#on the ground dead after hours of working on this piece

[moonit3]

˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ MAKING YOU MINE

⟡ cw: male yandere, biting, blood, violence towards reader, amab/m! reader but with neutral pronouns, implied future noncon but nothing written about it, choking, toxic behavior.

⟡ word count: 1.5 k

⟡ yandere! male boss x amab! reader

⟡ notes: can this be considered as a rewrite? probably not, since there isn’t much than a few similarities between the original piece with leonard and this one is way better, I promise. unfortunately this won’t include any nsfw content as i still struggling how to write amab! readers, so please don’t mean to me.

when your boss invited you to attend one of the most popular conferences of the world, you had to accept it. not only you would gain an extra bonus from the next couple of months, but also who doesn’t enjoy staying in a five star hotel with everything paid? you didn’t waste time to pack your stuff and travel across the word along with leonard, the ceo of the company you works at.

your mind already made plans to relax at a grand hotel room that has the size of your childhood house, perhaps a bath full of bubbles? sleeping in a bed so soft that makes your body think is clouds? or even better, eating all the food from the menu! that would be amazing plans if you haven’t learn that you will be sharing the same room with leonard himself…

“you look quite disappointed,” he said. “didn’t you know that as my assistant during the conference, you will have to share the bedroom as a way to prevent you from leaking information about my next project.”

the man arrange his tie when his eyes stare at you laying down at the king size bed, already having given up after learning the horrible news of having to be his unwilling roommate for the rest of the travel. it’s almost comical to see that one of his employees is now looking like a dead corpse, he would laugh if hasn’t worry about your current state.

“bold them to assume that i would remember of those secret projects when i can’t even remember of what i ate yesterday.” a laugh came out of your throat when rolling over the bed to reach for your phone. without thiking much, you began scrolling over social media to find something interest or a silly game to lose time before today’s conference start.

when you do find some game worth to waste time, your phone was quickly stolen from your hands by no other than leonard himself.

“give me that!” you got up from the bed and tried to reach for your precious little phone at his hands, even standing on the tips of your toes to try to grab it from him. “don’t be stupid, sir! you are too old to act like a little kid.”

of course, your words didn’t made any difference on his behavior. what would you expect from a guy who inherited dad’s company instead of climbing the social ladder to archive it? you know that leonard is one of those guys who think they can have anything by using money or threats. and you have a feeling that you will fall into his trap soon.

between one of your attempts to reach out for you smartphone, he throws your precious item away into the ground, smashing it in million pieces all over the wooden floor. the sudden loud noise made you freeze in front of him, too scared to act out of fear of what he is going to do next. is he angry at you for acting this way? you hope not, he is the one to blame for it. and he was the one that started it.

silence took over, you didn’t dare to speak a word with leonard’s sharp eyes looking down at your face. damn it, why he got to be so tall? he already looks so intimidating during work hours back at the company and now having smashed your phone to the ground only twice that feeling growing inside your body.

before you create any courage to say a word or two, he began laughing like a mad man while you can only imagine what is going on inside his head. seconds ago, he looked ready to yell at you for his own mistakes and now he is just laughing? rich people are weird, your grandfather was right.

one of his hand lays on your cheek, caressing it like he has known you for ages. it seems that make him feel better, his lips curves into a small smile with his finger trancing all over you [pale/tanned/dark…] face.

in your perspective, his affection or whatever you call that, it’s making you feel horrible. the expression on your face says all, you aren’t comfortable by having a man touching your face like this and you wish he stopped with it. however, when you try to move away, leonard harshly grabs your face and brings you even closer to him. his touch on your face is cruel, almost like he could rip apart the skin away from your cheeks and just throw you across the room.

“you are pathetic, [name].” he said. “you know that, right?”

his words hurt you, it made you feel horrible knowing that a man you often look up to is saying something like that right at your face. between the newly sobs coming out of your throat, you manage to beg him to let it go and unfortunately, he doesn’t listen to your pleading. instead, his grip only gets tighter as he brings your closer to him, now you can feel his breath right at your neck. the smells reminds you of those expensive drinks and even more expensive cologne that you could only dream to afford for yourself.

your mind was preparing you for a slap, maybe a punch right onto your nose that would leave you feeling like a piece of trash. but imagine your expression when you only felt his lips brushing against yours in a lustful and rough kiss. by your instincts, you succeeded push him away, just for a fleeting moment you saw his eyes full of fury, making you freeze.

“i-I’m sorry, sir! I didn’t meant to—“

you didn’t get to finish your pleadings, not when leonard’s hands quickly wrapped around your throat and began squeezing it like you were nothing, but one of those squishy toys. his strength is too much for you to fight against it, so you simply give up in trying to put up a struggle for him.

it took less than a minute to your vision to become pure darkness, leaving you completely at the mercy of your boss. even with your mind telling to open your eyes and try to put fight, you body can’t handle simple commands to put a fight against him. indeed, you are stupid to believe that you had a chance to fight leonard…

…..

….

…

..

.

.

.

.

water.

the liquid that means essences of all living being of this planet flows over your naked skin, hitting the large bruise around your neck left and the freshly ones that leonard gave you as the result of trying to mark you as his only. the crimson coming out of newly formed bite marks around your chest and neck was way too much be clean by a cloth. so he had to bring you inside the bathtub, took off your clothes and didn’t waste the chance to join you in.

there isn’t a place where leonard hasn’t touch your sleeping body, well with the exception of a certain place. the man would wait to tease your cock for when you fully regain your consciousness, just so he can admire your lewd expressions and record it to keep you in place. he knows it’s wrong, but can he blame himself when you are just too addicted? you are a drug that he can’t control it and he wants more and more of the weird sensation that you brings to him.

once the blood stopped coming out of your injuries, leonard decided it was the perfect time just relax inside the bathtub without caring about the world outside this hotel room. he turned the water off, letting the cold air hit his skin as the water disappeared down the drain. even sleeping, you body searched for a heat source and as he expected, your body moved around to find a heat source that is him.

it’s pathetic how your body acts without any shame to get closer to his, trying to bind yourself onto him to keep yourself warm. how leonard wishes to have brought his waterproof camera to catch this intimate moment between you and him, but there is no worry when he knows there will plenty of moments like this to record in a soon future.

he knows your life won’t be the same when you open your eyes to see your boss handing your naked body so personal, and leonard can already imagine how surprised you will be when hearing about your new position as his spouse. will you try to fight with him? probably not, only if you wish to carry more marks over you body. the most applaudable possibility is you agreeing with his statement with fear controlling both your physique and mind, afraid that he will killed you.

“my dear mine,” carrying your sleeping figure towards the bed, leonard can only smirk when taking a final look before putting a robe on you. “you have no idea what you makes me feel.”

@moonit3 . don’t repost it, don’t modify it, don’t plagiarize, translate it without my permission.

[demigod-of-the-agni]

It's the CoffeeBean gang of Mumbattan!!

(from left to right: Gayatri Singh, Pavitr Prabhakar, Hari Oberoi, Meera Jain, Flash Thompson)

[cdragons]

Fuck Everything, But Mostly Fuck You

Next Part

Summary: You have never, EVER, in a million years hated anyone the way you hated Felix fucking Catton.

Warnings- MDNI 18+, Felix is delulu, Reader is stressed and homesick and kinda crazy but she a baddie, Michael is Michael, Farleigh is Farleigh, Oliver will be Oliver (a creep), and author has spent too much time researching Oxford crap for this mess for a crack fic to be a crack fic

Author's Note: This fic is a follow-up to this post and I would like to thank grammarly for catching all my grammatical errors 🥲, @ethereal-athalia for enabling my crazy ideas 🥰, and @valeskafics for providing me Saltburn smut when I catch myself thirsting 😇

“FUCK!” you yelled at the top of your lungs just before your nose slammed down on the dewy grass.

Groaning in pain before the mortification of realizing what had just happened kicked in.

You didn’t know what was worse: the fact you had a full front view of the giant’s junk or that he body-slammed you onto the ground and caused you to land on top of the painting worth 30% of your final grade.

You wanted to scream your head off. The paint had finally dried, and you could finally leave the studio at two in the morning. It was close to finals, and pretty much anyone on campus who didn’t get accepted because of their daddy’s bank account was in their dorms. You had hoped that this fact would mean that the paths were empty and, therefore, safe to transport your 30” x 40” canvas.

“SORRY!”

You shot your head up to locate the person who just apologized. Lo’ and behold, it was the same plastered, pasty cunt with a bird’s nest disaster of a haircut drunken idiot who decided it was a good idea to go streaking across campus. His only other distinguishable features were that he was at least 6’3” and that he had a small steel piece pierced on his face.

After the “apology,” he and his friend continued running off to God’s knows where in the dead of night—leaving you behind on the lawn with a bleeding nose, bruised knees and palms, and an oil painting that was torn and caked in mud three days before its deadline.

There was no way to redo it. The project was assigned at the beginning of October. It took 5 hours to set up the models with the motifs and lights, 3 hours to take pictures, and 10 hours to underdraw the preliminary sketch. You didn’t even want to think about the sheer number of sleepless nights you spent in the studio mixing colors and layering. On top of that, you also had your other finals in other courses to study for.

You had practically been living in that studio for the past month. All of the custodians and security guards knew you by name. You got first dibs every day when they refilled the vending machines. It was a true godsend when you didn’t have time to visit the dining halls. Everyone had been so kind and sweet to you. It was a warm welcome compared to the snark and snobbery you experienced from most of your classmates.

Crying from the devastation of the loss of your situation, your shaking legs carried your body and what remained of your work into the building. You knew that your professor stayed in her office late for grading. You could only hope that she would sympathize with your pitiful appearance.

“Wait, so did you get the extension?”

Lifting your head from the sticky library table at Bodleian’s, you stared at your best only friend, Michael Gavey, with a blank stare. You didn’t react to his wince after he took in your haggard appearance. You didn’t need a mirror to know that you looked terrible.

Your eyes were puffy and bloodshot red with dark mulberry bags underneath them. You had paled since coming to dreary England, but now you looked straight-up sickly. And if that wasn’t enough, your eyes had less life than a dead fish rotting at a Sunday Market.

Your voice was so meek that you were sure he had to strain to hear you.

“Yeah…I got it.”

You knew you had no choice but to beg your Studio Arts professor for an extension. But it killed you doing it. Professor Daria Martin was your favorite teacher and the only faculty member who actually liked you. Her support toward you meant everything to you; the last thing you wanted to do was disappoint her, let alone be the reason why she lost her job.

Your usually so snarky four-eyed friend perked up at the news.

“So, is everything okay?” he asked with hope.

Your head fell on neon-yellow ink-stained pages that filled the paperweight your ethics professor called a textbook. A bitter laugh fell from as your lips lifted to a wry, dry grin.

“Oof, not that simple, is it?” he asked.

“Is it ever?”

“So what do you have to do now?”

“Well-,” you lifted your head to take a deep breath as you started to explain, “- I still have the photos and copies of the sketch. But because the canvas was so large, it was special-ordered. That means I need to wait until another one can be delivered, and since all the works need to be completed in the studio, I can’t leave the campus.”

As you finished your explanation, Michael nodded his head in understanding before he paused, and a look of devastation painted his features.

“Wait, so does that mean-”

“I won’t be able to fly back home for the holidays.”

Fuck, you were about to cry again. You had been so excited to see your old friends and family. You remembered how absolutely homesick you were at the beginning of the term. Because you were a scholarship student from America, your parents encouraged you to settle on campus by moving to your dorm earlier than everyone else. It was bad enough that you missed Thanksgiving, but you had really set your heart on coming home for Christmas and New Year’s. What made it worse was that your parents had told you all about the dinner they had planned for your homecoming. It was going to be a feast of all your favorites.

English food sucked balls.

Your only saving grace was the Crunchie bars Michael got for you when you studied together or when you had to rewrite edit his essays.

You really DID cry after first reading his essay for Introductory English class at the beginning of the year.

“Did you try to report it?”

“Report what? ‘Hey, there’s a wasted asshole running naked across campus, and he body-slammed me to the ground and tore my fucking massive campus that blocked my view of the jackass. He’s probably richer than the goddamn Queen, given how he’s wasted right before finals.’”

“Do you have any description of him?”

“He’s a giant with a small eyebrow piercing, and his fat ass looked like it had never seen the sun.”

Without lifting your head, you heard the scrape of Michael’s chair before he walked across the table to sit in the chair next to you.

“Hey,” he began, bringing you into a warm arm hug, “it’ll be okay. You called your parents about it, right?”

“Yeah -” you sighed before continuing, “- they told me they understood and would Skype me daily.”

“See! Everything’s going to be – wait, did you say that this guy was tall?”

Furrowing your brow in confusion, you looked at your friend at the change in his tone from light and supportive to sharp and interrogative.

“Yeah?”

“How tall?”

“Umm,” you had to think about that, “I’d say he was about 6’3” or above? He was really fucking tall.”

“And he had an eyebrow piercing?”

Ok, now you were really confused. “Yes? Michael, where are you going with this?”

“I think the guy who ran you over was Felix Catton.”

You shot your favorite idiot with a deadpan glare.

“Felix Catton? The same Felix Catton who just so happens to be the same Felix Catton you hate?”

Michael solemnly nodded. “It’s him. It has to be. The only person on campus as tall as him is his cousin, and he doesn’t have piercings.”

“And he’s black.”

“Yeah, that too.”

You were skeptical, and it showed. You didn’t want to callously dismiss your friend, but you knew more than anyone how much his hatred for Oxford’s Golden Boy could impair his judgment. You were by no means a fan of the guy, but accusing someone of anything they didn’t do just because your friend thought so went against your principles.

He grabbed your arm and dragged you to the bookshelf in front of the table where Felix and his groupies sat. Both of your books and bags were in your chairs, but you managed to keep your spiral notebook with you. It wasn’t hard to find them – they were the loudest table in the entire library. They also reeked of cigarettes and booze.

“See?” Michael hissed. “Giant, pale, and eyebrow piercing. It’s him!”

“Michael,” you softly groaned, “just because you hate Felix Catton doesn’t mean you can –”

An extremely shrill voice interrupted you.

“I can’t believe you and Farleigh actually ran around campus naked!”

A petite girl with full pink lips and dull red hair latched on the arm of the man of the hour. “It was so hot to watch!”

This girl has weird-ass tastes in guys.

“And then how you crashed into that dunce at Ruskin! Brilliant!”

