so I can feel you this time.”

So you do, giving him what he wants. How could you not when he’s gone to such lengths to make sure you’ve gotten everything you want? You spasm around his throbbing length, squeezing around him and making it harder and harder to roll his hips and fuck into you. 

“Haitham,” you whine, a quiet, high-pitched sound that makes his eyes flutter shut, and his mouth hang open as he lets out a low moan. The sounds you make could be enough to send him over the edge. The soft “I love you,” that you whisper is what ends up really doing it, though.

He quickly grabs your hips, roughly lifting you up before he wraps his fist around his cock and strokes himself, pumping his aching length as thick, hot ropes of cum leak from his tip and drip onto your thighs. He groans, strangled and low, as he makes an effort not to be too loud. 

Your lips map along his jaw and cheeks, kissing soothingly as your fingers stroke through his sweaty hair, helping him work himself through his orgasm as he fucks his own fist. “F-fuck—I…I love you, too. I love you. I’ve always loved you.” 

He can’t stop saying it now that he finally can. So many times, the words have almost escaped from the safety of his mouth. So many times, he’s risked them out in the open air. Now that he knows it’s safe, he wants the words to permanently reside between your bodies, in the atmosphere between you and him, in the middle ground where your skin is separated from his. 

If there is space between the two of you, he only wants it to exist to house all the words he never had the nerve to say to you. All the words he’ll admit to you now. 

“I love you, too,” you whisper, “so much. So, so much, Haitham.”

He pants as he calms down, uncaring of the mess for now. With his good hand, he grabs your hand, lacing his fingers with yours before he pulls them both up. His lips press a delicate kiss to the back of your hand. You melt over him. 

“There is no brilliance like you, neither in the rainforest nor desert. I have searched everywhere.” 

Your eyes tear up, a breathy, watery laugh dancing from your wobbly lips as you whisper, “you’re incredibly cheesy for a Haravatat scholar, you know.”

He laughs brightly into your shoulder as he buries into the crook of your neck. 

I love you. He’s always wanted to say it. It feels good to finally be able to. Alhaitham will never take for granted the chance he now gets to say it as often as he wants. 

I would like my man who’s not really my man to defend my honor by threatening violence using power granted to him by divinity on a random Tuesday. That would be nice.

[frudoo]

Please please please can you write a possible scenario where I’m having bathtub sex with soap

They call him Soap for a reason ;)

Warnings: Smut, obviously. Fem!Reader. MDNI.

It was your mistake, really, for thinking that your boyfriend would be fine with just taking an innocent bath. Truly, you know better, but you still allowed yourself to be annoyed when his hand slipped between your legs while you were simply trying to wash up. Damn him with those pretty, soft lips, always convincing you to submit to his desires just by trailing kisses across your jawline. Now you’re three orgasms deep just from having his thick fingers stuffed in your cunt.

     “One more, hen, fer me,” Johnny coos, nibbling on your earlobe as his free hand comes up to grope and squeeze your supple, slippery tits.

     You think your pussy is wetter than the bathtub itself, clenching around his sinfully talented fingers. The heel of his palm is grinding up against your puffy clit perfectly, and you claw at the edges of the tub as your fourth orgasm overtakes you. You’re shaking with overstimulation, your limbs feeling like jelly, your whole body threatening to melt into the sudsy bathwater. Johnny uses your limp state to his advantage, turning you around to face him and placing your legs on either side of his waist.

     “You’re spilling water everywhere,” you grumble, gasping softly when the crown of his dick breaks right through the tight opening of your spent heat.

     “Haud yer wheesht, ah’ll clean it later,” Johnny promises, guiding you to rest your hands on his broad shoulders as he sinks all the way into you. 

     Despite his fingers having stretched you out beforehand, there’s still a slight burn when your lover bottoms out, causing you to claw at his dewy skin as he gives a few experimental pumps of his hips. He knows he’s in when you let out a little whimper, hooking your arms beneath his and burying your face in the crook of his neck. Johnny’s large hands grip your hips tightly, rolling them slowly while he kisses the side of your face. 

     “There ye are,” he murmurs, bucking his hips up every time he pulls you forward. 

     The water sloshes around the both of you with every motion, more so when you take over for him, grinding your hips against his a little faster. Johnny has a dopey smile on his face when he looks at you, his hands immediately trailing lower to grope your ass as you ride him. He can already feel your walls tightening almost painfully around his cock, so he bucks his hips harder, eyes dutifully focused on the way your face scrunches in pleasure when you near the brink.

     “C’mon, hen. Cum fer me. Ye’re so close, ah can feel it. Yeah, there ye are, cum fer me, baby! Fuck!”

     Johnny’s eyes roll into the back of his head as your pussy milks him for his potent load, the back of his head hitting the porcelain behind him. He can’t help the whines that leave his pouty lips when you ride him to the point of overstimulation, but he stays still as you take what you need. Once you’ve finally had your fill, you lean down to kiss him passionately, chest still heaving with effort. 

     “You’re not leaving this bathroom until you’ve cleaned up your mess, MacTavish.”

"The floor or yer pussy?"

[waves-against-a-cliff]

I have no excuses. I just wanted to write this. The brain worms won @ghouljams

Summary - You're sick and Johnny sees an opportunity.

Content Warnings - dead dove do not eat, non-con, dub-con, anal, choking, breath play, somnophilia, taking pictures without consent, taking advantage of someone sick, mean!Johnny. Let me say again DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

You've been sick. Slightly delirious with a fever, in and out of sleep for the past 48 hours with all of care put solely into the hands of your boyfriend. Your boyfriend in question is Johnny MacTavish. He's doting, brings you warm chicken broth when you can't hold anything but liquids down. He checks your temperature regularly and wakes you up to have sips of water.

In the height of your fever induced semi-coma you barely registered the feeling of something prodding at your hole. Not the right one, your ass. You groan and wiggle your hips to try to alleviate some of the discomfort before settling back down.

Your dream is odd, at least odd to have while sick. You feel stretched, you pant and groan into your pillow as several fingers work to stretch that tight ring of muscle open. A high whine leaves your throat as another finger pushes in and helps to open you upon further. Your entire ass feels sticky and heat unrelated to your fever is dripping down your spine as shivers leave goosebumps up your arms.

Then you realize it's not a dream at all as something familiar prods at that forbidden, taboo, hole. One you had told Johnny many times that you didn't want him to fuck. You didn't see the appeal and no amount of begging was going to get you to budge.

You gasp and go to move but you're pressed down with a hand between your shoulders. You hold your breath as he slowly feeds his cock into your ass. The stretch stings and burns and you yowl at it. Your feet kick uselessly on the bed as Johnny's hips meet the fat of your ass. "Fuck Bonnie," he says through gritted teeth like he's the one adjusting to something entirely new, "yer chokin' the life out of mah cock."

You try to find the words to spit back at him but find all you can do is let out a pathetic whine. He drapes himself over your back, his entire body already hot and sweaty. Finally you manage to choke out, "Johnny-" what you mean when you say it, even you can't decipher that. But he takes that as his cue to move. He pulls himself back up but keeps his hand pressing down between your shoulders as he draws his hips back and slams back in.

You bury your face into the pillow as you scream, a wave of heat washes over your entire body already hot from the fever. He keeps one sticky hand on your hip as he begins to pull out again and his other hand moves to grip your hair. He pulls your head out of the pillow and thrusts.

The sound of skin meeting skin fills the room as tears prickle in your eyes as Johnny uses your ass to his liking. He spews out filth the entire time as he wrecks your ass, "Fuckin' knew this ass was made fer me," he grunts out. His pace is brutal after the first few experimental thrusts.

Your hands scramble to cling onto anything, the sweat soaked sheets or his meaty thighs. He hisses when your nails bite into your skin but it only makes him more brutal. "Say ye like it," he demands as his Scottish accent grows thicker and he punches a moan out of you.

You shake your head and sob between moans, "Johnny please, please-" he shoves your face back into the pillow to muffle whatever words come out of your mouth next. It's practically suffocating you as he holds your head there. His hips bounce off your ass and his hand on your hip slips down and pinches your clit.

In response your entire body quivers and shakes. He pulls your head up and you gasp for the fresh air as he wraps his hand around your throat. "Say ye like it," he demands again.

You swallow thickly and stumble over your words as his thumb and forefinger switch between rubbing at your clit and pinching it meanly. "I-I like it," you sob and a growl reverberates from his chest like the beast he is.

"Knew ye would. Just playin hard tae get like always huh?" He asks and makes you nod your head as you moan and cry out at the build up of an orgasm within your stomach. Your thigh muscles are pulled taught and slick runs down your thigh out of your neglected pussy. "Lucky I'm only fuckin' yer ass and not making yer pussy take mah cock right now. Say thank you hen. Come on now."

Swallowing from how dry your mouth is, "Thank you Johnny," you moan.

"Thanks fer what?"

"Thank you for not fucking my pussy," you sob.

For some reason he begins to slow and you panic, "No, no, no. Johnny please don't stop. Please, please," you beg and he digs his teeth into your shoulder as he goes harder. The slapping of skin is all you can hear between his grunts and your pathetic moans. Your mind is spinning with the fever and pleasure and the new sensation of Johnny's thick cock in your ass.

You can't form the words as that knot within your stomach begins to unspool and your cunt starts to pulse around nothing but Johnny doesn't need words to know. He grunts out something about your ass trying to choke his cock as he squeezes your neck tighter. Dark spots dance in your vision as he pinches your clit on last time. With a hoarse scream you cum, it dribbles down your thighs and drips onto the sheets as Johnny groans low.

You feel his hot cum invade your ass and you whine at the sensation. His cock twitches inside you as he rests his head on your shoulder, releasing his grip on your throat. You collapse boneless onto the bed, gasping for air as your orgasm rolls over you in waves. You whimper as he pulls his cock from your ass and something warm dribbles out from there too.

You feel him lean over for something and you flip over to see your boyfriend slick with sweat. His mohawk is wet with sweat and most importantly your ass burns. He grins wickedly at you as he turns his phone screen to you and you see your own asshole gapped wide open from the girth of his cock. He makes some crude comments about how your ass was made to take his dick.

[dixons-sunshine]

Hiii! First of all i love love love your writing i get so excited every time i see you’ve posted ❤️ i was wondering if i could request a daryl x fem!reader where they’re just chilling out watching a silly cartoon and he’s finally relaxing and happy to be with his girl, maybe it could be young daryl it’s up to you. Thank you for producing such good work for us all to read!!! 🫶

Selfish | Young!Daryl Dixon x Young!Fem!Reader

*GIF isn't mine.*

Summary: When you woke up and walked into the kitchen, you didn't expect to find your mom sitting there with a man you didn't know. And you certainly didn't expect the man to go off on your boyfriend when you didn't even know who he was.

Genre: Fluff, teeny bit of angst.

Era: Pre outbreak.

Part of the Shopping Spree, Hangout Dreams AU.

Warnings: Swearing, suggestive themes.

Word count: 2.7k.

A/n: I hope you don't mind, but I already had an idea for my next installment to this universe, and thought this idea would work well with an idea I already had. To be honest, this isn't my best work and I feel like the plot is all over the place, but I hope you like this nonetheless!

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

The moon was shining brightly in the night sky, surrounded by the twinkling of millions of beautiful stars. Crickets were chirping outside in the grassy areas and owls were hooting from their spots in the trees. All the inhabitants of the trailer park were in their homes, tucked in and ready for a good night's rest.

Everyone except you and Daryl.

“M'tellin' ya, this cartoon ain't all tha'. S's'posed to be 'bout a talkin' dog helpin' reveal the culprits tha' ain't actual ghosts, yet him and tha' green shirt guy still believe in ghosts. Even after all the mysteries they solved, they still believe in 'em. S'fuckin' ridiculous.”

You rolled your eyes at him, crossing your arms over your chest and letting out a huff, albeit a playful one. “So you're telling me, real or not, that if a guy who looked like a ghost was threatening to kill you, you wouldn't run?”

“Nah, I'd run fer the fuckin' hills, I ain't denyin' tha',” Daryl stated, lazily picking at the dead skin on his thumb. “But c'mon, these guys are s'posed to be professionals. They unveil criminals tha' dress up as monsters fer a livin'. Ya can't be a fuckin' pussy durin' somethin' tha's yer job.”

“Okay, then, smartass,” you replied playfully, lightly shoving his shoulder. You giggled when Daryl wrapped his arm around you and pulled you tightly against his side, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “How about we watch that roadrunner cartoon you like?”

Daryl's eyes lit up. “Yer serious?” he asked, excitement lacing his tone.

You nodded and nuzzled your head into his chest, flicking through the channels with the remote until you found the aforementioned cartoon. Daryl pressed a kiss to the top of your head, before wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on top of your head. The two of you sat there, cuddled up under the blankets, simply enjoying the serene moment.

Daryl couldn't believe how lucky he got with you. After nearly a year together, the two of you were still going strong. The so-called "honeymoon phase" that people said wore off after a few months into the relationship didn't falter between the two of you. What you and Daryl shared ran much deeper than just a phase. The two of you worked hard at your relationship, making compromises and being open with one another. Daryl wasn't the most open person, but for you, he tried. Likewise, there were things you didn't normally do that you did for Daryl—you weren't the most keen person on catching fish, but you did it for him, just because he liked it. Your love for one another ran deep, so it was unlikely for the happy, giddy feeling to wear off. That spark between the two of you would never burn out.

Your laugh suddenly echoed through the trailer, soon followed by Daryl's own chuckles at a particularly funny scene in the cartoon. Daryl looked down at you in awe, marveling at how beautiful you looked. Your eyes sparkled in the light that the television emitted and your smile was more radiant than anything he's ever seen before.

Yeah, Daryl Dixon knew he was the luckiest guy on the planet.

Before he could fully register what he was doing, Daryl cupped your cheek and turned your head to him, pressing his lips against yours in a firm, passionate kiss. You were surprised at first but ultimately sunk into the feeling of his lips on yours. The kiss soon escalated from loving and sensual to heated and lustful. Daryl picked you up and helped you onto his lap, quietly groaning when you lightly grinded your hips against his, putting a pleasurable amount of pressure against his growing erection.

You pulled away slightly, resting your forehead against his. “Do you want to take this to my room?” you asked in a whisper.

You giggled when he stood up while holding you firmly against him, not saying anything. You wrapped your legs around him, and he walked the short distance to your room, kicking the door shut behind him when he reached it.

The cartoon playing on the television was forgotten of for the rest of the night.

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

Soft, feathery light kisses all over his face, shoulder blade and arm was what Daryl Dixon awoke to the next morning. Blinking away the last remnants of sleep from his mind, he turned over in the bed and locked eyes with you. You looked like a goddess to him at that moment, the sun gleaming through the window giving you a golden-like aura. You were wearing your shorts from the prior night, but you were wearing his shirt instead of your own. However, he didn't complain.

“Good morning, handsome,” you greeted him, giving him a cheerful smile.

Daryl gave you a lopsided smile in return, adjusting his head on the pillow. “Would be a better mornin' if I got a kiss,” he spoke in his raspy morning voice, sending shivers down your spine at the sound.

Complying with his not-so-subtle request, you leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to his lips. You pulled away after a few seconds, bringing your hand up to brush through his hair.

“I'm gonna make us some breakfast. Throw on a pair of pants and come meet me, okay?” you told him, your hand lingering on his cheek for a moment before withdrawing.

Daryl nodded as he watched you stand up, adjusting the sheets around him as he became painfully aware that he was as naked as the day he was born under them. “Alrigh',” he started, his eyes slowly trailing over your form, appreciating the way you looked in his shirt. “Ya look good, sunshine.”

“Thank you,” you replied, sending him a smile, before finally making your way out of your room.

You closed the door behind you and made your way to the kitchen, but stopped in your tracks when you saw your mom sitting at the table with a man you've never seen before in your life. The two were engaged in a heated argument, not even noticing your presence.

“For the love of god, Henry! You can't just come here and demand to see her after seventeen years of nothing! We've been doing just fine without you or your money, so you can leave, just like you did all those fucking years ago!”

“She's my daughter too, Cecilia! I have every right to see her.”

“Mom?” you questioned confusedly, finally making your presence known.

Your mom turned her head to you, her eyes widening in horror. However, before she could say anything, the man called Henry stood up, sending you a strained smile.

“Princess?” he questioned you, taking a step towards you.

You took a step back, unexpectedly making contact with someone behind you. You stumbled but a familiar pair of arms encircled you, steadying you. You turned your head and locked eyes with your boyfriend's beautiful blue ones.

“Wha's goin' on?” he asked you, slightly standing behind you to hide his bare upper body from your mom's and the unknown man's view. He was suddenly painfully aware that his scars were on display to a person who he did not know, and that made him want to shrink into himself and disappear.

Instantly picking up on what he was feeling, you moved to stand in front of him. You eyed the man standing in front of you warily, sending questioning glances to your mom.

“Mom? What's going on?” you asked her, feeling extremely uncomfortable under the man's intense stare. It wasn't uncommon for your mom to see you and Daryl walking out of your room in the morning—she was well aware of why he stayed over most of the time—but it certainly was the first time that she had an unknown man with her in the morning.

“Who's this?” the man asked, a slight bit of anger lacing his tone. “What the fuck are you doing sniffing around my daughter, boy?”

“What?!” you exclaimed in surprise, your eyes widening. “What the actual fuck are you talking about?”

“Sweetheart, please calm down. I can expl—”

“Shut up!” the man cut her off, turning towards you. “I come over to meet my daughter and this is what I walk in on? A fucking orgy? You couldn't even find someone better than some redneck?”

Daryl visibly stiffened. He ducked his head to avoid the man's harsh glare, uncomfortable with the way he dissected him with his eyes. The man had taken one look at Daryl and decided that his worth was nonexistent.

“Leave him out of this,” you warned him, snapping out of your confusion. Nobody had the right to target Daryl, especially not some man who, if he was your father, ran away seventeen years ago. “You don't get a say in who I date or not. And if you really are my father, what the hell makes you think that you can come in here after seventeen years and expect me to welcome you with open arms? What makes you think that you get to come into our home and play the man of the house? I don't know who you are, and after the last few minutes with your behaviour, I have no interest in getting to know you. You can go to hell.”

“Henry,” your mom jumped in, lightly shoving him back. “Get the fuck out of here before I call the cops.”

The man glared at you and your mom, before shifting his attention to Daryl again. “Well,” he started, scoffing and turning around to leave. “Like mother, like daughter. Seems like trying to get knocked up in high school is a hereditary gene.” He paused before turning back to you. “If you're smart, you can come find me at that motel near the bar. I'll be staying there.”

“Get the fuck out!” your mom yelled angrily, pushing him out.

Shutting the door once the bitter man was gone, your mom turned to you and Daryl. She looked at you sheepishly, a deep frown on her face.

“Guys, I'm so sorry,” she apologized sincerely.

“Mom, what was that?” you asked, allowing Daryl to pull you into his side, your boyfriend instantly recognizing your anxiousness. “Was that really—?”

“Your father?” she finished for you. “He is, but I really wish he wasn't.”

Your breath got caught in your throat. Unwillingly, you felt a lump form in your throat, the recent play of events turning your whole world upside down. For years, it had just been you and your mom. Your father was practically a ghost story, only being regarded as your "sperm donor". Yet there he had been mere minutes ago, standing in front of you. You felt overwhelmed, and you could feel your throat constricting.

You had to get out of there.

“I have to go,” you weakly mumbled out, withdrawing from Daryl's hold and pushing past your mom and heading out the door, walking in a familiar direction.

“Sweetheart, wait!” your mom called after you, but to no avail—you were already gone.

Daryl placed a hesitant hand on your mom's shoulder, bringing her attention to him. “I'll get her. I know where she's goin'.”

Your mom offered him a weak smile. “Thank you, Daryl,” she thanked him, vaguely motioning over to the laundry hamper at the other end of the room. “You left one of your shirts here the other day. It's in there.”

Nodding, Daryl walked over and grabbed the shirt, slipping it over his head—he was glad that his scars were once again hidden from plain view. Sparing your mom one last glance, Daryl ran out of the trailer and in the direction where you had disappeared.

