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hugshughes · 5 months

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Headphones J. McCarthy

JJ McCarthy x fem!reader

synopsis - He finally does it. JJ finally wins it all, and as always his best friend, his girl, is there through all of it.

wc - 2k

contains - if you haven't read Rose Bowl, Baby! do it before you read this!!!! the whole Headphoens thing won't make sense to you if you don't so. it's not a direct part two but there's def references to stuff talked about in it, it's the same universe so. established relationship! um cursing, kissing, hugging, touching(? JJ gets a bit handsy after his big win), crying, a bit of making out, the L word, uhmmm, OH TALKS OF MARRIAGE (awwwwwww ur joking). OH WAIT this has like the insinuation that JJ might declare for the draft, but he hasn't yet so that's not real (as of now).

an - UNEDITED! this one prettyyyy short but I wanted to get something out since the BIG WINNNNN yall don't get how much i cried. we were all crying, it was a mess. so proud of the team, GOD BLESS BLAKE. so fucking happy right now. well deserved win for the boys, they put me through an emotional whirlwind though. don't even start on having to watch penix after the game ended, it ruined my life. anyways, i hope you enjoy this.

read, Rose Bowl, Baby! first, if you havent.

9:15

The numbers shown above on the Jumbotrons the stadium was equipped with. The minutes were quickly washing away on this football game. It was the fourth quarter, this drive was make or break. If Michigan doesn't score on this drive, it gives Washington the perfect chance to tie the game up late in the fourth.

JJ could do it, you knew he could. He had proven himself time and time again, that not one thing anyone said about him, no matter it be by a famous reporter or a hateful person online, was true.

JJ had controlled this game. He knew exactly what he needed to do to get what he wanted, the College Football Championship. He was comfortable, and calm. JJ had been locked in on the game through all four quarters. He'd put his headphones on at the beginning of the game and hadn't taken them off.

You, along with Jay's family around you hadn't sat down since halftime, not during such a big game.

He looked perfect out there, everything was calculated. Every movement he made was thought out. JJ clapped from his huddle, and his teammates went to their places, moving positions to keep the Washington defense on their toes.

The ball was snapped perfectly, JJ stalled while his men moved across the field, the ball flew from his hands, soaring down the field and right into the hands of a jumping Colston Loveland. Huge first down! Yes!

The boys set up 40 yards down the field, on the Washington 30 yard line. After two more snaps the down was reset again, the boys lining up at the Washington 15. On the next play, JJ quickly handed the ball to Blake, who got a few yards out the field. The next play was crucial. JJ took a deep breath, clapping for the ball. He quickly handed it to Blake, who ran up the middle straight into the end zone! Oh my God, yes! Touchdown Wolverines! It was exactly what they needed, to get ahead multiple scores, so they could sit as comfortably as possible for the rest of the game.

You and JJ's mom, Megan, had started tearing up once he handed off another touchdown, making the score 13-34. You knew this was it, he'd done it. You hugged everyone near you when the clock ran out, crying while laughing with his family. All the families were escorted back into the stadium, and down the tunnel, out onto the field.

You watched JJ run around, talking to reporter after reporter, your favorite smile bright as the stadium lights. He hugged his teammates, and then we all got the go ahead to go out to the field. You hugged Colston, then Blake, and Donovan before you finally got to JJ, in the middle of the crowd. He turned from the cameras and saw his parents, his face lighting up even more. He hugged them so tightly, his eyes getting teary, he'd had everything he'd ever wanted, his family there with him after he won the CFC. He opened his eyes and immediately spotted you, smiling at him in your navy #9 jersey.

He departed from his parents after a few more seconds, saying a few words to them before he lightly pushed past them to about tackle you in a hug. You both stumbled back, brushing against others in the crowd, but it didn't matter in the moment.

"JJ! Oh my God, I'm speechless, really."

He squeezed you tighter, laughing in your ear, pulling back to see your face. You cupped his cheeks, not even noticing the eye black on your hands, that had also no doubt smeared to your neck when he hugged you. You both just smiled at each other.

"Couldn't have done this without you, baby."

He shook his head, emphasizing his sentence. You quickly disregarded it, he would've been great no matter what you were to him.

"This is all thanks to you, JJ. This is what you've worked for."

"'M serious, couldn't've done it without my headphones."

You smiled at him lovesickley, his mom was no doubt taking pictures of you two right now, along with all the cameras meant for JJ.

"I love you!"

You didn't get a chance to respond before JJ smashed his lips onto yours, pulling you somehow closer by your hips. I guess he wants to put on a show, you thought as JJ deepend the kiss. You pulled back from him when you needed air, your chest heaving as your smile stuck to your face.

JJ talked to another reporter, blushing when the man mentioned your kiss. JJ held your hand behind his back while he talked to the man, and you stood with your arm extended out, a few feet behind him, talking with other player's moms.

JJ took some pictures with you and his family before he had to go do media. His personal favorite photo was when you were both turned with your backs to the camera, so you could see the MCCARTHY on both of your backs, but he snuck his hand on your ass. The photo has him with his head turned laughing while yours is turned to him with a gasp framing your face. If you looked at the live version of the photo, you'd see the little video of JJ grabbing you by your waist right after you lightly slapped him.

JJ kissed you again before he ran back to the locker room, he had media to do. You waited with his parents for about an hour before you saw JJ again. You'd watched his live media from your phone while you sat on the ground somewhere inside of NRG Stadium.

Once you'd gotten back to the hotel the team was staying at, most of the team and some family members were all in the large bar and restaurant on the main floor of the lobby. It was almost completely empty other than the team, thanks to them taking up most of the space in the hotel.

"Baby, I can find someone to hang out with, you should celebrate with the guys."

JJ had kept right by your side since you'd gotten to the celebration area, which had now extended from the bar into the lobby of the hotel.

"I am, but I want you right next to me all through this. You've been with me through all of this, you're celebrating too."

You just told him you loved him with hearts in your eyes. He was the sweetest man you'd ever known.

You both stayed out with the group until a little after 1 in the morning, which was early compared to when everyone else would head up. JJ was sleepy, he'd been up for about 18 hours, so you decided it was time to head to sleep.

JJ had showered in the stadium, but you still had to after being in the stands for so long, you could've swore a chunk of your hair smelled like stadium beer.

JJ was passed out asleep when you came back out into the room, you smiled softly, turning off the lamp and plugging your phone in before slipping into bed next to him. He immediately reacted, pushing himself closer to you, wrapping his arms around, and tangling his legs with yours. He was clingy when sleepy.

"Y'know I meant what I said earlier, even though you don't think it's true. You're the only reason I'm still doing what I love, you've helped me through so much baby. I don't say thank you enough."

You were taken back. Tears formed in your eyes at his sentiment. You were sleepy too, so your emotions were on high alert. You tilted his head up towards you, kissing him softly, rubbing your thumb back and forth over his cheekbone.

"You are so special, Jay. No one's like you. You're the most gracious person I've ever known. I love you so much, you have no idea how proud I am of you."

"I love you."

He kissed you again, bringing one of his hands to lay on your hip, the other your neck. Your lips moved rapidly. You let JJ's tongue move against yours, moving your hands to his hair.

JJ pulled away from you first, his chest heaving as he smiled at you sleepily. He gave you one more sweet chaste kiss before laying his head back down against your chest.

"I know you wear my jersey to almost all the games, but somethin' about seeing you in it tonight made me feral."

You were shocked, you wouldn't have ever guessed that seeing his name on your back like you'd done dozens of times before would get him flustered.

"I dunno, it was like makin' me think about when we get married, when I make you Mrs. McCarthy."

You were completely dumbfounded. Of course you know that both you and JJ were it for each other. Neither of you wanted anyone else for the rest of your lives. You only saw yourselves getting married to each, having kids with each other. But still, hearing him say it, was hot.

"Oh yeah? Well it's been almost five years, sweetheart. I was thinking maybe in the next couple I might have a ring?"

"Definitely. Hundred percent chance, no way I wait that long, it'll probably be sooner than a few years."

You smiled, holding him tighter than before. You didn't care when JJ proposed, seriously. You knew he would when it was the perfect time. He was always calculated like that, he knew when to do everything, throw a pass, run the ball, kiss you.

"Doesn't matter when to me. As long as I'm the only one you ever propose to."

Jay nodded against your chest, giggling to himself. He was so tired, you knew you had to make him go to sleep soon.

"Who else could there be? It's only ever been you. You're who I think of when I do headphones. I think that it's just the team, me, and you. I know you don't care if I lose by twenty touchdowns or win by a hundred."

You could've melted. JJ was especially sentimental real late when you were both on the brink of sleep, the air full of love. Thick, sweet, syrupy love that seeped into every crevice of your beings until you were soaked in it.

You motioned headphones over his head still pressed against your sternum, just for good measure. He was your JJ, always.

"I love you, champ."

You whispered as you heard his baby snores leave from his mouth, his head subconsciously shifting to the curve of your neck. All you could think, feel, and comprehend was love.

#jj mccarthy #umich football #cfb playoff #cfb2023 #cfb #jj mccarthy fic #jj mccarthy blurb #jj mccarthy x reader #jj mccarthy fluff #umich #umich x reader #umich smut #umich blurbs #umich fic #umich lb #umich imagine #university of michigan #michigan wolverines

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elryuse · 1 month

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Big fan of your work, I would like to request yandere Xinyu from triple s

PERFECT

YANDERE XINYU X MALE READER

Rain lashed against the limousine windows, blurring the neon cityscape into a watercolor of despair. Xinyu, her perfectly painted face pale beneath the harsh interior lights, stared at the figure huddled in the corner. Y/n, the once invisible boy, was now a pale specter, his eyes reflecting the flickering terror of the near-death experience they'd shared.

"You shouldn't have saved me," Xinyu rasped, her voice raw from painkillers and a deeper, unspoken fear.

Y/n flinched, the sound scraping across the tense silence. "I…" he stammered, his voice a mere tremor in the storm raging outside.

"You shouldn't have seen," she continued, her words laced with a chilling finality.

He didn't reply, couldn't. The memory of her pale face framed by the mangled wreckage, the metallic tang of blood in the air, was seared into his mind. He'd pulled her free, yes, but a chilling detail, obscured by adrenaline at the time, now gnawed at him. A single, pristine red rose, tucked behind the driver's seat, untouched by the carnage.

The following days were a chilling ballet of recovery and manipulation. Xinyu, a spider weaving a web of affection, showered Y/n with gifts and a suffocating presence. He was a captive prince in a gilded cage, the city lights mocking his imprisonment.

"We'll be a story, Y/n," Xinyu purred, tracing a fingertip down his arm. "The perfect couple, a testament to fate."

Her touch burned, a stark contrast to the emptiness in her eyes. Y/n flinched, the phantom scent of gasoline and rust filling his nostrils.

"It's not a story," he dared to whisper, his voice hoarse.

A dangerous glint flickered in Xinyu's eyes. "Of course it is," she hissed, her voice dropping to a low, predatory growl. "And you, my darling, are the leading man."

Nights were the worst. Trapped in the opulent prison of her apartment, Y/n tossed and turned, haunted by the rose and the unspoken threat it symbolized. The city lights became a watchful audience, and every creak of the floorboards sounded like approaching footsteps.

One night, he woke to a bloodcurdling scream. It was Xinyu, standing in the doorway, a single red rose clutched in her trembling hand, its petals stained a sickening crimson.

"It's a message," she shrieked, her eyes wide with a manic terror. "From her… from Mei."

Y/n's blood ran cold. Mei, Xinyu's best friend, had vanished shortly after the accident. Now, the rose, a chilling reminder, lay before them.

"We have to call the police," he rasped, a sliver of hope flickering in his chest.

Xinyu's laughter, sharp and brittle, shattered the fragile hope. "The police? Don't be naive, darling. We have to handle this… ourselves."

Days blurred into weeks. The chilling facade of their "perfect" relationship continued for the online world, but the air crackled with unspoken threats. Y/n, his eyes haunted by shadows, learned to navigate the minefield of Xinyu's volatile emotions.

"You're getting distant," Xinyu accused one evening, her voice trembling with a childlike vulnerability.

"I'm just… tired," he lied, the weight of the secret choking him.

A single tear rolled down Xinyu's cheek, a stark contrast to the chilling glint in her eyes. "Don't leave me, Y/n," she pleaded, her voice a desperate whisper. "We saved each other. We belong together."

Her words, laced with a chilling possessiveness, sent a shiver down Y/n's spine. He wasn't a savior. He was a prisoner, bound by a twisted sense of obligation and a gnawing fear. But a seed of defiance, nurtured by the darkness, began to sprout within him. He wouldn't be her pawn forever. The game had changed, and this time, Y/n wouldn't just be playing to survive. The hunt was on.

The escape was a blur of adrenaline and terror. With the woman, who turned out to be a former "disobedient fan," as his accomplice, Y/n managed to overpower the frail caretaker and slip out just as Xinyu stormed back into the apartment.

The city lights, once mocking reminders of his imprisonment, now seemed to offer a path to freedom. But their escape was far from over. The news of Mei's discovery had thrown Xinyu into a tailspin. Her previously meticulous online persona morphed into a desperate cry for help, painting Y/n as her missing hero.

Y/n, living a ghost-like existence in a safehouse provided by the authorities, watched in horror as Xinyu's carefully crafted narrative unraveled. The comments flooded with accusations, the once adoring fans calling for his return.

One day, a familiar face appeared at the safehouse door – a younger student, a member of Xinyu's fan club. Xinyu, claiming Y/n's disappearance was a kidnapping, had sent her "loyal followers" to search for him. Y/n, his heart pounding against his ribs, refused to come out. But the girl, her eyes shining with a disturbing fanaticism, wouldn't leave.

"Xinyu needs you," she pleaded, her voice trembling. "She's lost without you. You have to save her."

Fear turned into a cold resolve. He had to break the hold Xinyu had on these girls. With the help of the authorities, a video message was recorded. Gaunt and exhausted, Y/n spoke directly to Xinyu's fans, his voice raw but firm. He revealed the truth - the roses, the disappearances, the carefully crafted web of lies.

The internet exploded. Xinyu, once a beloved influencer, became a pariah. Yet, amidst the vitriol, a chilling message appeared on Y/n's phone – a single red rose emoji.

Days turned into weeks, then months. Xinyu vanished, swallowed by the same darkness she had created. Y/n, though free, remained a prisoner of his memories. He carried the scars, both physical and mental, of his ordeal. The city lights, once a symbol of her reign, now flickered with an unsettling reminder – a predator could lurk anywhere, masked by a dazzling smile and a carefully curated online persona.

One sunny afternoon, while walking through the park, a shadow fell over him. A familiar voice, saccharine sweet despite the tremor running through it, sent shivers down his spine. "Y/n," Xinyu purred, her eyes glittering with a manic possessiveness. "They don't understand us, do they? We were meant to be together."

Y/n stood frozen, the taste of fear metallic in his mouth. Xinyu may have been gone, but her twisted love story, far from over, had taken a terrifying new turn. The hunt, it seemed, had just begun.

#xinyu #triples #xinyu triples #kpop #kpop x reader #kpop x y/n #x male reader #beautiful #apreciation post #update #yandere #yandere roleplay #yandere blog #yandere stories

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rustedhearts · 1 year

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Got It Bad (Boxer!Steve x Librarian!Fem!reader)

summary: steve's sudden rise to pro-boxing fame comes with a change of scenery, and new (old) friends

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

♡ the steve collection ♡

♡ the rockstar!eddie setlist by @carolmunson ♡

warnings: a dash of angst, the return of our lovable rockstar (actually our first time meeting him in this au though), a smidge of smut, mention of alcohol, mention of drugs/addiction.

a/n: for reference, libby is 19, steve is 23, eddie is 25

february, 1990

Steve's rise to fame came faster than either of you could imagine.

The man himself seemed unprepared for how quickly endorsements flocked to him, willing to make up contracts and pay him a large chunk of change to promote them on his his first hop around the country. Steve signed a ten month contract at the end of December that went into affect New Year's day: his legal agreement to professionally beat the shit out of people on camera and make money doing it. His first televised fight was at the end of January, and he was a nervous wreck the whole month leading up to it.

When he inevitably won, he spent a little too much money on celebratory champagne and a hotel room, where you spent an entire weekend living a life you just couldn't get used to. Chocolate-covered strawberries, room service, sex all day, rose-petal baths, and everyone willing to make your stay as comfortable as possible. It didn't seem real, all this attention.

Now that he was making a name for himself—and making money he didn't know what to do with—he needed a manager. Big, his coach, made some calls and found Mikey Santorini, an LA based manager willing to take Steve on.

And for the promise you made to each other? Well, you didn't break it. Maybe that was the problem.

You told the library you'd be back soon, but you knew that was a lie. They made you a "bon voyage" basket, full of special edition covers of your favorite books and handmade bookmarks. You cried when your coworker, Lisa, presented it to you. The library wasn't just a job—it was your safe haven. You'd memorized every aisle, knew where every author lied. You had no idea when you'd see it again.

"We can visit a library in every city, I promise, baby," Steve told you when you came to his apartment sniffling.

You tried not to dwell on how easily he brushed aside the fact that you were putting your career on hold for him. You tried not to stop and think about that for too long, either. You loved Steve, didn't that matter more?

On the first of February, you said goodbye to your family.

Steve carried your luggage down the stairs from your bedroom. Your parents and younger brother, Nick, lined up near the front door, watching silently as he came in and out. Every time he hurried down the snow-coated front steps, your bedroom looked a little emptier.

When the last of it was in Steve's hands, you trudged down after him, heart tugging at the sight of your family all huddled together. Your mother wasn't doing much to conceal her tears, though your father seemed to be doing his best to console her. Nick looked unimpressed, a bored expression plastered across his chubby cheeks—but you knew him better than that, and those big eyes said it all. He was just as sad as you were to say goodbye.

Steve stopped near the front door, turning to flash you a small smile. "I'll give you a minute, okay?"

You nodded, accepting his gentle peck on the mouth. You watched him go, pulling the screen door closed behind him to bring warmth back to the house. A black SUV sat on the curb, supervised by Big in the driver seat. You only had a few hours before you had to be on the road. It would take all day to drive to California from here.

Rubbing your slick palms on your denim thighs, you turned to face your family.

"Um, so...this is it, I guess."

Your mother sniffled, wiping at her glistening cheeks. Her wedding ring glistened in the morning light. When she lunged forward and wrapped her arms around you, your heart burst. She smelled just how she always did, her perfume sweet and soothing, her hair drenched in the same hairspray she'd been using since you were a girl. Her sweater was soft, her skin warm, and you could feel the cool metal of the necklace she never took off pressing against your neck.