Your blood ran cold while another one of Catton’s faceless droning puppets chimed in.

“God, what an idiot! It’s their own fault, anyway. Who the fuck walks in the middle of the walk path with a fucking big canvas in front of them?”

One of the lessons hammered into your skull young was never to move before you think. That lesson had saved you ten ways from Sunday. But this was not one of those times.

You’re pretty sure that you hear Michael calling out your name as you walk away from the shelf and towards the overcrowded table. Tunnel vision took over you as you made your way to the overgrown idiot who almost cost you your entire future.

Grabbing the back of his shirt collar, you dragged the 6’5” towering fool on his ass all the way outside. You finally let go when the two of you reached the back of the building that had no windows.

“Hey, what the fu –”

You didn’t let him finish as you brought your fist to hit him square in the face – and, fuck, did you relish the crunch that immediately followed your swing.

Fuck, was his head killing him.

Felix should have known better than to have gotten cross-faded last night, but Farleigh had practically goaded him to do it. It’s not like his cousin ever had to worry about his grades for any of his courses during finals – the little shit-starter had always been so fucking academically gifted.

He skipped pretty much all of his morning classes and barely made it to his afternoon schedule on time while completely zoning out the entire time.

If he bombs on all his finals, his dad was going to absolutely murder him. But chances were he and his mum were going to be too busy entertaining whichever new friend his mum brought in for shelter.

“You alright there, champ?”

Felix swiveled his head too quickly and immediately groaned in pain. The motion made his hangover even worse. Rubbing his eyes to try to soothe the pounding in his head, he slowly opened them to look at his cousin.

The slag didn’t have the decency to look even a little bit affected from last night’s event – the fucker. No, he was sitting there with all Cheshire grins and gleaming eyes while Felix was two seconds from heaving his guts out.

“Yeah, I’m alright, mate.” He replied in a tired groan.

“Must have been quite the night. Wonder if it had anything to do with that little cocktail you took from our sweet Annabel’s belly button?”

Disgust was clear on Felix’s face as he recalled the body shot he had taken from his ex-FWB’s navel. He truly must have been off his rocker last night – he thought he was over with body shots since graduating secondary, but apparently not.

If he somehow got an STD from doing it, V was going to kill him.

But even with all of his horrible actions that caused the raging war inside his skull, that wasn’t the main cause of his misery.

Farleigh’s grin dropped as judgment painted his features.

“Oh,” he moaned, “please tell me this isn’t about ‘your angel’ from last night.”

He didn’t just take the dare of streaking across the grounds just for the hell of it. He needed an excuse to pass through the art building – all for the chance of seeing you.

You. His angel of paints and books who lived in the empty studio rooms of Oxford University’s Ruskin School of Art and whose presence harangued him every hour of every day. Everywhere Felix went, he would unconsciously look for you.

It was his soul calling out for yours – he knew it.

Felix had never felt so drawn to another human being in his entire existence. He’d never seen you outside of the libraries, art building, and maybe the dining hall if he was lucky. You never went to any parties or even had a drink at the pub at King’s Arms. He didn’t even have classes with you, but he knew Farleigh did. Word was that you and his cousin had shared a few classes – what’s more was that you were likely the only person who could go head-to-head with him in academics.

And to make it worse, the prat refused to tell him anything about you – not even your fucking name.

“Believe me,” he told him after Felix had been begging his cousin for hours to share anything about you, “she is way above your league.”

Which really hurt his feelings, by the way – sure, you were probably way above in book smarts, but there wasn’t a girl that remained indifferent to his charms after a good talking fucking.

“I still can’t believe you won’t at least tell me her name,” Felix complained once more, “or even just give me her number!”

“She’s an American here on scholarship and a bore,” he quipped back, “what’s there to tell? And can you please shut up? I want to get some reading done before tonight. You do remember the in-class essay we have tomorrow, right?”

Bloody hell, he did not. Pushing down the bitter feeling in his chest, he and his cousin made their way to meet everyone at the back. As soon as he sat down, Annabel clung on to his arm. Thank fuck he had been wearing one of his thicker jumpers – otherwise, her claws that she called nails would have ripped open the fabric.

“Hey, Felix!” she made sure to offer a very generous sight of her cleavage, “are you ready for tonight?”

Felix chuckled lowly before responding. “Aren’t I always?”

And just like that – he completely zoned out the rest of the conversation.

Annabel was probably saying something to get him to notice her, and Farleigh was likely responding so he wouldn’t have to – but Felix couldn’t be bothered to pretend to care.

He was lost in the living daydream that was his angel that haunted the art studios of Ruskin School of Art.

He was desperate to learn everything about you.

If he asked you to talk about your favorite books, would your eyes sparkle in delight, or would your smile widen in glee?

If he grabbed your hand, would your palms feel marred by his rough skin, or would you press your callouses to his?

If he pressed his mouth on yours, would your lips feel as soft and plump as they look? Or was their luster forever damaged by your teeth biting them whenever you were in deep concentration?

If he breathed in your scent at the crook of your neck, would your skin smell like the paints forever on your brushes or the musky pages of heavy ancient books you always carried in your arms?

If he planted kisses from your throat to your breasts, would you mewl in pleasure or whimper in anticipation?

If he touched your cunt, would you arch your back in ecstasy? Or would your legs crumble, and you would have no choice but to sink into his arms?

Felix’s thoughts were rudely interrupted when Farleigh jammed his bony elbow into his ribcage and hurriedly whispered.

“Look alive, Golden Boy.”

Looking forward, it was better than any of his wet dreams combined. It was you.

Your hair was loose, and your fists were clenched. You reminded him of a ferocious lion goddess with how focused your gaze was on him.

But before Felix would prepare himself to make a good impression, you walked behind him and grabbed the back of his shirt collar before fucking dragging his ass out of his seat and outside.

Bloody hell, for someone so much shorter than him, you were fucking strong.

When you finally released your grip, he fell on the ground like an idiot before he tried to stand and steady himself as quickly as he could.

“Hey, what the fu –”

You didn’t let him finish as you brought your fist to hit him square in the face – and, fuck, you might have actually broken his nose.

After staggering back, you started using the spiral notebook in your other hand to land blow after painful blow on his body.

“YOU. STUPID. FUCKING. INGRATE –” Each word that left your mouth was emphasized with another hit from your notebook “– I. HATE. YOU. YOU. RUINED. MY. PAINTING. I. SPENT. SO. MUCH. TIME. ON. IT. AND. NOW. I. CAN’T. GO. HOME. FOR. BREAK. BECAUSE. OF. YOUR. STUPID. SELF!”

Felix was confident you had more to say, but you were pulled off him by your friend – he’s pretty sure it’s Mitchell – by the waist with you kicking and screaming out profanities to him as your friend called out your name to try to calm you down.

He wondered what it said about him if he told anyone how much you looked like an angry cat. His parents would send him to a shrink if he told them how adorable he found you right now.

If you were this wild while fighting, he could only imagine how riled up you would get in bed.

Fuck, you might have just unlocked a new kink in him.

Catching his breath as he watched your friend drag you away into the distance, he heard a slow clap to his left.

Farleigh was leaning on the corner – his smug expression making it clear that he had seen the whole thing – as he looked at his cousin with a bemused expression before walking toward him and giving a sympathetic pat on his back.

“Well,” he started to break the tension, “at least you know her name.”

“Yeah,” Felix agreed, “I know her name.”

And he knew that you smelled more like the paints on your brushes than the books you carried with subtle notes of gardenias.

Tagging: @aemondsbabe, @ethereal-athalia, @aphroditesmoon, @barbiedragon, @valeskafics, @lexyysworld, @punkiwiki, @saltburnedme, @arcielee

Let me know if you want to be tagged for future Saltburn fics!

[telleroftime]

Servant Reader and Sukuna idea where it's deep in the dead of winter and all his servants are left to suffer the cold but he tosses one of his robes over you when you won't stop shivering.

He lies of course telling you to stop the incessant teeth chattering because it's annoying. You're swimming in the thing because of course he's so much bigger than you but it's warm and you aren't complaining one bit. You are insanely confused though.

Imaging trying to be extra careful with it too by rolling up the vast excess of fabric in your hands so that it doesn't drag on the ground. You're content with your feet getting cold and muddy as long as Sukuna's robes remain clean. He's not too happy about it though. If he cared about the state of the robe he wouldn't have given it to you. He won't say it out loud, of course.

Seeing you squirm is amusing to him at first, however it also quickly gets boring. He'll dirty it on purpose if he has to, be that by throwing snow at it with his own two (well, four) hands or by making you walk through mud with him. He'll make a point to stare down the muddied trim too so that you know he's aware it is dirty, but then he'll look away in indifference. A silent permission to not stress over it.

If you try and wash it and hand it back to him two things would happen. The robe would either end up back in your servant quarters somehow. 'Somehow'. Or he would wear the robes and tell your to come up to him. You won't know what he's up to until he drags you into his lap and by extension into his clothes. He won't explain his actions though, he'll just return to lounging as he had been as if you weren't even there.

Outside of Sukuna, the obvious favouritism makes you a target in the eyes of the other servants. They don't like going cold without you freezing too. So, the extra jealous ones risk it. The moment you are distracted with work they sneak into your room to cut and tear Sukuna's robe into pieces.

When you come back to see it it's an emotional hell. Trying to stitch it back together with shaky hands and teary eyes, all whilst knowing it won't ever look the same again, is enough to force you into a state of panic. You spend hours trying to fix the mess. You spend long enough for Sukuna to notice you missing.

It doesn't take him long to find you, and when he sees you on the floor of your room, crumbled with bleeding fingers from the sewing, he is furious. Someone had toyed with you without his permission. Yes the fear in your eyes when you see him and the pathetic begging is aimed at him, but he's not enjoying it. He wasn't the source, and if your efforts to fix his robe was anything to go by, he knew you didn't do this.

It didn't change the fact that someone in his temple did, and it's only a matter of time before he finds them and punishes with a blank expression. Not his usual smile of murder, but pure godly wrath.

He'd only play favourites more after this. He wouldn't even come up with excuses. He'd act however he pleases and stare down any observers with a poorly veiled challenge in his eyes.

I love how slowly but surely he's just becoming a tsundere in our eyes.

[celtic-crossbow]

The World Keeps Getting Hotter, Baby, but I’m Too Cool to Die

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Pre-series; The Line-Up; Whisperers Arc

Warnings: Domestic violence; Child abuse; Injuries; Blood; Allusions to alcoholism; Mentions of canonical character death

Summary: Three times Daryl didn’t fear death and the one time he did.

gif by @jaaryl

Daryl had honestly never feared death. Sometimes, he felt it would even come as a reprieve from a life that had taken such a toll on every aspect of his very being. He had seldom wished for it, mostly as a child who didn’t understand the permanence. He wanted to follow his mama, who often took the beatings meant for him. 

Even in her near constant drunken stupors, she would reach for him from the bed, fresh blood and bruises still adorning her pale skin. C’mere, baby. It’s okay. When she died and Merle ran, Daryl faced their father’s wrath alone. 

“Worthless, bitch-ass mama’s boy.” The rough leather of the well worn belt was a follow up sting to the skin-tearing agony of the metal buckle. “Gon’ toughen ya up. Won’t have no pussy Dixon livin’ in my house.”

Daryl just laid there, watching the new flecks of crimson fall in sporadic splatterings on the dirty wooden floor. He circled the thought of his mother reaching for him, shushing and soothing in her slurred voice. It was almost enough to numb the angry wounds long after the onslaught was over. 

“I'll find ya, mama. We can run away together.”

He wasn’t a stranger to motorcycles. Merle had taken him down the backroads, no destination in mind. The elder Dixon had been working on obtaining his license but was already a skilled rider. 

He’d show up at the most opportune moments, almost like he was listening for the old man to pass out drunk. Daryl was older then, early teens making things more confusing as he went through changes he didn’t understand. He’d never speak them aloud for fear of invoking his father’s rage or his brother’s ridicule. He kept quiet and waited excitedly for the times his brother would offer him peace on the open road. 

Merle hadn’t noticed the pine needles on the wet asphalt until it was too late. 

Daryl could only remember bits and pieces. His brother’s distorted face and muffled voice. Keep them eyes open, boy! The younger man found he didn’t care to oblige. Maybe if he closed his bright blues, he’d wake up in a different life. Loving parents, good grades, a house in the suburbs complete with a dog that was always happy to see him. 

He was actually disappointed when he woke up in the hospital, broken arm and severe concussion, his body throbbing. 

Merle was already gone again. An officer took him home where Will Dixon broke the cast within an hour and twisted the skin above the break. 

Daryl missed his brother. 

It was his fault Glenn had died. Maybe Abraham should be on his conscience as well. If he’d never stormed off, half-cocked and hell bent, they would have all been there to make sure the group made it to Hilltop. The line up would have never happened because all the best fighters would have been together, functioning as a well oiled machine to plow the Saviors down. 

But Daryl had to be stubborn. He had to do things his way. And now Abraham and Glenn were dead, Maggie was a widow, and her baby would never know their father. 

He was losing blood. The wound was through and through, steadily freeing his lifeblood without medical intervention. As the van bounced and jarred over the rough gravel, the archer hissed and sluggishly pressed a hand over the weeping hole so close to his collarbone. Yet the blood on his hands wasn’t his. It was Glenn’s. 

His vision was graying at the edges, his skin colder without the blanket that had been left on the rough ground where his family mourned. They likely spit on the fabric, the only thing among them that had been somewhat his. Even if he lived, he could never go back and face their anger. 

His breaths came slower, more shallow. He was growing numb and exhaustion had him giving in to the urge to close his eyes. 

If there was a god, maybe he’d see fit to take Daryl and toss him into hell in exchange for Glenn being returned to Maggie. 

He’d lost you. The cave had collapsed and you had been swallowed by the dust and debris. It had been suggested there were other ways out, that maybe you had escaped after all. Only to go back to Alexandria or Hilltop, to reunite with Kelly, Yumiko, and Luke while discovering Daryl had gone off on his own—again—and let rage drive him. 

He was stupid to think he could coerce Alpha into revealing anything that might benefit him or aid in your rescue. He’d been reckless and now he was paying for it. Blood was no longer spurting from the wound in his thigh, the veins having long ago slowed the gush when his heartrate began to decelerate. 

He was gonna die there, bleed out and never know if you were safe. For the first time, he found he didn’t want to go. You, arriving with Magna and her group, had charmed your way right past his defenses and straight into his heart. He had been a lovesick fool, grasping the unfamiliar feeling with both hands until his knuckles turned white. 