A few minutes later, Daryl ended up by the river. There, just as he had predicted, you sat, your knees brought up to your chest, your bare feet resting in the cool water. You were staring straight ahead, clearly deep in thought.

“Figured I'd find ya here,” Daryl spoke softly as he sat down next to you, successfully gaining your attention.

You turned your head to him, tears falling from your eyes. The sight broke Daryl's heart. It was extremely rare to see you crying; you were always so happy and never let anything get you down, so the whole ordeal must've been too much for you.

“I'm sorry,” you brokenly whispered out, wiping the tears from your eyes.

“Fer wha'?”

“For leaving so abruptly,” you explained, tracing mindless shapes and figures into the sand beneath you with your finger. “You were probably so uncomfortable. I know how you feel about people seeing your scars and I just left. I'm really sorry, Daryl.”

It amazed Daryl how, even when it was something that didn't directly affect him and quite obviously took a huge toll on you, you still worried about him more than yourself. You were selfless and hated making just about anything about you, and even though Daryl loved that about you, in that particular moment, he wanted you to be selfish. He wanted you to make this about yourself. He wanted you to cry, to scream, to throw things. He wanted you to be mad at what happened. He didn't want you to worry about him in a moment like that.

Daryl wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his side. “Dun' worry 'bout me,” Daryl whispered into your ear, pressing a kiss to your temple. “How are ya feelin'? And dun' try and pull tha' "m'alright" shit with me. I know ya better than tha'.”

You inhaled deeply and sniffled. “I just... Never expected to meet my father like that. I've always dreamt of meeting him, y'know? And now that I have, I don't know how to feel. On one hand, he's my father and I wanna get to know him, but on the other hand, he's clearly a fucking dick and he needs to fuck off. And my mom... Oh, god. I left my mom. She probably thinks—”

“S'okay,” Daryl reassured you, wiping away the tears that had fallen from your eyes again. “She ain't mad. She's jus' worried 'bout ya.”

“I'm overreacting,” you mumbled, shaking your head in disappointment at yourself. “A few harsh words with that man and I bolt. It's ridiculous.”

“Listen to me,” Daryl began, pulling back and cupping your face in his hands, gently forcing you to look at him. “Yer not overreacting. Everythin' tha' happened was unexpected fer ya. Ya jus' met yer dad in the worst way possible and ya were overwhelmed. Nobody blames ya fer needin' a moment to process everythin', alrigh'? Ya deserve to take a moment fer yerself, a moment to be selfish. Ya hear me?”

You nodded, allowing the tears to fall freely now. Daryl pulled you into a proper hug, allowing you to sob into his shirt. He didn't care that your tears were soaking his shirt—his only concern was you. He whispered sweet nothings into your ear, rocking you from side to side until you calmed down.

“Thank you,” you whispered after a while, sniffling softly.

“Ya dun' have to thank me,” he told you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “M'always here fer ya, jus' like ya are fer me.”

“I love you, Dar.”

A beat of silence passed, until Daryl whispered into your ear. “I love ya too, sunshine. I love ya so fuckin' much.”

©dixons-sunshine 2024. I do not give permission for my works to be copied, modified, adapted or translated to any other site or platform without evidence of my given consent.

[descendantofthesparrow]

Thief - Harry Hook x reader - Oneshot

=

“where is it? I swear I hung it up right ‘ere?” Uma stepped down into Harry’s cabin, leaning against the doorway with her arms crossed as she watched her first mate run about his room, looking very confused and muttering about something.

“lookin’ for something?” Uma asked, tilting her head and smirking as Harry jumped at her sudden voice, his cheeks flushing as she chuckled at his cat-like tendencies. Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his head; messing up his already messy hair. “Aye, me jacket. It’s been missin’ fer like two days. I can’t find It anywhere!”

Uma snorted, and shook her head. “Harry,” he turned to her, raising his brow as he glanced about the room-wondering where the hell his jacket went. “if it ain't where you left it, and you can't find it anywhere?” Harry sighed, dragging his hand down his face. “someone took it.” He grumbled, now wondering who had his jacket. “And there's only two people stupid enough to do tha’.”

Uma smirked, raising her brows again. “Ooooh be careful what you say dude, or your girl ain’t gonna be happy being called stupid.” Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “Aaand ye jus’ let me know who took it, though CJ couldn’t’ve taken it, she’s halfway ‘cross the world.” Harry mumbled, pushing past Uma and making his way off the ship, taking the short trip back to Auradon prep and speeding through the dorm building halls.

He smiled at the thought of you in his jacket, you loved the damn thing, you had told him if you could you would steal it and keep it forever. He just laughed, taking the red leather tailcoat off and draping it around your shoulders, smiling into his hand as you cuddled into the leather, messing about with the zipper on his sleeves.

Since then, whenever you could-you would just yoink his jacket. And he would find you just wandering about wearing his jacket, looking all too happy.

He hadn't told you he commissioned Evie to make a copy in your size(with some edits to the original design, such as a hood, and a detachable tail.) but it still filled him with all the warm feelings, knowing you loved something of his so much you would steal it.

He finally made it to your room, using the spare key you had given him to get inside, grinning as he spotted you on your bed-eyes locked onto your switch with his jacket on. It was fully zipped up, the tail flared out on the bed behind you as you curled into your lap, your tongue sticking out of your mouth as you focused on your game.

“Darlin’,” Harry cooed, chuckling as you jumped and nearly tossed your switch across the room, holding your hand to your chest as you whipped around to look at him. “Harry!” you breathed, closing your eyes and smiling at your boyfriend. “You scared the hell outta me!”

He just laughed, closing the door behind him and joining you on the bed, kissing your cheek and smiling against your skin as you giggled at the feeling. He leaned into your ear, whispering as you shivered at the feeling of him being so close. “ye hav’ somethin’ of mine, my love~”

You just gave a cheeky grin, and in a split second, you were off the bed and running out of the room, cackling as Harry gave chase. “it’s mine now!”

“Not fer long!”

-end-

I dunno, but DAMN do I want his D2 jacket soooo damn badly, so here have an x reader where (y/n) steals it :p

taglist~

@queer-cosette @sephiralorange @lunanight2012

@daughter-of-the-stars11 @musicarose @rintheemolion

@random-thoughts-004 @anythingbutmar @dai-tsukki-desu

@imtryingthisout @remembered-license @thecaptainsgingersnap

@thetrueghostqueen @littlewierdalien

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I've been dreaming of the Ambitious King.

Long live the King of Beasts, he who shines like the sun.

He stands atop the heap, clutching victory in his righteous grasp.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

"We've come to finals of the interschool Spelldrive tournament!" an announcer blares over the stadium. "It's down to the wire, and this will be the deciding round. With the scores tied, it’s anyone’s game!!"

A crowd chomps at the bit for a winner to emerge from the field. They lean forward in their seats, clutch onto hope, stuff their mouths with soda and popcorn. This is a show, the players, actors, and they, the audience.

Leona allows himself a smirk.

We’ll give’m a real show-stopper then. That crown is as good as mine.

“What should our strategy be this time, sir?” a teammate—a Scarabia student—asks.

They’re huddled shoulder to shoulder, one student contributed from each of the seven dorms. Their allegiances may lie in different places, but they all wear the same black and violet uniform. They are all Night Ravens, united under one banner: his.

“We’ll finish this in a single decisive blow,” Leona replies, snapping his goggles on. “I’ll take the disc and score us that final point. The rest of you, cover me.”

“You heard the boss,” the smallest player says. It’s Epel, tiny but feisty—a contrast to his big blue eyes and lilac waves of hair. “Don’t worry, Leona-senpai! I’ll fer sure keep’m offa yer tail!”

“That’s what I like to hear, kid.” He raises his head and calls, “Clear!”

And with that, the players peel off into their own positions. The other team, uniforms pristine white and hemmed in royal blue, are patiently waiting. Leona pulls up to the center of the field where the referee and the opposing team’s leader await.

When he looks, he falters.

It’s a face that is frighteningly similar to his own.

The same skin color, the same lion ears and tail, the same construction of the features—if not softer and more friendly. His mane is held up in a ponytail, bright red-orange that fades into a golden yellow. He’s younger than he should be, missing the slight creases under his warm brown eyes and the lines that flank his perpetually smiling mouth.

“Falena?”

An icy dread creeps up from his core. The world around him seems to slow and come to a complete stop.

But this can’t be. My brother is 10 years older than me. He’s no longer a student, he’s—

“Leona? Is something wrong?” Falena inquires with a cheeky grin. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid to play against family.”

Annoyance flares up.

Brother or not, Leona detests that smile. The smile of a man that has robbed him of everything.

“Dream on,” he snarls back. “I’m overthrowing Royal Sword Academy and you."

The referee lets the disc drop and blows into his whistle. “BEGIN!!”

"Aaand it's started!!" the announcer declares.

His body instinctively kicks into action. He swipes the frisbee, keeping it afloat in a blaze of blood-red magic.

RSA swarm him, magical pens at the ready.

“Protect him…!” he hears Epel shout. “Protect the king!!”

His team charges, each of them trained on their target. NRC and RSA, reflecting the other, copying movements as they bound around on the field, seeking an opening or cutting it off.

Leona blows into enemy territory, furiously racing to the goal post.

"What's this?! It looks like Captain Kingscholar of the NRC team has already devised a plan to secure victory. They're closing off any aid the RSA team can offer to each other!"

The crowd revs up like an engine coming alive, a slumbering city waking. Blood thunders in his ears, louder than his audience.

"Oh no, you don't!"

"Oooh, and here comes the upset! It's Captain Kingscholar of the RSA team, come to interfere with the game plan!"

Leona swerves, and a stream of fire narrowly misses him. "Tsk!"

A flash of red and gold, and there's his brother at his side. "Sorry, Leona. It won't be that easy."

"Knock it off. I don't have time to play games with you!"

He dives, trying to shake Falena off--but he pursues, relentless in the chase. They thread each other in the sky, trading spells.

Explosions of heat and color. Shards of ice whizzing by, columns of water. Windy whips lashing at them. All-consuming light and darkness.

"This is amazing, folks! We are witnessing a brotherly quarrel the likes of which we've never seen before... Look at that dazzling display of flight technique and spellwork!"

Through it all, Falena' laughs.

So carefree, so cheerful. A knife twists in his chest, and the anger spikes again.

"That's enough...! I'm ending this," Leona snarls.

His magic collects in a single sphere. There is no body to it, no true shape--only a contained vortex of gales. They violently churn in an endless cycle, raising a storm in a jar.

He sends it hurtling at Falena, who moves to conjure a barrier--

Too late.

The ball expands, releasing its energy in one deep sigh. The audience is slammed back into their seats, the players blown to the ground or sent crashing into the bounds of the stadium. They're dazed, confused, scrambling to rebalance on their brooms.

The path, he sees, is clear.

Now...!

He lets out a monstrous roar and blitzes for the goal post. The disc sparkles, charging with power for the final blow as he gallops toward his prize.

The announcer hops back on, his voice frantic. "Could this be it?! Can Captain Kingscholar of the NRC team reclaim the throne from his brother?!"

Noise builds around him. RSA players calling out to each other, NRC players changing his name, the crowd cheering.

It's now or never.

Leona spikes the disc with all his might. It clears, the winning shot like a shooting star. Some golden object encapsulated in a blaze of fire.

The adrenaline in his blood sings with triumph. His tired muscles, his heavy breathing, the sweat upon his brow--badges of honor.

The sound intensifies, joined by whistles and shrieks. Feet stomping, hands clapping. People standing and hugging their neighbors. (Leona thinks he sees Crowley among them, sobbing uncontrollably.)

“This is incredible, ladies and gentlemen! You’ve just witnessed history being made today…! Night Raven College has snatched victory from the jaws of defeat, breaking Royal Sword Academy’s 99 year win streak!!"

Leona slowly returns to the ground, dismounting from his broom. He lands beside Falena, who is sprawled on his back and wearing the usual smile.

"Ahahah, looks like you beat me," he says casually.

"... Fool. Get up, you look ridiculous. The acting king of the Sunset Savanna shouldn't be rolling around in the dirt." Leona looks away, but awkwardly offers a hand.

Falena laughs and accepts it, hauling himself up. "That's a funny joke. When did you get a sense of humor?"

He scowled. "I didn't make one."

"Are you still half asleep? And you still beat me?" Falena punches him in the bicep. "That's my talented big bro."

"What... big bro?"

There it is again: something cold and sinister inside of him. The lingering feeling of wrongness.

Suddenly, the adrenaline in him turns toxic, and he feels as though his flesh and bones are burning. Leona seizes Falena by the shoulders and shakes him.

"What the hell is going on... Gaaah!"

A metallic screech fills the stadium. Pain blossoms in his ears, and Leona rushes to guard them, hands dropping away from Falena.

"Oops, sorry! Technical difficulties, folks!" the announcer apologizes. "It looks like even our equipment wants to cheer for Captain Kingscholar of the NRC team, the star player of today! Let's give him a round of applause!!"

They explode with excitement, Clapping and calling out louder than he can think.

"What a judicious young man!"

"He controls such powerful magic with ease...!"

He stands there, shocked, at the rain of adoration. Him, recognized? Respected, saluted, and seen as the wonder he is? Him?

His mind clouds.

What is this,,,?

"Leona-saaaan!!"

He turns, finding his teammates jogging over, Epel at the head. There are members of his own dorm with them--Ruggie, Jack.

"We gotcha now, Leona-san! Thought you could get away without getting your fur ruffled, huh?" Ruggie snickers, then gives Jack a thumbs-up. "Alright, fellas. You know what to do!"

"Hah, the hell is this? I didn't ask for a surprise after working my tail off."

"Sorry, Leona-senpai! Ruggie-senpai's orders!" Jack says very seriously. "This is the only way to give you a proper sendoff for carrying us to victory... You've earned it!"

"1, 2, 3...!"

"Wha...?!"

Leona is seized and hoisted into the air with a collective whoop of excitement. Tossed up, up, up. The stadium lights glaring, sound blasting.

He returns back to his peer's arms, and heaved up again. Down and up, down and up. Each pass makes him more nauseous, blinded and deafened by the dizzying joy.

"Long live the king! Long live the king!!" they chant.

The king... me? Leona fights against it, pushing as hard as he can.

But his body is tired, his mental capacities drained, his emotions worn. The situation, too sweet, too cloying.

I'm... the king... I won. This is my prize.

He closes his eyes and lets himself fall.

This time, for good.

When he opens them again, he swears he sees a dark figure flying high above the stadium. Not on a broom, but floating of his own accord. A pair of horns protrudes him his head, and he glimpses a pair of ghostly white hands clapping.

One additional spectator with glowing green eyes.

"Congratulations, Kingscholar."

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Daryl read you like a book.

Vamp!Daryl x reader, smut

It came naturally with how long the two of you had been together these days. Since before the dead started walking the two of you had been inseparable. You had plans for your future, but those got ruined when the dead first rose.

The hopes came and went with each and every new settlement. From the quarry, to the prison, the farm inbetween those, but none stuck long enougg to deem it safe enough. Not for a huge the commitment of having a child.

Those dreams were nothing but old memories now, with Daryl's newest issues he got from running into an even less friendly kind of undead not long before arriving in Alexandria. A kind that stopped Daryl's heart and lowered his core temperature to thst of a dead man and gave him a thirst for human blood. You came to the realisation it ruined even more of Daryl's human functions after you tried so hard now that you finally had a safe space but the seed never took.

Daryl saw through your lies of being okay with it. The everlasting chants of "It's better this way." But he knew how much it hurt you. Before the world ended your eyes would have that sparkle in them whenever you saw mothers with their babies but now that sparkle turned into tears threatening to spill.

It was the worst during the times Rosita and Michonne had just given birth, seeing them breastfeed their little ones with the most love and adoration you had ever seen.

There were times you thought Daryl was still out and cried yourself to sleep, but he heard you each and every time.

"Yer starin', hun." Daryl held your waist as you both stood in the doorway of the community hall where Daryl had gotten stuck by accident this morning. The meeting took so long it went on till morning, so you came to visit him.

A sad sigh left your lips as you looked away from the woman across the street who was feeding her baby and enjoying the sun on the porch. "M'sorry.. I gotta head out anyways, guard shift." With a last kiss you left your partner at the door, only seeing him again after the sun had set late in the evening.

You were settled in bed already with a novel by the time he got back. Daryl left his shoes at the door. His vest on the back of the usual dinner table chair and his shirt was in his hands when he made it up the stairs.

"Hey, welcome back." The smile on your face was the only thing that still warmed his cold, dead heart, and he was determined to cheer you up and make that smile a genuine one tonight.

"Hi, hun.." His voice gave away his lack of strength. He hadn't fed since the meeting started, close to twenty-four hours earlier. He needed to feed, and you'd happily give him what he needed so you put your book away and offered him your arm where old puncture wounds sat in varying stages of healing.

But he didn't bring your wrist to his mouth ad he settled on the bed. His hand moved along the length of your arm and down your torso to take off your top, exposing your upper body.

"Daryl, what are you doing?" The two of you hadn't been intimate in a long time, not wanting to be reminded of the hurt it caused you both. "Jus' relax, lemme make it nice fer us both."

Daryl's words had your curiousity piqued and your eyes following his every move from where he started at the edge of the bed to where he now moved to lay on top of you, umderneath the blankets.

"You're being weird." With a smile on your face you kissed the top of his head as he planted kisses on your chest.

"M'bein' nice." Daryl's hands were on your waist , then on the sides of your ribcage before they ended on your chest, squeezing, kissing and licking all over them. You let out a moaned laugh at the tickle of his fingertips and rolled your hips up against his stomach making him growl deep in his throat.

You never watched while he fed. The sight of his monstrous side wasn't one youbwanted to remember may something ever happen to him, but now you watched.

The veins under his skin blackened, spreading from black scleras that surrounded deep red irises. His normally stubby fangs were now long and sharp, ready to bite down and feed from you. His ears had pointed and so had his nails that softly clawed at your sides.

He dragged his long, pointy tongue across one of your tits with a pleased hum at your shiver, grinning so wide it looked like his face had split open. Still, with the gentlest touch he kissed your nipple.

You watched as he opened his mouth. Watched as his fangs pierced your skin, just above your nipple and latched onto it.

You watched as he fed from you. Mimicking a newborn feeding off their mother. Your hands moved on their own, caressing his cold flesh, tracing the scars on his back as he laid with his arms wrapped around you for warmth.

You felt his hard cock against your leg, but he disn't seem bothered by it in the slightest. He was content just feeding and pleasing you in the meantime. He fed off your blood and warmth, giving you all that you wanted.

The need to nurture, but also the realization that even without a child of your own, you had someone who needed you.

His monstrous outside no longer scared you, knowing what laid underneath would never think of hurting you. Your lover had changed over the years, you had lost your personal heater and with that the chance of starting your own family. But you gained a protector, one who may never suffer from a walker bite but needed you more than anything to keep walking beside you.

He needed you as much as you needed him.

So from now on, you watched.

[w3r3theli0nshunt]

POV: Task 141 + König finds out that you’re autistic

Task 141 + könig x autistic!reader

Okay okay a little self indulgence here. But this is also to somehow spread a positivity regarding the spectrum and also encourage people who feels insecure about being neurodivergent. This applies to anyone, not a specific gender.

And for people who don’t really relate, it’s fine. It’s normal to be different and it’s okay to be different.