"I can't believe my baby girl is leaving," she hiccuped.

Your father reached forward and pinched the back of your mother's sweater, gently guiding her away from you. Tears pooled in your eyes and lodged in your throat, but you swallowed them down as your father opened his arms. You knew if you cried, so would your father, and then they'd never let you leave. But it suddenly felt so real, this departure.

"Call us every day, okay, pumpkin?" Your father muttered against the top of your hair.

You nodded, pressing your cheek to his chest, squeezing your arms tight around his stomach. He rubbed your back for a moment before letting go with a kiss to the head. You knew it was for his own good that he didn't hold on for too long.

You turned to Nick with a grin, punching his arm as hard as you could. He scowled, rubbing at it with a yelp.

"Gonna miss me, squirt?"

Nick rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure. Whatever."

You swallowed hard, chest growing tighter by the second. He was only a freshman in high school, and you grew up looking forward to helping him through it. Now, you wouldn't be here to see what sort of shit he got into, or bail him out of any trouble he'd inevitably get roped into. You'd miss his first homecoming, his first football game, his first girlfriend.

"I'll miss you," you admitted.

Nick's eyes cast down at his socked feet, arms dropping to his sides. He balled his hands into fists, and you knew he was inches away from tears.

"Whatever. Don't die, I guess."

You giggled. "Okay."

"Hey." Steve came rushing back into the house, cheeks pink from the wind, your luggage shoved into the trunk of the SUV. "Ready to go?"

You nodded, flashing your family another smile. "I guess I'll see you guys soon. I'll call the minute we get there. Steve's fight is on channel three, you can watch it!"

Steve cocked a sheepish grin, crossing his arms over his chest. Your mother barely glanced at him, reaching out to give you one last firm squeeze and a kiss on the cheek. You didn't even mind the glossy lip print she left in her wake.

Your father reached out and clasped Steve on the shoulder.

"You take good care of my girl, you hear me? If I find out anything happened to her, I swear to fucking god—"

"—Dad!"

Steve remained steadily stoic under your father's disapproving frown and sharp glare. "I understand, sir. I'd never let anything happen to her, I swear."

Your father nodded curtly before releasing Steve. Steve's hand instantly sought the small of your back, pulling you into him gently. You waved at your family, blowing your mother a kiss.

"Bye, I love you guys."

On your way down the street, you watched your mother cry in the front window, and your father wrap his arms around her.

♡ ♡

You had three days before the fight, though they all seemed jam-packed with events and training. You barely had a second to unpack your clothes at the hotel before you were being hauled off to another sweaty, humid gym.

But on the second day, Steve woke up early and rolled toward your side of the bed, smacking kisses all over your bare neck. You squirmed in your sleep, waking with a gasp when his teeth sank into your throat.

"Steve," you squeaked, sighing contentedly when he tugged you flush against his bare chest.

"Morning, my angel," he murmured into your bare skin.

Half-asleep and bleary, a hum rumbled through your throat, hand rising to bat around for Steve's fluffy hair. When you found it, you pushed your fingers through the heap of it, stroking for your own comfort. Steve nuzzled further into your neck, unable to control himself from pressing another eager kiss to the underside of the jaw. You smelled so good in the morning, and you skin was always so warm and soft.

"Morning, Stevie."

Your voice sent a jolt through his chest. He smiled to himself, tightening his arms around your waist. He couldn't believe this was his life.

"Got a call from an old buddy ," he announced, playing with the satin of your sleep tank. "He lives in California now, said he wants to get together and catch up. Invited us to his band practice today."

You hummed, rubbing at your eyes. You still weren't used to sleeping anywhere other than Steve's lumpy mattress at his old apartment, or the same bed you'd been sleeping in since you were young. Sleep didn't come easy away from home.

"He's in a band?" A yawn split your mouth open. You tossed around a moment, still caged in Steve's arms, until you were on your back.

You pried your eyes open and smiled at Steve, reaching up to scratch at the stubble on his jaw with your nails. He eased into it like a cat. He forced his eyes open, propping himself up on one elbow to gaze down at you. Fondness drenched his features, eyes twinkling with a look only you were lucky enough to see. He swept two fingers across your forehead to brush your hair out of your eyes, letting them drag down your cheek gently.

"Yep, ever since Hawkins days."

Your brows jumped. "Oh, he's from Hawkins, too?"

Steve pinched your chin between his thumb and knuckle, tipping your head up to bare your mouth to him.

"Yep." He bent and pressed your mouths together. "Went..." Another kiss, head tipping to explore different angles of your mouth. "...to high school..." He flicked his tongue along your bottom lip and nipped at it. "...together."

You squirmed on the mattress below him, cheeks warming and thighs squeezing together. Your fingers dug into his bulging biceps with need as he situated himself over you. Your thighs stung with the stretch needed to accommodate him.

"Can't wait to meet him."

Steve lowered his pelvis to press flush against yours, snatching a sharp gasp from your throat. His erection throbbed against your panties, satin sleep shorts abandoned on the floor from last night. He smirked at the little sound, running the tip of his nose along your collarbones, blowing hot air across your tender morning skin. He had you shivering like the cold and he'd barely even touched you.

"Mhm, later. Right now, I gotta take care a' my girl."

He disappeared beneath the covers, wedged between your legs thrown over his shoulders. He spent thirty minutes suffocating between them just to hear you whine and cry, and didn't let up until your face was burning red.

♡ ♡

After three hours in the gym and a quick shower, you climbed into the SUV with Steve to meet his friend. It was much warmer here in California—you weren't used to having bare shoulders and exposed legs in February. You wore one of Steve's favorite dresses, a piece from your mother's closet that she gifted to you when she could no longer fit into it. Steve said it made you look like "one of those disco girls, but in a really hot way."

You expected to arrive at a shabby house with a garage full of instruments, so all you could do was frown in confusion when Steve pulled against the curb of The Troubadour.

"Um...Steve?"

Steve popped the glovebox, rifling through the mess of papers and cassettes before pulling out his sunglasses. He shoved them over his eyes and slammed it closed. "Huh?"

You were slow to take your seatbelt off, still glancing through the window with a pout. "What band did you say your friend was in?"

Steve hopped out of the car, and you instantly pulled the visor down to check your lipstick and the state of your hair before he reached your side. When he helped you out of the car, he was quick to wrap his arm around your shoulders and guide you toward the door, though he hadn't answered your question.

Inside, any glimpse of the California sunlight disappeared into darkness. The stage was massive, much too big for a small time band, and you found your eyes bouncing around frantically toward each band poster on the wall for some sort of hint. Steve seemed to know exactly where he was going, though, and guided you toward a door just off the stage.

The plucky twang of guitar strings and the rowdy chorus of male laughter echoed from a room down the hall. Your nerves suddenly felt cold. This was a big time band, and you were just some small town girl.

Sunglasses and brown bomber jacket on, Steve stomped down the hall with you under his arm like he'd been here all his life. You admired that air of confidence and ease.

Steve shoved the door at the end of the hall open, revealing a small cinderblock room with a sectional, tables of alcohol and food wrappers, and a gaggle of men in black leather.

Corroded Coffin.

"Holy shi—"

"Harrington! You made it, man."

Eddie Munson, frontman for Corroded Coffin, came staggering toward Steve with his arms out. Steve kept one around you as he clasped Eddie on the back; two large, leather-padded smacks rang through the room. Your cheeks suddenly felt very warm and swollen. You glanced past Eddie toward the rest of the band, talking amongst themselves and nursing beer. They all glistened with a sheen of sweat, and the room reeked with a haze of alcohol and cigarettes.

You never thought you'd see them outside of the poster on your closet door or the album on your bookshelf.

"And who's this cutie?"

You turned, feeling the heat of the sun gather in your face at the sight of two black eyes steadied on you. Eddie's hair was as large and wild as ever, eyes rimmed with smudged eyeliner, a heavy silver chain around his neck, another one clinking on the low belt loop of his jeans when he crossed his arms and smirked at you. You swallowed, pressing closer to Steve.

"This is my girl, Libby. Libby, this is—"

"—I know who you are," you squeaked. You seemed to be growing hotter by the second, though that seemed out of the realm of possibility.

Eddie's brows shot up, and he tossed a quick glance toward Steve. "That so? Harrington, you didn't tell me you caught yourself a little metalhead."

Steve pushed his glasses to the top of his head, sliding his hand down to your waist. "News to me, Munson."

To ease the sudden stiffness between the two hulking men, you shot your hand out toward Eddie with a saccharine smile. "Nice to meet you."

Eddie's laughter made you start to pull back, but he suddenly bent at the waist and accepted your hand, shaking it with a gentle bow. "And you, sweetheart. C'mon, take a seat. I wanna hear all about this fight, Harrington."

Steve pulled you onto his lap when he sank down on the leather sectional, and you were slightly grateful for it after seeing the sight of those sticky cushions. His big hands splayed across your bare thighs, pulling the hem of your dress down a little further.

Eddie sat across from you, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, ringed hands reaching toward a bottle of Jack Daniels on the floor. He pulled the top and poured a stream into his mouth. You inwardly winced when he gulped it down like water, wiping his shiny mouth with the back of his palm.

Eddie held the bottle out, but Steve waved his hand dismissively. Eddie angled the top of the bottle toward you, brows raised. Steve's hand tightened on your thigh, and you smiled sheepishly.

"Oh, no thank you."

If Eddie thought you were lame for denying the alcohol, he didn't show it. Instead, he took another swig and set the bottle on the floor.

"So," he mused, easing back on the sofa, "how'd you two meet?"

Steve drummed his fingers on your thigh, making small tapping sounds, and you slid your fingers through his to interlock them.

"At a party," Steve replied.

Eddie stretched his arm along the back of the sofa. The band lingered in the corner, chatting amongst themselves, though curiously glancing at the pair of you on the sofa. You averted your gaze when the one with shaggy hair dropped his eye in a wink, cheeks burning. If Steve had seen, you knew he would've tossed you aside and gotten his knuckles bloody in a heartbeat.

"Oh! Still the life of the party, Harrington?" Eddie snickered.

You giggled, but Steve only mustered a combination of a smirk and a scowl. "She's from Hawkins, too."

Eddie's eyes rounded with delight, plump lips parting with genuine surprise. He turned to you, and you squished a little closer to Steve, who tapped the side of your thigh with his open palm. "Get my lighter for me, baby?"

You nodded, dipping your hand into the inner pocket of his jacket to fish out the silver zippo. In that time, he'd swiped a cigarette from the table in a random pack, and you brought the lighter to his mouth where the cigarette waited.

"If you're from Hawkins, how come I don't remember you?" Eddie inquired, watching the interaction with amusement.

You snapped the lighter shut and dropped it back into Steve's pocket, watching him inhale a deep drag before blowing it away toward the door. The stench of tobacco used to make you sick, but now it smelled like Steve.

You turned to Eddie and grinned, full-cheeked and sweet. "Oh, you were already in the band by the time I got to high school, and Steve had graduated."

Eddie's smile slipped, eyes sliding to Steve beside you with a slow cock of his head. You tried not to let your smile mimic Eddie's—of disappointment and dismay—and tapped Steve's shoulder.

"I'll be right back."

You placed your heels on the floor to push off and stand up, but Steve tugged you back gently by the arm, cigarette propped in the corner of his mouth. Brows furrowed and lips pulled into a frown, he shook his head.

"Where y' goin', angel?"

You giggled nervously, the back of your neck gathering sweat. "Just to the bathroom, Stevie."

Eddie snickered, sliding a cigarette out of the pack on the table. He brought it to his mouth with his eyes trained solely on the two of you. Steve released your arm and you stood to your feet, bending to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

"Be right back, promise," you cooed.

You were a few steps from the door when you heard Eddie chuckle. "Yeah, Stevie, she promises."

You skittered down the hall toward the ladies' room, closing the door and sliding the lock over.

While you were gone, Eddie lit his cigarette and leaned forward again, hunched over his lap toward Steve.

"Harrington, how the fuck old is this girl?" His voice was low and grumbly.

Steve rolled his eyes, plucking his sunglasses from the crown of his head to tuck them into his jacket. "She's nineteen, Munson, lay the fuck off."

Eddie chuckled, spluttering clouds of smoke into the air.

"Harrington, be honest with me, did you 'nap her?"

Steve shook his head, tonguing away a sideways grin. It'd been a long time since he'd seen Eddie. Though they went to high school together, they never ran in the same crowds. It wasn't until Steve graduated that he met Eddie at a party, woozy out on coke and Jack with a girl under each arm. At first, they just nodded to each other at parties. But when they got to talking, they realized they could make each other laugh, and bonded over their mutual love for women. That was all it took for a friendship to form.

It seemed Eddie had fallen drunk to the rock and roll life. Steve eyed the end of a tied baggie hanging out of Eddie's jacket wearily. He'd been here with his friend before.

"Nah, man, she uh...she's really great," Steve admitted, trying not to let it show just how much he truly ached for you.

"God, she must be. Callin' you Stevie, laying all over your lap. You got it bad, Harrington," Eddie teased in a musical tone.

Steve tapped his ashes toward the floor, shooting Eddie a glare.

"Not bad enough to stop me kickin' your ass."

Eddie's hands flew up with a giggle. "Oh-ho-ho. C'mon, lemme see those jabs, King Steve. I heard you're taking bodies in the ring."

Eddie leaned over the table, a quick fist appearing to shoot out and punch Steve's arm. Steve quickly retaliated, smacking Eddie upside the head in a much more humiliating act that had Eddie's cheeks burning pink.

The door chittered on its hinges, and all heads turned to watch you quietly tiptoe in. You kept your eyes on the floor the whole brisk journey toward Steve, taking tiny but quick steps. You instantly slid back into his lap, comforted by the weight of his arm around your waist, the callused feel of his hand on your thigh.

Eddie leaned back into the sofa again, all wide shoulders and black hair. He hollowed his cheeks around his cigarette and pulled at his jacket until his arms were free of it, revealing two ivory biceps cut with lean muscle. You instantly burned at the sight of them, scrawled with tattoos, and placed your eyes on your lap.

"So, what d' you do, sweet thing? You in college?" Eddie asked, words escaping him with a coil of smoke.

You glanced at Steve, shaking your head in response. Steve was as stoically blank as ever, and you weren't sure if Eddie's use of pet names bothered him or not.

"Um, no, I'm a librarian—"

"—ooh," Eddie interrupted the moment your occupation left your mouth, lips pouted in an 'o' shape, brows furrowed and eyes scrunched, "sexy."

Steve's fingers dug into your thigh, his spare hand ripping the cigarette from his mouth. You barely had a moment to turn your head and clock the angled position of his brows, the crease in his forehead, before he was pointing his cigarette at Eddie.

"Munson." The single utterance was sharp with warning.

The room went quiet for a split second. You brought your hand to the back of Steve's neck, playing with the ends of his hair, and Eddie's face slowly relaxed into another wide, dimpled smile. His hands rose again, though this time in surrender.

The men shared a look of understanding that went unseen by you. But Steve could see it, the appreciative cock of Eddie's head, the small 'I'm happy for you' coded in the way he nodded. They both knew, deep down, that all Steve ever wanted was to know he could be loved.

"So," Eddie cleared his throat, clasping his hands together with a sharp smack, "you guys stickin' around for the show tonight?"

You visibly perked up, grin returning with a twitch of your lips. Before Steve could even dismiss the idea, you pushed your fingers through his hair and turned to Eddie.

"I'd love to!"

Eddie mirrored your grin, his all dimples and charm, and turned his attention to your scowling boyfriend. Only Steve could see through his friendly joy, and note the mocking amusement that lingered beneath.

"She'd love to, Harrington," Eddie cooed.

Cheeks burning, you peered down at Steve with big, round eyes. "It'll be fun, Steve. Beats being cooped up in that hotel room all night."

You stroked the back of his head languidly, feathering his satin locks between your fingers. You could see the gears turning in his head, thinking over your request. His fingers drummed on your thigh again, arm pressing into your spine. Steve hated saying no to you, but he wasn't sure he could handle a crowded club full of screeching guitars and girls too young to be throwing bras and panties at Eddie.

"Ah, nobody wants that! Come on, Harrington, your girl wants to rock!" Eddie reached out and slapped Steve's knee with the back of his hand.

Steve made a "psh" sound, pinching the bridge of his nose. You pressed a kiss to his cheek, sweet and scented of vanilla flavored lipgloss, and Steve's resolve fizzled into nothing.

"Fuck—fine, whatever," he grumbled.

That earned him a soft squeal of excitement from you, and his face scrunched when you grabbed it with both hands to plant a sticky kiss on his mouth. Eddie grinned at it, the way you could squish Steve's cheeks together and smear pink glitter across his face without being reprimanded for it. It was the clear the hulking athlete had it bad for you.

As Steve gently pulled your hands away, the trill of a phone broke through the muffled chatter and low strum of guitars in the dressing room. Before either of you could stop to wonder where it was coming from, Eddie leapt from the couch. He toppled over bottles on the floor, half tripping on the end of the coffee table on his way to the phone hanging on the wall.

"Hey gorgeous," he gasped into the receiver, slamming himself against the wall, out of breath and eager.

The rest of the band assumed Eddie's side of the sectional, and it was the shaggy blond, Gareth, that leaned forward and grinned. "That's gotta be Rink."

You pulled your brows together. "Rink?"

"Stella? Stella Rink? His girlfriend," Gareth explained.

Your head snapped over to Steve, eyes blown wide. "Stella Rink? Eddie's dating Stella Rink?"

Steve shrugged, pulling the hem of your dress down again. He glared toward the band, whose eyes were skimming over the shape of you.

"Dunno who that is, angel."

You cocked your head at Steve, eyes rolling. "We just saw one of her movies last week. She was the main character, Steve, the really pretty one."

Steve let his head fall back against the leather couch cushions, fixing you with an unamused look.

"Now, why would I be lookin' at another girl when I got you, hmm?"

Your eyes rolled again on their own, though your cheeks grew sore from your giddy smile. Steve ate it up, wrapping a hand around the underside of your jaw to pull you down and attach your mouths together. The band of men on the other couch became forgotten at the taste of foreign cigarettes on his mouth, the stiffness of his lap beneath you.

"You're so full of shit," you giggled against the swipe of his tongue.

Steve nipped at your bottom lip and shrugged. "S' the truth. Can't deny the truth, baby."