You were completely and utterly transparent in your reciprocation, doting over his injuries and ensuring he took care of himself. You were glued to his side, throwing yourself into the fray when anything could possibly pose a threat to him, much to his displeasure. You were sweet as honey, but stubborn as an ox. Fierce and loyal, downright lethal when someone you loved was threatened. 

And you loved him. Of all the people left in the world, you had chosen him. 

And he didn’t want to let go. He didn’t want to escape the pain. He didn’t care to see Merle again yet or run into his mama’s arms. He had longed to hear the innocence in Beth’s singing that he’d failed to protect, but found that it wasn’t as important as what he had there, in life. 

He actually had a life. He could settle down with you, even if he couldn’t promise you complete safety and peace. You were still young enough for children if you wanted them, and he’d never deny you that even if he felt he’d be a shit father. He wanted to go home to you at the end of the day and let you whisper away the stress he couldn’t leave outside the door. He wanted to hold you, kiss you, touch you, love you. 

He didn’t want to die not knowing if you were alive and that those things were possible. 

He wheezed, forced to blink hard to battle against his eyes’ will to close. He was cold. He no longer felt the pain of the wound. 

He wasn’t ready anymore. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to risk leaving you. He didn’t want to die.

“Daryl.”

The archer gasped, summoning all the strength he had left to slide his eyes toward where the sun was now beaming into the cold garage. 

There you were, carrying the light behind you like a pair of wings. Like his vest, but bright and beautiful. He could make out your face as you lowered to hover above him. Your hand was warm against his cheek, it felt near scalding pressed to his chilled skin. 

“You’re alive.” He managed in a rough whisper. Even with your features vibrating, he could see that beautiful smile. “M’dyin’, Sunshine. Don’t wanna go.” Someone was working on his leg but he couldn’t be bothered to check or even ask. Your lips pressed against his blood streaked forehead. 

“You’re not going anywhere. Not today.”  Daryl sighed. He believed you. It was always so easy to do, but he could tell you weren’t placating. “You’re too cool for that.” 

He was going to live and he was going to love you right. 

[50cal-fullauto-astarion]

hot in sarajevo i

[ part two ]

könig x f!reader operator (no use of "y/n") / 4k words / NSFW

cw: assassination, dubcon (not really bc reader is into it and consents, but better safe than sorry bc ymmv), unsanitary conditions, rough sex, unprotected p-in-v sex, fingering, creampie, brief mention of burn injuries, pre-established relationship a.n.: no excuse for this, indulged a brain worm on my day off bc i wanted to write something nasty. enjoy!

It’s been a blistering, miserable six hours out in the hills outside Sarajevo proper. The height of summer, surrounded by dead-brown grass blown about sadly in the weak breeze. You cook in your ghillie suit, knowing it could very well be another six hours under this heat with zero shade, just waiting on your target. Sweating. Searching. Souring. 

König is your spotter, and he’s already not pleased with the fact. He’d much rather be the one wrapped around the Steyr HS .50, instead relegated to the seemingly miserable role of binocular jockey. But the fact is, he’s better at recon, and you can stay planted in one place without moving even when your lower body burns with numbness. 

“I’m hard,” he announces in his way—no preamble, no fanfare, moderate expectation. 

“Christ,” you snort, pulling away from the scope only enough to throw a glance at him. He’s still pressed against the oculars, jaw working on sunflower seeds because they can’t smoke without setting the tinderbox field around them on fire. Otherwise, you can barely see the shape of him in his own ghillie suit among the grass. “Clench your legs and your torso, or hump the fucking dirt.”

“Not going to get the job done,” he laughs darkly, dumping back another mouthful of seeds. You can hear them crack between his molars as he bites down hard. 

He’s going to be a fucking handful after this. 

Going back to your scope, watching the highway, you promise him, “If you’re good helping me with this assassination, we can play when we’re done.”

Another hard bite, another gravelly laugh. Sing-song, he warns you, “Better hope he drives by so-oooh-oon, Schatzi.”

“Always nice to get a visit from mean-König,” you hum back, trying for unaffected, even as your cunt floods and clenches around nothing. 

It’s just hitting golden hour when the target finally deigns to bomb past your scope in a civilian vehicle trussed up in subtle armor. You and König slot right into the predator drift, bodies left behind to fall into the hunt. Working like extensions of one body, he confirms a PID, and throws calculations your way, sharp and sleek, and your blood turns into straight adrenaline, pupils dilated to pitch black.

You work like the sword of god, lining up your crosshairs, allowing for lead, allowing for wind and elevation, and when you exhale and give the trigger what it wants, the sky cracks in half with a sonic boom, big gun bucking brutal against your shoulder. With one shot you take out the target and driver, vehicle careening off the road. 

König’s low, restrained laugh blends into yours, your teeth chattering under your face covering. Two more shots cut the blood-and-gold colored sky, killing the remaining passengers, and something vile in you shrieks with delight when one of them staggers around without a head a few steps before falling backwards stiff as a board.

Your eyes catch his as you throw the safety, pulling the massive rifle into your arms to flee the scene, and he looks blood-poisoned with arousal. The normal blue-gray of his eyes are gone, sore, unblinking pink sclera around inkwell pools of black. His back heaves with his breathing, body rigid and clenched, hips grinding against the ground. He is going to fucking tear you apart and eat the pieces. Saturn Devouring His Son, König Devouring His Lover.

Without a word, you both force your bodies around in the tall, dead grass, ghillie suits blending your belly-drag crawl to the treeline.

There’s a five mile hike between your abandoned perch and the exfil vehicle, following back the steps you took this morning, with a staging site in the middle of it. Small clearing, deep enough that no one could stumble across it, a temporary home for your rifle’s case and minimal necessary equipment. 

The moment you’re both upright in the treeline, König’s got a vicious hand under your camo, gripping your belt, dragging you close and up, forcing you on unbalanced tiptoes. “You’re going to fucking give it to me,” he demands. 

You turn it around, snatching a hand under his hood, gun sagging in your arms. Your fist wraps around the jaw strap of his helmet, knuckles pressing into his jugular–his pulse is fucking racing, booming, screaming through his veins–and your teeth are shards of glass as you command him, “Fucking heel. You’re not being a good boy.”

That makes him pant, almost reeling, eyes blinking out of sorts, pulling you closer, almost against him. 

“That is not how it’s going to work today,” he says, slow and damning. Turns your blood into lava, thick and slow and lethal pumping through your heart as it fights for its life. He pulls the rifle from your hand, and it weighs nothing to him. Nearly looks like he’s got more to say, and he’s trying to figure out how to word it, but his brain is too clouded with lust to put it in the right order.

Hefts the gun over his shoulder like a bat, and shoves you back by the pelvis, releasing you. Time to go, the moves say, leaving you no dignified way to hold onto the authority that’s slipped through your fingers. 

You know he’s burning frustration, anger, and resentment as fuel for this mood. You were the designated sniper, he was a lowly spotter. In his mind, that position belonged to him, and you took it. It didn’t matter that you were the superior choice, that he was invaluable to the kill. 

No. Not at all. You stole from him, and he’s taking something in return.

If you weren’t thinking solely with your pussy, you would admit that it would probably be wise to exercise caution with him at the moment. But you’re not. You’re going to get your brains fucked out and painted on a tree.

At the staging area, scant gold light is cutting through the trees as the sun lumbers its way to setting, and the woods are humid and dense. Your boots crush fallen beech nut pods and pine needles. Could almost be Thoreauvian, if there was a lake, or not a gun big enough to kill god in the arms of a sexually frustrated Austrian maniac.

König is fast and quiet, ripping the mag out of the gun, emptying the chamber, dropping the gun on its case. You’d seen him piece apart a pistol to base components in ten seconds many times, he’s making himself take time with the rifle, leaving it barely touched.

You’ve got enough time to just prepare for him to grab you around the middle so you aren’t thrown off balance, leaning into his momentum as he hauls you to an enormous beech tree, his back sliding down the trunk. Keeps you pinned in his lap, laughing harsh and ugly as you deal with your belt, button, and zipper, “Good girl–good fucking girl. Know what I’m going for.”

“You’re easy to predict,” you bullshit him with a sharp edge. He’s going to get his way, and you’re going to deliver unto him whatever the fuck he pleases, but you’re going to keep your teeth through it. “Could’ve taken the suits off, could’ve really given you a show.”

“Cute that you think I’m in a rush. You’re in the suit on purpose,” he grates, thrusting against your ass, forcing you open with your legs over his knees. “Keep being mouthy. Only fucks me up worse.”

“Stiff breeze gets you fucked up,” you snort, but when he hooks his gloved thumb in your zipper, you lift your hips to help him pull your pants down your thighs. Leaves you exposed, drenched in sweat, and wet in his lap. “Goddamned freak.”

He bypasses the true and mutually reflective accusation completely, grinding the forehead of his helmet against the back of yours. Still looking for affectionate closeness, even when he’s out for blood. “Can smell you, good god,” he growls, sliding his huge hand into your underwear, grabbing your sex in ownership. “You and the military issue drawers–typical. Been a while since I fucked you in gear. Still wearing the boxers because you wish you were hanging dick, or is it just to match the attitude?”

“Commissary ran out of crotchless combat thongs. Waiting on a restock.” The rough fabric of his gloved middle finger splits your lips, teasing your hole, and for a flashfire second you think he’d better not give you a UTI with those dirty fucking things, before it burns straight out of your head. 

“Better luck next time,” he taunts, jaw tight. You can hear the wolf-fanged smirk in his tone. “Start going commando. Make it easier.”

“Maybe there isn’t a next time,” you volley back, “best you make the most of this.”

“There’s always a next time. No one else could fuck you like me. Little whore you are, you’d get bored.”

He blots all the thought out in your head, adding his ring finger to the mix, pushing both huge digits into your starving cunt. Rips a bark right out of you, arching off his chest and pushing against his hips for leverage, trying automatically to fuck down on them even as the pain of the fabric feels like it’s rasping your insides. “Jesus fucking Christ,” you gasp, going hot-cold-and-blind all at once, nipples pulling tight under your gear. 

He throws a heavy arm around your stomach, pulling you back down, merciful or mindful enough to know he needs to go slow, or this isn’t going to go anywhere except the infirmary. “Take it, Liebes, swallow them down with that pretty cunt,” he commands, his English as sharp and scraping as scythe blades felling harvest in wide, practiced strokes, “I’m not even close to done.”

You can already feel his fat cock straining against his pants, even through all the layers between you, and you rut back against it, at least trying to get some torture of your own added in. That just makes him stupid and animalistic, pushing his chin over your shoulder, trying to butt into your jaw. He wants to bite your lips, but there are too many impediments blocking the way.

His fingers squelch down to the last knuckle, your pussy spasming around them, soaking the fabric. He’s a pervert to such a degree that you know he’s going to leave them unwashed, and he’s going to wear and suck on them while he beats off when you’re not there until there’s no flavor left. 

For now, he’s slow, rocking them into you in a curve, his sense of touch dampened as he searches out your g-spot. The exploration makes you feel filthy, and just a little humiliated. Used. Faceless and disrespected. It’s so opposed to his usual dogmatic worship, fresh and frightening. 

He gives a little something extra, grinding the heel of his hand over your clit, telling you to use it. You do, finally feeling something physically pleasurable, even though it’s too dull and not nearly enough. 

König is segmented; you’ve known that for as long as you’ve known him. Don’t know if he did it to himself, or if it was an after-affect of all the bad shit he didn’t die from. He’d let you in on enough to know that his best days are numb neutrality and boredom intercut with adrenalized high-chasing. His worst days are lost dogs and veils of blood floating through his mouth.

He almost clicks over from one facet to another when you push against his arm, hissing through your teeth as a stitch on his glove catches a fold in you. For a microsecond, lover-König surfaces, shifting you around against his body, repositioning his fingers so you aren’t hurting too badly, and then he’s gone again.

With a rough hand, he shoves the tan boxer-briefs down your thighs, and bucks your ass off his pelvis, going to release his cock.

You push your shoulders back against his chest, plate carrier digging into your shoulderblades. “Only two fingers, aren’t you acting like a fucking prince today.”

“You’re lucky you got that much,” he snaps back, groaning when his cock springs free of his trappings, and he strokes it beneath you. Monster fucking thing it is, long enough you can see the swollen, leaking head between your legs, even as you’re still hovering. There’s no give in the skin, and the head is a needy red with arousal, completely slipped from his foreskin. “Put it in.”

You ignore his order, writhing against him, your discomfort only ramping up your arousal. It’s nightmarish how badly you actually want his cock fed into you, desperate to have anything to fill the void his fingers left in you, and, shit, it would be so much sweeter and smoother than the gloves. Hot and throbbing, his precum mixing with your slick–it’s going to be so loud. 

“It’s your dick, you figure it out,” you hiss, wrestling your shoulders up just enough to piss him off. His other arm moves up to your ribs, slamming you back down against him. 

“Nein,” he seethes, as close to your throat as he can get, and you hear him suck back spit. Wonder if you busted his lip on the way down. Trained himself too hard not to do that otherwise, because of the harelip he’s hiding under the hood. “I said put it in, Schatzi.”

His laugh is airier this time, when you cuss him and comply, thinned out with need. He shudders into you as you brush your fingers over the length–teasing bulging veins and hot, thin skin–trying to scoop him up. He squeezes you tighter, letting out a furnace-bellow breath, as you tease the head through your wet folds, stupid fly-by-night sex-trigonometry screeching through your head as you find the angle you both need to get him in. He drops his free hand on your thigh, pulling you further open, giving himself a handle to hold.

As soon as his big cockhead plugs your hole and seals a seal with the wet, you fly to grip both his wrists, nerves on high alert. For good cause, as well, because instantly, he starts fucking up into you with harsh thrusts, constricting all around you with bruising force.

The sheer mass of him is over-fucking-whelming, and white spots crackle in your vision as you pant, trying desperately to relax and accept him into your body. Usually–when he’s sweeter and taking his time with you, not punishing you for a perceived slight like he is now–he is slower, considerate, almost hesitant until you dig your spurs into his sides, demanding he cut loose. 

This time he’s forcing you to ride him, emptying and filling you in deeper and deeper strokes, forcing you to take his cock. Somehow it still feels right, just being full of him, aching with it, pussy hungrily sucking him in, wanting more and more and more.