There are some sexual themes here, but mostly wholesome fluff MDNI!!!!!!!!!!! - and sum angst as well

❤︎︎So here’s a lil authors note: You can still be loved and appreciated with or without the diagnosis🫶

★He’s definitely got ADHD or is at least on the spectrum, so he doesn’t judge you at all

★He’s a yapper and can’t help it, so when you tell him to stop talking so you can peacefully gather your own thoughts, he stops with a few whines along

★He’s a very touchy type and he loves touching you, and sometimes he forgets to keep distance when you tell him to stop

“Soap! Not today, please. I’ve been stressed”

“Dinnae worry, luv. I’ll try, but I cannae promise”

★He’ll be a little difficult to process your diagnosis, getting used to new habits, having to break old ones but he doesn’t really complain

★He gets really confused and stressed out not knowing what to do when you get (if) you meltdowns

★When you’re on dates, he makes sure to take you to a place that is less crowded so you don’t get stressed out

★When you feel mentally tired from socialising, he tries his best to keep distance and remain quiet so you can recover peacefully

★(If) sometimes you enjoy feeling pressure on you, it’s your way of stimming, he’ll happily lay above your body and fall asleep

★Gets really happy when you finally give him a peck or a kiss, or even a hug

★Sometimes he lets you squeeze his bicep or thigh as a way to stim, sometimes he even lets you try and braid his short Mohawk

★If you don’t like the consistency or taste of food, he’ll get you your ‘safe meal’ that he knows you like

★Sometimes you’re awfully quiet and distant, he takes it as if you’re mad at him and he tends to get worried

“I’m not mad at you if that’s what you think”

“Still cannae help it, I just dannae want ye ta leave me fer being touchy”

★He’ll steal kisses from you, making them quick so you can’t react

★He’ll miss the frequent sex like he used to have with his exes, but he’ll still love you as much.

★Not really familiar with the diagnosis, but he sure as hell do his research

★He’ll almost act like a dad would with his child, telling you to stop stimming with your hair or picking with your skin and place a fidget toy in your hand instead

★He admires your creativity, always flattered when you show off your drawing/sketches with a proud look on your face and enthusiastically explain it

★He can’t stop looking at you with such admiration when you cuddle with a pillow/squish-mallow while being focused on the tv

★He makes you write a list to him of foods you like and how you like them, just so he knows :)

★He’s a fast learner with you and knows how you work

★When you (if) get meltdowns, he knows exactly what to do. Either give you space or tightly putting pressure on your body to help calm you down

★He knows when you don’t want cuddling or sex, so he’ll back off. Just happy that you’re his

★When the places you go to are crowded, he’ll instantly take you to a calmer place

★You two usually have dates at home, but Price is good at making stuff romantic

★He’ll tell his friends about you a lot, telling them to not be too pushy or touchy

★He knows you don’t enjoy meeting new people so he’ll make sure to spare you from doing so as often as he can, but sometimes you have to and at those times he tells the people about you in first hand

“Your friends are nice, but I didn’t expect them to keep distance. Didn’t you tell me that they could be very nosy and pushy sometimes?”

“Well, this man right here turns out to be completely in love with you. And that also means that his friends are gonna have to accept my darling”

★He’s totally accepting of you and he’ll still love you just as much as before the truth came out

★Gaz is a very accepting and patient man, his feelings still stay as strong

★He also does a lot of research to try and understand you more, but also prefers when you tell him yourself as people are different and work differently

★He gets his friends to set up a romantic place that is private so that you can remain calm and relaxed not having a bunch of strangers stressing you out

★He totally understands if you don’t feel like being touched and he’ll back away until you feel like it again

★His soothing voice and compassion always manages to calm you down when (if again) you get a meltdown

“It’s alright, love. I’m here and it’s gonna be alright. Some days are bad, some are not”

“I-I love you so fucking much, man”

★He knows you love animals so he’ll always takes you to zoos, admiring you from afar as you gaze with such enthusiasm at the animals and your hands shaking by excitement and your small jumps

★When you distance yourself and talk less, he’ll always sit you down to talk because he’s worried that you’re mad at him, you’ll assure him that you just need some space and silence to recover from socialising all day, he’ll feel at ease afterwards and refuses to let you apologise for it

“I’m sorry, but I don’t feel like being intimate today”

“Don’t apologise, dear. Take your time, my arms will always be ready for you”

★He’ll happily stand behind and watch while you’re being ✨creative ✨ and he won’t stop complimenting

★Is always gentle with you, with both tone of voice and his affection, takes it slowly as he gives you time to pull away

★Doesn’t mind rewatching movies/series with you

★He’s aware of the diagnosis, knows a lot about it since he may also be on the spectrum as well

★He’ll also be very accepting, more so because he understand as well

★He’s not a very touchy and kissing, so he doesn’t have any problem with keeping a distance and giving you space

★When you have a meltdown, he just stares at you feeling immense guilt for something he didn’t do and his heart aching seeing you upset and stressed

★He doesn’t like going outside in public spaces a lot, so you usually have a date at home where he heats up your favorite meal in the microwave and pours a glass of your favorite soda

★If he spots you stimming in a way that could damage you, he stares at you with his brown eyes and say “quit it, love” before he lets you squeeze his thicc pectoral instead ;) it’s your own fault if he groans and his huge bulge poking at you

★Feels uneasy when you’re silent and distancing yourself, but he always finds a way to lurk around you, almost tip toeing around after you

★When you tell him that you want space, he gives you, but he’ll still linger around you, merely because he wants to make sure that you’re alright and also because of his own selfish reasons

★Quietly admires you when you show of your art to him, having to grab his chest later to make sure that his heart stays in there

★When you’re asleep and haven’t touched him for the whole day, he’ll indulge in his desire, so he wraps his arms gently around you and hug you for a while and then he’ll let go (after like an hour or so)

★He doesn’t really care for sex, but if you want to initiate, he’ll be a fool to decline

★He loves you way too much to just break up because of you

“How can you still wanna be with me? Don’t you want a partner who can be perfectly affectionate towards you?”

“Y/n, don’t even fuckin’ think that way. I’ll always choose you, with or without the diagnosis. And you know why? Because I fuckin’ love you”

★You say you love animals, he’ll buy you your favorite animal (as a pet, a pet friendly one……I hope)

★He has a huge understanding, mostly about the social stuff as he has the same difficulty

★His whole browser is full of ‘how does autistic people work?’ and ‘how to convince an autistic person to cuddle with me?’

“König, I don’t feel like cuddling today”

“But, liebling, how else will I show my love for you?”

★When you want space, he tries to convince you that he doesn’t wanna let go of you and that he’ll be sad if he won’t be able to see you

★Will literally get an anxiety attack being in crowded spaces, while you have to remain calm and try and drag the both of you away

★Whenever you stim, he’ll tell you to touch/squeeze him instead (sort of using it to his advantage to be touched by you)

★Will wrap his arms around and pull you tight against him in the middle of the night, instantly after you’ve falling asleep and play dumb the next morning when you ask him how you’re in his arms

★You two enthusiastically exchanges hobbies and interests

★If you’re sound sensitive, he’ll cover your ears, if you’re sensitive to specific consistencies, he’ll make mental notes to your preferences, if you’re sensitive to light, he’ll always pack a pair of sunglasses with him to give, if you feel the labels on the inside of your clothes poking your skin uncomfortably, he’ll cut them off.

★He steal kisses from you when you’re distracted or asleep

★When you’re quiet, he’ll stare at you to see every detail of your face and if it changes in the slightest, just to make sure that you’re alright

★Sometimes when you’re neutral (not feeling anything specific) he’ll assume that you’re mad at him and he’ll get extremely anxious

“Liebling, what can I do so you won’t be mad at me?! Please, i can change!”

“König, I’m not mad at you. Why would you assume that when you haven’t done anything?”

꧁✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰꧂

[soaphawk]

bright blue, honey brown

w/c: 5.5k warnings: canon-typical violence, blood and injuries, hospitals written for ghoap soulmay 2024 <3 | posted to ao3

It’d been said that when you and your soulmate first touch, the colour of their eyes will bloom across your skin. Simon had seen it before, he knew it was real, but that didn’t change the fact that experiencing it for himself was infinitely more terrifying than he could’ve ever imagined.

“Soap, keep up!” Ghost barked, long legs propelling him forward. Occasional grunts would meet their stumbling footfalls as they fled through the treeline, relying on compasses to find their way back to relative safety. Thankfully, the sounds of barking and machine gun fire behind them had ceased, leaving the woods silent save for their laboured breaths and the whispers of the windy evening air. 

”Right behind ye, Lt,” Soap wheezed, his stride unsteady and slowing behind him.

“Y’allright?” Quickly surveying the area for hidden threats, Ghost slowed his sprint, giving his sergeant a moment to catch up. 

“Solid,” Soap replied, voice still strained in a way that had Ghost narrowing his eyes as he limped closer. One hand clutched his side, chest heaving with shaky breaths. Breaths that rattled in his chest, that set the hairs on the back of Ghost’s neck on edge with how… exhausted Soap sounded. “How much… further?”

”Half a klick. Come on, we’re both proper rank.” Ghost frowned under his mask as he watched Soap stumble forward for a few steps before tripping. He reached out, grabbing at his sergeant’s arm to steady him before he could fall. “Almost ‘ere, Johnny. Come on, put your arm around me.”

”Didnae take ye fer th’ touchy-feely type, sir.” Soap offered a cheeky smile as Ghost pulled his uninjured arm over his broad shoulders. 

Ghost suppressed an eye-roll while he slid an arm around the other man’s waist. “Yeah, well, you’re not gonna quit your wingin’ unless I fuckin’ carry you, MacTavish.” Not that I’d mind it one bit, holding you close like that. I’d make sure nothing else could ever hurt you. 

Together—with Ghost supporting most of Soap’s weight—they trudged onwards. No words passed between them, save for his sergeant’s pained grunts every so often. Out of the corner of his eye, Ghost watched him grit his teeth, face unusually pale. Soap’s silence worried him; the man barely stopped talking, even in the middle of an op. Nope, don’t like this, he thought, clenching his jaw. Usually can’t get him to shut the fuck up. Both lost in their own thoughts, Ghost’s kept tearing back and forth between the mission at hand and wanting those distressed noises to stop, because something hurt his Johnny.

”Almost there,” Ghost murmured, as much for his benefit as for Soap’s. The rattling breaths had weakened slightly, only reminding Ghost that he couldn’t slow, couldn’t falter, Johnny needed him. Thankfully, the safe house drew closer, hurrying their steps towards it as much as either man dared. Ghost left Soap stationed just outside of the front door, gun in hand while he worked to crack it open before sweeping the rooms one by one. 

Once he felt satisfied that the area was safe, Ghost finally helped Soap inside, settling him on a rarely used, dusty sofa, wishing for something more comfortable as Soap winced. He himself stayed standing a few paces away as a gloved hand reached for his comms.

“Watcher, this is Bravo 0-7, how copy?” 

“Good to hear your voice, Ghost.” Laswell’s voice crackled through his earpiece. “What’s your status?”

”Made it to the safe house. Just need an ETA on extraction. Soap’s hurt, gonna get him patched up in the meantime.”

”Roger that. Stand by for ETA. I’ll get a bird out to you ASAP.”

”Gh’st…?” 

His heart fell as he turned, seeing Soap—no, Johnny—even more inexplicably pale. Slowly, too slowly, he followed the line of Soap’s newly exposed chest, all the way down to the red blossoming beneath his shirt. Forcing his eyes back up, Ghost’s gaze locked on his sergeant, noting with almost clinical detachment how fearful his bright blue orbs looked in this moment. No, Johnny… you’re not supposed to be afraid. You’re not supposed to be hurt! 

Ghost wracked his brain, every detail of the mission flashing through in overdrive until—

“Think ‘m bleedin’…”

That snapped Ghost back into action. Panic flooded his veins as the stain grew larger, crashing to his knees in front of Johnny in an instant. No longer feeling like everything existed in slow-motion, his entire thought process honed in on his friend, his teammate, his…

No, no. Focus on the task at hand. 

“No fuckin’ shit,” Ghost heard himself say before he fumbled single handedly with his comms. ”Watcher, we’re gonna need that evac sooner rather than later,” he rasped into his mic, pulling Johnny’s shirt up and exposing the bloody hole torn in his side.

The man in question went quiet, save for a pained whimper. “Soap, I need you to keep talking!”

Soap grunted softly as Ghost’s fingers probed the wound, already reaching for his emergency kit as crimson blood flowed like an angry tide across his fingers. Frustrated, he tore his skeleton gloves off, exposing his pale digits to the thick, warm fluid. 

“‘S nothin, sir. Dinnae need t’ fuss…” Soap groaned, eyes focusing and unfocusing. 

A low, pained whine fell from his lips as Ghost pressed hard against the gunshot wound, using his free hand to pack as much gauze as he could into the mess—anything to stop the bleeding—terror thrumming through his mind at the fact that, with the amount of blood pooling under his fingers, he may very well lose the man he’d inexplicably fallen in lov—

”Bloody hell, Soap!” 

Even with the wound plugged, the bleeding wouldn’t stop. Everywhere he looked, Ghost saw red—blood red—and watched as discoloured marks bloomed over where their bare skin touched. Fear truly gripped him as Johnny gasped again, a pained noise but also—

—shocked as he grabbed onto Ghost’s bare wrist, holding on so hard he nearly crushed the bones. 

“Huh, that’s never… happen’d b’fore…” Ghost refocused his gaze, blinking down at where they linked in shock. Down to where the Scot’s hand gripped, as blue—bright blue, the exact colour of Soap’s eyes—spread across Ghost’s skin like ink. A shaky breath in and Ghost pressed his fingers against one of the few unmarred spots on Soap’s chest, watching with horrified fascination as honey brown bloomed across the pallor. 

The exact same way that, as a kid, as a teenager, as an adult, Ghost had been told people found their soulmates. The exact colour of their eyes blooming across the skin wherever they happen to meet.

My soulmate…?

Johnny… Johnny’s my… my soulmate?

But… this can’t be the first time we’ve ever touched, right? It can’t be, this has gotta be a dream, there’s no way Johnny’s bleeding out in my arms and I’m just now realizing he’s my bloody fucking soulmate—!

“Looks like yer eyes, Si…” Soap slurred out, lidded gaze trained on where Ghost still pressed against his ravaged skin. “S’nice. Like it… on…”

”Johnny—“ Whatever Ghost wanted to say next died in his throat as Johnny’s eyes rolled back, his body sagging against the cushions. “Soap? Johnny! Shit!” Scrambling for his comms once again, his hands shook as they depressed the button. “Watcher, we need medevac now! Soap’s down!”

— — — — — — —

While he swirled patterns over Johnny’s arm with his bare fingers, Simon did his best to not think about the marks left behind on his mother’s face.

Every time honey brown followed his carreses, images of father’s handprints leaving green splotches in their wake flashed through his mind. An almost perfect contrast to his mother’s stark white skin, covered in a collage of purple and yellow bruises. 

It had always been a distinct fascination. Something that most people craved—some even going their entire lives searching for it—yet one of the most terrifying things Simon could imagine. 

Riley’s didn’t do love, they didn’t deserve soulmates. Loving another in that way only brought pain and heartache. Especially in this line of work, especially because his bloody fucking soulmate just so happened to be Johnny Fucking MacTavish, the biggest and most wonderful pain in his arse he’d ever had.

Simon Riley-MacTavish. Nice ring to it.

Fuck, Johnny deserved better than him. If it weren’t for Simon, Johnny wouldn’t be lying broken in this bed, relying on a machine to breathe for him. If he had just been faster, kept his finger on the trigger and kept firing even as they ran for their fucking lives—

Simon’s parents had been soulmates. Their relationship ended in tears and bloodshed, bruises in the shape of hands that were supposed to love and nurture and not break and destroy. In blood on the floor and broken bones, shattered as easily as glass. As easily as a heart.

A lone tear beaded in the corners of Simon’s eyes. He had those same hands.

How many things—beautiful things—had he destroyed with these hands?

He couldn’t stand to look at them, knowing how much pain and fear and hurt and anguish they caused. Slowly, carefully, he pulled the gloves back on, waiting for his body to stop shaking. He didn’t want to look at the bare skin anymore, the scars and the bruises and the crooked finger that broke and never healed correctly under his father’s boot.

Tommy and Beth were soulmates, too. And while Tommy never laid a hand against her or their son in anger, he knew those demons haunted his brother like they stalked Simon himself. One of the few things they could bond over as adults, something they maybe could have recovered from together until…

Every good thing in Simon’s life disappeared. How many more things could he lose before he lost the rest of himself? Before Simon Riley finally gave himself over for the Earth to swallow whole, until there was no point where Ghost ended and Simon began anew?

Simon rested his head on Johnny’s chest with a soft sigh. Soulmates were for good people, like the man laying stone still in this bed. Not for people who destroyed every good thing in their lives.

It wouldn’t stop him from loving the man before him, though. It hadn’t, in any case. Simon had loved Johnny from the moment the annoying, pain-in-the-arse Scot managed to worm his way into Simon’s life. 

Fucking hell.

Simon watched the slow rise and fall of Johnny’s breathing for a few long minutes. This would be as close as he ever got to the man he’d inexplicably fallen for ever again. He’d already failed to keep Johnny at arm’s length, instead working to pull the man closer, to protect him under his mask. A silent shadow, daring anyone to come close to the man he so desperately wanted to be his. The man he loved more than anything he’d ever loved before.

Simon had promised himself he’d just… love from afar, that’s all. It’d be enough.

He could stay out of Johnny’s life, but still keep him safe.

And yet here Johnny lay, straddling the barrier between life and death, all because of him. Simon had been foolish to believe he could be the knight in shining armor, whether as Ghost or not. But he couldn’t deny being helplessly caught in Johnny’s orbit, like a moth to a flame every damn time.

He hadn’t been fast enough. Maybe if he could have stopped the bleeding earlier or at least realized something was wrong—

“I’m so sorry, Johnny.” Simon whispered.

The silence didn’t respond.

Simon didn’t deserve a response, anyway.

I love you, he longed to say.

He couldn’t.

It wasn’t safe to be loved by a man like Ghost.

— — — — — — —

Honey brown flashed across Soap’s mind and his skin in his dreams. Every time he felt like he tumbled further into the abyss, warm eyes and a gentle touch pulled him back. A deep, rough voice with words he couldn’t make out played over and over, but the emotions were clear: fear, urgency, care, love…

“…hear me? Soap?”

Head swimming, Soap only groaned and tried to bat the presence away. His hand seared when he lifted it, eyes blinded by the bright white light as he hissed in pain and screwed them shut tight.

”Sorry, son,” the voice gained some clarity at the same time the light shining through his eyelids dimmed, making way for a familiar beard and kind blue eyes when he dared crack his open again. Disappointment speared his gut for a second. For a moment, he had been convinced that Simon was sitting silent vigil beside him. ”Still with me, lad?”

”Yessir,” Soap slurred, tongue heavy and dry in his mouth. Without needing to ask, Price tipped a straw in his direction, allowing him to take long, greedy sips of ice cold water. He gasped as soon as it pulled away. “Thanks.”

”Gave us quite a scare,” Price fake-scolded, voice and expression betraying the fear he clearly tried to push away with a joke. “I told you boys to not break yourselves.”

”Aww, wasnae intentional!” Soap pouted at his captain, pulling a quokka-like smile from the older man. 

“Sure it wasn’t. Danger magnet,” an affectionate hair ruffle followed the captain’s words before his voice dropped to a more serious tone. “Do you remember what happened?”

“I…” Soap trailed off, scouring his thoughts. All he could find were disjointed memories and fragments of the op after everything had gone to shit… “Not much. I—fuck, where’s Si? Is he okay?!”

The heart monitor next to the men beeped louder as Soap fought to sit upright, only stilling when Price physically held him down, pushing his shoulders as deep into the bed as he dared. “He’s fine! He’s fine, John. Battered, but he’s fine. I promise.”

Soap breathed a sigh of relief at that. Price wouldn’t lie to him, not at the same time he called him by his actual name. Ghost’s—no, Simon’s?—face flashed through his mind, so ridiculously expressive even behind the mask, but only to those who really took the time to understand.

And Soap did, because he loved the daft bastard. Simon, without a second thought, saved his life yet again… someday maybe he’d get to repay the favour. At the very least, though, he could tell his lieutenant—the man he loved more than anything—thank you with a round of drinks once he was free. “Where’s he at?”

“Sent him to his room to rest. Same thing you need to be doing, ay?” Price replied gruffly. Soap laughed as he leaned over to ruffle his hair again, leaning into the contact with a barely restrained sigh of pleasure. As much as he wanted to see Simon, to beg Price to drag the man to the medical wing… Soap couldn’t deny how tired he felt, eyelids drooping steadily as his captain’s hand radiated warmth into his skin. 