The phone returned to the cradle on the wall with a bell's chime, and you pulled away from Steve just in time to see Eddie trudging back. Steve brought his arm up to rest around your shoulders, yanking you down until your head knocked into his.

"How's America's sweetheart, Munson?" Gareth snickered, watching Eddie pout.

"Too busy," the rockstar huffed.

You gnawed on your lip a moment, cheeks warm again. "So, you're really dating Stella Rink?"

Eddie spun to face you with such fervor that you recoiled into Steve, and his hand tightened on your thigh to pull you closer.

"Dating her? Honey, that's my wife."

Confusion twisted on your face, but the band just snickered at Eddie's whole-hearted declaration.

"They've been dating for, like, three months," Jeff, the bassist, chuckled.

Eddie waved his hands, brushing off the band's dismissal. He perched on the arm of the couch on the other side of Steve, all pale limbs and black attire. He placed one foot on the cushion next to Steve and bent over his knee, speaking to the pair of you like telling a secret.

"Well, when you know, you know. Right, Harrington?"

At this angle, Steve got a better look at the baggie in Eddie's pocket—a familiar white powder coated the plastic. Steve tore his eyes slowly away from the baggie and met Eddie's gaze, making sure the shaggy-haired man knew what Steve had been looking at.

Eddie swallowed, smile slipping, but Steve's eyes were steadily narrowed with suspicious warning.

"Right," Steve agreed.

They continued to stare at each other—Steve unnervingly calm and Eddie a little squirmy—while you murmured amongst the band members about Stella and Eddie, and how bloody Steve's fights usually got. They were surprisingly curious about how violent boxing could get.

But Steve put an end to the conversation with a gentle tap to your thigh, pushing off the back of the couch to sit up and guide you with him.

"C'mon, baby, you wanna go eat?"

The question seemed rhetorical, the both of you already on your feet and your hand grasped tightly in Steve's before you could even excuse yourself from the band conversation. You waved goodbye to them, pairing it with a cute, rosy-cheeked smile that made them swoon.

"See you guys tonight, right?" Eddie asked, following the pair of you toward the door. "And we should get together again sometime, Harrington. It's been a while."

A big, ringed hand clasped down on Steve's shoulder, and the boxer stopped short in the doorway to turn to his friend. You stopped with him, leaning into his side. For a moment, you were certain they'd have another vague and ominous staring match. But then Steve leaned forward, jerked his chin toward Eddie's legs, and blinked blankly at Eddie.

"You watchin' that?"

Eddie blinked back, his scoff a secondary, delayed reaction yanked from him by disbelief. He glanced at you for a moment, uncertain how much he wanted to say in front of you, and placed his hand on the door.

"I got it covered, Harrington, but thanks."

His tone was sharp but not cruel, and it took you a moment to even pick up on the underlying stiffness between the two men. Clearly, there was something wrong, but you just couldn't figure out what. Did Eddie have an accident, were his legs okay? The dimpled grin he flashed Steve seemed irritated.

Steve clapped Eddie on the arm: a friendly, smidge-too-hard pat. "Alright, man. Catch you guys tonight, gotta go get some earplugs."

The irritation was slow to melt from Eddie's smile, but he chuckled all the same. You cleared your throat, raising your hand in a tiny wave toward Eddie.

"Bye, Eddie, it was nice to meet you."

Eddie bent at the waist again in another bow, and you couldn't help but giggle dazedly. "And you. See you tonight, sweetheart."

♡ ♡

At dinner, Steve smoked another cigarette on the patio of a Mexican restaurant, sunglasses shielding him from the evening sun. He hadn't said much since you left Troubadour, and you could only sip your lemonade for so long in silence before you huffed.

"Baby, what's wrong? Are you mad we're going to the concert tonight, because we don't have to if you really don't want to."

Steve tapped his cigarette over the pavement, head shaking. "Nah, angel, s' not it."

You frowned, reaching over to grab his hand on the table. His watch knocked on the white cloth, and you traced your finger over the leather band.

"Then what is it?"

Steve took a drag of the cigarette and blew a thin stream of smoke toward the street.

"Nothin', baby. Just a headache."

You nodded, flashing a tight-lipped smile. You dipped into your purse on the chair beside you, fishing out the metal pill container you always carried on hand. You swiped two pain pills for him and placed them beside his Coke. Steve followed your movements, a huff of laughter shooting through his nose. He placed his cigarette in his mouth, refusing to drop your hand, and collected them in his hand.

"Thanks, angel."

You beamed. "Of course, Stevie. Now come on, I wanna go to the hotel and get ready. I can't believe I'm finally seeing Corroded Coffin live."

Steve stamped out his cigarette and plopped the pills in his mouth. He watched you, unable to contain your ecstatic smile, though you tried by pursing your lips and gazing down at your plate. He'd been watching you since you sat down—he watched you gaze around Sunset Strip like you were in another world, wide-eyed and curious.

He said nothing of Eddie's drug habit, or his mother's when he was a child that made him weary around Eddie because of it. Steve said nothing about hearing you sniffle in the bathroom at one a.m because you tried calling your parents and they didn't answer, and you missed them so bad that you seemed off in your own world ever since you got here.

Because right now, you were happy. And that's all that mattered to Steve.

"Let's go, baby."

♡ ♡

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edosianorchids901 · 5 months

Text

Our Outcast State

For the Ace Omens Hugfest 2024! Prompt - "a hug from behind"

Aziraphale tilted his head, watching the humans as they played and laughed and touched each other. He’d spent much of the past decades watching the humans from afar. They seemed so happy together.

Aziraphale wasn’t allowed to socialize with them, of course. Angels couldn’t become involved with the things of the world.

But oh, being alone made his tummy ache in such a strange way. The ache got worse whenever he saw humans wrapping their arms around each other and squeezing. It seemed to be very soothing for them. Whenever there was a sad human, one of the others hugged them, and then everyone smiled so much.

He put his arms around himself and squeezed. It felt quite odd, and it didn’t make him feel much like smiling. Perhaps it didn’t work with just one person. But it wasn’t as though he could walk up to a human and hug them. They didn’t know him.

“Oh!” He clapped his hands together as the realization hit. “Yes. Yes, that will be lovely.”

Cheered up already, Aziraphale wandered out of the tiny village and down a narrow path through the reeds that lined the riverbank. He’d seen Crawley over here just the other day, at the edge of the marsh trying to talk to some of the local snakes. They hadn’t seemed to understand what he was saying, and Crawley left with a rather dejected look.

Well, now Aziraphale knew just how to cheer him up! A nice hug, that would do the trick. And then he would smile, and Aziraphale would smile, and they would be quite happy together.

Dusk fell before Aziraphale found his adversary. Crawley stood near the river, head tilted back, gazing up at the glittering stars as they peeked out through the lavender haze. He was turned away from Aziraphale, but his expression was no doubt quite glum again. It always got glum when he saw his stars. He seemed to miss them very much.

This really was the perfect time for a hug, when he already needed cheering up. Aziraphale walked up behind Crawley, wrapped his arms around the slender waist, and squeezed.

Instead of smiling, Crawley screamed.

“Oh!” Startled, Aziraphale let go at the same time that Crawley wrenched against the hold. Crawley slipped in the mud, teetered for a moment, and then toppled into the river with another cry. “Oh, Crawley! Here, let me help.”

Aziraphale splashed into the water and reached out, but Crawley struck his hand away. “What the Heaven are you doing?”

“I… I…” Sudden tears rose, and Aziraphale found it hard to breathe. “I wanted to hug you.”

Crawley seemed to be having trouble breathing too, but in an entirely different way. He sprawled in the shallows, hand pressed to his heaving chest. He took quick gasping breaths, breaths that just kept speeding up, breaths that raced entirely out of control.

“Oh no. Oh no.” Trembling, Aziraphale knelt in the shallows too. He clutched his hands together, trying to prevent himself from reaching out. “Crawley? Crawley, did I hurt you? Oh, of course I did. I’m so sorry, that wasn’t my intention at all, I just—”

“Shut. Up,” Crawley gritted. He huddled forward, breaths wheezing now, and squeezed his eyes shut. “M’ fine, just leave me alone.”

A few of Aziraphale’s tears escaped, and he hastily wiped his cheeks. As his hand was rather wet from splashing in the river, he only managed to make that situation much worse, too.

“I’m sorry.” Instinct screamed at him to stay, to guard Crawley while he was clearly in distress. But it was Aziraphale’s fault that he was in distress. “I’ll go. I’m sorry.”

Before he could rise, Crawley grabbed his wrist. Crawley’s lips moved a few times, as if he’d tried to speak and failed. His eyes had gone quite glassy, and he swayed slightly as the gentle rippling water flowed around them.

Unsure what to do, Aziraphale stayed entirely still and just let Crawley cling to his wrist. That did seem to be helping, at least somewhat. Crawley’s breaths slowed after a while, and his shoulders relaxed.

Finally, he looked up with still glassy eyes. “Aziraphale? Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. But seriously, come on, why did you think it was a good idea to sneak up on me like that?”

“I… don’t know. I knew you’d be sad, because you miss your stars, and I just thought it was the perfect moment for a great big hug to cheer you up.” Now that he said it, it sounded like rather poor reasoning. “But why did you scream?”

“Because you snuck up on me! Didn’t know if you were attacking me, or planning to toss me in the river, or what.” Crawley snarled, looking around at the water. “I mean, I guess you did toss me in the river.”

“I certainly did not,” Aziraphale said, indignant. “You tossed yourself in the river while attempting to flee.”

“Demons don’t flee.”

“Whatever you wish to call it.” After a deep breath, Aziraphale calmed himself somewhat. “It was my fault though, I admit. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it would frighten you, Crawley. I just wanted to make you smile.”

Oddly enough, a tiny little smile twitched onto Crawley’s face. “Hhn. Well. I guess I appreciate the thought, even if you did it in a way that made me think you were murdering me.”

“I shall certainly refrain from such things in the future. No more hugs.” Aziraphale’s tummy twisted again, and he pressed his hand to it. “I suppose we ought to get out of the river. May I help?”

Crawley nodded, and Aziraphale helped him to his feet. They clambered onto the bank together, where Crawley paused and looked up again. “Stunning night, isn’t it?”

Aziraphale followed his gaze to the stars above. Aside from the area near the rising moon, which had washed out the surrounding area, they glittered magnificently. “It is, truly. Um. May I ask you a question?”

Crawley, still dripping wet, glanced to him. “Hm?”

“You often look, well. Rather glum, when you’re stargazing.” It might be a mistake to ask this, but it seemed to be Aziraphale’s day for mistakes. “Why do you watch the stars if it makes you sad?”

“Nnnh, dunno.” Crawley gave a little shrug and looked up again. “I like seeing ‘em, even if I can’t hang out there. Same reason you watch the humans even though it makes you sad.”

“What? Watching the humans doesn’t make me sad!” Aziraphale stepped back, quite affronted. Crawley raised an eyebrow at him. “Admittedly, I… I do sometimes feel a bit like…”

“Like an outcast?” Crawley asked, tone bleak.

Aziraphale opened his mouth to argue that he, an angel of the Lord, tasked to watch over humanity, was most certainly not an outcast. Then he thought of how long it had been since he’d seen another angel, and of his orders not to socialize with the humans. He closed his mouth.

“Yup. That’s what I thought.” Blowing out a long breath, Crawley gathered his damp hair and tied it back with a cord. He gnawed on his lip, rocking his weight from foot to foot. Then he gave a little sigh. “Look, I know you weren’t trying to scare me, with the hug. I just… In Hell no one ever touches me unless they’re hitting me.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale clutched his hands together, tummy aching all the more now. “Oh, it’s no wonder you thought I was going to hurt you. I really am truly so very—”

“Seriously, it’s okay.” Crawley gestured, and his dripping robe stopped dripping. Aziraphale found that his own robe was miraculously dry as well. “You couldn’t have known. Bet no one ever touches you either, eh?”

“Um. Well, no.” Aziraphale gave a nervous laugh. “Not even to hit me.”

That was likely an awful thing to say. But Crowley snorted, smiling a little again. “M’ glad of that, at least. But look. My point is… oooh, there’s ducks, look.”

Crawley’s smile widened, and he pointed to the river. Somewhat befuddled by the change of topic, Aziraphale turned to the river. There were indeed ducks. “Oh! That’s nice.”

“Yeah! I like watching them, too. Honestly, being up here and watching everyone else hang out in big groups is loads better than being down in Hell, with those big groups. M’ not exactly a popular guy.” Crawley glanced back at Aziraphale, a bit of an odd look. Intense, as if carefully peeling him apart to inspect his innards. “At a guess, you’re not super popular in Heaven, are you?”

Aziraphale huffed. “There’s no need to be rude.”

“It’s a compliment, angel.” Crawley grinned broadly, and despite the topic, Aziraphale found himself smiling too. Oh. Being around someone happy made him feel much happier. “But anyway, my point is. You are I are in the same boat here, eh? Outcasts of sorts, both among our own lot and here. Seems to me that we should stick together.”

Aziraphale considered that. “Well, I-I don’t know about the same boat. Two boats, near each other, in the same stream.”

“If you like.”

Oh, he liked. He also felt quite guilty for liking. “And what are we supposed to be doing in our two boats, near each other, in the same stream?”

A slightly more serious look returned to Crawley’s face, and he gave a little side to side sway. “I know you said no more hugs, but I wouldn’t mind trying it. Provided it’s not a sneak attack.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale wiggled excitedly. He opened his arms, careful not to move. “In that case. I’d like that very much, if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure. Sounds like it could feel good.” Moving a little hesitantly, Crawley stepped closer, into the circle of Aziraphale’s arms.

This time, Aziraphale hugged him with significantly more caution. He gave a light squeeze, and Crawley squeezed back. “How’s that, my dear fellow? All right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s nice.” Crawley squeezed him once more, then stepped back. He was smiling. “We could make a habit of that, if you like. It’d probably be good for us.”

Aziraphale smiled in response. “I’d like that very much indeed.”

Crawley turned to gaze up at the stars again, and this time Aziraphale joined him. They stood on the side of the riverbank, happily chatting and enjoying the beauty of Creation together.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #ace omens hugfest 2024

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gogogodzilla · 8 months

Text

day 6, dry humping

preston garvey x reader warnings: nsfw 18+, semi-public sex, fem!reader, preston calls reader babe kinktober ☠︎︎ main masterlist ☠︎︎ read on ao3

Preston was a dedicated man. Every day he rose at the crack of dawn to keep watch over Sanctuary. You built several turrets, hoping you’d get a few extra moments together in the mornings. Alas, he rose anyway.

It was rare you were in Sanctuary together. Often, you were out adventuring with one of your other companions or Preston was busy running the Minutemen in your absence. You never understood why he insisted that you be general instead of him. He was as much of a leader as anyone.

The morning was quiet, and the sun hadn’t yet breached the horizon. Preston had already left for his watch, and you walked through Sanctuary attempting to find him. A gentle breeze rustled through the trees of the once-pristine neighborhood. You’d woken up in a completely different world, one where danger lurked in every corner. Where your quaint neighborhood was now half-deteriorated with time.

The red glow of his laser musket provided the only indication he was at the edge of the treeline. He patrolled slowly, eyes scanning out over the small river that lined Sanctuary. You approached slowly.

He turned as you neared, sensing your presence. In the darkness, you could hardly make out the curve of his grin as you stood side by side.

“You didn’t have to get up, y’know,” he murmured, his gaze still focused out over the river.

You shrugged, “I missed you.”

The chill in the early morning air nipped through your vault suit, and you huddled closer to Preston, seeking his warmth.

“You should go back inside. You’re going to catch a cold.”

You stepped closer to him and wrapped a hand around his bicep. He sighed as you laid your head against his shoulder. Your stubbornness knew no bounds.

“I was hoping to distract you for a few moments,” you cooed as you trailed a delicate finger down his bicep.

He looked down at you; he knew that tone very well.

He kept his tone even, a smirk dancing across his lips. “That why you really came out to see me?”

“You know me so well,” you grinned, pulling him toward a nearby tree.

Your brows raised slightly as Preston allowed you to lead him. Normally, he wouldn’t be so easy to convince. He set his laser musket against the side of the tree, close enough that it was within arms reach.

You grabbed him by the lapels of his duster and tugged him closer, your lips ghosting over his.

“Think you can let the turrets keep watch for a sec?”

Preston’s hands latched onto your hips, stroking the soft flesh through your vault suit.

“I think they can handle it.”

He leaned in closing the distance between you in a tender kiss. Your lips moved in sync, and you cupped his face, bringing him closer. You pressed yourself against him, feeling the solid warmth of his chest against yours.

The bark of the tree dug into your back as Preston’s hands wandered over your body, kneading and grabbing wherever he could. He leaned down and tapped the back of your thighs— your signal that he wanted to pick you up.

You obediently jumped and he caught you, allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist. He pulled away, panting. His breath fanned across your cheeks as you touched your forehead to his.

He pressed a kiss to your cheek and began trailing them down, down, down. His lips danced across your jawline, leaving featherlight kisses. He honed in on the spot that usually left you a writhing mess under him, sucking and biting to his heart’s content. You slapped a hand over your mouth as he did so, attempting to stop your whiney moans from waking up the entire neighborhood.

Preston bucked his hips against your core, already painfully hard. You couldn’t deny the effect he had on you either. You were probably already dripping through your vault suit.

“Let’s go home,” you panted, leaning your head back to give Preston more room.

He receded and straightened, allowing for his clothed length to press further against you.

“Can’t leave m’ post, General,” he replied, a suggestive lilt in his voice.

Your imagination was beginning to roam wild as his response sunk in. Your cheeks flamed as you pictured Preston taking you against this tree, thick cock splitting you in half, one hand over your mouth keeping you quiet while the other one rubbed your clit or groped your breasts.

Preston laughed, a light sound that brought you out of your filthy daydream. It was almost as if he could tell immediately where your mind went.

He gripped your hips as he ground against you once again, a shaky breath tumbling past his lips. His eyes remained on yours as he rutted against you, the thick fabric of his pants providing the friction you desired.

You plucked the hat off of his head and placed it on your own as you jutted against each other. Preston groaned, his pace increasing as he watched you jerk against him, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

His hand drifted down to where your hips were joined, and he rubbed soothing circles against your clit. It was like he could read your mind, and you bucked your hips against him. You were close and clenching around nothing as he drove you near the edge.

Before you knew it, you were falling to pieces in the palm of his hand. You attempt to stifle your desperate pleas. Preston shudders against you, thrusting against your inner thigh.

You brought him into a slow, sensual kiss. He let you down, strong hands keeping you steady on shaky legs.