But, god dammit, you can’t just let him get away with this. You fuck back down against him, trying to meet his rhythm with the little movement he affords your bound body, the sound of his boots grinding for purchase in the substrate, your combined dead-sprint breathing, and his balls slapping wet against your ass breaking the utter still-life quiet of the woods. 

“Insertion specialist,” you bite, throwing your head back against his shoulder to belt out your whimpering laughter, and, oh, that burns him. 

“Shut your fucking mouth,” he snarls, his helpless thrusting turning focused, dragging you down in hard thrusts, hitting your cervix with every deep, powerful stroke. It knocks the wind out of you, and you’re left speechless, probably what he wanted. 

It puts you in a trance state, your eyes unfocused looking up at the canopy as he uses you. A wet, liquid-gold heat starts building pressure behind your pelvis, and a frantic harebrained thought tells you that you have to piss. It only gets worse when he drops his hand back between your legs, putting a finger on either side of your clit, his intent clear.

“Wait,” you wheeze, barely surfacing the trance, rolling your eyes wildly toward him, finding his focus is between your legs. “Wait, König, I–”

“Just fucking take it,” he cuts you off, and it’s not entirely cruel. He’s forcing an orgasm on you, maybe the thought crawled up out of the part of his heart where his empathy lives, the part he hides until his real-boy-skin-suit has fallen away in tatters. You know what’s underneath. You love him for what he is.

You squirt when you come, pouring down his cock, soaking your thighs. Your cunt tries to push him out, but he belligerently stays buried, riding it out with you, and he whimpers as you spasm and ripple around him, biting your shoulder through his mask and the gaiter beneath it. It’s a dull pressure, and you wish it was sharper.

“Oh my god,” you keen, trying to turn and hide your face, trying to draw your legs back together as wave after wave of pleasure rock your body, your stomach turning in benign shame. König praises you, “Good, good, good, good,” his words falling away into a German blur that you have a hard time translating.

“Arch your back, curl up,” he tells you in his native language, his command voice withering, getting lost as he gets closer. He’s gotten fatter in your swollen cunt, and he throbs against your walls. His balls are pulled up so tight, you can feel them against your lips on the upstroke. 

All you can do is listen, lifting off of him and curving like you’re living through an exorcism. 

Doesn’t that make him lose his goddamned mind. Moans like a shocked virgin getting his first piece of pussy, in tandem with the cry you release, sliding in at a new angle. He can’t even help himself, he’s just stupid with pleasure, chasing it. All the bite and venom he had floods out of him, and he’s just a panting, greedy, whimpering mess, holding on to you because he needs an anchor, because he needs you.

He pushes up onto the balls of his feet, leaving the tree completely, forcing you back against him in the cage of his body. Your legs slide open over his thighs, and you’re dependent on him to keep from falling face-first in the forest floor and eating shit. He keeps you up, clutching to you, fucking you with short, fast thrusts, the soaking wet sounds of his cock demanding everything your cunt can deliver obscene, carnal.

Your idiot hand grabs for his hood as it hangs over your shoulder, spilling dumb swears and nonsense, “Fuck–oh, fucking–god dammit, König, you’re. I can’t,” that he meets with simple begging, “Bitte, bitte, Schatzi, bitte, Ich brauche, bitte, Ich brauche–”

His form staggers, and he takes a knee, locking up tight, letting out a thin, high-pitched cry of shock as he cums, flooding you completely in big jets. The pressure is uncomfortable and delirious, but you try to tighten around him, hold as much as you can. 

Both of your heads ring in the immediate aftermath. You can suddenly tell that both of you reek, the scent of twelve-hours worth of stakeout body odor mixing with musk, sex, and cum. You can tell by how his mouth sounds as he pants and tries to collect himself and work through his intense but inescapable post-nut shame that he’s dehydrated. You are, too, your head pounding. And, just because you know him, and you know how you work as a team, you don’t need to look at either of set of your shaking hands to know both of your blood sugar is utterly fucked.

Slowly, he lumbers back up against the tree, his touch turning softer. You flop back against him, winching when his cock slips out of you, hanging glistening and messy between his legs. He buries himself in the crook of your neck, trying to steady his breathing. His arms come up again–not to pin you in place, but to hug and hold you. You pat the scant sliver of bare skin between his gloves and the cuff of the ghillie suit.

Only occurs to you right now how stupid you two must’ve looked. Like a monkey fucking a football. Or maybe two bushes getting battered around in a storm. You snort a weary laugh, and he shakes his head, nosing deeper. He’s asking for quiet. You give it, letting your eyes slip closed as his cum drips out of you.

A few minutes later, he stirs, kneading your sides with his fingers. Mean-König has fucked off, you can already tell. It’s not KorTac-König, either, the one that’s nasty and loud and abrasive. This is just König. The slice of him that you know the first and last name of. The one that takes you on dates, and to go grocery shopping at Lidl–who lets you kiss his harelipped mouth, who lets you moisturize and massage the gummy wads of keloid burn scars eating up the left side of his face and neck, from when he was burnt by boiling sugar as a child, when they feel tight and miserable.

For convenience, and knowing you’re both going to seek it out, you unclip your helmet straps, letting them tumble off your heads. Further, you reach back and pull the hood off over his head, dropping it over your thigh, and pull your mask down as he pulls down his gaiter.

He helps you shift enough that you’re lying on your side over him, wet, soft cock pressing into your naked thigh. He sighs when you kiss him, light, quick, over and over, never really leaving his lips. He’ll be needy for the rest of the night.

His pupils are slowly going back down to a normal size, and the blue is coming back, all puppy-eyed and wet as he presses your foreheads together. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I had fun.”

“I shouldn’t have been that rough. Or mean.”

You shrug. “You know I thought it was hot.” You give him simple facts, easy to chew and swallow while his teeth are hurting from his harshness. You think he’d probably ask you to pull them so he couldn’t do something like it again in the future, but that is simply not in his nature. Fanged, or not, his moods will come and go.

His hands tremble, going to his thighs, and he digs up a zippo and a pack of cigarettes, pressing them into you. “Could you light some for us, please.”

You do, giving him another kiss before you break to try to attend your given task. He helps stabilize your hands, and you end up with lit menthols, popping one between his lips. He inhales deeply, shuddering as he relaxes a physical notch.

You heavily pet his face, traveling his bone structure, and then down his neck. Start to focus on his chest and shoulders, because it will help him down the easiest. Even though he took charge today, you still readily slot into the process of leading aftercare, truncated as it is by being in the field. Almost literally.

“Think you’ll be up for more later?” you ask, digging your fingers into the spot behind his ear that always makes him lax. “Safehouse would let us take our time.”

He makes a grumbling noise, touching your noses together. “Want to love you. Not fuck.”

“Yeah, no. I couldn’t take another fuck tonight,” you snort in agreement, and, finally, he snorts back. “We need to get moving. Sun’s going down, and we need to report.”

He gathers you up for a final, lingering, sloppy kiss before he unwinds from you, knowing that you’re right. And, besides, there’s a safehouse looming on the horizon. 

[whatifwekissedatneocity]

enclosed in our souls

multiple bsd characters x reader. reader is gn (gender neutral)

about: headcanon of things bsd characters do when they have a crush on you

featuring: dazai, chuuya, atsushi, akutagawa, fyodor and nikolai.

kiel notes: my first multi chara post, more charas r coming!!! i wrote this while listening to i hope to be around (live) by men i trust. and this feels corny as hell

DAZAI — tries to find alone time together and seek intimacy

you think dazai has been talking nonstop recently. he yaps a lot, always bothering kunikida or you during work. but since a few weeks ago, he’s been way more playful than usual. constantly following you around, whining and tugging at your sleeves. he’d drag you to the couch and talk about his day, facts, and new discoveries. anything, just anything to hold your attention, to find an excuse to stare into your beautiful eyes lovingly. to have some peace and quiet from his chaotic mind and maybe fall asleep on your shoulders because your presence grounds him.

CHUUYA — drives you around and take late-night bike rides

chuuya is always ready to drive you to and fro. he offers to drive you around all the time, and you think his gestures are really sweet (who’s gonna tell y/n?). after school? he’s ready to pick you up outside your university campus. of course, he only drives you when he’s free, which is all the time because he clears his schedule for you. he offers to drive you home after every failed job interview, ready with tissue and your favourite ice cream in the passenger seat. on nights when you need a temporary escape, he’s already outside your apartment with his red bike and an extra helmet in his hand. even if the world fails you, he’d still be here on your loneliest rides.

ATSUSHI — takes strolls with you and walks you home

atsushi loves his strolls with you. simple strolls like going for lunch or buying supplies for the agency make his heart full. he had been so used to being alone all the time, but ever since you offered to stroll with him that one time, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. it meant a lot to him, and now he asks you to go on strolls instead. hell, he doesn’t have to ask, because it’s a routine. he waits for you to pack up your desk and you both leave together to walk home. the wind blows your hair, and you walk with both hands behind your back in comfortable silence. often in the sunset, on the way home, atsushi hopes that one day he’s able to stroll into your heart.

AKUTAGAWA — volunteers to go on missions with you

akutagawa is not one to be obvious about his crush, so he shows it in a super duper not obvious way. he requests to go on more missions with you, to keep you safe and spend time on the battlefield. mori thinks it’s weird. akutagawa putting in special requests to go with y/n all the time? that’s unlike him. that’s right, because he’s a fool in love right now. the way you fight is mesmerising him, and he was almost shot dead that one time (by a cupid, who knows?) if it wasn’t for you who jumped in. he likes the way you revel in fighting, which is similar to his bloodlust. he stands behind you during missions, guarding you, and his heart.

FYODOR — plays his cello for you

fyodor plays his cello for everyone, including his victims before they were killed, so it wasn’t anything special. that’s what you thought, and you were dead wrong. he’d learn classical pieces you like in hopes of hearing you compliment him. his pretty and slender fingers would be calloused, but he didn’t mind. it’s all for you. he’d invite you over for tea often and have you listen to him play the cello for hours. his cello might be off-tune, but his heart isn’t.

NIKOLAI — tries to make you laugh

nikolai noticed how you liked to laugh. your laughter is light and playful, with a touch of whimsy that brings a smile to his face. the decay of angel members aren’t amused by his usual antics, but you liked it. you’d giggle at his silliness and his heartbeat quickens. he scrambles to be dramatic again, pulling a rose out of his coat and handing it to you. you giggle again. he likes (a huge understatement) the sound of your laughter; he thinks he needs to hear it ten times a day (or maybe even more). because the day you stop laughing is the day he’s gone.

main menu ☆

[youryanderedaddy]

Love, Loss, Fire

Summary: In times of vampire oppression, you decide to fight back. This attracts the attention of a certain human hunter who's had his eyes on you for a while - waiting for an oppurtunity to strike. Commissioned piece. tw: nsfw, female reader, non - con, possessive behavior, vampires, hinted apocalypse, degradation, biting/blood sucking, hinted inprisonment, murder (not reader) Part 2

You stepped carefully through the forest as the moon raised higher and higher, lighting up the sky in warm, fluorescent blue. You swiftly swiped the sweat down your brow, kneeling deep into the mud in a desperate attempt to push the shapeless piece of metal further into the ground. You suppressed a frown as the bare soil slipped through your fingers, thin and barren. It was a painful reminder of what was once earth. Actual, fertile earth that filled the autumn air with the humm of birds and the scent of healing herbs. This soil, on the other hand, couldn’t heal anyone - it was just a means to trap a beast. A predator.

You looked at the naked stars, trying to guess whether midnight had already fallen. You missed watches. You missed the web and guides and tutorials - you missed computers. The series of numbers on the screen that seemed so bizarre to you now; just like an antique of the past. It was a hard pill to swallow, the realization that humankind once created life and technology, and even culture. Laughter. You didn’t remember the last time you laughed or let yourself rest - but could anyone blame you? With the hunter attacks now more frequent than ever, it was a whole miracle that you were still breathing; that your psyche wasn’t completely crumbled and rotten. You knew many lost their mind or sold themselves to the demons. You had heard the stories mothers whisper to their daughters in the dead of the night, the songs the elders don’t dare sing after dark. You shook your head. You had no time to reminisce. The steps were getting closer now.

You quickly hid behind the wild bushes, crouching as close to the ground as your shaking knees would allow you to. Your hand gripped the container tightly, your eyes scanning the sign “Extremely flammable aerosol” with little hesitance and a pitiful amount of hope. You could hear the boots digging into the grass, the sharp heels destroying any resemblance of flora. There was a low, guttural humm to his every movement - teasing you, slowly, but surely approaching with each passing beat of your thumping heart. The whole universe had slowed down, covered by an oppressive layer of silence, except for the sound of your pounding lifeline and the predator aching to end it with one sharp bite. No deers or foxes, or even hedgehogs in sight to distract him or quench his growing thirst for blood. It was just you and him.

“It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?” His voice cut the silence in two, smooth and sharp like a knife. So silky and soft you could feel your whole body stiffen, fighting the involuntary ticks of fear taking hold of your frozen limbs. You squeezed your jaw, cupping your cheeks so tightly you couldn’t produce a sound no matter how much your insides seemed to try and scream. You pinched your thigh, hoping to remain conscious - hoping to survive just one more time. After all you had managed to run so many times in the past. It was always frightening, the type of terror that leaves you immobile for hours after, but you had done it. Time and time again, and that meant something. That meant that you still had fire left. That you weren’t going to bend the knee and break. 

“A full moon.” The hunter observed with a trail of melancholy, stepping closer to your trap. You held your breath, praying to whoever was listening that this would work. It had to - otherwise everything so far would be meaningless. Every life lost, every family torn apart. Every friend or lover lost to the hunts - to slavery and eternal torment. To shame. “It reminds me of your mother. It was a Bloody moon, do you know that?” You knew he was staring at your direction, a dangerous, barely contained smile threatening to spill all over his cruel lips. He was looking for a reaction - a slight crook of your nose, a twitching of your hand, a tear down your cheek. He couldn’t see you if you were an unmoving force, an object. “When I killed her, the moon was completely red. It was a sight for sore eyes.” He finally smiled in that nasty, crooked way. You could feel it. “Her screams were beautiful.” The vampire clicked his tongue. “But I’m sure yours would be breathtaking.” He took another step towards the trap - he was now on the very edge of the razors.