“Just sleep, son. I’ll tell Simon you’re up. Kyle, too. We’ll be back soon enough.”

Soap nodded, mumbling something soft and unintelligible under his breath. He drifted to sleep with a smile, the memory of his lieutenant’s beautiful brown eyes front and centre in his dreams. Simon would be here when he woke up, and he’d reach out and hug the big bastard and pull him close, finally brush their lips against one anothers…

— — — — — — —

Soap—once he finally escaped the clutches of the medical wing—seethed his entire way back to the 141’s barracks. 

Soldiers all but leapt out of the way as he barrelled down the hallways, flinging the doors open and stalking outside. Sunlight kissed his skin, rare warmth radiating across his body after weeks of sterile white lights, but he couldn’t give a single shit. 

After weeks of seeing nothing but scrubs, blue masks, physical therapy… his best friend, his lieutenant, the man he bloody fucking loved, hadn’t come to see him once. 

More than just angry, Soap’s heart ached like someone had taken a vise to it and squeezed. Price and Gaz had stopped by more times than he could count, preventing him from going entirely insane in his room, but never once did he see the man in the mask. 

Every time he asked after Simon, their smiles faded, heads shook as they told him we tried and he’s not talking to anyone and he hasn’t been back to his room in days. 

Furious, Soap’s feet brought him all the way to the lieutenant’s office… but he couldn’t bring himself to knock, to shoulder his way in, to demand the man’s time. His radio silence made it obvious; Ghost didn’t want to see Soap.

Except… Soap saw Ghost. Saw flashes of Simon on base every single day. In the mess, in the showers, training recruits, sparring… 

And every day that passed had the pain in his chest taking root, expanding through his veins, twisting his smile into something ugly. Something venomous to hide the hurt festering in his heart. Something far, far from the roses he’d assumed would bloom once he finally got off his dumb arse, stopped waiting around for Simon to be less oblivious, and told the man he loved him. 

Oh, the roses grew all right. Except no flowers could be seen, instead the thorns grew bigger and bigger until they choked his life from the inside out.

Johnny missed Simon. 

He wanted Simon.

Needed him, really. Just needed to know it was all okay.

Except Soap also wanted to clock the man. 

Seriously, not a single visit? Not a single word from the man every time Soap begged Price and Gaz for information? What, did Ghost think him weak and pathetic, was that it? Had Soap done something wrong, something so heinous that ‘the Ghost’ couldn’t stand to be seen with him?

Those thoughts plagued Soap’s restless nights. He already struggled with turning his brain off enough to sleep, especially without the exhaustion of running ops and coming back bone tired. Instead, he tossed and turned, ruminating after the sting of his nightmares faded enough that he could focus on anything aside from the sting of rejection. 

Why didn’t Simon want him anymore? Was he that angry about the op? Disappointed in Soap for fucking it up? Did he discover how Soap truly felt about him and became too disgusted to even be seen near the other man? 

At first, Soap thought he’d just imagined the whole thing. That the bright blue across Simon’s wrist had just been a trick of a dying man’s thoughts. Some fucked up mainfestation of his dreams and fantasies to soothe him to the other side. Or maybe that the honey brown across Soap’s belly had just been dried blood captured at a different angle. 

The thought plagued him, so much so that sleep became nothing more than a fleeting thought, a passing entity in the night just out of reach. Just like Simon.

After Soap’s fourth night in a row storming through the 141 barracks towards their small gym, bloodying his barely healed knuckles over and over on the punching bag, Price caught up to him. He didn’t resist as the captain peeled him off the floor, leading him back to the office with the promise of some (decaf) coffee and conversation.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Price finally asked, voice thick with sleep.

“I…” Soap audibly gulped. How could he even say what he needed to? That he was a lovesick puppy whose owner kicked him to the curb? “Ma heid’s mince. Did I do summat wrong? ‘S that why Si won’t look at me?”

Price sighed softly, offering a kind smile. “You did nothing wrong. Simon’s… struggling.” Soap rolled his eyes hard in response.

“Am too! Fuck, am the one who’s bin in t’ hospital!” He managed to grind out. “I dinnae understand… jus’ wanna know how I can fix… whatever ah did. Wanna ken why he… won’t talk t’ me anymore. Hurts.”

“I know. But beating yourself bloody isn’t going to fix it,” Price replied, taking a drag from his cigar. “I’ll talk to him when I see him again, ay? See if I can figure it out?”

“Sir…”

“Let me do this for you, son.”

“I… I think he might be my… my soulmate, sir.”

Price didn’t seem surprised, only humming softly in response. “What makes you say that?”

“I cannae remember much, but in t’ safe house… he was jus’ patchin’ me up. Coulda sworn I saw blue on ‘is hands. Like mah eyes. More ah think on it, though… Dunno. Maybe it was jus’ a dream. A hope.”

Silence spanned the room for a few minutes. “Get some rest, Johnny,” was all Price replied, though the knowing look in his eye reassured Soap slightly. “We’ll sort this out.”

With nothing to do the next day, Soap sat in his room. At first, he’d tried sketching, but photos of Simon’s handsome face stared back up at him. He slammed the book closed in disgust.

Movies were out, no way he’d be sitting still long enough to focus.

Training was still off the schedule for the most part, Price adamant that he rest and not strain himself any further, lest the stitches holding his guts together popped.

Soap glared at the wall as the same anger from the past weeks welled inside of him, fidgeting enough that it didn’t matter what he did, he just needed out. 

At first, he walked aimlessly, picking a direction and letting the cool air soothe his mind. It didn’t matter where he ended up, so long as he found a spot where he could sit and scream and fall apart with no one there to witness it. That way, when he went back, he could smile again and pretend like everything was fine.

That’s how Soap found himself on a scarce path leading towards the edge of the forest. A spot Simon himself had taken him to, the same place where he knew the man would sit to have some quiet. And seeing the lone figure on the ridge, clad in all black with his blonde hair exposed—

—Soap saw red.

”Oi, ye bloody bawbag!” Soap screamed, watching the figure jump with a sadistic kind of glee. He already had the upper hand if he’d startled the man. 

“What, ye think ye’re so bloody fuckin’ special, ‘s that it? Made it oot in one piece, no thanks to yer eejit of a sergeant?! Are ye so bloody ashamed of me that ye couldnae once come t’ visit? Bloody fuckin’ ‘ell, sir, am I that much of a burden to ye?!”

Drawing closer and closer, Soap kept hurling his anger and hurt at the man, reaching out to grab at the lieutenant as soon as he could, intent on bowling the man over and over into the dirt until the aggression worked its way out of his system. He ground his teeth as he watched Ghost’s shoulders shake, the sound coming from the bastard almost like a laugh.

“What, not gonnae turn an’ face me? ‘S that it? ‘S this fuckin’ funny t’ ye?! Seein’ me loose my bloody fuckin’ mind?!”

Close enough to the man, Soap all but slapped down onto Ghost’s shoulder, the feeling of skin on skin reverberating up his arm as he gripped as tight as he could, trying to force the larger man to turn and meet his gaze. 

Ghost—no, Simon?—curled in on himself, flinching away with a harder shudder.

He wasn’t laughing at Soap. He was sobbing.

Simon was… crying? Startled, Soap dropped his grip in an instant, reeling back. 

”Si?” Soap voiced hesitantly. “I—“

”Johnny…” 

All of his anger melted away at the fear and despair in the man’s voice. Days, no weeks, of built-up frustration drained from his bones, leaving weary exhaustion in its wake. Johnny crossed to crouch in front of Simon, angling so he could see his face. “Simon, what—can ah hug ye?”

Simon pulled away the moment Johnny reached forward, as soon as his fingers brushed the man’s chest. “You’re still healing, I don’t—“

“No, ye don’t get t’ do that!” Johnny barked, momentary softness forgotten as he grabbed for the taller man, ignoring his shaky, fearful breaths. “Why’d ye fuckin’ leave me?!”

God, how he hated that his voice broke on the last word.

Finally, Johnny grabbed Simon’s hand, his pale skin nearly glowing in the waning light without his usual skeleton gloves on. Part of him wanted to marvel at how rough Simon’s fingers were, but didn’t get the chance as time slowed, a belated gasp falling from his mouth as the skin beneath his turned bright blue—

—and where they touched, Johnny’s own turned honey brown.

The world went silent and still. Both men locked eyes, staring at each other, souls laid bare. So much swirled through Simon’s expression: fear, desperation, hope, terror, love…

”Si?” Johnny breathed. “It… it wasnae a dream… ye’re… ye’re my—“

”I’m sorry…” Simon whimpered out, cutting Johnny off with a voice so small and scared it cracked his heart. “I… you don’t… I’m so sorry!” 

Johnny didn’t move, didn’t react as Simon curled in on himself, pulling his limbs away to tuck them into safety. He sounded so scared, breaking Johnny’s heart. His soulmate… scared of him?

Had… had he actually done something wrong? Why was Simon afraid of him?

Shit, shit, shit shit shit—

”What are ye on about, love?” Johnny asked, wanting to reach his free hand across and gently grasp his soulmate’s chin. He couldn’t, though, not when tears cascaded down Simon’s cheeks, weak gasps punching from his chest as he screwed his eyes shut. Not when the taller man shuddered and shook and made such unhappy noises, like the thought of being touched was more harrowing than torture.

“You don’t… want me…” Simon managed to sob out, crying openly now. “I… you deserve… more…!”

”Oh, Si…” Johnny sighed. He teared up too, reaching out to rest a hand on his soulmate’s knee. He frowned as Simon flinched again. Definitely fear. My poor bonnie lad… I knew he’d had a tough go of it, but this… my poor bonnie lad. “Can I hug ye, please? Promise, jus’ wanna hug. Not gunna yell, am so sorry, Si…”

Simon didn’t respond for several moments, long enough that Johnny nearly asked again until he found himself with a lapful of anxious, upset, bloody fucking brilliant bonnie Manc. Didn’t matter that it hurt, that the strain on his body definitely popped a few stitches, Johnny took it in stride. 

He wrapped his arms around Simon’s body, pulling the man as close as he could. Wishing he could draw his soulmate into his body, to settle him within his ribcage right next to his heart where Simon belonged, protected and loved and wanted forever. One hand drifted up, carding through the short blonde hair as Johnny guided his head to rest in the crook of his neck. 

“I’m so sorry,” Simon sniffled, trembling in Johnny’s arms. 

“Simon Riley, I’ve spent my entire life searching for ye, an’ ye were here all along? Beautiful bastard,” Johnny breathed out in awe. “Why are ye sorry? Ye’re so bloody perfect for me already. My bonnie lad—”

“No…” Simon sobbed, “No, you… you deserve… better…! Not… broken… worthless…”

“Shh, love. None of tha’, now.” Johnny stroked his hair again, relishing in the feeling of Simon slowly relaxing against his chest. Cradling the man close, brushing his nose across the ridge of his hairline. “Ye’re bloody perfect, baby. How could I want anyone else, knowing I got lucky ‘nough fer someone as bonnie as ye?”

Simon’s struggles faded and fell away under Johnny’s soft words, now clutching him so tight he knew for sure both would be sporting bruises. It didn’t matter, though. He had his soulmate in his arms, the man he’d pined after for so long now… chest swelling with love and care as Simon fell apart.

Despite it all, Simon trusted him enough to fall apart like this.

Johnny wasn’t sure how long they spent there, Simon crying until no more tears came out. His sharp, shuddering breaths eased off, and he didn’t pull away or flinch as Johnny cupped his face, wiped his bright red cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, that same fear and guarded hope simmering in Simon’s eyes. “There ye go… such a bonnie lad. Please… Simon… please tell me ye want this too…”

”Yes,” Simon whimpered, squeezing tighter as if Johnny would disappear into thin air should he let go. “I’m so scared…” He didn’t need to say anything else for Johnny to understand. He’d known the man long enough to know some of his dour history, able to fill in the blanks even without the added context. 

In that moment, Johnny silently vowed to never, ever become another facet of Simon’s nightmares. He breathed that promise into the air, holding the man just a little bit tighter.

”I know, m’eudail. Ye dinnae need t’ tell me anythin’ noe, just… lemme hold ye? Waited so long for ye… hoped ye’d look in mah direction someday…”

”Don’t let go…” More tears brimmed in Simon’s vulnerable, bonnie eyes, threatening to fall until Johnny leaned in to press a soft kiss to his soulmate’s forehead. “Always wanted to… hold you like this. Couldn’t… didn’t deserve it. Don’t… don’t let go please Johnny, I can’t—”

”Never. We’ll figure it out together, aye?” 

Simon nodded at Johnny’s words, pulling away slightly to look at him again with barely disguised wonder. 

Johnny smiled in response, the edges of his lips tugging up into the most genuine, loving smile he’d ever worn. ”I’ve got ye. Not gunna let go, not noe tha’ I finally get t’ have ye.”

“Don’t… don’t wanna hurt you…” Simon rasped pitifully, glaring down at his hands when he pulled away to settle back on the ground. He remembered, back when they’d first become close, how Simon told him about his ‘father’s’ hands. Johnny had only been teasing when he said something along the lines of Ghost having talons instead of fingers to explain why he always wore the gloves… An idea sparked in Johnny’s head at that, making a soft noise to get the blonde’s attention.

“Can I see yer hands, Si?”

Simon cautiously extended them out, frowning as Johnny took them in his. “Ye always cover them, no matter what.” Turning them over, brushing the pads of their fingers together, tracing the veins and tendons and muscles… he pressed a soft kiss to every spot he could before holding them tight to his chest. 

And how bloody fucking beautiful the colours blooming across their bodies were as Johnny laced their fingers together, gripping tight. “Bonnie hands, attached to mah bonnie lad. Ye’re a gowk if ye think am not gunna love these hands when ye’re always protectin’ me with ‘em. Strong an’ soft an’ so fuckin’ braw, mo ghraidh.”

Simon’s gaze shifted, softened. Slowly, he reached out, pulling Johnny close again and nuzzling against his head, still sniffling, but calmer. Johnny petted at the blonde locks once more, feeling Simon hum in appreciation against his skin. There’d be plenty more time later for discussion. For declarations of love, promises of support, lazy mornings spent in bed until they needed to face the world again. For now, he had Simon in his arms. Exactly what Johnny needed, and—by the feeling of the blonde sagging against him, nuzzling his shoulder now before shyly planting his own tender kiss to the skin to watch the colour blossom—exactly what Simon needed too.

“Come on, m’eudail. ‘S gettin’ cold oot, an am ready t’ coorie in a bigger bed.”

Simon chuckled softly, wiping away tears as they both stood. “It’s not that much bigger.”

“But ‘s gunna have ye in it.” Johnny wiggled his eyebrows, pulling a genuine laugh from Simon as they walked together, hand in hand. He took the lead in bringing them to the barracks, catching a quick glimpse of a smiling Price before the captain disappeared. Pushing Simon into his room, Johnny kicked the door shut and made sure it locked before crowding Simon against the bed, watching with wide eyes as the blonde melted under his hands.

After so long waiting, Johnny finally bridged the distance between his and Simon’s lips, brushing them tenderly at first before diving in for more. Intent on searing his name, his touch, his love into Simon’s skin one kiss at a time.

Their bodies melded together as they curled up, hands grasping everywhere they could reach. Tangled together, Johnny kissed away each and every one of Simon’s lingering tears, a smile on his lips as he whispered every single loving word he could think of to the man he loved beyond all reason.

Finally, when the night began to draw to a close, when they yawned more than spoke, they crowded together on a single pillow. Their twin breaths mixed in the space between them, eyes filled with wonder and joy. 

For once, even if just for a moment, the stars had aligned to make everything perfect. Even knowing they had jobs to do and a world to face when the sun rose again, an unspoken promise filled the air between the two soulmates. They had finally found each other, the rest could come later. 

Nothing mattered to Johnny in this moment except for the—no, his—Ghost. 

His bonnie, braw, pure dead fucking brilliant Ghost.

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Memories [S. R]

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

word count: 4k

summary: the case of the self-appointed Fisher King comes with too many sentimental implications and you discover that you and Spencer had more in common than you imagined.

warnings: mention of mental illness and some trauma

A/N: directly based on 2x01 of the series "The Fisher King" part 2

people who might be interested: @c-m-stuff @no-soy-fer @synthsescape @bella-fics @cynbx (if you want to be removed or added tell me!)

To say that you were worried about the case was an understatement, you were actually terrified of what might happen. An unsub holding a hostage, who was also her daughter, and who knew so much about each member of the team, was worrying in itself. But Elle being in a hospital dying, the case being so tied to Reid's life, and you being so stupidly far from knowing where Randall Garner was, was what made you want to throw up everything you'd eaten during your interrupted vacation.

The team, as always, had split up and throughout the investigation you had stayed with Spencer and Garcia to try to crack the riddle, using the man's brain, the woman's internet find-anything skills, and your vast knowledge of the world of codes and literature. During that period you never believed that the doctor's mother would be involved, much less did you think that she would find herself in the… condition she was in. Throughout the time she was there, he treated her sweetly and calmly, but you couldn't help noticing the discomfort that was palpable in the environment. Not that he was ashamed of her, of course, although you figured he didn't visit her very often and it was obviously not her intention for the entire BAU to find out that her mother was a schizophrenic who was in a sanatorium.

You remembered, hours ago, asking Garcia to let you tell the man that his mother was fine when he requested a plane to bring her to Virginia, and all day you had that conversation etched in your mind like a tattoo on your skin.

"Your mom it's ok" you had said, approaching her desk and leaning on it to look at it "Agents picked her up. She's flying here right now” you completed, although he seemed too amused with the piece of evidence that he had in his hand and then you felt the need to say something else “How are you?”

"I feel kind of dumb, to tell you the truth," he replied. Most of the time he avoided looking at you, but you had already gotten used to it “I forgot she used to always read me this poem. And I think that I should have realized sooner than that”

"Why?"

“Nobody knows things like the fact that JJ collects butterflies except for me,” he said, with a guilt-tinged shrug. “People tell me their secrets all the time. Think it's because they know I don't have anyone to betray them to… except… my mother. I... I tell her pretty much everything”

"It’s fine”

“Do you know that I write her a letter every day?”

"That's very nice," you said sincerely, for the idea of the man carefully writing a letter to tell his mother about the day was a sweet image to imagine.

“It depends on why I write her”

"What do you mean?"

“I write her letters so I won't feel so guilty about not visiting her,” Reid added. If it hadn't been for that case, probably you, or anyone, would have known that his mother was hospitalized and you thought it was completely logical that he didn't want others to find out about that part of his life about him, including that he didn’t visit her. Spencer was always available for everything, always working, always alone in his apartment and now that you knew about Diana you understood why. He waited a moment and then finally made eye contact with you, looking somewhat fearful “Did you know that schizophrenia is genetically passed?”

And when he mentioned that your world fell apart. You understood that this was the reason why he didn't go with her; because he was afraid. You didn't know how to react, at least not at that moment, and you just looked at him sadly, feeling your own heart tighten a little at unfortunate memories.

Although, for work reasons, the talk hadn't gone any further than that, you'd thought about it all along, even now that you were all gathered to put the last pieces together of what you hoped would be a successful puzzle.

"Nevada? So we don't even know what state he's in?” Hotch muttered, already quite frustrated at how fruitless the search was turning out. There was little time left and you all knew it.

“I'll search the tax records, see if he owns any property”

"Excuse me," Diana Reid intervened from the chair next to the blackboard and her son practically jumped to try and stop her.

"Mom, do you know we're..."

“Just before the agents got me from the hospital, a man delivered this to me” she continued, ignoring “It's a photo of a house with an address on the back”

After showing her direction she turned the image and you saw what was a house that looked just like a castle, with illuminated windows, trees around, and a night sky.

“Shiloh, Virginia?”

“That's only 10 miles from here”

"Well, there's no time to waste. Morgan and Reid are coming with me”

"I want to go too," you said immediately. Something about the whole thing gave you a very bad feeling and you wished you could help in any way you could, but you were surprised to see that Spencer was the first to oppose your request.