The first light of dawn had begun to paint the sky shades of pink and orange. The warm rays bathed the both of you in a gentle hue.

Your eyes wandered downward to the wet spot staining Preston’s crotch. You bit back a grin, “It’s a good thing your coat is long.”

Preston rolled his eyes, “Very funny, babe.”

#preston garvey #fallout 4 #preston garvey x reader #preston garvey fo4 #preston garvey x ss #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #no y/n #reader insert #preston garvey x sole survivor #preston garvey smut #preston garvey x sole survivor smut #preston garvey x reader smut

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midnightsunnyday · 6 months

Text

“….And remember that to sin is not as simple as to be angry or hungry. We do not judge the lamb who seeks resource, or whose emotions, though strong and unpleasant, lead to righteous action. Rather, it is the excess of those feelings that defiles the laws of man, nature, and the divine. For to sin is not only the death of one’s soul, but to forsake everything that the Father holds dear and shelters. So, is that clear for everyone? Asmodeus?”

“Hm? Come again?”

During his time in the Celestial Realm, there was only one angel that Asmodeus admired most, for both his beauty and his strength.

“Would it kill you to pay attention?” Lucifer said. “It’s not like I’m reading this for my health.”

“Right, sorry.”

Every so often, or rather more often than not, Asmodeus, Mammon, Belphegor, and Lilith found themselves gathered before the favored son of morning. The four always managed to wander and abandon their duties, causing trouble for the older Seraph, whose lectures lasted longer than the sun met with the sky.

Each time they sat in the gardens near their quarters, as no other place was beloved more than the ground Lucifer tended with his hands, with plants so vibrant and bursting with life that one would assume them to be showing off. The pergola that led to its center was draped in roses that bloomed open like the flounce of a wealthy maiden’s dress. From there one would see the Thuja trees standing guard around its boundary, with orange and yellow marigolds shouting, “Look at me! Look at me!” Lavender and rosemary had no need to announce themselves, as it swooned one with its sweet scent, while sunflowers rose from tall, emerald stalks, always facing towards the light as if to outduel it. Asmodeus always found the flowers garish, preferring the soft pink petals of the Angel’s breath that grew low and huddled within their plots. Yet they were Lucifer’s favorite flower and lined most of the grounds’ edges and beddings.

Lucifer swept his sight across his siblings, sighing. “I regret even asking but Mammon, since you’re the only one managing to stay awake, how about repeating what I just said?”

Mammon tapped his chin. “Uh…that sin is bad?”

Lucifer shrugged. “Close enough,” then turned back towards his text. “Now, where was I…oh, right.” Clearing his throat, he continued, “As children of the Father, we have a sworn duty to instill His will. Naturally, this is not a question of whether one understands said will, as none are capable of knowing the Father’s ways, but to have faith in the plan regardless.”

Asmodeus yawned, to which Lucifer frowned.

“What?” Asmodeus raised his hands, palms outward. “I swear I’m totally focused. Duty and faith in the plan. Understood.” Well, not entirely. He wasn’t sure if he even agreed with said plan, whatever that was. An odd and rather blasphemous feeling for an angel to have, though one he’d never admit to aloud.

“Furthermore,” Lucifer went on, “angels are a reflection of the Father’s righteous bearing, and as such, should conduct themselves accordingly at all times.” His eyes narrowed on Mammon, who shrunk at the sight of it. “Which brings me to the numerous lists of complaints of quote-on-quote “bordering-on-the-sacrilegious” actions. In no particular order we have engaging in human realm debauchery, promising the everlasting life and forgiveness of various human souls for goods, using the divine council room for birthday celebrations, public…”

Asmodeus blinked and blinked again. Tried as he might, he could no longer bear the weight of his own lids. It was a wonder that Lucifer hadn’t punished them for sleeping, yet he supposed it was the same reason he continued despite it. Asmodeus had gotten better at pressing his ears to the wind, so to speak, and through it spoke of tensions. For those who stepped out of line, the Archangels would increase the severity of their punishments, no likely due to the rumors of the Devildom’s soon-to-be appointed monarch, the son of its former king. Though they prepared themselves for war, the Devildom seemed to have no intention in stroking tensions. What’s more is that the demon even requested an audience with Michael of all angels, his aims stated to be “uncharacteristically philanthropic” in comparison to his fathers, yet no less held in suspicion.

Michael agreed. Though there was one unanticipated alteration: that Lucifer would act as liaison on his behalf. And while he’d never admit it, Lucifer was worried. These moments in the garden, huddled away from the bureaucracies of the realm, were the extent of his authority, a simple mercy compared to what would and could await them, as Raphael so plainly informed.

Mammon made a remark, to which Lucifer responded, but Asmodeus couldn’t make head or tails of the rest. Just for a moment, I’ll close my eyes, he thought. And just as his siblings before him, Asmodeus gave way to the mists that blurred the waking world and lead to the land of sleep.

*****

Asmodeus loved his dreams. In dreams, ones limits were boundless, uninhibited by the expectations of the world or what be right or wrong. Here, he could not be judged, allowing his inhibitions to run freely, surrounded by all the things he loved and nothing more. Yet lately his dreams had become less crowded and far too abstract for his liking.

This time, he was alone, flying high above a brilliant, shining city, its limits an endless void, as if nothing existed or mattered outside it.

Asmodeus did not recognize the city as earthly, nor was it Celestial, but it knew his name, and it sang to him and only him. Not with words, but in ways only a city could: the thundering laughter of its people, the waves of pulsating music, the scent of sweat and overripe fruit. A place filled with all the wonder and excitement the world had to offer. A place that not even the eyes of the Father could reach. It was freedom. True freedom. And it was beautiful.

But the city also frightened him. He dared not stare for long, as the glare from the lights burned his eyes and caused his head to split with pain. Like the maw of a giant beast, it threatened to swallow him whole, and the more he struggled, the harder it drew, shifting the winds around him.

Asmodeus flew further, higher, yet the city stretched on as if to give chase, until his wings heaved from the fight, until he could no longer bear to fly. So he closed his eyes, giving way to what lied below. Dizzy and unfocused he fell further and further until finally—

Slam!

“Huh, what?” Asmodeus leapt from his lying place. “Is the lesson over?”

Lucifer tucked the leather bound book beneath his arm. “Yes, Asmodeus, the lesson is over. One in which you all clearly slept through.”

“We weren’t sleeping,” said Belphegor as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Lilith, who continued to rest peacefully on her brother’s shoulder, had not even bothered to stir.

“That’s right. We were totally listening. Definitely heard every word.” Mammon stretched his arms wide and yawned.

“Is that so?” In spite of his wrinkled brow, Lucifer smiled. “Then tell me, how many orders are there in the Celestial Realm hierarchy?”

The question was simple on purpose. Lead them in with a false security, then lower the trap. A typical Lucifer move.

“Ha, that one’s easy. Three.” And of course, Mammon fell for it.

“Very impressive,” Lucifer’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Now, starting from the first order to the third, list the ranks of angels and provide a brief summary of their duties. Get it right and I may spare you all from homework. Maybe.”

“We’re doomed,” said Belphegor.

“Right, the celestial hierarchy. Got it.” Mammon gave an awkward laugh. “So uh, Seraph are the loud, yappy ones who fly around the Father and tell him how great he is all the time. No offense.”

Lucifer frowned. “Not the most accurate summary of my job description, yet continue.”

“Then there’s the Cherubs. All they do is look down on the other angels, yet they’re really just glorified maids.” Mammon rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Thrones are way cooler anyway. Those are the guys that do all the heavy lifting. That and they get no respect for it. I mean, how’d you feel having to carry some heavy--”

“Never mind.” Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose. “I see that asking you to explain was a mistake on my part. Yet I do expect a written paper with a more proper explanation of our duties. From all of you.”

They groaned. Asmodeus and Belphegor shared a knowing gaze. A silent mocking that stated one thing and one thing only: Mammon was truly hopeless.

A snort. Then a giggle. Until the air bubbled with their heckles and shortened breaths. Despite everything, it was here where Asmodeus felt safest, surrounded by a love greater than what the Father could ever provide. Another odd and rather blasphemous feeling for an angel to have, yet one Asmodeus carried nonetheless.

Lucifer chuckled. “I suppose that’ll end today’s lesson. Which means that you, Lilith, can stop pretending to sleep.”

Lilith’s eyes fluttered open. Her cheeks puffed in a playful pout. “Oh, boo! It seems I can’t get anything past you, big brother.”

“Not even if you tried. Now, come along, Leviathan and Beelzebub should be done with their duties.”

“Wait, Lucifer!” Perhaps certain dreams ceased with reflection. And who better to ask of them? Yet...

“Yes, Asmodeus?” Lucifer gave him a quizzical look. “If it’s about your homework, you only have yourself to blame for sleeping during lecture.” He heaved a weary sigh. “And Mammon, naturally.”

…If his were laid bare to witness, what then? Would he be judged? Shamed?

Lucifer stood without word. And Asmodeus faltered. He supposed that a little lie would have to do.

“Do you think…” Asmodeus lips quivered. “Is wanting to love oneself a sin?”

Lucifer’s eyes raised, then lowered softly. “Of course not. To love oneself is to love the Father, as all things were made in his image. Yet to love oneself above that is a different concern.”

“I see.” Asmodeus did love himself a fair amount, a fact that his growing curiosity with mirrors could attest to, but to love only himself was something he hadn’t thought possible. He only read of one man who did such and in the end, he drowned in a puddle from viewing his own reflection. He shuddered. How could anyone be that foolish?

“Is that all? Or is something else troubling you?” Lucifer’s tone wasn’t exactly accusatory, but it held just enough apprehension to cause Asmodeus’ gaze to falter.

So instead, he gave the brightest smile he could. The one that caused even Michael himself to blush with embarrassment. “Only that my brother is the best angel in all the realm.”

To that, Lucifer gave a smile just as perfect as his own. “Now I’m positive you’re trying to get out of your homework.”

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me asmodeus #obey me mammon #obey me belphegor #obey me lilith #obey me fanfic #not sure what this is...yet #but it was in my drafts and figured i'd just post it #should i make a series from it?

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peachesofteal · 1 year

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Tin Coffee

Same pairing as Cupcakes and Banana Pudding. GIF

Joel Miller/female reader One shot 3.5k words AO3 Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, discussion of sterilization, explicit sex, oral sex - fem receiving, blood, gore, violence. Killing Infected. Kids in danger. Protective Joel. Hurt/Comfort. You made a promise. So did Joel.

You were usually the first one up around here. You’d rise with the sun, when the smallest hint of light started to filter through the trees, bathing everything you could see in a warm orange glow. When it was still quiet, the little cabins and tent structures still dark, their residents asleep and dreaming of different lives. Lives before. In this hour or two before the world around you started to wake, you could almost pretend that you weren’t in the now. You could still be in the then, if you wanted.

You were a scavenger. When you were younger, before, you had loved Legos. Loved building things out of the little blocks that clicked together, making something out of nothing. Now, you just did it a little bit differently. With rusted screws and old car parts, scraps of clothing and electrical tape. It’s how you had survived on your own. It’s how you came to find this little camp, tucked away in a clearing, cabins and tents set up like a town. It’s how you ended up with your own makeshift cabin, your own bed, hot meals. The scavenging is what brought you out on the road every morning, the promise of hidden treasure calling to you as the sun began to peek over the camp. Every day was the same. You’d eat. You’d sleep. You’d kill. You’d scavenge, you’d sneak, you’d steal. You did it all. And then wake up the next morning and do it all again. It all blended together.

Or at least it did. Until Joel.

You kept that close to your chest. Or at least you did. Until Joel kissed you that night in the dark. When you had lost the new guy. When you had watched him get torn apart, before you ran away while he screamed your name, begged you for help.

You hadn’t expected to see Joel out on the road. You hadn’t expected the look on his face when he saw you. You hadn’t expected him to press his mouth to yours, and kiss you like you meant something to him. Like you were his.

Sometimes, Joel was up before you. If he wasn’t in your bed, or you weren’t in his. He’d meet you on the road as the sun rose, giving you a once over with his eyes while you said good morning.

“Mornin’ sweetheart.” The sleepy timbre of his voice always got you, and you knew your cheeks were turning by the way his gaze flicked down to your lips before looking away. “You ready?” He’d drawl, and you’d nod. The pistol would appear from behind his back, and he would look at you expectantly until you sighed and tucked it into the cinch of your belt. He didn’t care that you had a hunting knife the size of his forearm strapped to your thigh. If you went out, regardless of where he was, he wanted you to carry it. And you never argued.

Some nights, he’d slink into your room, after he worked one of the late patrols for John. The floorboards would creak under his boots, but otherwise he wouldn’t make a sound. The bed would shift beneath him, already sagging with your own weight, the threadbare thing something you found in an abandoned gas station nearly ten miles south.

“Hi.” You’d slur, eyes still closed. Your body instinctively knew when he was near, something warming your blood, sending shivers down to your toes.

“Hey baby.” He’d shift you on the mattress, curling the heat of his body around yours, snaking an arm around your ribs. “Go back to sleep.” He’d tell you, and press his chest against your back, fingers stroking the hair from your face as you drifted away.

Some nights, you’d crawl into his bed before he got in for the evening. Joel had soft pillows, nice ones, and you’d hold one in your arms, knees curled to your chest, body huddled in the middle of the bed. He’d run his palm over the swell of your hip before straightening you out and sliding in between the sheets. You’d sling an arm over his stomach, pressing yourself to him, and he’d pull you in until you were breathing softly on his neck, the smell of tin coffee, rain-soaked leather and whiskey dragging you down into sleep with him.

Some nights, you’d still be just barely awake, drifting in and out of twilight when he showed up, and he’d pat the curve of your ass before digging his fingers into the skin there. He’d drag you from the edge of unconscious, spreading you open before him, calling your name, pressing a thumb down in circular motions into your thigh. He’d ruck the two times two big shirt that you were overly fond upwards until it exposed your bare body to him, your skin rippling in the warm air. You’d whimper his name when he ghosted his lips over the peak of your breast, taking a nipple between his teeth and applying just enough pressure to fully wake you.

“Joel.” Your hands would grope for him in the dead of the night, and he’d press your legs wide, running his tongue down the seam of your cunt as your fingers twisted in his hair. You’d usually whine something unintelligible, his mouth working you until you were coming for him, a white-hot orgasm slapping across the nerve endings of your body, your spine curling forward off the bed. If he was tired, he’d leave it there, choosing to turn you on your side and then folding his body over yours, the taste of your cunt still on his face. If he wasn’t tired, he’d make quick work of whatever he was wearing before pushing himself as deep as he could, drawing long vowel sounds from your mouth and burying his cock against your cervix. You’d groan and he would push his face against yours, mouth just above the shell of your ear.

“Okay sweet girl.” He’d slow, letting your muscles turn to liquid, spreading your knees wider, before moving again and praising you when you relaxed around him in pleasure. “That’s it, baby. Open up for me.” He’d drag his cock through the scarlet heat of your cunt until he was filling you full of him, open mouth pressed to your cheek, tongue tasting the salt of your skin. He used to finish in his hand, or on your stomach, sometimes in your mouth, before you told him he didn’t have to.

“Can’t get pregnant.” You said one night, a whispered secret in the quiet of the dark. “Like, years and years, after the outbreak. There was this guy, in Chicago. He was doing sterilizations. Or, a version of them.”

“Sweetheart-”

“I had heard about, what was happening. People losing their minds. Women become cattle. It’s a given. I wasn’t… I wasn’t going to let it happen to me.” You didn’t tell him about the side effects, of course. The bizarre stomachaches that had you writhing in pain every now and then, unable to eat or sleep. You used liquor usually, to dull it. Drown it out. Nobody liked to be reminded about the consequences of their actions anyway, right?

Sometimes the kid gets up before you. He sneaks out of the room where he sleeps with the rest of the orphans, running down the dirt packed road, kicking dust up beneath his little feet. He bangs on your door eagerly, standing in the burnt glow of dawn, bouncing on his toes.

“Good morning!” he’d squeal when you opened up, something hot in a cup already clutched between your fingers.

“Good morning, Grey.” If Joel was still in your bed, you’d hush him, ushering him inside with promises of a snack. The woman who looked after the handful of orphans usually came to collect him when the rest of them got up. The camp had a good routine set for the kids who were alone. The woman, Sophia, had been a schoolteacher, before, and she was exceptionally skilled at keeping them out of trouble. You were happy to help, since it wasn’t her fault she got stuck with twenty-four seven babysitting duty. Plus, you liked Grey. You had a soft spot for him, a soft spot that had grown since the day you and Joel saved him. You would sit at your kitchen table, listening to him tell you about whatever was on his mind, asking him what he was going to do today. He’d ask you to tell him stories, and you’d make up nonsense about fairy tales, twisting them to fit modern situations, or telling him the plotlines of your favorite old movies. The two of you would go back and forth until you heard the tell-tale creak of the floorboards. Grey’s face lit up every time, bouncing on his knees in the chair while he waited for his opportunity.

“Mornin’ Joel!” Grey would shout with excitement when Joel turned the corner from your bedroom, blinking owlishly at the kid before grumbling something under his breath. He’d glance at you with a nod, and then disappear.

Sometimes, you were up alone. Like this morning, you managed to roll out of your bed without waking Joel. You had stared at him for a few minutes before leaving, tracing the lines of his skin over and over until you were satisfied. Until you had burned his face into your memory. It was a rare occurrence, to see him so at peace. Face relaxed, mouth slightly ajar, snoring lightly. You savored it. Tucked it away like a little secret, a piece of him that no one else has before heading out for your run, seeking trashed treasure.

The day was a bust. It’s the drawback of staying in one place for too long. You pick everything over. And then you pick it over again, until you’re forced to travel farther, and farther, spending entire days out there instead of six or eight hours. Soon, you’d have no choice but spend more than a night away. Two, probably. Then three. It was less than ideal, but you weren’t giving up yet. You were still an optimist.

You’re making your way back towards your beat-up little cabin when you spot them. Sophia is holding a crying kid in her arms, while the Marshall girl’s mother is frantically looking around, calling her name. You can see the whites of her eyes, the way her hands shake as she screams for her daughter. When she spots you, her mouth moves, but sound doesn’t come out. Sophia speaks instead.

“Grey, and… “ she trails off when she says the girl’s name, gaze flicking to her mother. “they’re gone. They were just here but I’ve searched everywhere.”

The ground tilts beneath your feet.

“What?” you ask, voice pitched in disbelief. The Marshall girl’s mother sobs openly. Your stomach turns. “What?” Sophia’s face is ashen.