Don’t scream. Don’t scream. Don’t screa–

“A bear trap.” Bane grinned, sending shivers down your spine. By this point you were shaking like a leaf. “What a smart girl you are.” He paused to fix the collar of his white shirt. Not a single wrinkle on the fabric. Just blood. “Too bad I’m not a bear.” His voice suddenly dropped, taking on a more sinister note. Your heart stopped. “I’m more of a snake, really.” He kicked the metal trap across the ground, and it landed inches away from you. You were getting light - headed. “Although my venom works in… other ways.” His demonic chuckle was enough to make your empty stomach rumble, fear setting in deep into your guts. 

Bane jumped over the hole you had dug gracefully, almost theatrically. If you weren’t so scared, you would have been annoyed at his constant need to assert dominance with even the smallest gesture of his perfectly white finger.

“You wound me, darling.” The hunter leaned against a tree, crossing his hands like a disappointed father - like a preacher ready to start a mass, yet the sadistic twinge of amusement didn’t leave his face. “You know I can smell this cheap, ratty metal from miles away. I thought you knew me better.” His eyes gleamed dangerously, orbs both emerald and poisonous green. He was so close to your hiding spot you could feel the ice radiating off his dead body as he oh so slowly raised his hand. 

Panic tore into your chest, digging its ugly nails, kicking and fighting to be let out, and you instinctively uncapped the bottle of sylic gas, leaking it into the forest. You took a deep breath and covered your mouth, preparing to turn blue before you could inhale again. You mentally apologized to any surviving crop or flower you were about to kill due to the toxic fumes, but had to remind yourself through tears that sometimes the end justifies the means. And now the end was so near you could taste it, with the Terror of the night unmoving and cold.

But he just grinned. 

His nostrils tightened for a split second, taking in the deadly poison. Bane slowed down, looking around, but there was little sense of distress on his sharp, cubic features. Then he quickly, unceremoniously dragged his wrist over his lips, muttering words you couldn’t hear - and instantly a silky black piece of fabric wrapped around his neck up to his cheeks. From afar it looked just like a scarf, but you could make out the thin platin lines. Damn it. He knew. He could anticipate all your moves now after months of playing cat and mouse. He could read you like a book.

You were beginning to sweat and your feet were sinking into the mud. You tried to move from one leg to the other, shifting the balance, and that was your first, and perhaps most fatal mistake - the realization hit you the moment your eyes landed on his. The vampire laughed. A scorching hot, humiliating laugh echoed all the way to the mountain hill behind you, icy and sticky down his throat. You shook your head, refusing to accept the grim reality standing before you, but it was too late now.

“Aah…” The hunter purred contently, bringing his hands together, excited like a child. “Seems like I caught you again, little mouse.” He whispered, his honeyed voice bursting with barely contained thrill and satisfaction. “Come out now - no point in hiding.” He titled his head playfully. “I promise I won’t bite.” He chuckled throatily, baring his fangs as he took that dreaded step that separated you. Now he was towering above you with the only thing keeping you away from his gaze being the absolute darkness and a couple of heavy branches. 

It was nothing short of degrading - the way he played with his food, the way he kept you dancing in his palm while poking here and there with his claws. You couldn’t take it anymore - you made a run for it, light like a bird on your feet despite the starving hunger and fatigue. 

“Not so fast now, little one.” The predator asserted, his clenched jaw proof of his quickly thinning patience. If only he knew that your own patience had run out months ago, maybe even before the apocalypse started. “You don’t want to upset me, do you?” He smiled in a mockery of gentleness, the thinly veiled threat stopping you in your tracks, completely paralyzed. “Be a darling and come to me. I’m honestly getting a bit bored of our little game.”

You hesitated for a moment. Something was wrong - terribly wrong today. You had managed to outsmart him time and time again, but tonight he just seemed untouchable. Drunk on power. And for all your unwillingly gathered knowledge of vampires and their demonic powers, you couldn’t exactly put your finger on what was different. Yet you could feel it buzzing and thumping under his flesh, the aura of force - the stench of evil. 

“Come to me.” Bane hissed, voice devoid of its previous playfulness. He wasn’t playing around anymore. And just like that your feet started moving on their own, despite your mind’s painful protests. There was nothing you could do to fight his voice in your mind, hypnotizing you; making you bend. You broke into a cold sweat, looking at your wrist - you had forgotten your bracelet, the only weapon that could be used against his mind control. You were screwed. The game was over.

“Good girl.” The hunter whispered once you found yourself in his arms, squeezed against his chest like an insect. The unhuman hardness and coldness of his skin should have frightened you, but it was his tone that truly terrified you - just how tender it was as opposed to the clear bloodlust in his pale green orbs.

“You’ve done well so far.” You tried to avert your gaze so you could at least save yourself the humiliation of his sickly - sweet words, but his magic kept you still in place. “You’ve kept me entertained for a while now, little human. I think I’m starting to become attached to you.” He offered you a sleazy little grin while he stroked your hair, imagining the way it would feel to pull on those messy locks. “So attached, in fact, I’ve decided to keep you for myself.” He licked his lips slowly, and you almost choked on your own spit. Did he plan to…? 

“You should be honored to have been chosen by me. Most nosy little humans who cross my path end up in a ditch. But you…” He stopped mid-sentence, groaning in pleasure, eyes turning scarlet. His whole face was reddenning as his heartbeat fastened, growing more and more excited the longer he felt you struggle against him. Your raw fear was delectable, and he couldn’t wait to taste it. “You are different. I can’t bring myself to kill you.” His head lowered towards your ear. “I need to have you.” He whispered, and you took a step back, feeling his control crumble as desire overtook his senses.

“I would never belong to a leeching bloodsucker like you!” You uttered through clenched teeth, using the vampire’s distracted state to pour the acid drops you had hid in your pocket all over his knees, causing him to crouch in pain as his flesh burned hot. The magic hold he had on you weakened and finally disappeared completely. 

You didn’t waste any time, running towards the hills as soon as your body could move freely. Soon you were greeted with an overwhelming amount of paths, all surrounded with similar looking trees and bushes. It was already long past midnight and the sky had taken on the darkest shades of gray. You didn’t stop moving even when you lost his steps behind you - you kept going until you found a large old oak, and you basically slipped against it, knees weak and mushy. The adrenaline almost knocked you out, but you couldn’t let yourself lose consciousness just yet. 

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” Bane clicked his tongue, materializing before you from thin air. You tried to scream, but it was futile. The whole forest was empty. “Such a bad pet. Running away from your owner.” He leered sadistically, finding sick appeasement in your puzzled expression. How did he find you? How was it even possible to be so fast? “I really ought to punish you so you don’t misbehave in the future.” He chuckled to himself before turning towards you. “But that can wait.” The hunter shoved you against the tree with little regard to your comfort. He took off his mask, throwing it to the ground. “I’ve been eyeing that little neck of yours since the moment I saw you.”

The predator grasped your throat, tilting your head so your neck would be bared for him. You inhaled sharply, preparing for the pain, but it didn’t come just yet. Instead he licked your wet cheeks, moaning at the salty, slightly bitter taste of your tears.

“Please don’t.” You gasped inaudibly, body stiff like a stretched string. All you got in return was a sharp laugh. “Your little weapons can’t save you now, little girl.” Bane teased with glee, placing a small kiss against your throat. You cringed at the ticklish sensation, but deep down you knew this was only the beginning.  

The hunter opened his mouth, purposefully prolonging the moment and your anticipation. He slowly sank his fangs into your warm, vulnerable flesh - enjoying the way you squirmed beneath him with no way to free yourself. All you could feel was pain. Red, hot pain traveling from your neck to your arteries, your blood mixing with his venom. Breaking into a sweat as your body tried desperately to reject the venom. Relaxing against your torment as you let the pain consume every inch of your being. And then it began to subside, replaced by an entirely different feeling that you couldn’t name. Suddenly your insides were burning again and your skin was pricked by a thousand tiny explosions. A gentle caress wiped the sweat off your forehead as your eyes rolled back. An aching whine escaped your parted lips. You needed more. You wanted to beg for more—

He pulled away.

You quickly lost your balance, staggering backwards, confused and light - headed due to the blood loss. You prepared to hit the ground, but this small mercy wasn’t granted to you, because in the next moment the vampire was onto you, holding you tightly. As if the tiniest movement would make you stumble and flee into the grim nightly nothingness - as if you were the most precious thing in his world.

You were met with eyes of vivid ruby, the gems staring into your core and tearing you to pieces. You should have been frightened, body paralyzed by suffocating dread - but instead you couldn’t look away, hypnotized by the demon before you, and all the magic colors that surrounded him. His lips looked so soft and gentle, dripping with blood that was unmistakably yours. A part of you that now undeniably belonged to him. 

“I can’t get enough of that expression on your face.” Bane mumbled quietly as he pulled you closer to take in your scent. You couldn’t move an inch. “I can’t get enough of your… blood.” He continued, voice shaky with uncontrollable lust and need, unbecoming of a monster in a human form. 

His words sobered you up, breaking off the trance you had fallen in. You shoved him off, taking a step away. The vampire stumbled back, his eyes darkening at your disobedience. “Silly girl.” He grinned sinisterly as his expression hardened, and he pointed towards you with his thin white finger. His golden locks fell gently over one raised eyebrow, contrasting the sheer intensity of his sharp features.

“Kneel.” He ordered, and your body followed automatically - without hesitation. The vampire towered over you, gleefully toying with the buttons of your shirt before undoing the first one. “You know, this is something I really admire about you, little one.” He caught your chin in a bruising grip, forcing you to look up at him. “You’re so weak - so helpless. And yet you never. Stop. Fucking. Fighting me.” He exaggerated every word, applying more pressure to your skin, marking it for all to see. “And I love it. You don’t know how many times I’ve wanted nothing more than to push you down and make a mess out of you.” He admitted shamelessly, offering a nasty little smile at the end as he crouched down to your level. You were going to be sick. 

“Yet you always manage to run away. Every single time. Such a smart little human.” The hunter taunted you yet again, ripping off the torn patched up hoodie barely sticking to your chest. “You really know how to drive a man wild, little minx.” He whispered, lowering his head to latch onto your bare chest with a lewd pop, covering it in hundred wet kisses - making you shudder with discomfort.

“Y-you’re no man.” You uttered with difficulty, voice shaky and uneven. Your fists clenched together despite the violent fright inside you begging you to play nice - to beg for mercy and forgiveness. “You’re just a monster.” You spat out, holding back the hot tears pricking in your eyes. “I hate you.” You added quietly, trying to lose yourself in all the endless frustration and detestment. But even your anger wasn’t enough of a distraction - you were still in the mouth of the lion.

“Mmh, keep going, darling.” The predator growled, pinning your hands down. “Hate me as much as you can.” He kissed your throat, letting his fangs linger against the bristled skin. “Call me a monster again. Don’t hold back, baby, be ruthless.” He gently cupped your breasts through the bra before releasing the hooks all together, leaving you bare and defenseless. “Because when I am gone with you…” He grinned. “You will hate me even more.”

Bane didn’t hesitate to spread your legs roughly, reaching to take off your trousers. Suddenly you felt extremely vulnerable - you were laying there half nude like a feast for his eyes only. The rage was long gone, now replaced by an entirely new feeling. Debasement. 

“Aww, gamer much?” Your tormentor stopped to have a good look at your panties, chuckling at the joystick pattern. You could feel your sides burning and you made a desperate attempt to close your legs, but the noble had different ideas - he slipped your underwear to your knees, exposing your untouched core to the cold midnight air. “No need to get shy, darling. I think it’s adorable.” He insisted, your silent pleas falling on deaf ears. “But I guess you got the bad ending this time. I mean…” He bit his lip in a terribly lewd way. “Just look at you. Writhing beneath me like an obedient little slut–”

“I am not a slut!” You cut him off, growing more and more agitated - your nerves stretched beyond repair. You couldn’t stand listening to his crude remarks or looking at his eager lips, ready to devour you. You covered your face. “I’ve n-never… I’ve n-never even…!” You tried to explain, but you couldn’t finish the sentence because the tears just bursted out before you could stop them, white and shiny like little pearls on your cheeks.

The hunter grew eerily quiet. Then he slowly removed your hands from your face, and pinned your wrists back to the ground. The message was clear - no use fighting it. 

“You’re a virgin?” The vampire whispered more to himself than to you, while his gaze was still boring invasively into your hips. You averted your eyes, looking away in silence. Dissociating. “Ha! So it’s true.” He laughed mockingly, letting his hands roam all over your quivering thighs. “Oh, darling, we’re going to have so much fun.”

With that you could feel him trace small circles across your skin until eventually his palm met your pubic bone, his long fingers resting against your entrance. You writhed, trying to kick him off, but his other hand wrapped around your leg like a cuff and brought it down with inhuman strength. Bane then rubbed his fingertips along your slit in a torturously gentle manner, making you jump in surprise. He started pressing his thumb against your clit slowly, prolonging the uncomfortable eye contact between the two of you with a self - assured smirk that you wanted to wipe off his handsome face - but the curling of his fingers inside you prevented any thoughts of action. 

“You’re already getting wet for me. Such a good girl.” The hunter noted, almost giddy with satisfaction as he kissed your sweaty forehead. You opened your mouth to deny it, but all that came out of it was a broken gasp due to the sudden change in rhythm. The noble had finally penetrated you with two fingers, thrusting in and out with a nasty sloppy sound. “Shh, don’t talk. Just stay quiet and pretty for me, doll.” He purred down your neck, taking in the pure look of shock on your face when the stinging pain turned to pleasure. After that the man assumed a steady pace, only speeding up or down when he wanted to see your hips buck in desperation. You could picture what your expression looked like right now, and it made you blush even more.

“Open your mouth.” The vampire commanded in a low, guttural way, his eyes now scarlet like the blood on his fangs. You hesitated for a moment, shaking your head, and he shoved his fingers in between your lips unceremoniously, grinning. “Don’t defy me, little one. It won’t end well. Don’t forget I hold your life in my claws.” He hummed lightly, which made the threat appear even more cruel. You let your muscles relax, letting his fingers explore your throat. Despite it all, you still weren’t ready to die. “Can’t be fucking you dry now.” The monster sneered, using your spit to lubricate his digits. After a few long, tantalizing moments he let you breathe - and your walls clenched down on nothing, throbbing in painful emptiness.

“W-why are you doing this to me?” You sobbed, ashamed of your body’s reaction to the torment. “You already defeated me, do you also need to humiliate me?” You mumbled pitifully, hoping to appeal to whatever human was left in him - but the answer was none. “Would you prefer me to take you raw, little lamb?” He smiled sadistically, staring at you from above. He seemed like a malevolent God with vengeance for anything ungodly. “Not even I am that cruel, darling.”