“We don't want anyone else to get hurt, Y/N,” Morgan added, his voice almost pleading for you to obey Hotch's orders. You were in no position to demand a ride and only agreed because you knew that an argument would only take away valuable time. “We have to get ready. Reid, let's go.”

"I'll be back soon, mom"

"I'll stay with her" you suggested, hastening to take a step towards him, in an attempt to continue your mission to help.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course," you said to reassure him. Diana already seemed quite satisfied with the fact that you were going to accompany her and you still didn't know why “Go. And be careful, please."

"I will" he nodded and immediately went after Morgan and Hotch, the three of them leaving the room to carry out the rescue mission. You had your heart in your hand for thinking about what could happen to them and only the woman's voice brought you back to reality.

"I'm glad you're the one who stays"

"Really?" you asked, somewhat flattered to think that she had liked you within a couple of hours of knowing you. 

"Spencer talks to me about you all the time" she confessed and both you and the other two women present widened their eyes in surprise “He said you like literature"

"Yeah, I'd say so," you muttered, trying to smile at her to hide the nervous wreck you were, partly because of concern for your partners and partly because of what she had just told you.

"He's going to be fine, right?"

By God you hoped so. You didn't know what you would do if he got hurt or… he just didn't come back from there.

"Yes, I promise" you managed to say, as serenely as possible to try to keep your companion calm "And if you tell me about your favorite book? I imagine it will be a good one,” you said kindly, taking her arm and leading her to a couch where the two of you could sit. You knew that part of suggesting the talk was to distract yourself from the bleak outlook and thus kill time until the team returned.

Waiting was all you could do.

Diana had talked to you for a while until she ended up finding it more interesting to write in her notebook so you decided not to bother her, although she left you silent and ready for anxiety to grip you tight. After about an hour JJ herself had come to tell you that Elle was safe after surgery and you swore you could have cried with happiness when you found out. So, the pain that stayed in your chest was just from waiting for news from the three remaining agents and when what felt like an eternity passed without receiving any reports you couldn't take it anymore and apologized to Diana to leave the room. with the excuse that you needed to go to the bathroom. You were confident that she would not be a suicidal or aggressive patient, but you still wanted to hurry to get back to her as soon as possible, and when you had barely walked a section of the corridor you met a gangly figure who was already on his way to look for you.

"Rebeca?"

“She's safe” was the first thing you said, making the knot in your stomach finally dissolve “But Randall died. He blew himself up,” he continued, and you thought you wished you had heard a better outcome, even if the man was a criminal “And my mom?”

"Calm. Writing” you assured him, taking a few steps towards him to get a better look at him. He was dirty and what would later be a bruise could be seen on the left side of his face, but other than that he seemed to be safe and sound. "Is everyone there okay?"

"Yes," he breathed out. It was a relief to know that, it was a relief that things were finally over and that no one had been lost.

“I'm so grateful to hear that, Reid,” you said. You stretched your fingers up to his side and ran the tips over the mark that was beginning to form. "Does it hurt a lot?"

"No," he assured you, with a tight-lipped smile.

"Your mother. It will make her happy to know that you're back" you murmured immediately, and tried to go back the way you had come to go tell him, but he held out a hand to stop you "What's wrong?"

"Do you think I could take a moment before going with her?" he asked you and you retraced your steps to face him, still not letting go of his hand. You nodded and he sat on the floor with his legs drawn up and his back leaning against the wall in an attempt to calm down a bit from the adrenaline rush of all the previous events. You dropped down next to him in the same position and looked at his profile, thinking that if you had something to say, now was the time to talk.

“She told me you talk about me all the time,” you ventured, and he bit back an embarrassed smile.

"You weren't supposed to have found out about that"

"So you say bad things about me?"

"She didn't tell you?"

"No" you answered kindly.

"It's a relief"

“So these are definitely bad things, huh,” you teased, pushing your shoulder against his and seeing him shake his head slightly, too embarrassed to admit what he had written to his mother about you. You were silent for a moment as it didn’t seem that he had any intention of getting up to cross to the meeting room, you spoke again "Do you really not want to see her?"

“It's not that I don't want to see her, it's just that dealing with everything sometimes is so… so hard. You wouldn't understand,” he told you, his voice threatening to crack at any moment. You took a deep breath before opening your mouth to reply and the lonely hallway muffled your words, which were barely a whisper.

"What do you know about Alzheimer, Reid?" saying this, he turned a little to look at you, just in case he had misheard, but he realized that now it was you who wasn't looking at him.

"Excuse me?"

"Alzheimer" you repeated.

"Huh, it's a type of dementia that causes problems with memory, thinking, and behavior," he replied, still not quite sure why you were asking, “It is progressive, which means dementia symptoms gradually worsen over the years, and it is also the sixth leading cause of death in the United States. Live an average of eight years after symptoms become apparent, but survival can range from four to 20 years, depending on age and other health conditions. There is currently no cure."

“Have you ever lived with someone who has it?” you exclaimed and he shook his head. It was easier to look directly at you when you were the one who looked away “There are experimental treatments that reduce symptoms, but none are totally effective, appearing early in life in only about 5% to 6% of people. Although there is no defined cause, the genetic factor can affect you if you had a direct relative who suffered from early Alzheimer's” you exclaimed. He wanted to ask you why you were doing this exchange of information, but he thought it impolite to do so, so he just kept quiet "You said earlier that people tell you their secrets because you have no one to tell them to, but I'm sure it's not because that. We trust you because you are kind, understanding, but above all a good friend who we know will never judge us" you took a moment to take a deep breath again, feeling the nervousness running from the tip of your feet to your head and also to gather something of courage "I personally tell you because I am very afraid of starting to forget them"

It all clicked in Spencer's mind in a split second and he wished he was misreading things, searching your gaze so he could identify something that indicated you didn't mean what he was assuming.

"You…?” he started to say, but the question died on the tip of his tongue.

“It was my father. He was barely 35 years old when it all started, it was with the time he forgot to come to his birthday party. I remember it perfectly, he hadn't been feeling well for weeks due to the stress of work and the company decided to run all kinds of tests on him, without finding anything to worry about, so we just ignored it. But the symptoms recurred: he was disoriented, discouraged, sometimes he became aggressive with the family and forgot plans or things that we had told him. When he almost crushed one of his colleagues with a machine that he forgot that he was working, the company decided to give him a permanent break and we began to worry.

»By 36 it was already a fact that it was the beginnings of dementia. The doctors were surprised by the diagnosis because it is not very common to find the disease in patients of his age and for more explanations that we tried to find, we didn’t find any other. They prescribed a treatment that only kept him calm and it got to a point where it felt inhuman to drug him daily, and about two years after he got the diagnosis my mom decided it was better to put him in a mental hospital.

I was only fifteen years old at the time, but I already understood everything perfectly. I went to see him every day, after school, talked to him, read my homework to him, and we watched movies together, which to a certain extent made his illness feel tolerable. The worst thing at that point was that he asked me to watch the same movie as the day before or that he asked me if I was nervous about the exam I had done a week ago" you looked at the man just to make sure he was following the story, which that you verified with the way he was looking at you; fully attentive.

“Anyway, the years went by and it got more and more complicated. Sometimes a nurse had to remind her of my name and at some point my mother just gave up, probably when my father completely disowned her and started yelling all over the hospital that a woman was harassing him in her room. I continued to visit him, but when I grew up and entered the FBI academy my hours were cut down considerably, so in recent years I only went to see him once a week.

»At 42 my father no longer knew that I was his daughter, he thought that I was a nurse doing social service by keeping him company. He talked to me all the time about his family and sadly told me that neither his wife nor his daughter had been to see him for a long time, but I assured him that they had both asked me to tell him that they loved him very much and that they would go soon” silent for a moment, careful not to burst into tears, and prepared to finish the story “He died during my first year as a BAU agent. I saw his decline over the years and even at the end I think he left thinking that his family had abandoned him. I don't talk to my mother anymore, because I think she feels very guilty about me for having left me all the burden of taking care of my father. But every day I feel at peace with myself because despite how painful it was to see him, I never left him.

»Many times I cried before entering the hospital and when leaving, thinking that I had to pretend to be able to spend a moment with the person I loved the most and who was now only a ghost of what my father once was. And it was terrible to look at it and think that this was my future, even to this day. They say that reading is a good exercise to reduce risk and that's why I always carry a book wherever I go, that's why I always want to do new things and that's why I strive every day to solve our cases because I don't know when the last. I have gone to specialists who have told me that there is nothing to worry about and that, if I have it, Alzheimer's could last until I am an old woman, but even so I am afraid every day.

If I really get sick and manage to get old, the most likely thing is that I will end up in a sanatorium, but right now what is worth it are the things I do every day. I'm scared, yes, but it's worth fighting for if I can help people in this job and especially if I can live with people like you.

I know you said that I wouldn't understand, but the truth is that of all the people in this building I can assure you that I am the one who can do it best. I know that you can't bear to see her because you are afraid of ending up with her like her and that at the same time you are so worried that you take the time to write everything about your life to her. I'm probably boring you with all this stuff that you never asked me to tell you, but I just wanted to tell you how important it is that you be with your mom. And more than doing it for her, do it for you.

I would only give you one piece of advice, which you can decide to take or not: don't waste your time, Spencer. Your mother loves you very much, go and talk to her, accompany her, listen to everything she has to tell you and forgive her faults if there are any. Because you don't know about her when it may be the last time you see her, either for your health or for hers”

There was total silence. You hadn't noticed until that moment that your cheeks were already wet from crying and you still didn't dare to look at his face. No person knew that part of you, because after your father got worse you had decided not to talk about it with anyone, so you could say that you were practically giving your heart to that man bruised by the mission a few hours ago. Suddenly you thought that perhaps you had talked for too long or that for him it had no relevance and he had only stayed to listen to you because he was not rude enough to leave you talking to yourself. But while your head was drawing the wrong conclusions, something you never expected happened: Spencer extended his hands to you and wrapped you in a hug.

It only took a bit of effort to make their bodies fit perfectly and he clenched the fabric of your knitted sweater in his fists, tucking his head into the crook of your neck to allow you to lean yours against his golden hair. It was as if all the time you had been destined for that particular moment, fused in that embrace that communicated everything that words could no longer express.

He wasn't the person who loved physical contact the most, all of you had noticed that, so hugging him was totally new to you. The feeling of peace that this brought you had no comparison point and the softness of his body covered you completely.

“I had no idea,” he murmured, the sound of his voice muffled by your skin. And Spencer was being completely honest, because he didn't even imagine that you could fully understand him after having lived through such a tragic story. He had understood many things thanks to your story and he was eternally grateful that he had felt the confidence to tell him something like this, so he also thought that maybe it was his turn to be honest with you "What my mom said is true, I always talk to her about you. I tell her that you are the sweetest companion I have ever had, that you always pay attention to me, and that you make sure that I feel comfortable wherever we go. I tell her that you are strong, that I want to be half as brave as you, and I also tell her that I have never felt affection and gratitude for someone as I feel for you, because you have made these two years different from any other time in my life” his words, whispered so close to you and drenched in so much love, only intensified your tears "And as long as my conscience remains intact, I assure you that if I need to remind you of all the secrets you have told me, I will do it"

That, more than a proposal, was a declaration of pure love that promised to reach many years into the future.

"Maybe we'll even end up in the same sanitarium, you and me, huh?" you exclaimed, with a slightly joking tone "And so I will have the opportunity to know your wonders again every day"

You felt on your neck that you managed to get a smile out of him and that made you smile too. That's when he pulled away so he could look at you.

“I think that… I will go with my mother back to Nevada. I guess we both deserve it, don't you think?" he told you and you nodded with a small smile. He didn't want to leave your side, but you got up first and held out your hand to help him do the same.

“She still has enough lucidity to tell me what your favorite food is. Maybe you should eat with her on the plane” you suggested. You didn't want to rob him of any more time he could spend with his mother, so you just wished him luck and started walking in another direction.

"Y/N, before you go" he called out to you. You were already a fair distance away, but it was enough for you to still speak in a small voice. "You know you're not alone, right?"

You smiled as he looked at you with those eyes that only showed sincerity, and you wished you could encapsulate that moment for eternity.

"I know" you replied calmly "And I trust that now you know it too"

[saetoru]

KEEP WATCHIN’ — MIYA ATSUMU.

「 SYNOPSIS 」 ⋮ atsumu + mirror sex - atsumu finds a good way to put his olympic medal to use

♱ kinktober ⋮ find the masterlist here !!

♱ pairing ⋮ MSBY! miya atsumu x reader

♱ length ⋮ 1.3k words

♱ contents ⋮ nsfw and 18+ content, fem! reader, mirror sex, teasing, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, pet names (princess, angel, baby)

♱ notes ⋮ a heavily edited repost of last year’s abandoned kinktober because i deactivated in the middle fjsjffdjskd

atsumu’s olympic gold medal.

it sits hung up for all to see in your comfortable little condo, the light reflecting across the surface from the large windows that he specifically had his eyes out for. and much like your boyfriend himself, the medal holds a large presence, all eyes falling on it the moment anyone steps foot into the room.

truth be told, it’s such a shame that it just sits there—no good use for it other than sitting on display. atsumu’s worked much too hard for it all go to waste, he’s earned that medal, and he thinks it deserves a more meaningful use than a cheap effort of interior design. so when he watches you dust over it in your efforts to clean around the place one day, polishing the surface to bring back its usual shine, he finally knows exactly how he’ll use it.

“there ya go, princess,” atsumu smirks, watching as his large hands spread your thighs apart, your wet folds on display to the mirror in front of you. his fingers ghost right over your entrance, making you whine, bucking your hips to signal him to plunge them in—but he’s got better ideas. “patience, angel,” he kisses your shoulder, sucking on the skin gently, trailing to your neck.

“tsumu,” you insist. “need you to—”

“come on, baby,” he grins. “got somethin’ i want ya to put on first.” he reaches behind him, grabbing his gold medal—the same gold medal that he put his blood, sweat, and tears to win—and he places it over over your neck, dangling perfectly in between the valley of your breasts.

“your medal?” you furrow your eyebrows, watching as his eyes darken through the mirror the sight of your naked body sporting his life long achievements.

it can’t get much better than this, he thinks, two of his best prizes right before his eyes.

“fuck, baby,” he groans, dick twitching at the sight, aching with the need to be buried balls deep inside of your perfect cunt, feeling your walls hug around him tight like they always do. “ya look so perfect fer me, angel,” he whispers, “gonna fuck ya while ya watch how pretty ya look,” he smirks, eyes glinting with mischief as his hands roam to your breasts, thumbs rubbing over your nipples and pinching them between his fingers.

you mewl, leaning against him, back arching against his chest as he keeps at it. he toys with them, rolling his thumbs over the sensitive buds as you writhe in his grasp, and in an instant, one hand falls to your dripping cunt, his middle and ring fingers plunging into you, curling against your walls as his thumb runs over your clit.

“tsu-tsumu,” you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head—but not for too long because almost instantly, his hand leaves your tit to grab your face roughly and turn you to the mirror, squeezing your cheeks together as a warning. your eyes immediately dart between your legs, and you watch as his fingers thrust in and out of you, coated with your slick as they curl into you and make you cry out.

“keep watchin’, angel,” he warns, “don’t ya dare look away. want ya to see everythin’.” he thrusts his fingers into you a quickly, bullying his digits into you as they plunge into the spot that makes you keen, thighs quivering as you try to stay upright on your knees while he abuses your dripping folds with his fingers. you feel the knot in your stomach letting loose with a few more thrusts of his wrist, and your orgasm crashing over you in waves as you whine his name, gripping onto his arm tightly.

smirking, atsumu grinds his throbbing erection against your ass, groaning deeply at the small bit of friction he chases as he helps you ride out your high. he gives you a few moments to catch your breath, eyeing the contrast of the gold against your shiny skin, a layer of sweat leaving a sheen under the light.

“are ya ready, baby?” he strokes his aching cock a few times, moaning at the feel—and by now, his mind is fogged with nothing but the thought of sinking deep into you as he splits you open with his cock. “need ya,” he whines, “need ya so bad, always so good fer me.”

 he slowly pushes into your cunt, hands gripping your hips tightly. he watches with fascination as his length disappears, only to reappear as he pulls out and sinks back in. somehow, he thinks he feels it a thousand times more intensely when he actually watches himself fuck into you, seeing his thick girth get coated in your wetness right before him. moaning, he bucks his hips desperately into you, and you watch with equal fascination as atsumu falls apart behind you, lip in between his teeth and eyes screwed shut as he thrust in and out of you. he looks stunning, the reddish hue flushing over his cheeks, his hair messy and falling out of place, sticking to his sweaty forehead.

“tsumu,” you gasp, whining when he bites at your neck, sucking on the skin and leaving a small mark. “tsumu harder,” you plead.

and he listens, ramming into you from behind at a quicker pace, balls slapping against your ass as he whines into your skin, watching your expression morph into one of pleasure.

“fuck, angel, ya feel so good,” he groans, moaning when you clench down on him at his words. you both train your eyes at the way his swollen cock sinks into you over and over again, angeled thrusts meeting the spot that makes you see stars every time. gripping onto his arm tightly again, you dig your nails into the skin, making him grunt into your neck. 

“tsum—fuck, more, need more, please!” growling, his hand snakes over your hips to find your clit, rubbing harsh circles as you mewl at the added stimulation. your head falls back to his shoulder, bumping against him with every rock of his hips as he ruts into you.

“‘s that what ya needed, baby? need me ta spoil ya, huh?” he grins, watching through the reflection as your entrance swallows him in with each time he slips his tip past your folds. your face breaks with pleasure, every slam of his pelvis making your expression shatter. 

“so good—f-feels good, tsum,” you whine.

“sh-shit—ngh—so pretty for me, princess,” he moans, the knot in his own stomach seconds from coming undone, “gonna cum, baby. cum with—fuck—cum with me,” he babbles.

and not too long after, you cum together—moans falling in sync as your spines burn with the pleasure. you feel him sploppily roll his hips to aid you through your highs while you’re creaming around his cock, feeling him panting into your skin. his voice cracks as he calls out your name, broken curses falling past his parted lips as he shoots thick ropes of cum and paints your walls white. each ribbon he fucks into you clouds his mind with nothing but his orgasm as he thrusts into you, riding you both through your peaks.

“oh fuck, baby,” he whines, voice lilting slightly high pitched and chest heaving as he slows the bucking of his hips, coming to a stop once you’re both done. slowly, your eyes both train on his cock as pulls out of you, his cum oozing down your legs. your eyes haze over with lust and his softening member twitches, rehardening at the sight—and with one glance at each other’s eyes through the mirror, you both know you’re nowhere near done for the night.

you flash him an innocent smile, taking the medal hanging down your neck, bringing it up to your lips and planting a kiss to the cold surface—something that should be a sweet gesture, but it only makes something carnal stir deep within him.

“c’mon tsumu,” you murmur through batted lashes, “i wanna watch you fuck me again. please?” you pout. he blinks at you before groaning, instantly sinking into your awaiting heat once more, hands squeezing your hips hard enough to leave handprints.

© hanmas do not plagiarize, repost, translate to other sites, or recommend on platforms outside tumblr such as tik tok

[mockerycrow]

Undercover V (Soap x GN!Reader)

undercover series masterlist - previous | next

Summary: Your stress is staying at it’s peak for the time being as you come to terms that you’re staying under a secure watch until you’re properly evaluated, under the wise eyes of John “Soap” MacTavish. Chapter five, otherwise known as “babysitting duty”.

A/N: I’m so sorry for taking literally a month for this chapter. I’m so glad you guys are still loving this series. This a bit of a humorous filler, so I apologize. Next chapter will have more story!! &lt;3

[WARNINGS: Mentions of genocide and human trafficking, inaccurate medical stuff.]

“Truth has many shades; it is not a matter of black and white, but grey.” -Morgan Freeman.