“I turned around and they were gone.” You hear voices of others. People gathering, asking what’s going on, trying to get the Marshall woman to stop screaming. You turn in a circle, eyes searching. Where could he be? Your pulse is beating in your ears. Everyone around you is carrying on, but they’re doing fuck all. You turn on your heel without a word.

“Where are you going?” The Marshall girl’s mother cries and you shout at her.

“Stay here!” You’re not going to sit here while those kids are out there somewhere. While Grey is out there. You had promised to keep him safe. You promised you’d keep the monsters away from him.

The dust fills the air when you take off in a jog, heading towards the woods, desperation bleeding into every step. He’s barely five years old. How far could he have gone? He’d have to be close; he can’t travel that fast, how long has it been? Where-

“Hey. What’s goin on?” The Texas accent rockets across your brain, and Joel steps in front of you, hand around your upper arm. Your heart rate slows, just enough.

“He’s missing.”

“Who?”

“The kid. Grey. He’s gone. He and the Marshall girl.” He looks down the road towards the crowd of people before flicking his gaze back to you. “He’s only five, for fuck’s sake. Where could he have gone?” You just barely register the feeling of Joel rubbing his thumb in your shoulder. “I promised him, Joel. That I’d protect him. That I wouldn’t let the monsters get him.” Your voice cracks and you blink, trying to keep your head level. Get a hold of yourself. You take another deep breath and wait for the disapproval. You know how Joel feels about Grey. His voice echoes in your head. “Sweetheart. I don’t think you should get too attached to the kid.” You expect him to scold you, to chastise you, to tell you how foolish you are. It hits you that you are terrified of disappointing him, of letting him down. You want him to be proud of you. Not look at you like a liability.

“Okay. We’ll find him. Can’t have gone far.” He says, and you blink. “Okay? Sweetheart.” He shakes your shoulder lightly. You nod.

“Y-Yeah.”

“Where were you heading?”

“The woods. The meadow. Sometimes… I take him there. He likes the wildflowers on the hill.”

It’s unnaturally quiet in the forest, the rustling of brown leaves and brush under your feet the only sound heard while you and Joel search. You realize, as you yell Grey’s name through the trees, you should have never promised the kid anything. You should not be making promises you can’t keep. This wasn’t then, it’s now. You’re lost in thought when Joel whispers your name, his fingers pressing lightly into your forearm to get your attention.

“Listen.” He says. You hold your breath.

And then you hear it. Someone is screaming. A kid is screaming, hollering at the top of their lungs. Somewhere close. It goes silent for a second and then you hear it again. Closer. Close enough for you to recognize.

It’s Grey who is screaming. Your body jolts.

“Grey!” you shout, legs working into a run, rushing in the direction of the wailing. You crash through the trees, not caring about the amount of noise you’re making. You yell his name again, and burst through the edge of the forest, into the meadow.

You spot him across the hill, clumsy, short legs moving as fast as they can, his hand gripping a smashed bunch of… wildflowers. Your heart cracks. You glance at Joel, and watch his eyes just barely soften when he beholds the frantic little boy.

An Infected lurches over the hill behind him. Your stomach drops.

“J… Joel.” You whisper. It’s moving slowly, like it’s dragging a leg, for what reason you don’t know. It doesn’t calm you any, the Infected is a lot closer to Grey than the two of you are. Your stomach roils. “Where’s the girl?” He scans the meadow. There’s no sight of her. Your hand wraps around the handle of your knife, and you’re about to charge across the grass when movement in the trees catches your eye, and Joel wraps a hand around your wrist to halt you.

It's a Clicker. Drawn by the noise, no doubt. Joel’s already clocked it, you can tell. You can also tell that he’s already worked out the distance between the two of you and the Clicker, the Infected, and Grey.

He points to the Clicker, and then himself.

You point to Grey, and then yourself. He nods.

You take off at a run, and Grey finally sees you, his panicked face changing from screaming to crying and you’re close, you’re so close that you can reach out and scoop him into your arms, holding him tight to your body as you turn to face the Infected.

Its tibia is snapped, that’s why it’s limping. You glance over to Joel, who’s walking in a crouch closer to the Clicker, gun steady in his hand. You set Grey on his feet, facing a different direction, and hold a finger to your lips. He nods, eyes filled with tears, lower lip trembling.

You’re on the Infected before it even has a chance, plunging the blade of your knife into its stomach, and then it’s head. Blood spurts from the wounds like a fountain, slicking your arms, your chest and neck before you turn away. It’s warm, almost oily, and you rub your palms against your pants in a panic. You reach for Grey and try to pull him into you, but he yells, startled by the amount of blood on your body.

“It’s okay!” you wipe a hand over his head, tucking a stray curl behind his ear. “It’s okay. You’re alright.” He sniffles, face scrunched up in terror, and you grab him despite his protests, moving him away from the corpse. You’re headed to the edge of the woods, shushing him gently, bouncing him in your arms to try to calm him. He cries against you, face tucked into your neck, hands grasping your shirt. You still have to check him for bites, and a rock settles in the pit of your stomach, heavy and aching.

A gunshot sounds, and you brace for Grey to scream at the noise when something slams into your back, sending you careening forward, the kid falling from your arms. Your head slams into the ground, and stars blink across your vision, time skipping while you struggle to see straight.

It's a Runner. And it’s on you, frenzied, bearing down, pinning your arm beneath its weight where your knife was strapped to your thigh. Fuck. Fuck. You struggle against it, kicking and jerking, trying to dislodge it with all your might, desperate to escape, struggling to survive. Vaguely, you could hear Grey screaming, could hear the sound of the Runner gurgling, and you turn your head to push into the earth away from its mouth. You’re panicking now, hysteria starting to bubble up your throat until the sound of a gunshot echoes above your face, your ears screaming with a ring so loud your eyes slammed shut.

Joel. Joel had shot it.

The weight of the runner was shoved away from you, and you felt the cradle of two palms against your face. Joel’s mouth was moving but it didn’t matter. Between the impact of your fall and the ricochet of the gun shot, you couldn’t tell up from down, couldn’t hear anything. You felt him pushing hair off your forehead, fingers lingering across your cheek, worry in his expression as you slowly blink up at him. You try to get your mouth to move, but your tongue doesn’t cooperate. He calls your name, and you can just nearly make it out, your hand reaching for his when you fade into the black of sleep.

When you wake hours later, he’s sitting by your side, ripped up t-shirt mopping your neck and chest, cleaning away the gore that’s splattered there. You squint until he comes into focus, lines of his forehead furrowed together, brow creased in concern.

“Sweetheart?” He says softly, head tilted. You can hear him, even if your ears are still ringing a little. You smile meekly and nod. You both seem to breathe a sigh of relief.

“Water?” your voice is more a croak then a whisper, and he reaches for the cup next to the bedside before lifting it to your lips. You wrap your hands around it and tilt all the way back, gulping down as much as possible.

“Hey, baby. Hey. Take it easy.” He holds you steady around your ribs, fingers spread down across your stomach.

“What happened?” you rub the back of your head with a wince, and he gives you a sympathetic grimace.

“They found a cave. Marshall girl ran back scared. The kid wanted to have a look, I guess. Startled whatever was sitting dormant down there. I think you probably got a concussion. You feel sick?”

“Jesus… No. Just tired.” You mutter and he nods, fingers brushing against yours as he takes the empty cup. “Joel-“

“Don’t.” His accent cuts, and it’s thick, reverberating in the low tones of his voice like it does when he’s stressed. He looks away from you, towards the window, the setting sun painting a pink-orange reflection across his face. You reach for his wrist, pressing your thumb into where his pulse beats below the watch. I’m here, Joel. I’m right here. The two of you sit like that for a while, until his hand cups your face, calloused thumb rubbing across the apple of your cheek. His shoulders unhunch from under his ears, body relaxing with a sigh. “You promised you’d protect him from the monsters.” He brings his mouth to yours, tender and seeking, the taste of tin coffee and whiskey nearly making your head spin. He leans you back against the mattress easily, hand gentle on the back of your head before slotting his leg between yours and rolling you on your side. He settles you against him, holding you tight against his chest. “And I promised I’d protect you.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #joel tlou #joel miller x female reader #peaches writes #the last of us #tlou hbo #the last of us hbo #joel miller x oc #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #female reader

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heartfullofleeches · 2 years

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Hello are requests open? Can you do a yandre husband X monster reader

Yandere HUMAN X GN Monster Reader

Word count: 1.1k

Warning for brief body horror

Tires pull to a stop along a driveway, gears squeaking to a halt as the car stops. Its driver opens the door, grabbing a bouquet of flowers and a box from the passenger seat. He fixes his hair in the mirror before he steps out; pulling his bangs over discolored skin.

He takes a breath of fresh air as he exits, the scent of freshly cut grass on the breeze. Dusk set overhead in a peachy haze. Life was good in this neighborhood, friendly faces at almost every door. Though he had yet to live there for more than a couple months, they made their peace known. As wonderful as the area was, nothing could make it home besides the one waiting for him. Unfortunately, they’d both have to wait for his arrival.

“Evan! Good evening!” His next door neighbor had taken notice of him, waving over with a gloved hand. Evan returns the gesture, tucking the flowers under his opposite arm.

“Evening, Mr. Harry. How are you doing?”

“I’m doing just fine.” He points at the items in Evan’s arms. ”Presents for the spouse?”

“Heh, yeah. Just a few things I picked up on the way home.”

“Well that’s just swell. Me and a few other houses are having a barbecue this weekend. We’d love for the young couple to join us.”

Evan’s smile tightens – an inch closer to breaking. “ I appreciate the offer, but we’ll have to politely decline. Y/n is a bit shy around new people.”

“Oh, well a little get-together is perfect for getting over that!”

“I said.. we’re fine.” Evan replies, irritation seeping passively into his words. His cheeks were sore from the faulty grin he wore. Mr. Harry shrinks back – his smile growing slightly more genuine at the sight.

“Have a good night, sir.”

Evan walks away from the conversation and to his front door, unlocking it and entering. He tosses the keys and sets his jacket aside a coat rack. A scarf hangs on a hook beside it; Evan running his fingers through the cotton. He brings it to his face, inhaling as its fabric tickles his skin. It was still warm; Evan sapped the tracks of heat before he came back to reality – remembering its owner lied somewhere within the house.

“Honey, I’m home!”

His words echo through the hall and up the flight of stairs with no response. He sweeps the first floor before ascending to the next, the door to the bedroom slightly cracked.

Evan and Y/n Smith. Newlyweds and even newer residents of the sleepy you now resided in. Soulmates and partners for nearly a decade; you came into his life at its lowest point and when you had no others to call family. You were the love of his life; his everything – which is why he could pick up on your sour mood before he even set foot in the room.

“Hun?”

You were lying in your shared bed, huddled in the blankets; unresponsive. Your eyes were open and looking towards the window; shifting in his direction as he came to your side. He places his hand on your ankle, trailing it up and down your leg in a gentle motion.

“Everything okay?”

“..The neighbor’s dog barked at me again. I’m worried others are getting suspicious too.”

Evan laughs in disbelief; never doubting your words, but at the fact you were worried over something so insignificant. He pulls the blanket down some, placing kisses on your neck. “Oh, Y/n. You know that old mutt does that to everyone. You have nothing to fear, my sweet.”

“I saw that guy snooping around the yard again, the one that always wears the hoodie with the alien on it.”

The stem of the roses snaps. Evan's blood boils. He knows you’re a catch, but the thought of anyone coming near you let alone spy on you pissed him off to no end. Still, he kept his composer – wishing for you to be without a single worry.

“Baby, everything will be okay.. I’m here and we’re here for each other. I’ll never let anyone take you from me. Sit up. The office let me take the rest of the donuts home so I brought you a little something too.”

“..I guess you’re right.” You slowly sit up, blanket slipping off your shoulders; spikes along your spine rising from the release. You were a far bit taller than Evan with him craning his neck up to look at you. He smiles proudly; looking at you like you held up the stars in the sky – just as he had on your wedding night.

“There’s my love. Here you go.” He offers a single rose to you; you taking it with care. You pull it close; moist petals brushing your collar. Its sweet smell walls up to your nostrils; so full of life it makes your stomach growl. Overtaken by it, your neck tears open; skin blended with unseen teeth – your head tilted backwards as it lurches for the rose. It grays under the toxins of your saliva, digesting before you even swallow.

Evan watches by your side, beaming with affection as he clings to your arm. His love for you grew more by the day – even when he found out you were a life sucking ghoul. If anything, he only found you more charming. Everyone has their faults, after all and yours only meant he had more reason to keep you to himself.

He feeds you the whole bouquet before you both get comfortable, falling asleep in the warmth of each other’s arms – yours moreso than his.

“Hurry up, dude!”

Shifty eyes bounce from the edge of the backyard to the door where the other stood. The other figure fumbled with the locks on the backdoor, muttering curses each time a jingle of the handle resulted in nothing.

“Are you even sure about what you saw? I’m all for proof of the paranormal, but this is illegal.”

“I think I’m pretty certain when I see my neighbor shovel a steak down a hole in their neck now do what I paid you for.”

The door unlocks, swinging open partly.

“Yes! OK, get out of here.”

“Wait I don’t think that-"

“I said fucking leave!”

“Fine, geez.” The second shadow slips away while the first creeps into the house. He finds himself in the kitchen, not much to see there. He eases into the living room, surveying the dim area. Another relatively normal room. He picks up a photo from the coffee table, the smiling couple’s joy palpable in the dark.

“Do you like the photo? I have more. Spent a decent time at the gym after work to make sure I could lift them up for the others.”

Startled, the intruder tosses the picture to the floor. Standing in the doorway to the kitchen was the owner of the house, and worse – a metal bat in hand. He didn’t know whether it was shadows that danced along the rod – or stains.

“Though something tells me you’ve already gotten a good look at my spouse already. I just replaced that lampshade you’re standing in front of too.”

He’s too frightened to speak, shaking in fear as Evan's heels click against the tile floor.

“I don’t know what you’ve seen, but they’re not what you think. Aside from the occasional… rawer meal, they’re human just like us. Maybe even moreso… considering they were able to save a monster like me.”

#yandere male #male yandere #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere story #yandere oc #yandere insert #tw yandere #yandere oneshot #yandere scenario #yandere works #yandere post #yandere requests #request #x reader #monster reader

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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 1 year

Photo

Words: 5,746 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female!Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: S10/S11, The Reapers Warnings: strong language, violence, gore, blood and injury, angsttttt A/N: All gifs made by me. :) This is Part 9 of a series! Find all the parts on my pinned post, the Master List! Summary: The group continues through the subway tunnel and runs into trouble with the dead. Coming out on the other side, they set off to resupply and regroup.

Previous Chapter - Part 8

As if the creaking and groaning in the pipes wasn’t bad enough, then you came to the corpses. None of you had seen the massive walker rise up behind Gage and Negan was the first one to spring into action. He managed to pin it up against the wall, but it struggled against him, nearly overpowering him as everyone stood watching. It looked as if Negan wouldn’t be able to hold it. “Ah, shit,” you swore aloud and darted over and stabbed it in the side of the head with your blade with a grunt of effort. It stilled immediately and slid down against the wall at your feet. Negan stumbled back, out of breath. “Jesus...” he murmured, glancing at the slime and skin that had slipped off the enormous rotter with disgust. You didn’t say anything in return and the two of you looked back at the rest of the group. All eyes were on you and Negan. You hung back and kept your mouth shut as the arguing started and rose to a near fatal conclusion.

Things didn’t get any better… It wasn’t long after, when you’d all nearly finished your work on clearing the tunnel, that Alden realized Gage and Roy were gone, along with most of the supplies you’d all set aside.

“Shit,” you swore under your breath. “This is what all our fucking arguing got us. That’s most of our rations, our batteries for the flashlights. And we’re blocked here anyway,” you said, gesturing to the train car. Negan was wise enough to keep his mouth shut. Daryl punching him across the face to shut him up seemed to have made an impression, even if it was mostly to avoid Maggie’s rage overboiling and activating her itchy trigger finger.

There was more discussion about what to do next when Daryl suddenly shushed everyone and held up a hand. Growls, a distinctive sound despite the echo off the arched stone walls. The beams of your flashlights illuminated an approaching herd. Too many to count. Perhaps they’d wandered in to instinctively seek shelter from the storm, some part of their diseased brains compelling them to go underground. Perhaps it was random movement or pure coincidence. Whatever it was, you all snapped into action.

You stood alongside Daryl and the others as you readied your bow. Gabriel and Alden frantically tried to pry open the subway car door, but it was jammed shut. Arrows flew and weapons swung and knives plunged, but there were just too many. By the time Daryl gave the call to fall back you were already splattered with walker blood nearly head to tow.

“Up on top! Go! Go!” Daryl yelled. He ushered you toward the car and gave you a frantic look. “I’ll be right behind you,” he said.

“You better be,” you said, stretching and reaching for the first handhold you could find. You’d just been hauled to safety with the help of the others when you heard Dog barking and Daryl frantically shouting after him.

“Dog, no! Dog!” Daryl started toward the side where there was a narrow space in the rubble that Dog had apparently run through. You heard him yell to Maggie. “Meet me at the other end!”

“Daryl, wait! No—Daryl, wait!” Maggie’s frantic voice answered. You knew right then what you had to do, and you swung yourself over the back of the subway car and dropped to your feet again, perhaps a bit clumsily. Negan and Maggie looked at you in surprise. Maggie looked fearful.

“See you on the other side,” you shouted over the approaching growls. “You better go! Go! Climb!” you yelled over your shoulder. You darted after Daryl and soon caught up to him just inside the tight tunnel.

“Y/N?” he looked behind himself at your huddled form over the broken concrete. “No—go back! Stay with the others and—ain’t no way to know where this is goin’ or what’s on the other end!”

“I told you—I’m not separating from you if I can help it! Now hurry up. We need to get to Dog,” you said with finality.

Daryl gulped and turned back around, squeezing himself through the debris. You followed closely behind, glancing over your shoulder as if you expected the horde to follow you in. Finally, Dog’s barking was closer and you came upon an opening in the concrete that had clearly been made in the shape of a door. Daryl stepped out and turned around to take you hand and help you. His fingers squeezed around yours gently and he gave you a worried look. “I shoulda listened to ya. I mean fuck Negan, but I shoulda listened to ya. ‘M sorry,” he said, regret thick and heavy on his tongue.

“It’s okay. We’ll be fine. As long as we’re together, right?”