Bane kept going for a while, enjoying your quiet moans each time he hit a sensitive spot or brushed against your clit - and all the petty little insults you threw his way only seemed to stir him more. “I think you’re ready to take me.” He remarked, breathless, palming himself through his black slacks. The manipulation of your warm, malleable body had made him rock hard, and he couldn’t wait to feel your insides flutter around him. He lined himself up against your hole as you looked on, helpless and terrified.

“Look at me as I defile you, little mouse.” The predator ordered in a deep voice, slowly sinking his length into your quivering quim. You clenched your teeth tight and looked away, refusing to become a willing participant in your own assault. But then his fist wrapped around your neck, squeezing, and you were forced to look at him. “I said look.” He hissed with venom, tightening his grip. “I want you here and present.” He pushed his cock deeper into you, licking his lips. “I want you to feel every inch stretching you out.” He finally shoved himself around you, groaning at your velvety tightness. 

“F-fuck, darling, you feel so good.” Bane thrust into you once, twice - several times. Your sobs were stuck at your swollen throat, making it hard to breathe, much less protest, but if you could, you would have screamed with full lungs. You weren’t sure whether it was the sting of the stretch, the feeling of a foreign body inside you or just your inexperience, but the heaviness and warmth of flesh on flesh made you feel hot all over. 

“I am going to m-make you mine.” He moaned lewdly, gripping your hair and just pulling. You were going to lose your mind. “I will mold you into the perfect little pet, mmmh, just an… ngh… just a mindless little toy for my amusement.” The vampire swore, drunk off your pussy and the way it was sucking him in - your body didn’t care how much it hurt. It wanted more. “The bloody humans… t-they don’t need you anymore. You’re much more useful as my little f-fucktoy.” He kept debasing you, all his senses tingling with overwhelming pleasure as your hole milked him dry. “Ha-ha.” A maniacal chuckle amidst it all. “And to think you were their leader with your silly little weapons and spells. What a joke.” He pumped into you with even more ferocity, a twinge of jealousy on his face. “You were always destined to be mine. All mine.”

“N-no, I am not yours–” You suddenly evoked, finding his sadistic obsession suffocating. You were stuck underneath the beast, your back soaking in the rain as he took you apart. Once again the lamb had been sacrificed to the wolf.

“You can deny it as much as you want.” The noble mouthed, kissing your neck with scorching hot, unbearable passion. “But your body knows who it belongs to. Just look at how well you’re taking me. All of me.” He bit you again, this time just teasing - barely breaking the skin as he picked up the pace, now fucking into you like the feral demon he pretended not to be. “I want to see you blissed out again.” He sucked at your jugular, scraping against your neck until he could see the pretty blue bruises forming - and he licked them. “Fuck, I’m close. Cry for me, doll, make me cum with your pathetic little pleas. I want to hear you sing.”

You couldn’t keep quiet, you needed to let it all out - the pain, the fear, the grief. Your progress, your plans for the future, your friends, your family… all lost to the monster and its greed. So you cried - you broke down and wailed, begging for mercy as your misery echoed through the forest. Too bad no one could hear. 

“Just like that.” Your enemy purred, pounding into you in short, sharp thrusts. You could feel something warm and thick fill you up, and you shivered from the horrific discomfort of unfamiliarity. The human anatomy was being challenged in front of your eyes, and you were forced to bend and break in whatever twisted way he wanted. “Take it, take it, take it–” He barked over and over, lost in orgasmic pleasure as he spread your legs further apart to gain better access to your soft insides. “Fuck.” He pulled out sharply, letting his seed pour out down your thighs.

“So pretty.” The hunter hushed, pulling you into a smothering hug. It was too hot. Too much - but you were too tired to fight. “You did so well, darling. So good for me.” He cooed in your ear, stroking your wet hair with his big, strong hand that had just taken everything from you. You found some strength within yourself to swat it away, but the monster just laughed softly, kissing your wrist. “So strong too. You must have some energy left if you still have fight in you.” He sneered lightly, looking away for a split moment. “Does this mean you’re ready for round two already?” He taunted, grabbing your hips roughly to rub himself against you.

You freezed completely, still in place. Shivering. You could feel the sniffles tightening your chest once again.

“I’m just joking, my love.” Bane chuckled, loosening his grip on you - but the predatory spark didn’t leave his lovesick gaze. “You’re so jumpy.” He gloated, caressing your shoulders in a soothing manner - although you didn’t find any comfort in his arms. “It’s okay. You will have plenty of time to adjust to me soon.” He promised gently and covered you with his long damp cloak. You looked up, confused. 

“It’s time to go home.”

[gatitties]

Half dead

─Task Force 141 x young!reader

─Summary: trapped after a mission, not everything seems to be going well for you, a deadly virus attacks the world and it seems that your provisional team is not very smart

─Warnings: blood, mentions of dismemberments, descriptive scenes¿, bad words, cliché, death, typical CoD violence

Part One / Part Two

I consider this as something special for Halloween¿¿, anyway I wanted to write a zombie!reader, if you have more ideas related don't be shy to request 😗

It was a hot day, too hot to be able to last more hours in the combat suit, as if that were not enough, you had been assigned with other officers for this specific mission, you did not have enough confidence to make jokes or sing a small part of that song stuck in your mind, it was the most boring day of your life but work was work.

Everything went well, maybe too well, and of course everything that ends well always has to have some setback since nothing and no one is perfect, but what you expected was that some enemy had escaped, some threat of death or things like that, however, you did not expect a virus spreading globally.

You were pretty screwed, all communication with the base was cut off, all the information was left with infected people that you had to avoid at all costs until you reached a safe and decontaminated area. You feared the worst and it seems like you're always right when you do since you were living through a fucking zombie apocalypse, it wasn't a big surprise to encounter several walking corpses on your way to the base after you were given specific orders to kill anyone who looked rotten.

What kind of time had you grown up in? It wasn't enough with a global pandemic that now you have to face a fucking apocalypse, you would prefer to have been born in the Middle Ages, at least they could have condemned you to death by burning at the stake or some far-fetched torture, it sounded more interesting and horrifying than simply a bacterial contagion.

The arrival at the base was complicated when you found a large horde, you supported the idea of surrounding the zombies but apparently the two assigned captains decided to play to see who had the biggest dick and see who could kill the most undead, they were orders from captain and you couldn't just go back to your boys until this stupid situation was over.

Apparently the only thing they managed to do was attract half of the infected city to your position, which ended in you having to separate and fight on your own. In turn, your luck wasn't smiling on you today Does that ever happen anyway? It didn't matter anymore because you were officially infected, the bite on your forearm made you bite your tongue when you saw the color of the blood mixed with yellow spittle, you were too slow and cowardly to cut off another arm at, yes, they had to bite you on your only good arm, you were so lucky.

From that moment on the infected lost interest in you, they nipped you a little and found one of your companions who was fleeing from another horde more delicious, well, screw life, at least you were able to enjoy everything you could, a shame that you can no longer continue bothering the boys with your presence.

You lay on the ground, looking at the scorching sun, your hand moved to your belt, grabbing a small radio that connected you to the central base, your pulse was unstable and your whole body began to shake, the heat became unbearable and you thought that you were experiencing hyperhidrosis. You pressed the button and brought the device closer to your mouth with the little strength you had.

"Hello… hello here “nibbles” the mission was a success, I guess you know that, but we had some complications on the way home, that virus, those stupid zombies" your breathing accelerated and for a moment you almost vomited right there "ugh… it doesn't matter, I- I don't think I'm going to make it in one piece even though I'm already missing an arm and I'm not 'in one piece' per se but…"

Even in a situation like this you couldn't help but make jokes, you continued your little talk until you felt like your consciousness was finally fading.

"I'm sorry, what I wanted to say is that I will miss you and that I will save you a special seat in hell, I don't know if we will see each other again but if we do I hope you have a bullet reserved in my name before I cause more problems , bye bye you idiots…"

You didn't want to seem too sentimental, but all the emotions and memories tightened your chest, you let the message be sent as you closed your eyes smiling at the sky, your body began to cool, suffocating the previous feeling of extreme heat.

You expected it, you expected to wake up, see the world in a different color, growl, search for meat, you know all that zombies do, however when you woke up a headache was what bothered you the most, the moon was shining in all its splendor, even though you didn't know if you'd slept a whole day or more, your whole body still felt strange and numb, like you'd taken a beating and couldn't feel anything.

But the thing was that apart from a strange feeling of being very hungry and the numbness of your body, everything remained the same, the bite mark disappeared, your wounds healed… you thought that maybe you were the cliché character who had antibodies against the zombie virus, but seeing how some of the living dead walked past you, ignoring you, made you think that it wasn't like that.

You were dead, at least, half dead, your body seemed capable enough to withstand the virus, but only half of the antibodies seemed to work on it so you were in a kind of limbo. You didn't have the need to specifically eat human meat, you still had rational thoughts (to a certain extent because you were still you), but you didn't feel your body, your skin changed its tone to a more yellowish one? you were definitely rotting, besides…

"Is this some kind of punishment for all that dark humor? I guess that's fair."

Was what you muttered to you between grunts, something else, it seemed like you weren't going to be able to speak properly since your throat seemed damaged. When you got up, one of your eyes fell out of its socket, it was hanging from the nerve, you did your best to put it in its place. You checked that your whole body responded to your movements and it did, so now you didn't know what to do. Should you go back to base? Would they kill you now that you know you're a zombie? You didn't have much to lose anyway, maybe you could say goodbye to the boys properly.

At dawn you found yourself banging on the armored doors, you were greeted by a bunch of clipped shotguns and AKs that completely lowered themselves when they recognized you, you underwent certain decontamination chambers and they let you pass. No suspicion? You looked like a terminally ill person, what kind of security was this? You couldn't complain either.

"Oh God look, where the hell were you!? and why did that message come yesterday!?"

As soon as you set foot in the meeting room where some soldiers dragged you away, Price's angry voice hit you like a slap.

"Not even a hello? How was your mission?"

You smiled swallowing your nerves, for once you felt intimidated because everyone was there watching as if you were a prey, you could see that their intentions were to look for any type of bite, although again, no one noticed that you looked like a decomposing body? Did you look that bad normally? Hard blow to your morale.

"We were worried about you, you seem sick, did you spend the night out because of that? You have the voice of a sailor with a cold."

Soap approached you but you backed away unconsciously when he reached for your arm, Gaz and Price shared a stunned look while Ghost's eyes darkened.

"Eh… I'm sorry, I think you shouldn't touch me, I think- I think-" you didn't have the courage to say it out loud, despite all the inside jokes you had made with yourself about being a walking corpse, you felt like it was too much worse to tell them because they would have to be the ones to kill you, the ones to kill their own partner, but it would be easier and less dangerous for them, right? "I'm infected."

The room fell silent, you avoided any kind of eye contact while they seemed to argue silently, Gaz was the one who stepped forward to Soap's side, a step closer to you.

"Maybe you're being paranoid, you just look sick, it's not the first time we've seen you with a fever, the last time you thought you were Spiderman and you hung from a lamp, remember?"

As much as you wanted to laugh at that memory you slowly denied, they didn't believe you in the slightest due to your constant jokes, thinking that you joked even in a situation like this (which isn't a lie if you weren't already a zombie), you swallowed dryly when this time it was Ghost that approached you, you knew that you wouldn't be able to dodge him if he tried to grab your arm, not like Soap, and so it was, you didn't feel his grip on your non-prosthetic arm but you saw it clearly, his look was slowly killing you.

"Prove it, if you are infected, prove it."

"Only if you promise to kill me."

And inevitably everyone tensed up because of the seriousness with which you said that, they didn't see that confidence in your words very often, and your determined look… they didn't want to think what they were thinking, they didn't want to accept that you had really become one of those walking rotten things, you were there, you could talk ─with a little difficulty─ but you seemed as normal as ever, how was it possible that you were infected if you didn't look like a monster?

Ironically they had to believe it by force, since you couldn't feel, you didn't notice that Ghost hadn't let go of your arm, the grip was stronger than you thought and it resulted in you turning around and taking a couple of steps to go to the cells, your arm came off your shoulder, at first they thought it was simply your prosthetic arm, but it wasn't like that.

"Oh fuck…"

Gaz leaned on Soap, Price sat in the nearest chair while Ghost looked in detail at how the bone in your arm protruded from the detached appendage as well as some veins that looked like small threads clinging to the rest of your body since they had not detached completely. You smiled embarrassed at the ignorance that you were now a Playmobil, as if that were not enough, your eye fell out of its socket again at that precise moment.

"Uh- oh, I think there you have your evidences, do you need me to start smelling like rotten meat or…?"

Ghost put your arm back in its place slowly, taking a step back, although it fell again and you had to use a handkerchief to make it stay in its place, you put your eye back in its socket, it slipped a couple of times because it was now wet due to some stubborn tears.

"Hey, hey, we're not going to kill you, I'm not going to-"

Soap had the intention of calming you down, trying to reach you although both Gaz and Ghost stopped him before he could get close to you, seeing this was like having a thorn stuck in your heart.

"No, it's fine, really, I came here so you could finish me off, one less threat on the battlefield."

You intended the joke to be funny, but all you earned were silent stares, right now you felt completely out of place, in an awkward silence between you and your team.

"No, no, you haven't thought about this have you? We can't kill you idiot." Price's insult and his usual scolding tone was the only thing that made you feel back on earth, everyone looked at him, he seemed to be fuming from his ears while the gears in his head turned "From the little we know, all the zombies have been aggressive and driven by impulses towards all kinds of life, but you're here having a normal conversation and being the dumbass you usually are on a normal day, don't you understand? We can't kill you, they can't kill you, you're different."

Oh that part came, you're different from the rest, you lived your whole life to be told that, man, were you in a fanfic? At least you hoped it wasn't one of those where they decided to put photos of outfits instead of describing the clothes or one of those where they gave you an overly detailed look.

"Does that mean I can stay half alive?"

"For the moment, anyway, no one else has to know."

Clicking your tongue as if finding out that you would still be alive was bad news, returning to your natural state of humor everyone looked at you disapprovingly, everyone seemed to sigh in relief at Price's comment, Soap and Gaz were the first to approach knowing that you wouldn't do anything, although Ghost insisted on putting a muzzle on you just in case.