AFTER MY WHOLE failed evaluation, they allowed me to rest again, which I’m half thankful for, half not. I got a few hours of sleep in, but not enough to feel good about. The ache of sitting in a bed for a couple days is finally beginning to kick in so much so that I can’t sleep. I woke up really early in the morning, around 3 AM. I wasn’t surprised to see the lights in my room to be off, but I was surprised to vaguely see a figure in my room which at first freaked me the fuck out, but I quickly realized was Soap. I can’t make his features out enough to see if he’s awake or not, but I don’t care.

I need to get out of this damn bed.

I move my handcuffed hand a bit to grasp onto the hospital bed railing and I begin to slowly pull myself from my bed, hissing as new aches bloom across my healing wounds. Especially my damn stomach area, fuck. I ignore the pain blooming underneath my skin and I manage to get myself into a sitting position, and I can already feel some relief hitting me once I’m not laying back against a surface. I slowly curl one of my legs up, a soft noise leaving my lips as I feel my muscles in my leg thank me for bending my leg. I hear Soap stir, but I don’t pay him any mind. He makes a “hmm?” sound as I take a slow deep breath, allowing the aches in my wounds to subside.

“What’re you doin’?” Soap grumbles out, voice thick and heavy with sleep, making him a bit hard to understand when combined with his accent. He inhales loudly as he stretches and I glance at my handcuffs. “Sitting up.” I reply curtly. Can he not fucking see??

..I forgot it’s dark in here. Anyway..

“Ya need to lay back down and rest—“ I groan. “All I’ve been doing is laying down! My back fuckin’ hurts, man! I’m tired of sitting here like a wet noodle.” Soap gets up from his seat and walks closer to me—which isn’t that far of a distance, honestly, since Soap’s chair is considerably close to my bed. I notice his gloves are still on as he puts a hand on my shoulder, which he must’ve chosen the sore shoulder because I since and shy away from his touch. “Ow.”

Soap quickly retracts his hand, wincing himself in sympathy. “Look, it’s late, aye? Why don’t ya lay down fer now, have tha’ doctors help you in the mornin’?” His eyes glance up at the clock up on the wall, squinting his eyes to look as it’s dark in here. I groan and bite my lip, silently licking and choosing my battles. He is right, it’s much better for me to wait until the doctors or nurses come and help me. I sigh and make a motion with my free hand. “Alright.”

I manage to get myself laid back onto the bed, and I keep looking at my handcuffs. I move my cuffed hand around as I look at Mohawk, gesturing to my cuffed wrist now. “Okay, tell me how truly necessary this is. It’s getting a bit tiring.” My tone is a bit.. curt, and I don’t mean it, but I’m getting antsy in this room and I fucking hate just laying here. I’m uses to being out on the field, so sitting in one place doesn’t do me much good. Soap snorts as he sits himself back in his chair and without looking, grabs his sketchbook notebook thing from where he stuffed it between my mattress and the frame of the hospital type bed. “I dinnae ken how i can say this in a nicer way but, you’re.. considered a risk of some sort by the dafties overseein’ ya.”

I blink at him for a moment and he has a sheepish look on his face, his free hand coming up behind his head and scratching it. I pretend that I know one hundred of what he said—look, sometimes Scottish accents are hard to understand. “You’re one of the ‘dafties’ overseeing me.”

“You know what I mean!” Soap grumbles. I pause for a moment and keep my eyes on him, my fingers absentmindedly drawing patterns into the fabric of my blanket. “Do you think I’m a risk, Soap?”

Soap takes a moment to look back at me, and I mean really look back at me. His eyes pierce through mine again, taking in every detail of my face—and that causes me to look away again, because it makes me feel weird. “I mean.. Maybe. If I had ta’make the final decision, I’d let ya roam, but with someone to watch over ya.” His voice is serious as he seemingly tells me the truth about what he thinks. In a way, I find comfort in his words but I also.. don’t.

It hurts to know that they consider me so unstable.

“You should go back ta’sleep.”

I don’t answer and I look down at my fingers as my index finger scratches at the corner of my thumbnail. It feels like my damn nerves are on fire. “Can’t.” I mutter, and I curse myself when my voice is barely audible. Soap seems to catch what I said, though, because his eyebrow raises in an questioning manner. “Ya haven’t even tried,” He retorts, nearly snorting. Soap wipes his eyes as I huff—he’s right, I haven’t, but I know I won’t be able to. I look over at the clock on the wall, as if I could will time to go by faster. I let out a quiet noise as I shift myself a bit, a subtle painful ache settling back into my jaw and my abdomen. Oh yeah—I’m injured. It’s not like I forgot but, I’ve been so pumped of drugs this entire time, so I haven’t felt much since waking up the first time in this bed. I try to cross my arms, but my damn hand is still handcuffed!

Oh, god fucking dammit, I wanna get out of this bed!

“Stop actin’ like a wee bairn.” Soap snorts as he glances over at me again, then back down at his sketchbook notebook thing. I should probably ask what it is. “I don’t even know what the fuck that means.” I hiss with as much venom as I can muster, which isn’t much because I’m… cuffed to a bed. God. I hate this.

“Oh, lemme translate for ya.. Stop actin’ like a baby. Better?” He questions, pencil in hand. “Sure.” I mutter. I eye the pencil. “What is that?” I ask, pointing over to his general direction. “What is what?” Soap murmurs before holding up the notebook sketchbook thing. “This? It’s a sketchbook.” Ah, okay. I don’t have to call it that super long name now. Sketchbook, it is. I nod quietly as I glance around the room, trying to find something to focus on. It’s not like they could give me my phone. I wouldn’t be surprised if Makarov took it, destroyed it maybe.

….

Makarov.

I feel my heart suddenly drop into my gut and dig deep to stay there. Makarov.. He’s one hell of a man, that’s for sure. Can I even call him a man? He’s not a human being by my standards, anyway. The things I’ve seen him do, the things I’ve seen him order others to do—me to do.. He’s the worlds single largest threat and he’s in the wind. My fingers grasp at my blanket. He is not loyal to any country, he’s not loyal to any creed—he slaughters for his own gain, he doesn’t flinch at anything. Not human trafficking, genocide, fucking hell, what am I saying?? He’s the one doing the genocide! Just the simple thought of him makes my hair stand up and I hate that. I’m going to have to expose myself to these people, what I did to seem loyal—no, I’m not going to excuse it. Yeah, sure, I did it under the guise of loyalty, but I hurt a lot of fucking people. Any regular civilian would call for my death, but what they don’t understand is that when you’re fighting a war and trying to prevent a bigger one, one that will end in M.A.D? You do what you have to do. You turn your brain off, you pull the trigger.

I don’t know what to think anymore.

Something nudges my leg which snaps me out of my daze—it’s Soap’s boot. He puts his foot back on the ground when he has my attention. His eyebrow is slightly pulled in, the outer edge of his lip is pulled tight for a moment. “Get out of yer head there, mm? Look, let’s play a little game, shall we?”

I groan and I look up at the ceiling. “I feel like I’m being babysat when you say that.” Soap grins. “Ya are. Anyway—give me a, uh.. give me a thing to draw.” I blink at his words and I decide to not point out what he just said. I grumble and shrug. “I don’t know,” I began, glancing around the room at the different medical posters plastered on the walls—one of them on a program offered to help others to quit smoking. Bet that hasn’t helped too many. “A dog.”

Soap shakes his head as I began to say those words. “No, pick somethin’ else.” I raise an eyebrow at how quick he denied my request. “No, I want you to draw a dog.” I challenge, watching the way he twirls the pencil between his fingers. “Choose somethin’ else, I’m not drawin’ a dog.” My heart monitor begins to beep faster and Soap puts his hands up defensively. “Steamin’ Jesus, gettin’ worked up over the drawing? I’ll draw ya a cat instead, calm ya tits.”

I try to cover my snort of amusement because that wasn’t even on purpose. Soap is hunched over his sketchbook and I watch his pencil wisp across the paper, and I notice an indent on Soap’s cheek, almost like he bites the inside of it or sucks on the inside as he focuses. Huh. Makes me wonder if he does that on missions, too. I turn my head again and read the clock—it’s 3:30ish, maybe 3:40 AM. I only glanced at it before looking back at Soap.

I think I’ll actually break these handcuffs and end my life by breaking off pieces of the drywall and consuming it if this is how the next few hours will be spent.

“Y’know, my L.T. told me a joke concernin’ a dog.”

L.T.? Lieutenant, I’m assuming. I don’t say anything, but I look at him. Soap looks up from his sketchbook with a grin on his face again. “Wha’has two legs and bleeds?”

“A dog,” I respond.

“Half a dog.” He corrects me.

I blink at him slowly before trying to subdue the smile appearing on my face. I’m smiling because it’s stupid. “That’s dumb.” Soap inhales through his teeth as his pencil strokes across the paper. “Oooh, don’t let my L.T. hear that, yeah? The man loves his jokes.” My eyes watch his hand holding the pencil as I speak. “So,” I begin. “Your team is.. who exactly, again? You, Price, who else?” Soap hums. “Well, there’s me—I’m a sergeant. There’s Gaz, who’s also a sergeant. You’ve met Price, he’s my cap’n, and then there’s ‘The Ghost’.” He chuckles, glancing at me for a moment. “He’s my L.T.”

“‘The Ghost’?” I question, raising an eyebrow. Sounds like a name a middle schooler puts down for their kahoot game. Soap looks back at his sketchbook. “Well, it’s just Ghost. That’s just what he goes by.”

Edgy, damn…

“Hm. That’s the 141, then?” I bite back saying something about how they waterboarded me, because I know deep down that won’t help anyone. I’m trying to not think about all the damn torture I’ve endured this year because I find it quite annoying when my chest tightens so harshly—to the point where I can’t fucking breathe. Damn panic attacks.

Soap clears his throat and grins, erasing something before swiping the eraser shavings to the side. “All done. Wanna see?” He looks at me expectantly and I motion for him to show me. Soap turns his sketchbook towards me and he’s sketched out a messy, yet well put together drawing of a cat. He drew it in just a few minutes so it isn’t the most detailed, but it’s quite amazing for the time span he drew it in. “Oh, damn,” I say in quiet awe. “I thought you were just going to.. draw a little fella, I dunno.” I wince as my jaw pulses sharp pain through my nerves and my hand instinctively shoot’s up to cup my jaw. Soap’s sharp gaze lingers where my hand is for a moment before he shuts his sketchbook and stuffs it back between the mattress and the hospital bed frame. He grunts as he stands up and leans over me, his finger pressing the red call button on the remote near my pillow. He probably noticed my pain. “Thanks,” I mumble, my hand remaining on my cheek. My eyes flutter shut as the pain begins to intensify, so much so that I don’t notice another presence beside me until they utter my name. I eyes shoot open quickly, my body tense, but I quickly relax when I see it’s a nurse. “The Sergeant here told me you’re feeling some pain. Do you mind rating it on a scale of one to ten?” The nurse murmurs. The nurse is a man with long brown hair that’s tied up neatly into a bun. He has a darker colored beard with red hairs around his mustache and lower lip, dawning square-ish glasses.

“It’s at a four right now,” I respond, glancing at my IV lines before looking at the nurse’s gloves. “It’s climbing, though.”

The nurse hums and writes down my symptoms on a sticky note. “I’m going to go get you a small dose of a narcotic for you, alright? Usually I would give you some tylenol, but you’ve had some extensive medical care.”

I blink. Oh wow. A narcotic?

Soap grins and pokes me with the eraser of his pencil. “Looks like I’ll be babysittin’ ya fer a while more, yeah?”

Fuck.

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[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Whumptober 2023

No. 24 Broken Alt Prompt

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Commonwealth (post series/no France era)

Warnings: Broken bones, suggestive/sexual themes

“Daryl!”

You made it to the piping that allowed you to climb down the side of the building. Your group had to scale up on the other side of the iron gate. There was no time to open it and the walkers were right on your heels. With only a narrow, unsturdy ledge to get you all across, you had to move swiftly and yet with care and precision. 

The structure started crumbling when half your group had made it but gave way beneath Daryl as he was above the gate. He clipped the gate but luckily fell onto the side clear of the undead. If you could really call anything that had just happened lucky. 

The archer was moving at least by the time you reached him, dragging himself away from the rotten fingers grasping at his clothes from through the bars. 

“Hey, hey. Don’t move too much. Let me take a look at you.” You dropped your bag as your knees hit the concrete, hands hovering over him frantically. “What hurts?”

“Be easier ta tell ya wha’ don’ hurt.” He carefully lowered himself onto his back, needing a moment to gather his bearings. “Leg.” He finally gritted out. You nodded and turned your body toward his lower extremities. The wound was easy to spot, a dark patch near the middle of his left shin. 

“Looks like you landed on something. Broke the skin. Let me see how bad it is and if we should pull it out.”

Daryl rose to his elbows, the rest of the group forming a protective circle around the two of you. When you cut a larger opening in his jeans to access the wound, your face paled. 

“Shit.” You whispered, wide eyes staring at the very obvious fracture that had broken through the skin. Daryl’s expression matched your own. 

“Please don’ pull tha’ out.” He joked with no real humor in his tone. 

“What’re we dealing with?” Aaron asked with a quick glance over his shoulder. Once he spotted your stricken expression, he turned fully and kneeled beside you. 

“Broken. Looks like tibia but fibula could be fractured as well.” You weren’t a doctor but living in the apocalypse meant that you had brushed up on your medical knowledge. Sometimes, field medicine was required and it was vital to know the name and importance of parts. 

“We jus’ gon’ sit here n’ stare at my leg or we gonna get me up n’ do wha’ we came here fer?” Daryl snapped. He never liked being the center of attention and, with all eyes on him, he was becoming increasingly antsy. 

“The only place you’re going is home. Tomi’s gotta set this.” You started to wrap the wound as tight as you could without sacrificing circulation, wincing when Daryl shot forward with a muttered curse. “Sorry.”

“We don’ need ta go back. I can—”

You stopped him with a gentle hand over his mouth, shocked that it actually worked, though his brows did draw inward. There was definitely a scowl behind your palm. “I know you can. That doesn’t mean you should.”

“She’s right, Daryl.” 

Knowing when to admit defeat when it came to you, the bowman let himself fall back to lie flat with a muttered “fine.” You smiled fondly and patted the thigh of his uninjured leg. 

“Think you can spare anyone to help us get back?” You asked Aaron, chewing your lip. There were so few of you on this mission as it was. 

“Don’t need no one else.” Daryl grumbled, twisting to get his good leg under him. “Gimme a hand, woman.”

“You’re gonna hurt yourself worse being a stubborn ass.” You scolded, but grabbed his outstretched hand anyway. With the help of you and his crossbow, he was able to get to his feet. Well… foot. You placed his arm over your shoulders and gave Aaron a shrug. “I guess it’s just us. Good luck. See you at home.” 

Daryl mumbled a goodbye and then you were on your way. 

“Hey, sleepyhead.” You smiled down at the archer, your fingers smoothing and brushing his long hair away from his face. The two day journey had been rough on his injury, signs of mild infection setting in before you were able to get him back to the Commonwealth. Tomi recommended sedation for setting the bone and cleaning up the wound. Daryl had voiced his displeasure but in the end— after some persuasion from you— he had relented. 

“Leg hurts like hell.” The archer grumbled, maneuvering himself a little further up on the pillows. He swatted at your hands when you tried to help him. His lower left leg was in a cast that descended past his ankle and onto his foot. You watched his already pinched expression morph into one of disgust. 

“Can’t move your ankle without affecting those bones.” You explained. 

“Can’ hunt with one foot.” 

“Oh, you’re not doing any hunting, mister.” Your expression softened when his shifted into something approaching mortification. “We’ve got other hunters, Daryl. Think of this as a vacation.” You turned to grab the water glass from the table. 

“Fer how long?” 

Offering him a drink, you mumbled an inaudible response. He didn’t need to say a word, the flared nostrils and arched brow were enough. “Three or four months.” You winced. 

“Ya gotta be shittin’ me!” He snapped, not at all interested in the water you were offering him. 

“It was a bad break, Daryl.” 

“No shit.” His hands were over his face now, his muscles tense and breathing irregular. You hated to see him like this. Independence was important to Daryl but so was the need to carry his own weight around the community. He was losing both in one fell swoop. 

“It won’t be that bad, you know.” Your fingers wrapped around his wrists and he allowed you to lower his arms before he gave you the most pitiful pout you had ever seen. “You’ll see.”

You moved everything downstairs with the help of Carol and Aaron, turning your living room into a bedroom for the time being. Judith and RJ pitched in with cooking and cleaning, under your watchful eye, of course. 

Daryl was in a sour mood the day he was released to go home. The crutches were difficult to get used to, his leg ached, and he hated the looks people gave him as he hobbled by. He always felt inferior but those looks, to him, confirmed it. 

“Welcome home, Uncle Daryl!” The kids cheered as they threw open the door with Carol right behind them. The corner of his mouth twitched up the slightest bit and he nodded, begrudgingly accepting your help to step up over the threshold. You shared a look with Carol once he had headed through, her hand coming up to squeeze your shoulder. 

When Daryl saw the living room, he visibly deflated, shoulders slumping and head lowering. Carol hugged him from the side and tucked his hair behind his ear. 

“It’ll be okay.” She said quietly. “Okay, kids! Upstairs for homework! Then wash up for dinner!” Rubbing Daryl’s back for a moment longer, she smiled at you. “I’m going to finish up in the kitchen while you get him settled.” 

“Thank you.” You nodded. Daryl maneuvered around to the front of the couch, waiting while you followed so you take the crutches and help him sit down. You were quick to set the equipment aside in favor of helping him get his leg up and stretch out. You grabbed a pillow from the mattress on the floor and placed it against the couch arm so he could lie back. “Comfortable?” You crouched down and rubbed a hand up and down his sternum. 

“Mhm.” His expression was hardly convincing. You sighed and stood, bending to press a kiss to the crown of his head. “I’m gonna help Carol with dinner. Call for me if you need anything.” He nodded again, not meeting your eyes. You gave him one last glance before stepping out of the room. 

“He’ll be okay, Y/N.” 

“I know. I just hate seeing him like this.” You stared back toward the doorway, knowing Daryl was battling inwardly just beyond where you could see. You could only pray he’d settle and allow himself to rest and heal. 

A couple of days passed with you and Daryl settling into a routine. He did things around the house that he could. He rinsed and dried dishes you washed, leaning on one crutch or the countertop. He sat with the kids while they did homework and helped where he could. He made sure the kids got out the door on time for school and welcomed them home afterward. 

Honestly, anything that kept him out of bed or on the couch, he would try to do. You didn’t stand in his way unless he started showing signs of pain. After two days, it was getting a little better, easier to get by without pain medication around the clock. The constant throb had dulled to an ache. 

“You want something for lunch?” You asked, leaning over the back of the couch. Daryl’s eyes opened, his head tilting back to find you smiling down at him. 

“M’okay, thanks.” 

Your fingers busied themselves combing through his hair and scratching lightly over his scalp. You swore you could hear him start to purr. When his eyes closed, you hopped up to teeter on the back of the couch, pressing your lips to his. 

“You know, I can think of a few things you can do that don't require moving from that spot.”

Daryl opened his eyes and laughed as an exhale through his nose. “Oh yeah? S’that?” His smile remained as you comically wiggled back to get your feet onto the floor. 

Rounding to stand in front of him, you smiled with your bottom lip tucked between your teeth. “It might even make you feel better.” You threw your leg over him and sat to straddle his hips. His hands came to rest on your sides, just below your ribs. 

“Think s’workin’ already.” Pressing the heel of his good foot into the cushions, he lifted his hips and ground up into you. 

You hummed approvingly. His hands were warm under yours while you guided him to the hem of your shirt. “I can’t seem to take this off by myself. Think you could help me out?”

“Don’ know, Sunshine. Seems like a helluva hassle.” You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled forth as he sat up, your shirt pushed up to your collarbone so he could press his mouth to the valley of your breasts. His fingers had just begun to tinker with the clasp of your bra when there came a knock at your door. 

You both glared in the direction of the entryway, Daryl growling in annoyance. 