He nodded solemnly and then turned to look at your surroundings. You were in the remains of an underground camp in an old decommissioned tunnel. Dog was panting at Daryl’s side. It was eerie and silent and the air seemed heavy and dank. Daryl lifted the beam of his flashlight and shone it over graffitied words and a sprawling mural depicting a conflict of the classes. You noticed him swallow thickly and saw that his eyes were slightly glassy. You grabbed his hand again and laced your fingers with his and he looked down at it.

Your eyes wandered over the wall again and the detritus of people who were no longer here. “Do you think this is from before or… or after?” you asked him softly.

The muscle in his jaw clenched. “Both,” he said. “C’mon. Let’s see if there’s anythin’ worth takin’ now that most of our supplies are gone.” You nodded and the two of you started to move on slowly, scanning the heaps of moldering sleeping bags and clothes for anything useful. Daryl picked up a small plastic bag. He pulled out a 100-dollar bill and you read it in the glow of his light. Next, his fingers found a Polaroid photo of two smiling kids, a brother and a sister.

Your heart ached and your stomach felt hollow, as if it suddenly contained a chasm of space that was pushign up on your lungs. Daryl’s free hand drifted toward the left breast of his vest beneath his poncho and landed over the Polaroid of the two of you, stitched in safely there. His hand squeezed yours again and then he rolled the plastic bag closed and stuck it into his pack. There was another moment of silence and then he glanced over at you. “Back there. When ya helped Negan—”

You sighed and nodded. “I know. I—Look, I know what he did. He took a father away from his wife and child. He tortured you and who knows how many other people in one way or another… He’s got blood on his hands that will never completely wash off. But in moments like that—” you searched for the right words, hesitating. “I—I can’t just stand by and not help someone who is supposedly on our side now. Even if it is Negan.”

Daryl nodded, chewing on his bottom lip thoughtfully. “Okay. Yer—yer a better person than I am,” he drawled, ducking his eyes. His hair fell into his face. “Ya always have been.”

“That’s not true.”

Just then, before you could say anything further, Dog took off in response to unexpected echoing yells and raced to a large drain culvert and jumped inside, paying no attention to Daryl’s shouts.

“Fuck!” Daryl growled, peering inside. His flashlight hardly seemed to penetrate the gloom. He shot an anxious look back at you and then closed his eyes for a long moment when you only nodded stoically. When he opened them again, he climbed in and you slipped inside after him.

The dark was disorienting and the tunnel walls seemed to shrink in around you as you crawled and hunched your way through. The growls and moaning of walkers echoed in the network of metal and stone, bouncing off walls and ricocheting in ways that made it impossible to tell which direction they were coming from. Your knees were scraped and aching from the cobbled stone and metal. Your hands were cold from the moisture pooling in the low, stagnant spots. You could only imagine what the two of you would look like when you emerged at the other end… if you emerged.

Right when you thought you were almost out, there was a sudden growl from an offshoot of the culvert beside you. You looked back just in time to see a gnarled hand shoot out and grip your boot. Some noise of surprise must have escaped you because Daryl was yelling your name. “Y/N! No!”

Your hand fumbled with your sheath and landed on the handle of your knife. You struggled to maneuver in the tight space but after what seemed both entirely too long and lightning speed, you freed yourself from the walker’s grip and lunged with your blade, finding your mark in the skull.

“Are you okay?” Daryl asked desperately, laying on his back, half sitting to look at you. You nodded, gasping in hurried breaths.

There was no time to recover as heavy iron behind him clanged where the exit had just been. More walkers had bumped into the grate, slamming it closed, and they now reached their bony arms through, grappling at the air. “Stay here!” he said gruffly.

“Daryl—!” but he had already pushed himself into the grate, hurling the walkers back as it opened and sending him tumbling down to the floor. You army crawled as fast as you could to the edge of the culvert, gripping his crossbow where he’d left it. But he quickly righted himself and put down the two dead with a few swings of his mace. He glanced up and down the tunnel he’d emerged into before rushing back to take his crossbow onto his shoulder again and to help you out onto your feet. “Are ya good?” he asked you again, studying your face. He couldn’t see any sign of injury. You were both damp from the heavy moisture in the air. Your hair was sticking to your cheeks and your neck. Your eyes were a little wide. He would have clasped your face if his hands weren’t absolutely filthy.

You nodded. “I’m good. Are you?”

“Fine,” he drawled, turning to look into the blackness ahead. Dog’s bark was echoing in the distance. “I dunno what the hell has gotten into him…”

“Let’s go find out,” you said, starting forward again. Daryl walked beside you, clearing on edge. His eyes scanned behind and in front alternately, and then he put out an arm to stop you. His eyes narrowed as he looked ahead toward a dark stain on the ground. He adjusted his grip on his crossbow and stepped protectively ahead of you, shining his light toward the pool that glistened ominously.

You followed just behind him and finally were able to see that it was fresh blood, and not blood from a walker… It was a deep, violent red. Your stomach twisted. “Daryl…”

Suddenly a figure materialized in the dark, staggering toward you. Daryl nearly let a bolt fly, but then he registered that it was Roy right as your breath left your lungs in a puff. He collapsed. The blood was his. Behind him trailed walkers, and in a flash, Dog streaked out of nowhere and took one down, fighting with it ferociously until Daryl could get a shot and it went still.

You pulled out your knife again and rushed one of the others, plunging the blade into its head. Beside you, Daryl dropped his bow and pulled his twin knives from their sheaths in a purposeful movement and he dropped the remaining walker with almost ease.

“Roy!” you said, spinning and hurrying to where he had collapsed. He was covered in blood. “Shit… Shit!” You fumbled with your pack, digging into the front pocket for the med kit. Daryl knelt down beside you and the two of you exchanged a grave look.

Roy let out a wry laugh and coughed up blood onto the concrete. “I can see from your faces that this’ll probably be the last mistake I ever make. Here,” he pulled out his gun and a hand grenade and held them out to Daryl. “Don’t waste any supplies on me. Just—tell my kids I didn’t die a coward.”

You shut your eyes and hung your head. Kids. The man had kids... he was scared and he made a mistake. “Hey. I’m not giving up on you. Come on. Let me patch you up as best I can,” you said.

“Where’s the ammo bag?” Daryl pressed Roy.

“I lost it. And I lost Gage… Please—just—make it quick.” He coughed thickly again.

Daryl’s jaw tightened. “Nah. Ya hang here ‘til we figure this shit out, alright? We’ll come back for ya. Just hang on.”

“We have to get back to the others,” you said, already shouldering your bag again when Daryl was back beside you, greeting Dog happily and scolding him at the same time. “Daryl, he said there are walkers everywhere. What if they’re trapped back there on the subway car still?”

“Yeah… c’mon…”

You were barely there in time. The rest of your group was trapped. On one end, a barricaded door, and on the other a herd of walkers. There were walkers ahead of you too, between you and the barricade, but less than were bearing down on your friends on the other side. You, Daryl, and Dog crept up from behind. You fingered your bowstring, itching to start, an arrow nocked. Daryl loosened his knives and then raised the pistol. You gave him a slow nod to tell him you were ready, and he aimed and pulled the trigger. An arrow whizzed past him and buried itself deeply into the head of the next walker, still covered in the spray of the one whose head had just exploded with Daryl’s bullet. You moved forward swiftly, like a force to be reckoned with, like the storm above, clearing the path to the others. When Daryl ran out of bullets, his knives sang.

He tugged the seat blocking the door out of the way and between him and Negan, they managed to force it open. Your found family poured through. As a final parting, Daryl shoved the hand grenade into the mouth of an advancing walker and kicked it back into the next car, slamming the compartment door closed again. He dove down over you where you were huddled behind a seat, shielding you with his body, as it exploded and vaporized the herd in the next car into nothing more than a sickening spray of gore.

You all slowly rose, glancing around, relieved that you’d managed the narrow escape. Maggie gave you both grateful looks and let out a long exhale. “Thank you. You make a pretty good team,” she said, the ghost of a smile on her lips.

“Wouldn’t mind keepin’ you two around,” Alden joked. Everyone’s hearts lifted, just a little.

Luckily, there were no more surprises during the rest of your underground trip, and you emerged from the station to find that the storm had broken and the sky was clear. An infinite number of stars shown overhead. You found yourself staring, drawing in deep lungfuls of life-giving cool, after-rain air. Daryl was watching you staring. He could see the stars reflected in your eyes—or wait—no. Maybe that was just you shining. Even covered in filth and splattered with walker blood, nothing seemed to dim you.

His hand went to his pocket and he pulled out the 100-dollar bill again, looking at the dark writing and thinking of those two smiling kids in that picture, them huddled around the radio—waiting and hoping. He wondered if they’d made it out, if they’d ever found anywhere safe again. You sank down next to him, close enough that your shoulder and leg were against his. Dog came and sat between your knees and you bent to scratch his chest and kiss the top of his head. Daryl tucked the bill inside his glove and you studied his expression. It was thoughtful and sad. You wished you were alone so you could kiss him right then… Instead, you reached over and rested your hand briefly on the bare skin of his forearm. Your pointer finger swept back and forth, and Daryl glanced over at you again and felt some flickering of warmth start between his lungs again.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You were nearly to the hidden supply depot to restock and rest up, when up ahead, something horrific, still encased in deep shadow, loomed. Your inhale was a sharp hiss of breath through your teeth and your hand went reflexively to the handle of your knife. “Daryl…”

A few more steps and it was clear to everyone. Corpses. Rows of corpses, strung up and hanging by their feet. There was one row on each side of the road, lining it like poplar trees on some kind of perverse boulevard. You further loosened your knife in its sheath. “It’s them,” you said. Your voice was steely but Daryl thought he could hear a slight shake in it. “This is them.”

Daryl swung his crossbow off his shoulder and readied it in his hands, squinting ahead into the dark.

Your hand landed on his arm. It felt surprisingly cold and heavy—unlike your usual touch. Or was his perception of you being tainted by the horror show he was staring at? When you spoke again, your voice was more urgent. “We need to get to—” Cover. You’d been about to say “cover.” Too late.

Chaos. Nightmarish, abrupt chaos. Roy dropped to the ground dead with an arrow in his face. Cole’s hand was sliced clean off with a sharp knife that also embedded in his leg. Your group scattered for the trees like frightened rabbits in front of a fox.

“Y/N?!” Daryl whirled, searching for you, but you seemed to have vanished. Yells punctuated the darkness. A draft of air passed his head and he ducked, aware that a knife had flown right past him. He crouched and squinted into the darkness, his heart pounding—was it pounding? Or had it stopped altogether? “Y/N!” he yelled, unable to hear his own voice over the rush of blood in his ears. And just like that—he realized he was seemingly alone, with only Dog nearby. The silence was close, pressing closer, and ominous.

“Okay… okay…” he tried to slow down his racing mind and focus. Where were you? You’d been right beside him when Roy was hit—and then—fuck! It was all too chaotic! He was disoriented in the trees, in the darkness. He felt it all over again—the way your hand and then your fingertips had slipped away… or were pulled? Were you pulled away from him? He shook his head as if that would do fuck all to clear his thinking up. “Focus. Fuckin’ focus,” he muttered to himself, rising from where he was crouching and scanning the ground nearby, hardly daring to step away from the tree he’d been sheltering behind. But he needed to find a trace of you; a track, a scuffmark, a piece of gear, even one of your arrows, or—

He felt a painful jolt rip through him as his eyes landed on a dark splotch in the dirt. He stopped cold. All warmth seemed to leave his veins. He gripped his crossbow with white knuckles. He moved closer and stared at it, bending down on one knee. There was Roy, dead on the ground. Here—he touched a scrape in the dirt—he’d been here… and you. You were just beside him, on the side where that stain glared back at him, looking almost deep purple in the dark and the dust.

As much as he wanted to, he didn’t dare call out for you again, even though every fiber of his being was revolting against his silence. You couldn’t have gone far yet. It’d been only seconds—right? It wasn’t even minutes yet… You had to be nearby still, especially if you were injured. But if he called out, gave away his position—no. He couldn’t get to you, couldn’t help you if he was dead. He stayed silent and it was killing him. It was like Atlanta all over again. You’d been together. And then you were suddenly, cruelly rended apart. He felt your touch slip from him and he willed it not to be the last time he felt your hand on his arm, your skin on his.

Maybe it wasn’t yours. Maybe it wasn’t your blood. Maybe you’d gotten one of them with your knife. He whistled for Dog and pointed to the blood spot. “C’mon. C’mon, boy. We gotta find her. Track. C’mon!”

A sudden rustling in some brush nearby and Daryl rocketed to his feet. A dark clad figure disappeared into the deeper shadow of the woods. “Dog!” He whistled again and signaled for Dog to follow, and they took off at a desperate speed. If you were nearby and injured, he wasn’t going to let this asshole be the one to find you.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You pressed your back hard into the bark of the tree behind you. The bite of the ridges and edges barely distracted from the pain as you pressed the sterile gauze into the wound on your side with two fingers. You tasted blood in your mouth from biting down on your cheek in an attempt to stifle any noise that might escape you. Blinding white hot pain and then a deeper streak of ruby red exploded behind your eyes.

Daryl. Where was Daryl? You could still practically feel his arm beneath your hand. Roy had dropped, you’d scattered. He’d been right beside you… and then suddenly The Reapers were on you. You’d felt the icy cold slash of a knife in your side and then it was burning with heat. You’d thrown yourself farther into the trees, moving from the deepest shadow to the deepest shadow.

Behind you, a stick cracked in the deathly quiet and you stopped breathing. Your eyes flew wide open again. Your heart pounded. Your lungs were tight. You turned, angling your ear toward the sound. Someone was walking toward you. It sounded a little jolting, as if they were limping. You hastily pressed a gauze pad down over the packed wound in your side and tugged your shirt down again. It clung to your skin, soaked and sticky with blood. You gulped and gripped the handle of your knife tightly, holding it up near your chest, ready to use it, pressing yourself back against the tree.

The soft steps approached and then hesitated off to your left and you shut your eyes for a brief moment before deciding you’d better be the one to strike first. You gritted your teeth against the pain and leapt to your feet, throwing yourself around the tree trunk at the figure, your blade raised.

But it struck metal and ricocheted off. You nearly doubled over from the excruciating sensations rippling through you from your side. Then, you were shocked when the figure was supporting you, gripping your forearms. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Shit, if it weren’t for my handiness with a goddamn crowbar, you would have just skewered me,” he exclaimed, helping you straighten up.

“Negan,” you said through your gritted teeth, clutching a hand to your side again.

“Yeah, unfortunately it’s just me,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. His eyes went to the dark stains down the side of your clothes. You noticed his furrowed brow.

“It’s nothing,” you said, doing your best to stand up tall and straight again.

“Yeah, well, that nothing happens to look suspiciously like a pretty fucking serious injury,” he countered. “Or you slipped and fell in somebody’s bucket o’ blood. I wouldn't put anything past these freaks...”

You glared at him. “It’s not life-threatening, is what I meant.”

“Oh, so you don’t need blood. Okay. Got it,” he said sarcastically. “That’s a new one for me.”

You squeezed your eyes shut against another jolt of that white hot and violent red pain bursting behind your eyes. “I meant—look, conveniently I was shot once in almost the exact same place, okay? I’ll be fine. There are no major vessels there and no vital organs,” you snapped back.

“Interesting,” Negan nodded. “I’m sure that’s a story I want to hear but now probably isn’t the time.” He gripped your upper arm again as you wavered a little on your feet. “Also, it should be noted that I consider all my organs to be rather fucking vital. Just so we’re clear on that.” You were too distracted by another wave of pain to scoff anything back. “Come on. We’ve gotta get the fucking hell out of here before these psychos find us.”

It was then that you noticed the binding around his leg. You’d be willing to bet no one had gotten away completely unscathed… if they’d gotten away at all. “Wait. The others—did you see what happened to them?” you asked.

His eyebrows lifted. “Roy’s definitely dead. I can tell you that much. That karma sure kicks in fast, doesn’t it? Come on.”

“Wait! No—did you see—did—”

Negan suddenly sighed and his shoulders seemed to sag at the desperate look on your face. He shook his head. “I didn’t see Daryl,” he said, his tone sincere. “But if I’ve learned anything about him over the years—it’s that he, out of everyone, will be A-fuckin’ okay.”

You swallowed at a sudden constriction in your throat. “Fuck,” you muttered, pressing your hand down again over your side. “You’re right. We have to get the fuck out of here, and fast. Can you do fast?” you asked him.

He cocked his head at you. “Can you?”

“I said I’ll be fine. Now, where the fuck do we go?”

“Anywhere but here,” Negan said. He started off away into the trees, a limp in his walk, and you followed after him, slightly hunched, still checking over your shoulder with a knife in one hand.

_ _ _ _ _ _

It was nearly light out by the time you came on a dilapidated old house. But there was a solid door and most of the windows were boarded up and Negan didn’t like the gray tinge to your complexion or the cold sweat beading up on your face or neck. His leg also felt as if he was walking around with a giant splinter in the muscle. “I think this is as good as it gets. We better take a rest in here for a while and regroup. We’ve put a good amount of distance between us and that Halloween town.”

You shot him a look, and although you were exhausted and pale, it was still sharp. “Halloween town?” you repeated.

“Yeah, the hanging human piñatas, psychos in masks…” he said, limping up to the door and tapping on it with his crowbar. He paused listening for growls but it was silent, so he wedged the iron edge of the crowbar into the seam and pried. The wood sprung open with a crack.

“Could you not make fucking jokes? We have no idea how many of our people even made it,” you spat at him. You dragged yourself past him and into the house.

“I didn’t say it was a joke,” he countered, stepping in after you and pulling the door shut.

You sunk down against the wall, sliding down against your back, your eyes closed. “Jesus, do you ever shut the fuck up?” you muttered, your eyes closing.

Negan laughed. “No, not really.” He paused, taking in your slumped posture against the wall and the rusty staining on your hand that was pressed over your side. He turned and shut the door again and barricaded it with a heavy old oak desk. Your eyes opened again at the scraping sound and he glanced over at you once he’d finished. He twirled his crowbar in his hands and you could tell he had something on his mind.

You grabbed your pack and started digging in the main pocket again for your canteen. “What?” you prompted him.

“I didn’t really get a chance to thank you for the help in the tunnel—with that fucking behemoth of a walker. Wasn’t about to try and say thanks with the peanut gallery standing around,” he said. "SO, uhh—" he rubbed a hand over his short hair. "Thanks."