For the moment they could keep you hidden from the rest of the soldiers inside the base, but it wouldn't take long for your skin to rot completely, and the smell of death was something that wasn't so easy to hide, they were playing against time until someone found you and inform it, seeing your unusual behavior as a zombie would surely draw the attention of the scientists and these guys wouldn't be willing to have you tortured in the name of science and then not get a shitty cure, they weren't risking that for you.

[t0rturedangel]

╭ . . . 𝚆𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚕 ੭

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄, 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄 𝐓𝐖𝐎 ; ♰ ৎ﹕𝘦𝘹𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘢 𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘶𝘮

TUMBLR DECIDED TO FUCK ME SO HARD BC IT CRASHED AND I LOST ALL OF MY ORIGNAL WORK. AUGHRRRRRRRR I'M GOING TO SCREAM SO HARD.

but here is scene two as promised my lovlies, I'm sorry that it's short

➷ ＰＲＥＶＩＯＵＳ ＳＣＥＮＥ | ＮＥＸＴ ＳＣＥＮＥ

With her fall,

the cherubim went mad,

with sorrow and hate

she now sat on jagged rocks

     You glared at the sky, or whatever it was above you- the bottom side of heaven? whatever it was, this place was not the earth the angels created nor was it the hell your Lucifer was dammed to but there is one thing for sure- you fucking hated this shithole. There was no life here (no life that was thriving, all the nature that could have been here is now reduced to rotten carcasses of what they used to be), just barren land with not a single soul in sight- besides yours of course though your soul was practically torn to shreds. 

     For endless days of your damned punishment you'd scream at the top of your lungs, begging heaven for it's forgiveness, to be let back in- making empty promises of never betraying them again. You'd sob into your hands when your voice finally gave up, your tears felt unusually acidic and whenever you did cry a weird feeling over came your senses, almost as if you had to get your hands on whatever moved- just as long as it didn't watch you. Eventually, when your crying sessions would end, you'd make an attempt to fly to heaven though their skies, those clouds you'd always rest on, the clouds you and Lucifer would fly through in utter glee were now so far to reach, no matter how fast and strong you flew. For hours, you'd manage to make your wings fly and then- they'd give up, your feathers simply gave up just as much as you did then once again you'd plunge down into the mossy yet rocky ground.

     ˓˓ HEAVEN! ʾʾ you screamed out as you fell ˓˓ HEAVEN FORGIVE ME! I BEG YOU! ʾʾ though as always your words were never heard, you were sure they could hear you- at least even some of them, perhaps St. Peter?... yeah you heard of him, you heard of his arrival- from who or where you cannot remember but you knew he was now by the gates of heaven allowing good moral souls to enter- GOD FUCKING DAMN IT YOU ARE MEANT TO BE WITH THEM! those shitbags dont care about anyone but them, they're selfish little fucks who only want to see the good- never the bad! Cant they open their fucking eyes to see that they aren't perfect?! 

     Sharp rocks dug into your back as you landed on them for the umpteenth time for that day, or week, or month- you didn't know any more, time was a concept you lost the knowledge to a while go, as much as other things. Your old social behavior was sure to have faltered, gone wrong, your mind had probably twisted into something horrific. That Cherub that once thrived is now dead, in her wake a new angel- a weeper angel now takes her place.

Now with heaven's ignorance and silence

the weeper lost hope for salvation,

and then she turned to the ground beneath her feet

     Out of sheer anger of the lack of reply from the heavenly skies, you kicked yet another rock out of your way- while flying from where it once stood the rock broke into several pieces. It's been so long. So long of you begging and pleading with heaven for one more chance and they have done nothing but ignore you, you'd tried so many times to reach out to them you flew for hours- screamed for days- wept so loud you were sure all three worlds could hear you crystal clear. ˓˓ GOD DAMNIT ʾʾ kicking more things you looked above you ˓˓ CAELO TE DAMNO! TE ANGELOS PATHETICUS OMNES ʾʾ 〔 DAMN YOU HEAVEN! DAMN ALL YOU PATHETIC ANGELS 〕 if heaven will not answer your calls, then you'll turn to hell. While yes, you saw Heaven as a choice first it was mainly because you could not bare to see Lucifer again, after you failed to keep his place in heaven he would surely hate you, he's want you to suffer but seeing as even heaven will not take you- Hell was your only chance of escapism, but how would you get there? Would you be able to stomp onto the ground with such power that the ground would crack and open up?

     Perhaps not, after all what if you end up on the earth's land- with humans, eugh, the thought of them makes your stomach twist, full of virtue or full of vice they were disgusting mortals- your presence would send them into insanity, they'd all go mad and kill one another and plus they were dirty, vile creatures- you felt that if you even saw one, they'd end up dead by your hands. Something was wrong with you, you never thought that way before. It was this isolation that was breaking your mind, you needed to get out and fast.

     again, but how? There was no way you were willing to break the ground, and the only other way to even get there was through the extermination- yes this was another thing you were aware of, after all Angels needed to pass through your current home to get to hell, so maybe just maybe while they're flying through the portal you'd be able to sneak in too. There was only one problem, you dont know where the portal appears, it never appears in the same place and whenever it does appear you're too far away.

     But, it was your only chance and you had to take it, or else you'd go truly mad, turn into a beast and kill anyone and anything you set your glossed over eyes on. Now the waiting game begins, though it wont take long at all- the last extermination was 350 days ago, you counted. Only 15 days left until you could be free from this torture.

     Forget heaven, forget it all- now hell is your new destination.

     ＷＡＩＴ ＦＯＲ ＭＥ ＨＥＬＬ

𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 ⠆(want to be reminded when I post a new chapter? Lmk!) ⸺ @reverse-soe @jellibean2018 @aliazy @sugarrush-blush @littledolly2345 @immahuman @marsilis @c0sm1cstqrsx @redqueeen99 @persephosposts

[peachesofteal]

okayyyy so now i need an entire DD fantasy au…

peach, every piece of your writing is like freshly baked bread, and i am a starving peasant. you are my god.

dead disco is eating my brain.

- 🧟‍♀️

🧟‍♀️ Anon is referencing this. Same. I wish I had more time to write, I could totally take this and run with it. 🖤 🖤 I will feed you as much bread as I can.

“What- what’re you going to do with me?” You try to brace your voice with strength, bravery, anything to try to hide the truth, disguise the fear that has your hands shaking in your dress.

“We’re takin ye home, Princess.” You gape at the Highlander, the one who Introduced himself as Johnny. He tightens the girth on a sweet, sorrel pony, who nickers at you softly.

“But I am home.” You gesture to the castle that lurks behind you, and Ghost scoffs.

“You belong to us, darling. And that-“ he points at the gate. “Wasn’t much a home for you, now was it?” The image of your father being hacked to pieces by the violent stroke of his sword rips across your mind, and you shudder.

“Alright. Shall we?” Johnny motions to the pony, and you blanch.

“I don’t ride.” Your stomach knots, twisting up more than you thought possible, after everything. “I don’t- I’ve always taken a carriage.” They exchange a look, some sort of silent communication passing between the two, a deep connection that somehow manages to make you feel like an intruder, even those these are the two who ransacked your land and killed your father.

“Ye’ll ride with me then.” Johnny tells you gently, bending with a palm forward.

“I-“ The protest is in vain, and you know it. There’s no one here, to come to your rescue, no one to save you. Your own home is drenched in blood.

“Up ye get.” His hand hovers in the air by your knee, encouraging you to use it as a step, you think. But no, surely not? He couldn’t… support you. With one hand. You stand on indecision, looking from him, to the horse, to the ground. “Darling.” He murmurs softly, gentle under his breath.

It’s time.” Ghost calls, hoisting himself up onto a massive, shiny black horse that stands double your height, if not more.

“Princess.” Johnny urges. “Dinnae make me force ye onto the horse.” He’s serious, and you gulp against the cold wind that whips through your bones.

Only a few hours in, and you’re in agony. Your body is soft, not conditioned for long rides or hunts, muscles soft and skin nearly silk. Every step the horse makes feels like it may knock you off balance, bones in your back screaming at you with each jostle. Johnny tries to hold you steady, keeping you close to him, pressed to his chest, but it does little to help your discomfort. He steadies you with a hand on your hip, slowly sliding around to press against your lower belly, shifting you back into the shelter of his body, his warmth.

“Ye alright?” He murmurs into your ear, tucking your cloak tighter around your shoulders. “Ye’re shivering.”

“It’s cold.” You whisper, not even sure if he can hear you. He rubs your upper arm, squeezing it to try to work blood flow back into your skin.

“Ay.” He yells to Ghost, who’s in front, and they both pull up short. The black horse moves frighteningly quick alongside you, and Ghost studies your stricken expression intently behind the mask.

“Let’s get her into town. We can stop at the Inn for the night.” He tells Johnny, who pulls you tighter into his body.

“It’s about another hour, Darling. Think ye can make it?”

“It’s not safe, camping in these woods.” Ghost supplies as an explanation gently, and you nod.

“O-okay.”

“Good girl.”

At the end of the hour, you’re on the verge of tears. It’s frigid, you’re stiff in the saddle, legs and back and everything uncooperative, thigh muscles completely raw from trying to hold your seat.

“Easy now.” Johnny coos when he slips down, trying to encourage you to swing your leg over and follow his lead. When you try, a whimper slips free between your lips, and his brows crease in concern.

“I can’t.”

“Oh, darling.” He slides an arm around your waist, pulling you down into his chest, and you stifle a pained moan, face pressing into the warmth of his cloak. “Let’s get ye inside, out of the cold.” He holds you with ease, tucking you tighter amidst the little whimpers that are still slipping from your chattering teeth.

[mothmanavenue]

In conjuntion with this art piece here

...

The war doesn’t end with a crash or a bang. Nothing explodes in a fiery shower the way he’d read about in books as a kid. There's no rocking of the ground as the world shifts under their feet, and a curling anxiety in his gut as he desperately reaches out in the link for a glimmer of one just one of his teammates, his family, his lover.

There’s just the dead drop of a falling lion as a ceasefire is called. It’s just the feeling of his fingers relaxing from a white knuckled grip on Red’s controls and his head falling back with a dull thud against the headrest of the pilot’s chair. It’s the unwinding of his spine as he slumps, all his strength and exhaustion collapsing in on him as he surrenders flight back to his lion, her battle roar softening to a gentle rumble in the back of his mind. It’s the gasps of relief and whispered gratitude of his family echoing in his ears, letting him know they’re safe, they’ve made it, it’s finally done.

Keith is completely unsurprised to note which one he prefers. 

Red’s purr is a constant source of comfort in his mind as he curls his legs toward his chest, eyes squinted in lazy, bone deep weariness, brain barely processing Shiro and Allura from their respective command stations outlining the conditions of ceasefire. He can barely think about anything outside the cramping in his fingers and the bleariness of his eyes from entire successive days spent raising Voltron’s sword, pouring his energy and willpower into convincing the strongest weapons in the universe to bend to his will.  

It’s ok if he misses something. The team will catch him up. They always have, when the tiredness consumes him, and he checks out of conversations and discussion, slumping against the nearest comforting shoulder. 

Allura’s voice is as sharp and clear as the crown that adorns her head; the queen of Altea in all her glory commands her troops from the midst of battle. Keith’s attention had been laser focused on ensuring Voltron’s continued presence, but nothing in the world could keep him from watching for Allura’s flashing blue light as she approached Haggar, now withered and raging, and knelt in front of her. Keith missed what was said, the words exchanged. But he saw the tightening of his Queen, his sister’s, shoulders, and the hand wrapping tight around the witch’s neck. 

It’s been a long eight days on this earth of his.

His brain clocks out in that moment, and he rides the warm haze he’s in, letting the satisfaction of success settle into his bones. It’s not time for celebration just yet. It will come later once the dead is counted and the shrouds are laid. Keith knows better than most the toll of war, and he dreads the time that will come when the lists of the dead will be handed to them, and he will need hours, days, weeks, to grieve people he did and didn’t know and names he’s cherished and ones he’s never heard, and each loss will still hit like a blow to the ribs. After that, the celebration will come. The ballrooms of the castle will glow with life and Hunk will dress in gold, Shiro’s white hair will gleam in the light, and Pidge will protest that she just won a war, she deserves a drink. Allura will stand regal at their side, and her shoulders will be light, free from the burden of an avenger, and she will turn to them with a gleaming grin and they won’t have any choice but to smile back at her. 

And lance.

Lance will be so handsome in his blue suit, golden and silver threaded in painstaking embroidery in the bed of deep sky. His hair will fall loose and natural in his eyes, heavenly blues, and earthy brown under the string set of his eyebrows, and he’ll gleam like a freshly lit candle. 

He’ll take Keith’s breath away and Keith will never want it back. 

But that comes after.

Right now, here, Red lands on dusty earth and grumbles in his head about doing all the work. He’s sure none of the other lions give their other halves this much shit. He loves her so fiercely it burns his throat and eyes. He can’t believe he ever spent a day outside of her. Can’t believe he wasn’t raised alongside this wonderful, temperamental, protective, grouchy cat, who bossed him and fussed him, and purred and cooed when he screamed in his dreams. Can’t believe there ever was a time he resigned himself to not having this. What a fool he was. 

The wave of emotion fills the cockpit in a lilting hum, and she lights up around him, Voltron blue piercing through the chunks in his armour. Red is as alive as a blaze and warm as a hearth in his head. 

Her mouth drops open with one final swell of affection, as she releases her paladin to his home ground. 

Keith murmurs a breathy thank you i love you you’re everything to me, as he stumbles out, hand grasping the cool metal as he comes to a rest on the shifting sands. The sand is warm from fire and fighting and it hits him all at one.

He crouches down, head hanging as he pants and gasps for breath. The emotion of the past few days shutter his eyesight till all he sees in the grains of sand sticking to his gauntlets. His head spins and his hair is falling out of the ponytail he’d tied it back in, and his breath is coming hard now. 

Something is missing. Somethings not quite right.

The swords have fallen, the helmets tossed to the side, red looms protective behind him. The shields are down the guards are dropped and he can feel the press of the Voltron bond that lets him know his team is landing nearby, drawn together with a gravitational pull.

He draws in breath, cool and refreshing and tinged with the scent of burning. Around him the sand is interspersed with freshly formed glass. 