“Ignore it.” He huffed, going back to what he was doing. 

“Wait, wait!” As much as you hated to put a damper on his good mood, “what if it’s about the kids?” The archer stilled and sat back. His shoulders dropped and he muttered a curse, jerking his chin toward the door. 

“G’on.” 

You adjusted your shirt and climbed off, shuffling quickly toward the door. When you opened it, you couldn’t stop the bewilderment in your expression. “Can I, um, help you?”

“Hi! I’m sorry to bother you. My name is Elizabeth.” The middle-aged woman shifted her weight from foot to foot, one hand fiddling with the covered baking pan in her arms. “I heard that Mr. Dixon got hurt. I’m real sorry.”

“It’s appreciated but he’s gonna be fine.” You smiled sincerely. “Just taking some time to heal up.”

“I heard.” Elizabeth nodded. “Anyway, back in the spring, when the hospital had the shortage, Mr. Dixon—”

“Please,” you interjected with a soft chuckle, “call him Daryl.”

Elizabeth looked a little uncertain but nodded regardless. “Daryl went out to find the antibiotics my son needed.”

“You’re Peter’s mom.” You remembered what she was talking about. Ezekiel had set up a council meeting to designate a group run. Daryl knew that the kid had been given a death sentence if antibiotics weren’t started within hours. He went out immediately, with only you having the knowledge that he had left. There were only a few places to raid that had previously been marked as too dangerous without a sizable group. He had returned, bloodied and bruised, but with enough antibiotics for several doses. “I hope he’s doing okay now.”

“He’s back to terrorizing his teacher and I. Thanks to Mr. D— I mean, Daryl.”

You felt tears threatening to gather and took a deep breath through you nose before smiling. “I’ll let him know how your kiddo is doing. He’ll be glad to hear it.”

“Oh! Well, I brought this. It’s not much and I had to compromise on some ingredients but it is good.” Elizabeth had no more than peeled back the edge of the towel and your mouth watered. 

“Lasagna. Wow! It's been a minute.” Putting out your hands to take the pan, you smiled brightly, excited to tell Daryl. “He’s going to be pretty damn happy.” You chuckled. 

“He’s the reason I still have my son. When I heard he was hurt, I just had to do something.” Your heart clenched and there were those damn tears again. “Anyway, please thank him for me and wish him a speedy recovery. Thank you, Mrs. Dixon.”

“Oh, I’m—”

“Have a good day!” 

“You…too.” You closed the door with a shrug, taking the pan to the kitchen. You couldn’t seem to dismiss the fluttering in your stomach induced by Elizabeth’s misconception. You placed the dish in the oven to warm later. It’d be a nice dinner for you, Daryl, Carol, and the kids. There wasn’t enough for you all to have much but sharing was something you had all perfected over the years. “Daryl, you’ll never guess who was—” 

He was already balanced in his elbow, waiting for you to finish your statement when you looked toward the entryway after another knock. 

“The hell could tha’ be?”

You shrugged and returned to the door, pulling it open only to find yet another person with an offering and story of appreciation for Daryl. You had no more than thanked them and put the cookies away when there came another knock. 

And another. 

And another. 

And another. 

You finally found time in between guests to explain things to Daryl. He had stared at you in disbelief, eyes shining, but before you could reassure him, there came another knock. You patted his cheek affectionately and continued your endless journeys between the door and the kitchen. 

The kids came home and started to help. Judith assisted RJ with putting away main courses and side dishes. Freezing things that could be and refrigerating what needed it. It was just around dusk when the last knock came. You heard the story and thanked them on Daryl’s behalf, smiling as you closed the door and leaned against it. 

When you returned to the kitchen this time, Daryl was in the doorway with his crutches, watching with an unreadable expression as the kids moved around to put the items away. 

“Ya were serious then?” He asked quietly. 

You snorted. “Not something I’d lie about, Dixon.”

He nodded, his brow creasing. “Don’ help people so they do stuff fer me when shit happens.”

“I know that. So do they.”

He nodded again, this time with a sniff. “Okay.” He positioned his crutches and left for the living room again. You didn’t let him know you had seen the tear fall. You just smiled toward where he had been standing and then continued to help the kids. 

After lasagna, you gave Daryl a break and sat with Judith and RJ for homework time, then sent them to bed with promises of a board game over the weekend. By the time you crawled onto the mattress by the fire, finding Daryl already there— you’d let it slide this time that you knew he needed help and probably made his leg hurt— and staring up at the ceiling. 

On your side to face him, you rubbed your hand over his bare bicep. “Penny for your thoughts.” His eyes slid to the corner to look at you and then back to the obviously more interesting ceiling. 

He cleared his throat. “Jus’, uh… jus’ wonderin’ why them folks went ta all tha’ trouble.”

Your smile was sad this time. “Because you’re important to this community. They care about you.”

“Y’mean they care ‘bout the things I do.”

“No. I don’t.” Sitting up, you turned to sit on your hip. “Why is it so hard to think that people genuinely care about you?”

“Y’know why.” He countered dryly. 

You nodded. “You’re right. I do. I just thought that after all these years, you’d gotten past that.” He sighed, lifting an arm to lay it across his eyes. “You’ve done so much for these people, Daryl. You’ve shown what a good man you are. You’ve earned your place here. You’ve become one of them. And they have grown to care about you; about all of us.”

He moved his arm again, resting it on his chest. “Ya really think so, don’tcha?”

“I know so.” You stated matter-of-factly. He hummed, seeming to mull over your words. When he didn’t say anything else, you crawled over, successfully closing the gap between you. “I think you have some things you were supposed to do for me, Mr. Dixon.”

The corner of his mouth raised into a half-smile. “Ya gonna make me lasagna after I do stuff fer ya?”

“Depends on how well you do it.” You had already bent down to press your lips to the side of his neck while your palms caressed his chest and abdomen. 

“That sounds almos’ like a challenge, Mrs. Dixon.”

There was a smile against his skin. “Heard that part, huh?”

“Maybe.” His large hands grabbed your hips to guide you onto his lap. “I think I liked the sound of it.”

“Are you asking me to marry you?” Your head was tilted while your finger traced shapes over his sternum. He chuckled. 

“Not yet. Ain’t no fun if’n ya know it’s comin’.” He reached to brush his knuckles down your jaw. You let your eyes flutter closed and leaned into the touch. “Would ya say ‘yes’?”

You hummed, leaning down to capture his lips, gently working your mouth over his for but a moment. “Ain’t no fun if’n ya know what I’d say.” You had lowered your voice and tried to rasp each word. 

“Guess we’ll jus’ hafta be surprised then, huh?” He pushed up your shirt, urging you to remove it. You quickly obliged and tossed it somewhere outside the light of the fire. You unhooked the clasp of your bra and allowed it to join your shirt. 

“Guess so.” His hands immediately found your breasts, rolling your hardened nipples between thumb and forefinger. “Now, let me show you how I say thank you.”

He full on laughed, a sound you didn’t hear often enough but cherished just the same; hearty and warm. “Yes, ma’am.”

[twigg96]

Ch. 2: It's a Promise we Keep through Thick and Thin

Ride 'Em Cowboy

Ch. 1 Here

A Rodeo AU

Cowboy! Daryl X Male! EMT! Reader

Chapter Summery: Daryl and Merle head off to work at the ranch with tension building all throughout the day. When things finally come to an explosive fight.

Chapter Warnings: Ranch life, Lou, Merle and Daryl talk about things, swearing, accents, Merle is his own warning, Farm life and situations in farms, Smoking, Smokeless tobacco use,

Tag list: @crashlyrose, @wildcardadrian, @edgyboi10000, @ritosparty, @silly-lil-lee

The sun had hardly begun to rise in the sky when the first crow of the local alarm rooster tore Daryl from his dreamless sleep. Glancing to the bright green numbers on the microwave, Daryl sighed scrubbing his face hard. 5 AM sharp. They had exactly half an hour to get their shit together and out to the field before their boss would be knocking on their door wondering where they were at. Slowly Daryl sat up letting out a long and pained groan as his back ached in protest. These 12 hour days followed by three hour nights were really starting to kick his ass.

Grabbing the pack of nearly empty cigarettes sitting on the bed stand Daryl sighed, he'd brush his teeth later. He plucked a bent ugly one out of the pack. With a long exaggerated sigh, he used the tips of his fingers to pinch the tobacco back into the roll. The orange filter hung from his his bottom lip as he tapped the silver lighter out out of the carton. Striking it across his thigh he held it up to the end of his cigarette. Blue eyes watched the flame with determined double vision. Reaching up he cupped the brilliant flame with his other hand watching the cherry catch.

Smoke lingered in the air and circled around the shitty room in the double wide he shared with his brother. Wood paneling covered the walls making the room feel much darker and dreary than it really was. Certainly didn't fuckin' help anything that his boss refused to let them hang anything on the walls after Merle drilled a six inch hole in the wall "on accident."

Speaking of his dumbass of a brother...

Daryl stood up, albeit a little too fast for his body's liking, stumbling forward with a low growl tumbling to cling to the wall for support. His head spun and ached around his dry mouth and throat, waiting for the sick twisted feeling in his stomach to go away before pushed away with too much confidence.

The jeans he wore to bed would have to do. Bending over to dig through the clothes hamper was too big of a risk. Side stepping to his dresser drawers, Daryl pulled out a clean-ish white tank top and a button up work shirt. Anything that kept the critters from digging into his skin was a win for him, even if it didn't help to keep the sweltering heat at bay. Last but not least he plopped on his wide brimmed hat.

Stumbling out the door of his room Daryl pulled his belt tight, stuffing his shirt into the waistband of his jeans. He stopped at Merle's door covered in dated concert posters and models ripped straight from a sticky magazine. Rapping hard and fast on the thin plywood of the door he was surprised when it creaked open unlatched and unlocked.

The room wreaked of smoke, not just of the tobacco he was currently puffing on. Of weed and other substances he'd rather pretend he didn't recognize. Ignorance is bliss especially in the face of the police.

Posters covered the walls and holes Merle still needed to plaster over. An incense holder burned carelessly in the corner of the room adding to the range of smells in the room. The too large beige comforter shifted in strange lumps.

"Hey dick fer brains." Daryl growled, slamming the door open the whole way. "We got work-"

Well fuck him sideways!

Daryl stepped back his heart dropping straight into his fucking asshole. Sitting up in Merle's bed was that pretty little thing from the night before. Lilly? Louize? Jean? Didn't really fuckin' matter.

"Ah... wha-" She moaned pushing back her rat's nest of a mane. Grey sheets fell from her shoulders held only by her hand to cover her naked chest as she sat up to inspect Daryl with squinted blue eyes. "Oh... Oh I remember you." She slurred, her head lulling to the side, her bright blonde hair cascading down to cover her face. She pointed at the youngest Dixon giggling fondly.

"Yeah... your the one that's riding on Mermer's team." She mused bringing her right knee up to her chest. "What are you doin' here so early, cowboy? Didn't think training started til later." She hummed, tilting her head to lay her cheek on her knee.

Daryl swallowed hard and thick. Anger and frustration filling his chest as he stared at the woman laying in Merle's bed. Glancing to the floor Daryl shook his head at the entire predicament he found himself in.

"Got work..." He murmured soft, nervously rubbing the back of his neck, pushing his hat up over his eyes.

"Where's-" Daryl blinked, what had she just called his brother?

"Where's Merle?" He asked, staring down at his feet, silently wishing he had his boots on. The woman hummed clicking her tongue at Daryl.

"You're all work and no play aren't you?" She teased, winking at him. "Don't worry. He's in the bathroom. Said he needed to shower before he went to check on his farm for today."

Check on his farm? Poor girl...

Daryl sighed pinching the bridge of his nose. "You gotta way home?" He asked.

Smirking the woman nodded. "Yes'm. Drove myself here last night when your brother called begging for a-"

"Aight." Daryl cut the girl off with a wave of his hand, turning right around down the hall ignoring the girl's giggles.

Dumb sum' bitch.

Storming to the bathroom door that hissed and billowed with as much fog as a couch fire, Daryl damned near kicked the door in with as much force as he pounded on it.

"Je-Sus!" Daryl could hear Merle swear, loud banging and tumbling was either Merle dropping his body wash or falling flat on his face scrambling to get the fuck out of the shower. Either way Daryl could give a shit right now.

"I thought I told ya." Merle cried, the sound of the faucet turning off and a drawer slamming shut only slightly amused Daryl. "Ta stay in the room and if ya had ta piss go outside!" Merle growled throwing open the door. A billow of steam surrounding him in all his naked glory holding only an old stained towel around his middle to cover himself.

What a ladies man...

Daryl glared daggers at Merle, his hands eyeing his brother as he stood silent and judging. The eldest Dixon's eyes widened and his face turned from anger and contempt to a fake smile that more resembled a sneer as he faced Daryl.

"Oh... mornin' little brotha. Take it ya ran inta Lou this morning?" He asked, smirking as if were no thing at all. Daryl stayed silent. His face and body reading the utter disgust he felt. Merle however didn't seem one bit affected, shrugging off his brother's indifference to grab his clothes from toilet seat.

"Ya wanna jump in the sha'er real quick 'fore we head off ta work?" He asked pulling on his boxers and jeans under the the towel. Tossing the damp cloth into a heap in the corner of the room when he was done.

It took all Daryl had in him not to punch Merle in the nose. The older man was sporting a shiner from the night before he never learned a damn thing from. Merle cocked a brow at his younger brother pulling his muddled wifebeater over his head.

"Her rack got ya all in a stupor or sum shit?" Merle teased patting Daryl on the shoulder as be pushed past, stumbling into the kitchenette. Daryl followed close behind his glare burning a hole into Merle's back. The thick smell of coffee mixed with the sweet smell of Merle's cheap ass cigars.

"Wha'?" Merle asked glancing over his shoulder, pulling down two coffee mugs for them both.

"Swalla yer tongue sometime last night?" He asked. Merle poured the coffee black straight from the pot into their thermos. The little red light on the side of the pot flicked off when Merle unplugged the machine. Daryl caught the tall green thermos he knew was his own by the faded peeling camo duct tape wrapped around it's middle.

Daryl rolled his eyes, stuffing his feet deep in his boots and grabbing his keys from the hook beside the door. The bright blue Prius sitting in front of their trailer stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the rusted trucks he and the other ranch hands owned. The broad owned one of the most suspicious cars to own for a marital affair out in the country...

With a shake of his head, Daryl huffed slamming the squealing door of his truck shut harder than he probably should have if he wanted the rust to stay put on the bottom. He tossed his thermos back into the back cupholder, tapping the steering wheel impatiently.

Slowly the sun's rays cast a red hue across the wheat field that swayed in the wind across the dirt road from their trailer park. The trees silhouetted cast long shadows across the ground and the air hung heavy with every breath he took even though it wasn't quite cold enough to see his own breath.

Tapping out his cigarette in the truck's ash tray Daryl glanced over to his brother as he slowly climbed in. "Well... lets get this over with..."

The ride to work was bumpy and rough. While usually filled with talks of bull shit and lies or the radio blaring too damned loud for how early it was in the morning, the ride was eerily quiet. Gravel crunched under the truck's tires and while the road wasn't too bad Daryl made sure to hit every pot hole possible just to make Merle's car sickness act up alongside the hell of a hang over he knew he was nursing with the coffee he was huffing.

"Fuckin' Christ Daryl." Merle hissed, clinging to the door handle for all he had. "Think ya could hit them holes any fuckin' harder?!" He growled. Daryl hummed a small but satisfied smile gracing his lips as Merle gagged winding down the window stuffing his bottom lip full of spearmint snuff.

With a glance out the open window Daryl watched the poor souls running the tractors plowing and preparing the crop fields who have been working since the crack of dawn. Corn swayed and bent as the combine tractor Merle had been banned from ever driving again drove carefully slowly and methodically through it, spraying the product into the wagon driving beside it. Taking off his hat Daryl stuck it out the window and waved at the drivers. Both drivers returned the favor in kind and if Daryl wasn't mistaken Merle had stuck his hand out to greet them as well.

Dancing and bare crop fields slowly turned to open and bare livestock farm land surrounded by both electric fences and barbed wire. Horses trotted happily around the paddocks shaking their manes and whipping the flies that bothered them with their tails. The loud ear piercing squealing of pigs could be heard a near mile away just over the ridge, tiny piglets running loose in the pen enjoying the morning dew. Goats stood proud on their perch of hay silently judging the Dixon's as they drove past. The smell of manure hung thick and heavy in the air. Even after cleaning the stalls three times that day it still reeked... but so was the ranch life and what getting paid so well included. It was the smell of hard work. A smell Daryl had long since become accustomed to.

The Dixons set to work as soon as they arrived at the main farm. Stepping out of the truck to go their separate ways for a time. They knew their duties by now. Merle went off to grab one of the four wheelers and inspect the fence. Daryl to grab his motorbike and herd them out of the field for the morning. The other hands used the prized horses the boss had available in the stable. Helped them get their exercise. But Daryl was never a fan of horses. In honesty they scared the shit out of him ever since he watched one kick Merle clean across the room.

Placing his hat on the fence post that held his black helmet, Daryl strapped the helmet on tight. The familiar gruff and jingle of tags came to greet him from behind. Daryl smiled at the Shepard mix patting him on the head. "Morning, Dog." Daryl mumbled, starting his bike with a loud roar.

Rolling down to meet the others at the pasture head. His boss Paul Monroe who everyone affectionately dubbed "Jesus" due to his long hair and his status as the ranch owner's son, sat proudly atop his horse Citation an all white horse who batted the flies away with his ears carelessly. The ranch's unofficial veterinarian Dr. Hershel Greene sat atop Nutmeg a name fitting of her color and personality. The doctor brought along his daughters. Maggie and Beth who rode together on Maggie's stallion Deacon.

Daryl flicked off the engine of his bike to hear the others clearly. The two gentlemen seemed to be discussing the morning's plans.

"Well, how many square acres of pasture we lookin' at?" Hershel asked sitting back on the saddle.

"We got about 50 acres in this lower section." Jesus answered, readjusting his riding gloves.

"Well we only need the heifers and the new calves right?" Maggie asked, her body swaying along with Deacon's movements. Jesus nodded eyeing the pasture ahead of them.

"Yeah... problem is that we got a couple of heifers that are late to drop. So we need ta find them and round them up as we're tagging the new calves and rounding the mommas in fer a health check and milking." Jesus hummed in response.

"Lotta land ta jest be plucking a few from the herd." Hershel murmured. "Gotta good chance ta misplace a few and get 'em mixed up." The elderly man glared out to the pasture towards the rolling mountains as dark and broad as any thundercloud.

With a nod Jesus hummed. "When we bring the mommas in we'll bring the whole herd in." He hummed. "But I gotta plan. Hershel and I are gonna ride up the right side of the pasture. I'll take inside. Hershel can take outside to the corners and send the herd round the fence. Just keep them in line. I'll send some product his way. Daryl I want you to ride up the middle and flush them cattle out the middle by reving your engine. Don't hold back we gotta get all these cattle out of here into the holding pen for check ups. Girls I want you to do the same as your dad. Just go around the outside of the pasture. Check the corners and thickets there and once Daryl flushes the cattle out of the thickets in the middle keep them in line and keep a good head count til Daryl meets ya ta help keep them in line. We'll take a total count at the gate and round back if we need. Just keep your radios on and comms open in case we get separated. And remember if ya see a calf without a tag, take the time ta clip it with one or we'll be off count later."

Daryl nodded dutifully clicking on the Bluetooth radio connected to his helmet. "Think I can manage that..." He hummed a smirk playing at his lips, leaning on the handle bars of his bike. Who was he kidding? He loved this part of his job.

"Isn't what Daryl's doing a little... inhumane? I mean your basically trainin' them babies ta be scared of yer bike." Beth asked softly, holding her hand up in front of her face to the sky to block the rising sun from blinding her. An audible sigh escaped both Hershel and Maggie as their horses stepped along with their annoyance.