You sighed and shook your head. “Yeah, don’t mention it…” You unscrewed the cap of your water and took a long drink. You nodded at him. “Your leg. How bad is it? I’ve got a few supplies if you need to patch it up.”

His hand strayed over the scrap of fabric binding the wound. “It’s okay. I mean, it hurts like hell but—how did you put it? Non-life threatening. What about you?”

You replaced your canteen and rested your head back against the wall. “I’ll have to stitch it. But it’s fine.”

“I can help you with that. I’ve done a few—”

“Hell no,” you interrupted him. “I’ll do it myself.”

He let out a dry laugh. “What, worried that Daryl will find out I’ve had my hands on you?” You scowled up at him. “I won’t tell if you don’t.” He flashed you a smile but your face stayed stoic. “Ah, come on. I’m kidding. That’s the farthest thing from my mind right now. …well maybe not the farthest but—”

“Negan, shut the fuck up! Jesus Christ…” You rubbed a hand over the clamminess on your forehead.

He laughed again and nodded. “Sorry. It’s a bit of a nervous habit if I’m being completely honest.” He sank down on a stiff-backed wooden chair in the corner, his leg stretched out and his hazel eyes fixed on you across the room. “I know I’m not your idea of a perfect traveling companion, but I’m on your team here. And to get ourselves out of this shitstorm we’re going to have to work together.”

You sighed again and nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

He seemed satisfied with that response and stood up, crossing the space to you and bending down. “Now, about those med supplies…”

_ _ _ _ _ _

That Reaper hadn’t found you, hadn’t gotten to you. But neither had Daryl. And now Dog was in the wind. Daryl had gutted up and found Dog’s trail. His hope was that Dog would lead him to you… or at least someone. But he couldn’t stop thinking about that spot of blood back by the road. He wondered where you were hurt, how badly… What if you were—No. No, that wasn’t possible. That wasn’t going to happen now. Not like this, after fucking finding you again after all these years, after you’d relit the spark in him that had all but gone out. You were going to be fine, and he’d find you. He’d find Dog, and then he’d find you.

In the distance; Dog barking. Daryl took off toward the sound.

But Dog wasn’t alone. One of them. A Reaper.

“Let him go,” Daryl said. His voice was gruff but also soft and tired. There was still danger underneath it however. The Reaper didn’t move. Dog sat calmly beside the figure. Daryl withdrew one of his knives. “I said let him go.”

The figured raised a hand and pulled off their mask and a fabric covering beneath. Daryl felt like someone had kicked him in the gut. His racing heart sunk into the pit of his stomach and stayed there, heavy like a river rock.

Leah. The Reaper was Leah.

Next thing he knew, he was at the end of the barrel of her shotgun again. And then it wasn’t just her. He was surrounded.

A burlap bag thrown over his head. Water poured over his face. And Leah… like a shell. Seemingly unmoved. Unfeeling. Indifferent. Cold. Her words rang in his head. “These people are my family. I came home.”

He was disoriented with the racing of his mind. How could she participate in this fucked up horror show? What the fuck kind of person was she really? Maybe he'd never known her at all... Clearly he hadn't. And yet he needed to convince her he wasn’t a threat, that he didn’t know fuck all about “those people on the road.” He needed to convince her that he still cared about her the way he had. On some level, he did still care about her... maybe that was stupid. It probably was. But this? These people? Killing anyone they saw for no fucking reason? Stringing up dead people on the roadside? This was insanity. This was almost inhuman.

And all the while, you flashed in his mind's eye. Y/N. Y/N. Y/N.

When they dragged him to a chain link cell, more like a cage, he saw the shape of you in the sheets beside him in his mind’s eye. When they pulled him out to question him endlessly, he heard your voice saying his name, heard your laugh. As he sat alone on the cold cement floor, he could imagine the feel of you under his hands, the shape of you, the taste of your lips, the smell of your skin and scent of your hair. As the water drowned him, pressing the burlap over his nose and mouth, he saw the sun shining off your hair as you grabbed DJ into a hug. DJ. Now he saw DJ too. His son.

When Leah came and talked softly to him in his cell, he forced himself to say things he didn’t mean, a nauseous churning in his stomach. His heart felt hollow as he tried to sound convincing. When the time was right, he gave her something. That’s when it started.

The fire came next.

Pope came after.

And Daryl was embedded deep, with only you and the rest of his family on his mind, even while he tried his goddamn best to make Leah believe that she was the only thing in this world he cared about besides Dog. It felt like willingly drinking poison.

A/N: I fucking loooove writing redeemed!Negan and was so stoked to have him and Y/N team up in this fic. He's just so damn fun to write, and something about the dynamic of him taking care of Daryl's love is achingly good and delicious. Hope you enjoyed so far! Can't wait to get you all the next update!

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon angst #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl x y/n #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles #the reapers #negan smith

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starbanmk · 2 months

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gods/disciples

—

Reddoons was everything.

Ashswagg may have been a god, sure, but even the title of ‘god’ only matters to those who believe in them.

Reddoons believed in him. Reddoons was his only follower, his disciple, his high priest. Red was his life and his love, his friend and his lover. Red was why he was awake.

And now Red was gone.

It was a pain Ash was not familiar with. He was a god, he didn't get attached to mortal things. Everything was eternal to him, everything was supposed to be eternal to him. Ash wasn't supposed to ache, he wasn't supposed to want but not have, he was supposed to be able to have anything he wanted, he was a god–

Ash stilled. The wind was blowing soot and ash and smoke through the air, and in turn was cooling the still flowing molten rock.

Tears fell from Ash's eyes. All of them. It was strange. Ash didn't know he could cry.

Somewhere in this volcanic wasteland laid Reddoons.

Reddoons wasn't just a rose who had wilted in the autumn frost, one that came from a field of identical flowers. He was a mortal, who lived in this world and was unlike any other human, then died. He was unlike any of the followers who had worshipped Ash before he'd been forgotten and fell to his slumber. He was the one who'd brought Ash back, he'd remembered him and loved him and given him life.

And now he was gone. He couldn't be replaced.

Ash's physical form was faltering, but he supposed with no one left to hold it didn't matter. His body grew less and less solid as he sulked back to his temple, nothing more than a wisp of the volcano's own smoke once he arrived. He settled to the floor, seeping into the cracks in the limestone, feeling sick.

He shouldn't feel sick, he shouldn't feel anything, he was a–

What did being a god matter if he couldn't even bring his one follower back.

Ash was the god of smoke. That was all. He didn't have control over the dead, or lost souls, or love, or ungodly feelings, or volcanoes, or fate or anything that seemed to matter. He couldn't do anything.

Helplessness was not a feeling a god should've been feeling.

But Ash didn't seem to be feeling very godly at all, anyway.

God of Smoke. What a scam.

—

It could have been as little as an hour, or as long as a century before Ashswagg, almighty god of smoke rose from being a mope on his floor. Sometime during his mourning, he seemed to have slipped through the cracks in reality and landed somewhere in the limbo between the worlds he existed in. Grey fog stretched out in every direction, making it impossible to tell what was Ash and what was the abyss.

Ash blinked awake again, and he realised he'd fallen asleep. Not that it'd make a difference if he was awake or in another thousand year slumber. Fire would keep burning, smoke would keep billowing. At the end of everything, smoke was a natural force, Ash simply embodied it. He was smoke, wherever it may be, whatever universe may have it, he was there. It didn't matter if he was conscious or not.

Some god.

Ash wondered tiredly if another Reddoons, somewhere in the multiverse, was huddled, warm, near a crackling campfire, living and laughing and breathing in the smoke that would surround him.

Ash was suddenly full of hope, nearly bursting at the seams. He was a god. He existed everywhere.

He could find him.

—

[end of part three]

#rosesandsmokeweek2024 #swagdoons #ashswag #reddoons #lsshipping #lifesteal smp #mcyt #lssmp #rocco writing #day six #rocco rosesandsmoke

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ginnyw-potter · 7 months

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One of us Written for @hinnymicrofic, November prompt 4: Thought

Harry walked into the room a little confused. The Weasley brothers were all huddled together and as he neared them, he was pulled into the huddle too. He looked at all of them, waiting for someone to explain what was going on.

“So…” Charlie started. “Apparently Ginny has a new boyfriend.” He looked to each brother, and Harry, one by one. “And we need to figure out who it is. She won’t say.”

Harry swallowed. “Is that why you brought me here?”

“Of course.” Bill nodded adamantly. “You’re one of us. We can use any help. And you know Ginny well enough, don’t you?”

Harry resisted looking over at Ron, because if either of them gave anything away… He nodded. “Yes, I do.” Better than they’d suspect.

What followed was an incredibly stressful few minutes where the brothers started throwing around names of guys, and Harry just waited for the dreadful moment his name would come up. It never did.

With a promise that they’d all try to find out and they’d meet again soon, they all began exiting the room.

Harry breathed out in relief and turned to Ron. “Phew. I really thought I was about to be found out. Thankfully they didn’t figure out it’s me.”

“Wait a minute!” Bill let out.

The next moment he was lifted in the air by Bill and Charlie and carried back into the room as the brothers streamed back in. Despite his desperate kicks, he did not manage to escape.

He was firmly placed back on his feet. He gulped as he looked at all of them. Only Ron looked worried for him, the rest wore a frown.

Suddenly they parted and Ginny appeared. “Alright, you’ve had your fun,” she told them with a shake of her head.

“What?” Harry squeaked.

“They know,” she clarified. “I told them. They just wanted to see if you’d break.”

The brothers chuckled and Bill patted him on the back. “Good to have you on board,” Bill said. “Like I said, you’re one of us.”

“Yeah, we were worried who would be able to keep up with our sister but after you defeated Voldemort, our sister should be an okay challenge?” George said. He winked at Harry.

Ginny clicked her tongue and offered all of them a judging look. “Don’t be dramatic.” She pushed her brothers out the door and closed it, turning back to Harry with an apologetic grin.

“Oh, you’re paying for that one,” he said, walking to her as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Am I?” Her eyebrows rose, her expression playful. “Go on then.”

#hinny #hinnymicrofic #fic #microfic #post DH

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freesia-writes · 1 day

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Ch 10: Storm on the Shore Pt. 2

~ Master List ~ Previous Chapter ~ WC: 2k

WELL THIS IS THE MOST ACCURATE BACKGROUND NOISE YOU COULD HAVE, LOL: 24Hr | Seaside Storm in a Cave / Ocean Waves, Distant Thunder,Fire and Rain Sounds for Sleeping (youtube.com)

And LOOK AT THIS FANART BY @perfectlywingedcrusade!!

As the fire grew into a satisfying source of warmth near the opening of the cave, just far enough inside to let the smoke out but still sheltered from the wind and rain, Hunter and Lyra huddled around it, shadows dancing across their faces as the contented crackling faded into the sound of the storm outside. He had removed his jacket, spreading it out nearby to dry as much as possible, and with quite a bit of protest from her, had also ventured quickly into the rain to fetch her own jacket, which he had to wring out at the mouth of the cave before bringing it in to lay it next to his. His thick flannel shirt stretched across his back as he hunched, rubbing his hands absently near the dancing flames.

“I’m sorry we’re stuck here,” Lyra said, eyes darting to his for a split second before returning to the fire.

“Eh,” Hunter shrugged, “It could be worse.”

“The office ladies are going to be heartbroken that you’re not in your shop for their ‘morning sausage run’ before school starts…”

Fixing her with a mockingly stern look that led them both to chuckle quietly, Hunter noticed her heartbeat speeding up again, and subtly watched her body language to see if she were in pain from the ruthless pinching her leg had received from the spiteful crablike creature she’d thought was just a shell. He was unable to discern other signs of distress, leaving him mildly confused as to the random chemical changes he could just barely pick up during many of their times together.

“I’ll just tell them it was your fault,” he added, smiling as she quickly looked back up at him in horror. Her long brown hair still hung fairly damp, save for a little crown of frizz that danced on the very top of her head, and her dark eyes sent an unexpected jolt of electricity through his body with their simultaneous vulnerability and intensity. It threw him off for a moment, causing his grin to drop into momentary seriousness.

“What?” Lyra asked, anxious at his sudden change in composure. She glanced around the cave and toward the opening as though searching for a threat, giving Hunter time to recover.

“Nothing,” he said, following her gaze. “I… uh… Did you feel that breeze?”

“...No?”

“It felt like it came from the back,” he continued, legitimately (and gratefully) distracted by the slight sense of cool air on the side of his cheek that faced away from the entrance.

“Are you hoping to blow dry your luxurious hair?” she attempted, cringing inwardly as soon as the words were out of her mouth.

“Luxurious, eh?” Hunter echoed, tilting his head back toward her with a look that concealed the slight sense of flattery he didn’t want to admit he felt.

“Oh, I felt a little wind!” she exclaimed instead, and he laughed out loud at her thinly-veiled effort to change the subject. He hadn’t felt anything that time, but he let it slide. They’d had a few moments over the last number of weeks of innocent questions that seemed to touch a nerve or pry too far, resulting in withdrawal and awkward silence, so in response, they had both settled into a comfortable understanding that information was to be taken as it was offered instead of pursued through inquiry. He rose to his feet in one lithe movement, stretching out the stiffness that had formed in his time crouched by the fire.

“I’m gonna check it out.”

“Why?” Lyra asked, so bluntly that he was momentarily taken aback. But her tone was one of apprehension, not challenge.

“Might be a way out of here.”

“But what if there’s… stuff back there?”

“That’s the point,” he said, smiling faintly.

“Maybe the crab had friends,” she added, a breezy smile failing to conceal her trepidation. “Bigger ones.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time…”

He could sense her anxiety as she followed suit, rubbing her hands over the fire one last time before getting up and hobbling to his side. She was torn in a way that surprised her – the logical choice would be to continue her enjoyment of the toasty little space he’d created, but she also felt nervous about him going alone. Not that she would be of any help in a crisis situation… obviously. Yet she was inexplicably compelled to join him.

“Lead the way.”

“I can scout it out and come back to get you if there’s an exit,” he offered, unsure about her participation.

“That’ll take twice as long,” she pointed out, grabbing their clothing from the ground and shaking them out. “Besides, I think I can hear my fireplace calling to me…” Her jacket was still fairly damp, but Hunter had wrung out most of the water and its time by the fire had made it a good amount lighter. She tied it around her waist, passed his own to him, and nodded decisively. The corners of his lips lifted slightly, and he pulled his coat on snugly.

He offered an arm to her, noting just how taken aback she appeared at the gesture. After a moment of internal struggle, she gingerly took it, laying her fingers across his forearm but carefully keeping a distance between their bodies. Again, his heart warmed slightly at seemingly nothing in particular, and they headed toward the back of the cave.

It was a cavernous opening initially, with the dancing glow from the dying fire just barely illuminating the rocks that jutted at them from ground and ceiling alike. They walked wordlessly, arm in arm, with only the sounds of their steps, droplets falling from above, and the waves and rain outside. As the cave twisted and turned its way into the cliff, Hunter could feel Lyra growing more tense, her heart rate increasing and a light sweat breaking out across her body. Her eyes darted to and fro, and her hand tightened around his bicep as she slipped on a step.

“You okay?” he said, the softness of his voice contrasted by a slight husk from not speaking for a while; it quickly captured her attention from all of the “threats” she’d been vigilant to scan for, and she nodded silently. “Are you nervous?” he finally asked, watching her expressions flicker from conviction to sheepishness.

“Yes,” she whispered, lowering her head.

“It’s alright. I promise. We’ll be fine,” Hunter said gently, his chest swelling with some feeling as he could see a grateful smile barely peeking out beneath the curtain of hair that concealed her face. He reached into his bag and pulled out the small light again, clicking it on and shocking their eyes with a bright little beam that illuminated the next few steps. As they began moving again, he noticed she had shuffled a hair closer to him.

“You’ve spent a lot of time in caves?” she asked, still tense with apprehension.

“Some,” he answered, still not having shared many specifics about his past in the GAR. He’d focused mostly on their independent chapter of life, painting the picture of him and his family wandering the galaxy and taking various jobs to support themselves, which resulted in his wide skill set. “I’ve been in a lot of dangerous situations.” It could have come across as prideful or boasting, but he’d said it so factually and humbly that it seemed to drive the point home, and he noticed Lyra’s shoulders relax the tiniest bit.

“Sounds stressful.”

“Yeah… You get used to it.”

“I don’t know that I could,” she chuckled, looking up as he came to a sudden halt.

“Hm,” he said, casting the light all around in front of them. It appeared that they’d reached a dead end as all sides of the cave had closed in on them, and yet he could swear he sensed a large hollowness behind it. He felt around the edges, wondering if it was a large rock that had broken off from the rest to block the pathway, but despite his strategically-located pushes and shoves, there was no movement to be had.

“Time to go back!” Lyra announced, proactively taking his arm again. They could barely hear the storm anymore; they may have been too deep in the cave or it could have stopped. Hunter furrowed his brow, taking a few last one-handed pokes around the wall in front of them, then nodded.

“I guess that’s our only option.”

Upon their return to the mouth of the cave, they were pleased to find that the storm had indeed blown over, and the dark skies had lightened a bit to a morose gray canvas full of swirling clouds. They ventured out onto the beach, grateful for the slowness of the tide’s changes that meant it was still quite low, which allowed them to skirt around one of the rocky walls that formed the sandy inlet onto the next beach past it. This one had a much more gradual slope up to the cliffs above, and the pain in Lyra’s leg had receded enough for her to walk unassisted.

It felt like a longer walk than usual back to their homes; Hunter couldn’t quite tell why. Nothing significant had happened and yet he felt a deepening bond between them, whether it was a sense of protectiveness, increased vulnerability, or something else. Lyra’s house was at a lower elevation, perched on a flat chunk of land near the edge of The Forest with a decent view of the seas below, while Hunter’s was farther up and deeper into the woods. He didn’t realize they’d taken the path toward her home, lost in conversation as they’d been, until she drew to a halt at the gate of a rickety fence made of random pieces of driftwood and tree branches. The property beyond the fence was lush, with plants and trees of every shape and size, and Hunter could see a white cottage tucked into it, the sea lying below the cliffs a ways past it.

“This is me,” she said, nodding toward the cozy home. “I’m gonna comm the school to let them know I’m alive… and I don’t think I’m going in today.” She chuckled, and he could almost hear the plotting in her head of a decadent day of relaxation by the fire and, if he knew anything from their many chats over the last few weeks, probably some baking of delicious savory treats.

“I might not open the shop today either,” Hunter said. “Perks of being self-employed.”