"Ain't like that." Daryl murmured offering a shrug. "I'm doin' these calves a favor ridin' round in here. Desensitizing them ta the sound of mah bike and the quads that are ridin' round the pastures. Helps ta keep them from causin' a stampede when their older or gettin' spooked so easy by equipment noise. Keeps everyone safe in the end."

Daryl nearly gapped at the way Beth rolled her eyes at him. Shaking her head distastefully. "Don't sound like much of a favor ta me..." She hissed.

The hell got into that girl? Daryl thought shaking his head, glancing to Hershel and Maggie.

The older of the sisters however patted her leg. The signal Daryl understood too we'll for We'll talk about it later. Flicking the engine on his bike Daryl sat up straight signaling to the others he was ready to go. With a flick of his wrist Jesus took off, Hershel following close behind. One glance back Maggie flipped the reigns to Decan, taking off towards the fence.

Pulling back on the gas Daryl took off down the middle of the pasture, keeping a close eye on the fence on either side. Coming to a small group of cattle he round them to the right towards Hershel. Eyeing them for any orange spots or new wobbly calves Daryl moved deeper into the thicket when he didn't immediately notice either.

Slowly he rode over roots, through creek beds, and muddy sloppy waters. Engaging his brake he revved his engine loudly. Leaning back on his leather seat Daryl watched as several cattle bolted out either side of the thickets he sat in front of. Dog barked and growled at his side rounding his bike protectively as cattle came too close for the mutt's comfort. Stepping off his bike Daryl slowly walked up to a calf struggling to keep up with his momma. Grabbing the tag clippers from his back pocket he grabbed the baby around the neck. Holding his frail body firm between his legs Daryl acted quickly, holding it's neck close as he clipped the ear with the GPS tag. All the while keeping an eye on the protective momma stomping around nearby.

"I see ya there momma..." Daryl huffed standing up straight and releasing the baby back to the momma. Watching the others head off towards the girls Daryl flagged them through a thin spot in the thicket. Hopping back on his bike riding on.

The sun was much higher in the sky by the time the group was done herding the cattle into the holding pens. Higher still by the time they had sorted out the mommas into the milking machines with their babies nearby to keep all involved safe.

Sweat glistened off Daryl's forehead. The icy early morning air had rapidly heated up to near stifling and muggy. Sliding the black helmet off his head the rider was more than happy to replace it with his much cooler hat. Staring out at the yearlings released into two separate corrals. Now so energetic and ready to raise calves of their own when last year they were so little made the man brim with pride. Even if he had very little to do with their raising.

"Hey there cowboy." Maggie's smooth voice called out from behind him. Turning with a smile to the young woman Daryl tipped his hat to her.

"Maggie." He greeted her fondly, leaning heavily on the metal fence.

"Thanks fer yer help today." He mumbled his eyes flicking to the hole in her overalls from where they both had wrangled a particularly feisty steer into a holding pen to get banded.

She shrugged her brunette hair held back by a black hair band was slowly falling out, the baby hairs that made up her makeshift bangs framed her sweat beaded face.

"It's no big thing Daryl. Never was." She hummed coming over to lean on the fence beside him.

Daryl hummed. Their friendship felt like it had lasted a life time in this world when it all was said and done. The two had known each other since they each were tikes. Merle brought him along with him to work with him. He remembered clinging to his brothers sweaty hand holding back tears as the sun set, the work day over. Hershel acted more as a father than his ever even attempted to be. The day his mother died, it wasn't his father that comforted him but Merle, Maggie, and Hershel.

Though the two got into their fair share of shit too. Maggie would drag him out past the creeks and streams on her property. Little pellet guns in hand they'd shoot at anything that moved, pretending to be in some movie Daryl had watched while spending the night at her place. Mrs. Greene had tanned their hides for scaring off the birds in her yard that day.

He truly couldn't ask for a better friend.

"So..." Daryl sighed, a soft smile on his face his eyes flicking to the fluffy clouds slowly crawling across the sky.

"Yer sister..." He chuckled as Maggie leaned into his side, slapping him across the chest.

"Dixon..." Her voice lilted, her mouth hanging wide in awe with a gasp of disbelief.

"You wouldn't believe a girl like her could be so swayed by a boy... but... by god she has been." Maggie sighed scrubbing her face with a laugh. Cocking a brow Daryl laughed alongside Maggie.

"A boy huh?" He hummed.

"Need me ta come lay the bastard straight?" He asked. With a soft shake of her head Maggie sighed swiping frustrated tears from her eyes.

"Nah... Tyler's harmless. Just a city boy is all..." She rolled her eyes. "Got her changing her major and transferin' ta the big school with him in the Fall." Maggie huffed. "She said she wants ta go inta politics if ya can believe that bull shit."

Daryl huffed a scowl falling onto his face. His eyes fell to the dirt below them both. Watching the bugs that scurried and ran across the crabgrass that grew in struggling patches across the trail he stood on. His nose scrunching in distaste he scoffed. "Girl sounds like she's chasing a dream that ain't her own."

Maggie hummed in agreement, her boots drawing mindless doodles in the dirt. "That city boy is only gonna get her hurt..." She sighed.

Glancing at her at her from under the rim of his his hat a smirk played at Daryl's lips.

"How's that city boy of yers treatin' ya?" He asked chuckling.

"Yer daddy know bout him yet?" Maggie huffed in response, smacking him across the bicep once more earning a roar of laughter.

"Take not..." Daryl hummed pulling his hat back over his eyes playfully.

"Glenn's just fine, Daryl." She answered curtly.

"But... no daddy doesn't know I'm with him yet... he don't need ta know yet." Maggie huffed. "He had a cow when I went ta prom with you. I can't imagine how he'd react when I bring Glenn home."

Daryl chuckled stepping away from Maggie so she couldn't get another well placed shot in on him. "Yer dad loves ya. He just don't always know how ta show it."

A comfortable silence hung in the air for a moment. Maggie nodding and chewing her cheek in thought.

"So how's your brother?" She asked.

Daryl scoffed, rolling his eyes and shaking his head he stuffed his hands so deep in his pockets he was sure he'd hit pay dirt. "Dumb as a sack of shit and just as useless." He growled distain thick on his face.

"That bad huh?" She asked, worry etched on her face.

A dark chuckle bubbled up from out of Daryl's throat. "Yeah..."

A shrill ear piercing whistle cut through the air catching not only Daryl's but Maggie's attention easily. Daryl pulled his hat back into place turning towards where Jesus stood high on the bottom rung of the fence waving at the two of them from a thousand yards away screaming his head off, though neither of them could hear him over the sounds of the cattle. Standing next to Jesus stood an unamused Hershel. His arms crossed firmly over his chest eyeing the two with a suspicious brow raised.

"Daryl!" Hershel's commanding voice called over the cattle and the equipment. "Yer ta go work on feedin' tha herd with yer brother!"

With a shake of his head Daryl shrugged at Maggie a deep chuckle emanating from his chest.

Speak of the devil.

"Duty calls, cowboy." She mused tipping his hat back. "You take care of yerself... ya hear? Call us if ya need anything." She said stepping into his chest to hug him tight ignoring the beaming glare Hershel sent their way.

"Easy now... yer daddy's bound ta shoot me yet." Daryl teased, ruffling her hair. "Ya take care too now little sister."

When Daryl finally made his way to the feed pens, having grabbed and downed a bottle of water first, he was unsurprised to find Merle leaning up against one of the support beams. Empty water bottle in hand he was currently using it as a spitter for the snuff he had switched to while he worked. Smokeable tobacco was forbidden in the livestock area of the ranch. Could spark a nasty fire and then no one would have a job.

"There ya are!" Merle chimed pushing off the beam placing the sloshing spitter down on the ground.

"Was wonderin' when you'd show up! Been standin' there and standin' there waitin' fer ya ta show up." He sneered. "Bet ya were off gettin' cozy with that little Greene girl again. Saw their truck here. Know you two have been real close."

Daryl rolled his eyes at his brother pushing past him to grab the first bail of hay. Not a word said to his brother. If Merle was affected, Daryl never noticed nor cared.

Tossing another bail of hay into the feed bins Daryl swiped his hand along his brow a drop of sweat slowly and easily tracing his temple down to his chin as he looked out the barn doors towards the pasture.

"See som'thing out there ya like?" Merle teased, scooping a handful of medicated grains from a metal bucket into the pens to keep the heifers from getting bloat.

"Nah..." Daryl sighed rubbing his hands on his jeans dust from the hay staining them a pale grey. "Don't see anything I like in here neither." He huffed turning to glare at Merle.

Freezing on the spot, Merle cocked a brow at Daryl. The scoop he had been holding feed in hanging precariously over the last cow's pen as they eyed it hungrily, tongues lapping and twirling in sloppy greed.

"Ya got a problem with me little botha?" Merle asked narrowing his eyes at Daryl, spilling the feed onto the cows carelessly.

Indeed. Indeed Daryl had several problems with Merle. He hated that Merle would show up to work late. He hated that he would be hung over and sick and claim he couldn't do his normal load but Daryl could pick it up. But most of all he hated that the bastard had a proclivity for volunteering him for damned near everything nowadays. Especially when he went around making things especially dangerous by fucking the one woman that could get them both fuckin' shot.

"Ya ain't say a damned thang ta me all day long and when ya do it's that horse shit?" Merle growled glaring at Daryl, finger flexing around the metal scoop dangerously. "You better fuckin' clear that attitude up right fuckin' now before we both have problems."

Daryl huffed turning his glare onto Merle he stayed still. His heart hammered hard and fast in his chest. Nostrils flaring as he paced across the pen.

"Yeah I got a problem... got a problem with yer fuckin' gamblin'." Daryl growled. He watched as Merle stood still a confused angry look on his face as he tried to put two and two together.

"Oh shit." Merle laughed shaking his head, his shoulders relaxing as Daryl rounded once more in the track he beat into the dirt of the barn.

"Is this 'bout that little cow ridin' gig I got you put into?" He whined a devilish smirk gracing his features as he strutted over to the metal bucket to drop the scoop back off with a final clang. "You should be thanking me for the exposure little brother... Them ladies will be crawling all over you by the time-"

"Nah... don't want that." Daryl hissed waving Merle off as if swatting a fly. The older man hummed not bothered in the slightest, instead simply nodding his head.

"Ya never were one fer that ladies... gotta wonder sometimes bout ya little brother." Merle sighed shaking his head.

With a roll of his eyes Daryl paced the width of the pen, honestly not hearing anything his brother said after that... he didn't give a damn what worried him and what didn't in his own dating life. Merle needed to get his own life under control.

But that Jaxson man... he gave Daryl the chills in a way only Merle's friends ever had before. He felt dangerous and the gun on his hip... just because he never wanted to talk to Merle again didn't mean he wanted to find him shot dead in the trailer one day...

"Hey!" Merle's rough voice pulled Daryl from his thoughts. Course calloused fingers wrapped tightly around his wrist keeping him from pacing further.

"Ya ain't still scared are ya?" Merle teased even if his voice betrayed the truth of his honesty.

"Scared a' wha'? Dying unsuspecting in the trailer one night because mah brotha couldn't keep his pecker to himself for one god damned night?! Yeah Merle I'd say that bothers me." Daryl hissed coming to a stop in front of his brother.

"Bein' impaled and trampled on ain't exactly high on my bucket list o' thangs I wanna do neither!" He hissed stepping into Merle's personal space. But, once again Merle didn't seem phased at all instead he shrugged a smile gracing his lips.

"Ain't nothin' you never done before... and Lou ain't gon' snitch on us. Her husband don't do tha thangs I do ta her so we ain't got nothin' ta worry bout." Merle said waggling his brows as if that would soothe Daryl daring to raise a hand to silently tell him to keep his voice down.

Daryl shook his head, pulling his arm away from Merle with a huff. Resuming his steady pace Daryl brought his hand up to his mouth, chewing the inside of his thumb.

"Nah... fuck that." He huffed pacing the small space between the feed cans.

"This ain't no steer wranglin' Merle. The goal ain't ta get them on the ground. Their goal is ta get you on the ground." Daryl hissed.

"Yeah but if anyone can-" Merle tried to counter a worried expression on his face.

"Eight seconds. One handed. That's the time I got ta beat ta fuckin qualify. Eight seconds of ridin'. Count it dip shit!" Daryl yelled, face turning beat red, slamming a fist into the can he stood near. The cattle in their pens screamed in retaliation to the loud sudden noise but in all honesty Daryl couldn't give a shit.

"There! There was eight god-damned seconds Merle! A blink of an eye! And that's how long I got ta stay on that fuckin' bull!" Meeting Merle's eyes Daryl watched a slow realization dawn on Merle one he wasn't sure he'd get out of his brother.

"And ta get any points I gotta make ridin't that bull in-" Slamming his fist down once more on time, he watched Merle jump at the sound, "that amount of time look fuckin good or else we won't get enough fuckin points ta pass inta the next round and win!"

With a swift kick to the support beam that left his toes aching in his steel toed boots Daryl growled low and frustrated struggling to catch his breath.

"Six seconds..." Merle muttered low and uncharacteristically soft. "Lou said it was six seconds cause it's an amateur ride."

Great. Just what Daryl wanted to hear.

Rounding on Merle, Daryl cocked back his fist adding more color to the shiner he created last night. "Yer a fuckin' prick." He spit.

Merle stumbled back holding his eye before falling flat on his ass.

"Wha- How am I tha prick?! I'm just tellin' ya what Lou told me!" Merle bit back glaring up at his brother. "I could let ya flounder on this little brother! I could jest tell ya ta suck eggs and find yer own way! But I aint gonna let ya do that!"

Cause yer hide is at stake too...

"Look... Lou offered ta let ya practice ridin' at her trainin' facility this week. That's why I had her over, Daryl... ta get in good with her and get ya practicin' at a real facility... so ya don't get on one of these tame bulls than get yerself kilt on them bastards they got in the rodeo!"

Glaring at the dirt Daryl chewed the skin of his thumb until he tasted blood and even he sucked it away to keep going until pangs of pain shot down his arm.

"Whatcha say little brotha?" Merle asked, slowly pulling himself off the floor.

Daryl couldn't hardly believe he was considering it... but what other choice did he have... He sighed letting his arms fall to his sides. "What makes ya think this Lou chick won't jest rat us out there?"

Silence fell like a heavy blanket on the two as they stood in the pen the cattle falling back into their routine, the tension still thick as hell between the brothers. "Dunno... but this is the best chance we got."

Daryl huffed glaring at Merle. "All cause ya couldn't keep yer damned hands ta yerself..."

[melloraconteur]

Day 001. | Pegging

John "Soap" McTavish x GN Reader

Synopthesis: Despite a rather spicy sex life, pegging was somehow something the two of you never explored. Well, you could cross that off the bucket list now!

Cont. Anal sex, begging, reader is referred to as 'puppy', creampie, reader has a dick

Word Count -> 1.1k

Kez Notes: First post of Kinktober!!! I was listening to a halloween playlist while writing this. Also, my first piece of smut in about 5 years so forgive me if this is rushed 😅

Despite having a very spicy sex life between the both of you, it escapes you how pegging never was brought up before.

So you were very surprised when Johnny brought up you possibly pegging him. It's not that you were surprised by his request, more that you were surprised that he would be taking cock up his ass instead of you. You were usually the submissive in the relationship as Johnny loved being in control of you, more specifically, your pleasure.

Johnny followed up by reassuring you that you wouldn't have to take charge like he does, that he wanted to use your cock as a dildo. His words shouldn't have made arousal bloom in your stomach like it did, not when you'd have to go to work after breakfast and try to will your hard on away.

One look at Johnny, his knowing eyes beginning to cloud with lust and the cheeky smirk told you that this reaction is what he wanted.

You kissed him a little harsher than normal when you left for work.

.....

A few glasses of wine and some dinner later, you found yourself in a heated makeout with Johnny, his hands roaming under your clothes, across the plains of your stomach, the dips of your hips and planting themselves on your ass, kneading and groping like he'd never get another chance to touch you.

Somehow, without breaking apart, you both made it to the bedroom. The back of your knees hit the edge of the bed and you fell back, pulling Johnny with you, needing him like he was a drug and you an addict.

"Johnny, need you so bad!" You whined pathetically, grinding your clothed cock against his, another wave of arousal settling in your tummy when your denim jeans rub against you just right. You swore you almost came when you heard Johnny moan right into your ear, his hot breath ghosting over your ear.

"Yeah? Has my poor puppy been thinkin' about putting his cock inside of meh?" He teases, his warm hands gripping your hips and forcing you to grind harder against him.

"Yes! Was thinking about it all day!" You say, your voice breathy as you tug on his grey sweatpants, thankful that you didn't have to fight with a belt when you were this horny.

You both made quick work of the clothes that separated you both, throwing them off and not caring where they landed. You couldn't help but place a heavy, wet kiss on his collarbone, placing more and your teeth coming out to play, teasing his skin but never biting down hard enough to break skin, as he rutted against you.

You broke apart, greedily breathing in air, Johnny leaning over, grabbing the bottle of lube from the nightstand near the bed.

He lubed up his fingers, gingerly pushing one inside and working himself, slipping another inside soon after. Now it was your turn to map his body with your hands, teasing his nipples, watching greedily how his breath catches when you use a little bit of your nail.

His cock, his beautiful, red, leaking cock, laid on your stomach, throbbing uselessly. You felt a little sad that it wouldn't be used tonight.

Johnny's hand wrapping around your cock brought you back to present and boy was it a sight.

His face was red, his blue eyes clouded over with lustful hunger and determination, his lips swollen, lube dripping from his ass and unto your cock, a shiver climbing up your spin at the sensation.

"S good puppy fer mah, gonna finally put yer useless cock ta use." A grin accompanied his words. You couldn't help the long drawn out moan that left you as he lined you up with him, pushing the tip inside with a groan. You grabbed his hips, needing something to ground you. He was all around you, his tight heat sucking you in, his weight on top of you, his natural scent of citrus and laundry detergent filling your nostrils mercilessly, forcing out all other thoughts aside from Johnny.

He sunk down until you bottomed out, moans slipping out of his mouth as he felt your cock fill him, the bulbous tip brushing against his prostate, teasing him with a glimpse of immense pleasure. "Fuck! - yer filling meh up so good puppy." He praises, his voice breathy and an octave lower from arousal.

You leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his, sharing air as he adjusted to you, a moan escaping you as his walls tighten on you like a vice, like he never wanted you to leave.

You waited for him, knowing from experience that the sensation needed some time to get used to. You rub circles into his hips, giving him something else to focus on. "Doing so good Johnny, feel so good." You hum, knowing that the both of you got off on praise.

A moan left the both of you when he started to roll his hips, not yet bouncing but testing the waters.

He planted his hands on your chest, pulling himself up and moaning at the drag of your cock against his walls, then dropping himself back down, his ass smacking harshly against your pelvis, pulling himself up and dropping down in the same way, over and over, creating a rhythm, bucking his hips as your cock nudged his prostate every time he sunk down on you.

You couldn't stop from thrusting up half way, allowing you to sink deeper inside of Johnny. You threw your head back, focusing on the image above you. Johnny, looking so wrecked, looking like a god as he rides you, a blissful expression on his face.

You weren't sure if you were even talking at this point, the molten feeling filled your veins, bubbling in your stomach.

"Please!- Johnny, can I cum, pretty please?!" You beg, your voice hoarse, your peak oh so close but so far.

"Cum." he demanded, taking his cock in hand and stroking himself in time with your thrusts. "Fill meh up like a good boy."

Another cry left your lips, babbling your thanks to him as you came. Johnny half groaned half moaned as he felt hot, thick ropes of cum paint his walls, giving him the little push he needed as he spilled all over your stomach, some even landing on your heaving chest.

He slowed, coming to a stop and greedily taking in air, enjoying the afterglow of your orgasms. After getting his breath back, he lifted himself up far enough that you slipped out, a fat glob of cum leaking out of his gaping hole.

He cuddled up to you, too tired to clean up at the moment. You wrapped your arms around him, praising him.

You knew you would likely try this again, but for now, you would bathe in his presence and enjoy him while you have him all to yourself, before the world would call on him again.

wrote by Melloraconteur. do not modify, repost or translate.