“Mmm,” she agreed, lifting her eyes to his for a moment. Brown met brown with softness and depth, and he felt that queasiness in his stomach that had made the occasional appearance lately. “Um… Thank you again… For everything. And I’m sorry.”

“It was nothing,” Hunter said. “In fact, I think I owe you one for getting me to take a day off of work.”

“So I’m a clumsy burden and a bad influence? Great,” she deadpanned.

“Neither,” he reassured.

Lyra hesitated, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, and untied her jacket from her waist to instead fold it over her arm and clutch it tightly. There was a pregnant pause in the air, as though there were some kind of decision to be made. But neither words nor invitations were forthcoming.

“I… uh… I’m sure I’ll see you soon,” she said quietly, dipping her head and opening the creaky gate, slowly and almost hesitantly admitting herself. She left it open, turning back to give him a small wave as he said his own goodbyes, then continued on the pebbled path toward the cottage.

Hunter remained at the entrance for a minute, watching her disappear inside the small white house, then heaved a great sigh. The air was filled with scent – the flowers, fruits, and vegetables in her garden; the contented clucks of the local ground-dwelling birds; the salty breeze of the sea; and the musky scents of the cows and horse-like creatures that roamed where they pleased. He felt as though he could stand there forever, comforted by the quiet nature symphony and the tranquil surroundings. But, after a few moments, he took one last deep breath and continued on his way.

Previous Chapter ~ Master List ~ Next Chapter

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umber-cinders · 7 months

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Title: Incubus

Pairing: Attuma x Okoye, Incubus!Attuma x Witch!Okoye

Story Summary: Okoye works hard for her coven. She's loyal to her coven sisters and patient with her students. But—on her night off—she gets an urgent call from one of her senior students about the summoning of a demon. Not knowing what mess her students have gotten her into, Okoye has to find a more creative way to send the creature back to where he came from.

Okoye's meddling students summon an Incubus from another dimension and now she has to contend with its hunger.

This is my contribution to @theattoyearchive's 2023 Attoye Kinktober Event 💖💙 Warnings: 🔞EXPLICIT SEXUAL !! 🚨READ THE TAGS !!🚨Teratophillia, Terato, That means Monsterfucking, Human/Incubus Romance, Sex Demon Shenanigans, Cunnilingus, Inappropriate Use of Magic, Explicit Language, PIV Sex,

🦇Happy Halloween Fellow Heathens!👻

Angry wasn’t the correct word for what Okoye was currently feeling. Something more eloquent and violent like ‘furious’, was much more accurate. She gripped the steering wheel with enough force to make the leather creak as she slowed to turn left into a few rows of warehouses. When Inyanga—one of the intermediate members of her coven—had called to enlighten her about the situation at hand, she was told that the location she was looking for would be the warehouse on the right, closest to the harbour.

Okoye was going to kill the obstinate young witch! And Aneka, Shuri and Riri too! They would all be reprimanded for this based on the inconvenience alone!

Okoye had finally gotten time to herself for the first evening in nearly a month, and in the middle of her freshly drawn bath and soothing candlelight, Inyanga called with an emergency. Okoye had let the calls go through to voicemail the first two times, but a third call meant it was urgent. The recounted tale had her up and out of the water in an instant, hurriedly urging the younger witch to stay put and not call anyone else.

Especially if that ‘someone else’ turned out to be Madame Ramonda.

If the sharp-eyed coven mistress heard anything about what was going on tonight, it would be more than just a few young witches with their asses on the line. As the priestess overseeing their tutelage, Okoye would also be held responsible for any of their mischief.

As her car slowly swung a right and pulled into the fenced-off area around the harbour, her headlights hit the four young witches huddled together near the gate. The light gleamed off the metallic sheen of the various jewellery they wore. It caught the frightened shine of Riri’s eyes when Okoye shifted her car into park. She turned the engine off, and the area was immediately blanketed into darkness. There was no moon in the sky and the streetlights were far and few between. However, Shuri was holding her phone’s flashlight; it cast an eerie silver-blue glow on the limited area it could reach.

Okoye took a deep, slow breath. She was incredibly angry, but she was still a priestess of the Dora Coven. She was here to provide protection and guidance—she needed to stay level-headed. She rose from the driver’s seat with a straight-backed grace and turned her unhappy focus on her charges. All four of them flinched when the door slammed closed behind her. It had shut soundly with an absent wave of her hand.

As her two senior students, the priestess’s eyes honed in on Aneka and Inyanga first. “What have you done?”

⇈ Read The Rest On Ao3 ⇈

#Attoye #Attoye Kinktober #Attuma #Okoye #attuma x okoye #okoye x attuma #Black Panther #Black Panther Wakanda Forever #BPWF #My Fics #monsterfucking #terato writing #terato fic

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goblinpuppy35 · 25 days

Text

Paw Prints in Fresh Soil

(Previous Chapter) - Part 7 - (Next Chapter)

Professor Remus x Male Reader

Summary: While teaching at Hogwarts Professor Lupin tries his best to conceal his strong crush for the green fingered grounds keeper Y/N but soon a strong friendship blooms into something more.

CW: Long chapter with smut at the end ;)

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It was not until the start of next week that Remus was able to properly return to his teaching once his body fully recovered. During his recovery he lay in bed staring out of the window watching the storm clouds pass by and picturing Y/Ns face close to his, side lit by the fires warm glow. Remus endlessly replayed the feeling of Y/N's hands against his cheeks and then the perfect sensation of feeling Y/N's lips on his, the memory alone made his chest rise and his groin twitch. Alas he was far too weak to do anything about it so he continued to rest, at night his mind was consumed by imaging Y/N sleeping by his side, his Y/H/C hair flopping over his face. This man has fully consumed his heart. Remus let out a loud sigh in the dark of his bedroom. He needed to see Y/N again soon.

Once Remus has emerged out of his chambers he was taken aback by the festive decorations plastered across every hallway. From conversations he overheard from students and teachers alike the Yull Ball had taken centre stage across the school. Remus thought back to his own experience of the ball when he had been a student, the night mainly consisted of him being amused by James and Sirius' failed attempts to score with their dates along with his own desire to leave the crowded hall and return to his book. He had never asked anyone to the ball, nor had anyone ever asked him to his relief.

Remus' students were ecstatic to have their favourite teacher back in class which made any last twinge of pain the Professor felt fade away. The day remained cold and cloudy till evening, while Remus was trying to get his fire going a loud screech from his open window interrupted him. A shabby looking owl with large angry eyes was glaring inside with what appeared to be the tattered remains of the letter in its beak. After a degree of tussling with the bird it finally released the paper and flew away with another abrupt screech. The Professor squinted as he began to decipher the message in-between the claw tares and smudge marks.

'Remus, so pleased to hear your up and about again. I need your help with a workshop I am having to put on for the students first period tomorrow in the outer grounds courtyard. I would explain further but as you can see these owls hate my letters. - Yours Y/N. p.s please bring your gramophone.'

Remus traced his thumb over the word 'Yours' intimately. The memory of Y/N's lips filled his head again. The back of his neck shuddered briefly. When the next morning rose, a subtle gradient of rosy sky shone bellow the continued blanket of grey clouds from the day before. Despite his desire to be punctual Remus' fatigue caused him to sleep in and once he was aware of the time he tumbled out of bed and frantically dressed himself. His wardrobe was very simple and yet he found himself digging out his best tie to wear, he wanted to look nice in front of Y/N.

Scooping up his gramophone on the way, Remus ascended down the many staircases of the castle and weaved his way through the empty corridors until he arrived in the large outer courtyard. A gentle cold breeze danced through the air. The collection of third years were all huddle in a ground paying attention to something in the middle. Near the back of the group Remus caught the eyes of the familiar faces of Harry, Ron and Hermione, he gave them three a brief wave while trying to conceal how out of breathe he was. The students returned their attention to the centre and Remus' own gaze followed them.

"As you all know the Yule Ball is imminent" called out a clear direct voice which seemed to flow along with the morning breeze. Remus' eyes widened and his crooked lip curved upwards as he saw through the bobbing heads of students Y/N standing upright with his hands behind his back. He was pacing lighting around the circle of young faces, for the first time not wearing his overalls and fully showing off an immaculate pair of wine red dress trousers which match a stunning gold and red waistcoat he was wearing. Remus straightened his own tie. "Now I'm sure some of you are excited for the event, however I'm also sure many of you feel the same way as I did at your age with the idea of a ball. That being mainly feelings of panic and nausea". A small flutter of laughs spanned across the courtyard including a chuckle escaping Remus' mouth which drew Y/N's attention immediately. "Ah Professor Lupin. Thank you so much for joining us", there was something about the playful professionalism which Y/N's voice adopted when the two of them were around students and colleagues which excited Remus. As if there was a delicious secret between them, which he supposed there was now. "Professor Lupin has kindly agreed to lend us his gramophone for this morning's lesson, if you could place it just over there Professor" Y/N's arm gestured towards a small table under the large bare oak tree near the congregation.

"Now" Y/N called out clapping his hands, Remus was impressed with his ability to capture the students attention, "Let's start by separating, boys on one side girls on another". All the students remained stationary and after a moment Y/N smirked and relaxed his posture, "No need to panic, merely a joke. Ha could you imagine" Y/N chuckled to himself and then continued. "No today I thought it would be more constructive to learn a different type of festive celebrations. As I'm sure you are all aware I didn't grow up with many wizarding customs so I thought I'd introduce you to some Muggle ones instead." Nodding towards the Professor, Lupin then placed the nearby record into his gramophone and set up the needle. A crackling filled the air momentarily and then was loudly replaced by upbeat folk string music. Many of the students laughed in amazement and looked at one another.

"Today we will be learning some traditional Celtic folk dancing" Y/N called out above the music, "grab the hand of the person next to you. come on come on." Remus watches in awe aside the gramophone as the students willingly took one another's hands forming a circular ring. Then to the beat of the music Y/N took a striding step to the left causing a ripple effect. Everyone start moving to the side to the musical tune and the ring of dancers rotated accordingly. As the dance proceeded Y/N instructed the students to switch positions and in doing so formed several inner circles, each dancing a different rotation to the other. Watching this synchronized performances from the outskirts Remus began to clap in time to the music and cry out encouragingly towards the students.

"Join us Professor!" called out a gleeful student admits the moving bodies. "Oh no no. really I couldn't" Remus stuttered timidly backing up against the large oak tree. "This is a collaborative workshop Professor Lupin, everyone must join in" insisted Y/N in-between his leaping steps in a teasing why which pretended to be stern. Before Remus could form an excuse two eager students grabbed his hands and he was flung into outer ring of dancers. The Professors movements were clumsy and disjointed as be tried to keep up with the others, several times he had to politely apologise for stepping on a students foot. As the music swayed Y/N instructed the rings of dancers to switch positions. Remus suddenly found himself thrown into the inner ring and left an overwhelming sense of confusion until a familiar feeling shoot up his right arm starting from his finger tips. Looking to the side of him he drunk in the sight of Y/N next to him, holding his hand tightly, guiding him in the right direction. Remus was consumed by watching Y/Ns Y/H/C bounce as he danced and his eyes seemed to sing with joy. How much Remus wanted to kiss ever part of the young man's face.

The rest of the dance practice went by perfectly, even Remus near the end was almost enabled to get the hang of the foot patterns. By the end of the class the students left playfully practising their foot movements and thanking Y/N for a much more enjoyable class then they were expecting. Remus hovered by his gramophone bidding students goodbye as he side eyed Y/N waiting for them to be alone. As he eagerly watched he then became aware of Harry and Hermione observing him observing Mr Y/L/N , whispering to one another and grinning towards the Professor. Remus returned them a "I'm aware of what you know regardless please leave" face and the students promptly left the courtyard. Finally Remus and Y/N were alone.

Y/N appeared to be incredibly pleased with the outcome of the class and spinning around to face Remus without warming brought the Professor in for a hug. "Thank you so much for helping Remus, that class went exactly as I was hoping it would. It's almost impossible to get students to willingly engage with any formal dance practice so I was hoping this would be a more stimulating exercise. Plus I'm revealed to finally see you recovered." Remus adored being this close to Y/N, breathing in his sent of fresh soil and wet grass. "You're a skilled teacher Y/N, you absolutely can't deny it now" mused Remus as they separated. While they began to pack away the gramophone and table Y/N began to explain the plan to decorate the courtyard for the ball.

"Since they want the event to be outside this year the plan is to cover the old oak tree with fairy lights and set up a number of lanterns around the courtyard, all easy enough to do" Y/N explained looking around the grounds, Remus could practically see the gears of the groundskeeper turning, planning the layout. "The only current set back right now is the weather though" and Y/N stared bleakly up towards the grey clouds above, "Being the Yull Ball they want it to snow but I don't think the weather is going to let up".

"Oh well that part is easy" declared Lupin "I can help with that" as he tilted his chin upwards and flicked his wrist. Y/N began to see tiny white specs appear from the pale grey clouds above them. These delicate snowflakes thickened and soon the courtyard and trees around them were lightly sprinkled with snow. Y/N's eyes glistened with joy "Remus your incredible!" he marvelled as he gripped onto the taller man's arms. Remus' eyes failed to hide how much Y/N's touch affected him as he stared down at the groundskeeper, flakes of snow falling upon the tip of his nose. This moment of silence caused Y/N to panic and he start to withdraw his embrace but before he could fully retreat Remus' large hands pressed up against Y/N's shoulders blades, bringing the young groundskeeper closer to his chest. "I've been thinking a lot about the last time we saw each other" Remus said, the words were pouring out of his mouth before he had time to assess them. "I.. I would every much like to kiss you again" by this point both men's shoulders and tops of their heads were covered in a light layer of snow, Y/Ns Y/E/C eyes smiled up at the older men as his thumb gently whipped a snowflake off the corner of Remus' moustache. "Go on then" Y/N simply said.

Remus rocked back and forth on his heels but stated in position, both men staring into each others eyes. After a minute of neither one making a move both their brow dropped in confusion which was followed by heartfelt laughter from each man as they continued to hold each other. "I'm sorry, I'm nervous" Remus replied honestly, "truly I've never felt this way towards anyone before. It's surprising and somewhat daunting" looking deep into Y/N's eyes Remus sighed "but I can't deny how much I like you Y/N" and finally Remus leaned down and pressed his lips against Y/N's. The kiss felt gentle and cool, each set of lips quivering slightly with excitement. Remus began to pull away but as if by instinct Y/N came closer and kissed the Professor again. Their mouths started to open and their tounges met one another, it felt like pure ecstasy. Something strong was building up in both men's chests, when they finally separated they both were breathing heavily, Remus rested his forehead upon Y/N's and licked his lips. Y/N tasted wonderful. "Remus" Y/N whispers intensely, he repeated the Professors name again, and again, each time causing Remus to cling onto the groundskeepers shoulders tighter. "Remus, I need you" Y/N began to whisper before moaning with pleasure as the Professor picked him up by the waist with ease, one of Remus' hand snaking around to the back of Y/Ns neck, pulling him down to Remus' mouth. Y/N's legs wrapped around Remus' waist as the Professor proceed to walk around to the back of the thick oak tree, concealing themselves from any preying eyes. Remus pushed Y/N's back against the tree as his lips hungerly descended down Y/N's jaw line and towards his neck. The younger man tilted his head back and bit his lip to stifle a whimper as he felt the Professor's lips behind to suck on his skin. These submissive sounds only turned on the Professor more as his hands slipped down Y/N's back finding the curve of his arse and pawing his hands over both cheeks. Remus let Y/N's body slip to ground level and then both men's hands were all over each other. Remus' hands were practically shaking as he undid Y/N's gold buttons of his waistcoat and then the line of buttons down his shirt. As soon as Y/Ns chest was exposed Remus' kisses followed the line of newly visible flesh. Once he reaches Y/N's stomach the Professor dropped to his knees while his hands outstretched above him, feeling over Y/N's chest and waist. Y/N softly moand as his own fingers embedded deep into Remus' thick hair.

Remus tounge was playing with the waist ban of Y/N's trousers when his fingers ran over Y/N's skin just under his nipples and felt a change in the texture of skin. Looking up Remus suddenly observed two faded but promininte scars across Y/N's chest. Starting from the centre of his torso they curved around to just under the groundskeepers armpits. Remus then felt the light touch of Y/N's fingers scooping his chin and titling his head so his eyes would met the warm pair staring down at him. Y/N smiled, "Your not the only one with scares Remus". Remus stared carefully at Y/N's face, understanding what was being conveyed and he beamed up towards the younger man before returning to passionately kissing and nibbling around Y/N's hip bones. The Professor shifty unbuckled Y/N's trousers and pulling them down, excited to already see a small wet patch of precum on the man's boxers. Remus let out a bestial growl before placing his hot lips over the wet fabric, pressing his tounge down upon it and licking repeatedly. Y/N hit his head against the tree bark and roughly cupped his own hand over his mouth to muffle his cries of pleasure. Small pricks of tears appeared in the corner of his eyes.

Just as Remus' hands had found their way again to the small of Y/N's back, squeezing and pulling the man's crouch closer to his mouth, the two men suddenly heard a sea of noise steadily approving them. The sound of the corridors being filled again and the eager noise of students was approaching. In a panic both men straightened up and Y/N frantically began to re buckle his trousers yet as the sound of the approaching crowds grow louder, Y/N turned and looked at Remus with fear in his eyes, "What are we going to do?". "It's alright" Remus whispers as he swiftly weaved his arms around Y/N's waist drawing him close and pulling out his wand he gracefully flicked it through the air and the pair araperated with only seconds to spare.

The quiet peacefulness of Remus' living room was rudely interrupted as Y/N and Remus crashed down onto the floorboards. Landing on one another and rolling across the floor slightly. Groans of mild pain transformed into sighs of relief and then slowly turning to look at one another they couldn't help was start giggling and then full blown howling with laughter. "I'm not sure where the nervous Professor I knew before has gone, but I have a feeling this new Professor is going to get me in a lot of trouble" Y/N chuckled breathlessly as he brought Remus into a sidewise hug, still laying on the floor, kissing his lips tenderly.

Even being high up in Remus living quarters the echoing sound of the school bells could be heard from afar. "We both have classes we need to be teaching right now don't we?" hummed Remus with an exhausted half smile over his face, Y/N nodded, his eyes still droopy and lost in Remus'. Begrudgingly the groundskeeper sat up and buttons his shirt and waistcoat back up, brushing his clothes down he made his way to the door. "Come here tonight!" Remus called out, still sitting on the floor, a mixture of lust and yearning in his voice. Holding onto the door handle Y/N turn back and smiled earnestly at the Professor, "Of course".

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