He raises his head, expecting to see the heavens above him. He wants to take in the freshly healed scar of the newly collapsed Rigel star system. Wants to know how the blazing lights of thousands of planets worth of warfare look set against the familiar earth sky. He think he might look at the constellations, like he did not far from here a hundred years ago, tucked into his dad's strong, solid arms, the scratch of a stubbly chin accompanying a moving mouth as it named Orion, Cassiopeia, Gemini. 

He looks up expecting to see stars, and instead, he sees the sun.

Lance's smile is crooked, and his breath comes fast, like he ran, as he hovers over him. Their faces are so close he can count each individual freckle on this boy’s face, as precious to him as the gleam of moonlight cutting paths across the castle hallways. Oh this boy, this absolute death of him. 

“Hey lover,” the words leave Lance’s mouth with ease and anticipation, years of pent-up adoration spilling out with every vowel, “we did it.”

Keith feels his own smile steal across his face, “yeah, we did.” 

If possible, Lance's smile grows wider, crinkling the already forming smile lines at his eyes. Keith thinks of the products that line the counter of his bathroom sink, just waiting for a pretty bronzed hand to pick them up when the separation hits, and their resolves are softened by the press of late hours and long silence. 

A silly waste. Keith likes this look on Lance.

Aging.

What a wonderful thing he never thought he’d get to have. 

“You know what that means?” 

Lance's voice is smooth, the tremble that only a practiced ear could pick out masked by the sincerity and anticipation that has dogged their every conversation since that night on the dais. 

“We’ll wait.”

“Until when, Keith?”

“Until it’s done. When it’s done then we can have this. We can’t lose everyone for each other.”

“I’m yours?”

“When it’s done then. And when it’s done, I’m bringing you home with me. I’m putting a ring on your finger and I’m never letting you go. You’re it for me, Keith.”

“I’m not asking you to wait, that’s not fair-“

“I followed you into space Keith. I followed you to the point of no return. You aren’t asking me anything and that’s a damn shame. I’d give you anything you asked for.”

“When it’s done lance, when it’s done, I’ll ask you anything you want me to. I’ll come home with you, I’ll share a bed with you. I’ll be yours as long as you’ll have me.”

“Don’t joke, honey,”

“I’m not. You’re mine, lance”

“And-“

“you’re mine.”

The words reverberate in his head, and oh. This is what it was. The smooth slot of this thing that’s been so long coming.

Lance drops to his knees in front of him, one warm hand coming to rest on his cheek. Keith leans his head into it. He’s too tired for restraint, or shame, or any other useless emotion that would’ve held a younger him back. He’s got nothing to lose. He’s won. There’s no reason left to hold back. What a novel idea. It coats him and leaves him shivering at the feel of a gloved thumb running gently over his cheekbones.

His eyes fall back open from their unconscious close, and Lance is so close.

Honest, sweet, honourable lance. The sandpaper to all his rough edges. The iron that absorbed his burning heat. The shore that meets his rocking tide. 

Keith can hear the thunder of Pidge’s feet as they run across the uneven terrain. Hunk is following after her, his voice a cacophony of relief and joy. Shiro’s laughter is warm and thick as honey, coming easier than it has since aliens were a late-night story. Allura is giggling, high and bright, and a little hysterical. It’s ok. She’ll pull herself back together and they’ll be there to fill the cracks with liquid gold.

(Or glitter. She’d like glitter.)

Lance is watching him, and Keith’s eyes drift back to him. Lance hasn’t looked away in years. Something, some last resistance hidden away so deep he didn’t even know to search for a cure, falls away. 

He leans in and closes the gap.

...

posted on ao3 here

[muxshwriting]

take me to church

Aleksander Morozova x reader

summary: after you get hurt, Aleksander begins to pray to a higher power he lost faith in long ago || warnings: injuries, angst, questioning faith || words: 590 || masterlist

"Bring her in."

Aleksander watched as a broken and bloody body was dragged into the room by two guards, his face turning thunderous. They threw you to the ground just in front of the him and stood back as you groaned in pain.

"Found this one in a West corridor, trying to break into your chamber General." One of the guards spat.

"Do you have any idea who this is?" Kirigan's voice thundered through the hall. No one had ever heard him so angry. Ivan stepped forward from his post, intent on making the guards suffer. Fedyor, on the other hand, approached you on the floor and wrapped a hand around your wrist, steadying your rapid heart.

The guard swallowed nervously. "She was breaking in to your rooms sir."

Aleksander seemed to only grow angrier. "Regardless of if she was or was not breaking into my rooms, why was this not reported to me?"

"We are reporting it to you now Sir- General. She was taken into custody this morning." The guard seemed to trail off as he realised the hole he had dug for himself.

Aleksander glanced back at Ivan and nodded his head. Within an instant, the two guards were on the floor, dead. He knelt by your side, catching sight of all the cuts and bruises you were sporting. The anger rose once again. They had you for less than four hours and had done immense damage.

"Get me a healer. Now!" Without another word, he gently brought your head onto his knees. He moved a piece of hair from your eyes and cupped your face gently. "How is she?" He whispered to Fedyor, almost scared of the answer.

"She's strong." He reassured. "Her heartbeat is steady and it's getting stronger by the minute. She'll be waking up soon."

He moved his hand from her wrist and let Aleksander's replace it. He clung to your wrist like a lifeline, holding his fingers in to feel your heartbeat and pressing a brief kiss to your knuckles. You stirred. A low groan escaping your lips as you try to shift your battered body.

Aleksander was quick to shush you. "It's alright. Don't move, okay. You're going to be fine."

"Aleks?" Your eyes slowly peeled open, staring up at Aleksander and immediately meeting his gaze, your eyes filling with tears as you did. "Sasha..."

A small smile graced Aleksander's lips as the door opened and Ivan came rushing in with a healer. It truly was a sight to see; the General of the Second Army was kneeling on the ground beside a beaten girl.

"I’m tired." You whispered. A tear slipped down your face.

"It’s okay." Aleksander whispered back. "You’re gonna be fine. Just go to sleep, okay? I’ll be here when you wake up."

To fall in love is to create a religion with a fallible god. And that's exactly what you were, fallible and mortal.

With the reassurement, you fully relax and let your eyes slip shut. Aleksander ran his hand through your hair, the movement sending you to sleep. Even after the healer began to work, he stayed. He watched as your brow furrowed, then relaxed. He would stay from now on.

For the first time in a while, in a long, long while, Aleksander prayed. He had been around to see many Saints rise and fall. Because of that, he had stopped believing long ago. But maybe he should have believed. He would believe now, for you.

There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin.

if you want to be added to the taglist for these, let me know! as always, likes and reblogs help me grow and inspire me to write more xx

[shegatsby]

Hi! I dont really now how requests work so I’m so sorry for any mistakes!! I was wondering if u could do a Hannibal x fem(or gn) reader where she gets kidnapped and he finds out and saves her(but she’s injured). Heavy angst to pure fluff!!

PS: I couldn’t find if ur requests r closed or open so if they are closed rn I’m so sorry!!!🌷🌷🌷🌷

A/N; Hi! Thank you for this request i hope you'll like it. Sorry for any typos. Enjoy! Let me know what you think :)

Warnings; Kidnapped reader, injuries etc.

(gif isn't mine)

When she woke up from her nightmare her head was hurting her like a bitch.. only her nightmare was real. She was trapped in a basement, the last thing she remembered was that someone broke into her house and hit hear head, she was cooking dinner when the attacker came, her plan was to have Hannibal over for dinner, to thank him for helping her etc. She wanted to impress him so bad.. but now she was in a dark basement and her hands and feet were tied. She had to take deep breaths to calm herself in order to make logical desicions. The door of the basement was opened and soon her attacker hit the light, it was yellow and hurt her eyes, ''Rise and shine sweetheart.'' a man's voice was heard, ''Why am I here?'' she asked trying her best to not freak put, the man had a mask and he was wearing an expensive suit, he came close to her, holding a knife, obviously trying to scare her, ''You're just a pawn in my game little dove. It's your boyfriend I want.''

''Boyfriend? I don't have one, sorry.'' she rolled her eyes, what was he talking about?!

''Aww you haven't realized? Doctor Lecter is quite smitten by you. Even a blind person could see that.''

Well, she wasn't sure but she had been feeling a strange pull towards him, recently they've been seeing each other, bumping into each other, it was as if Hannibal was just standing where ever she goes... or was it not a coincidence?

When Doctor Hannibal Lecter walked into her apartment the door was wide open, only sound he could hear was the stove cooking something, he silently walked in, didn't close the door just in case if he had to run. Turns out, there was no one except the broken plates, he turned off the stove with his gloved hands and picked up the small piece of paper on the kitchen table.

''Come find us Doctor Lecter...''

This must be about the latest case Hannibal has been helping the FBI with, a murderer was loose, killing young women and dropping them in the forest, his heart skipped an awful beat when he thought of the possibility that his Y/N is being killed... if he alarmed the FBI Y/N most likely would be dead in a couple hours so he had to be alone on this case.

He quickly drove to the place where he had suspicions of, there was an abandoned house close to one of the victim's body, of course the FBI searched but couldn't find anything but Hannibal had to try and find her.

Meanwhile Y/N was on the ground, her right side hurt, ''If you let me go I won't tell anyone... please..'' she had to give..

The tall man with the mask laughed, punched her lower stomach, she coughed up blood. ''Shut up before I cut your face.''

She didn't dare to say anything else.

After a while the masked man went upstairs and she heard some noises, like two people fighting and then a gun shot... she almost jumped from the ground and started to pray to any god that's out there. Her back was turned to the door this time so she couldn't see anyone, but familiar footsteps approached to her.

She looked up to see Hannibal with few bruises on her beautiful face, he left a relieved sigh, ''I was so worried Y/N...'' he knelt to free her hands and feet, they felt numb. Hannibal started to rub her hands quickly, ''Hannibal,'' he wasn't hearing her, ''Hannibal,'' she stopped her, looked with her dove eyes, ''I'm fine.''

''No,'' he lifted her chin to take a good look at her face, ''I should've tortured that man thing before killing her. How dare he?!'' he was actually talking to himself than talking to her but she didn't mind, she was happy that he came to rescue her... for once in her life she had someone who would choose her.

Hannibal lifted her and carried her outside, ''You'll be living with me from now on. Understood?'' he asked with a dominant tone, ''Yes Doctor.'' she said sarcastically and it made them both laugh.

She had a new home and someone to spend her life with.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

5k is so deserved! I constantly go back and reread your works and am always looking forward to what’s next ❤️❤️❤️

I’ve been having thoughts about a Hesh x femreader reunion request thats similar to your latest Keegan piece. Except reader was childhood friends with the Walker boys, but despite there being feelings between Hesh and reader they’re scared of confessing because of their friendship. they get separated when Odin happens, and both join the military and reunite during a joint Op with the Ghosts and readers team, and even after 10 years their feelings resurface and finally get together.

Can’t wait to see what you’ll write for all the requests!!

—To The Boy of My Childhood

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [Ten years came and went fast, but the memory of the Walker boys stayed. One more than the other. You never got to tell him you loved him.] ❞

You remembered his kindness, above all. His big, pure, heart. Hesh wasn’t just someone you grew to know and then threw out like a pair of old socks, no, he was too good for that—a mix of playful boyishness and the makes of a fine man. You wished you could have told him how much he meant to you before it all just fell apart. 

Growing up near the Walker boys was a treat and a curse, not for yourselves, but for the adults—no one got in the way of you three. Late nights in the backyard, laughter keeping everyone up into the small hours. The fights and the near-instantaneous make-ups. 

The older years of deep-rooted attraction to the green-eyed boy of your youth.

David Hesh Walker had been everything you had ever wanted, and even when the ground shook and the word split, you still couldn’t tell him how you felt. But fate had plans for the two of you—it was only a matter of time. 

Ten years, to be exact.

You jump down from the helo, your knees taking the brunt of the weight from your gear as your team follows. Fort Santa Monica was a bustling stronghold right on the door of Federation occupation—enemies stalking like animals beyond the wall for a glimpse of weakness. The men and women here were anything but.

“On me!” You call out behind you, and the resounding rush of booted feet follows as you all move out along the helicopter pad swiftly. The unit you were assigned was given a simple task—assist the commanding Captain here and his men with wall defense to reduce the amount of casualties. 

Over the ten years of war, you’d honed yourself into something akin to a walking weapon. Found deliriously surviving in the remnants of the USA, your rage and anger gave you the skills you needed to still be alive when the soldiers found you; brought you back to civilization. It hadn’t taken much for you to sign up after that, thinking Hesh and his brother were dead. 

Hesh. God, you had loved him so much that the feeling hadn’t dimmed in the slightest even now. Being so close to home once more made you feel…strange. 

“Lieutenant!” One of the soldiers comes up to greet you all, shouting above the whir of blades—he was an older man with a shaved head and a large beard. “Welcome to Santa Monica!”

“Good to be here!” You call, a rifle hanging heavy on your chest. “Where do you need us, Sir?”

“Fall in, I’m bringin’ you to Scarecrow!” So you follow, leaving the sandy beach of the port and heading into the dense streets. There were civilians in this Fort, you knew, just beyond the checkpoint of fences. You have to wonder how they felt about this—trapped in a rat cage with the water and the war clamping to them tightly. 

“Heard your unit was well-known.” You’d learned the man’s name was Thomas Merrick—a Captain here. You blink at him, head tilting. “Scarecrow was eager to get you here, can’t say why.” 

“I was told you needed support at the wall, Captain,” you explain, brows furrowing. “Were my superiors mistaken?”

Merrick's brown eyes stare at you as you walk beside him, your men all speaking to one another from behind. 

“No,” is all you’re told. 

This ‘Scarecrow’ was known as only that, and your lips thin at the comment leveled at you. Strange. 

Your other men are shown their barracks, and you send them off to get rid of their packs and belongings while you continue on with Merrick to the control room—eager to meet this Captain and get real answers. 

When you get there, the second you push open the door and Merrick takes his leave, you’re greeted by one of the old faces that you could recognize anywhere. 

You freeze just three feet into the room, locking eyes with this mythical ‘Scarecrow’ but it wasn’t some great war strategist, at least, not as you know him.

“Mr. Walker?” You pause, blinking in confusion. Elias Walker—Hesh and Logan’s dad. Your heart constricts in your chest. 

He looks at you, a small smile on his stern face as his arms crossed, nodding his head. 

“Thought I recognized that name in my request for transfers.” 

“Holy shit,” you breathe, a grin breaking out over your face for the first time in ages. Part of you wanted to race and hug him—bathe in the comfort that his rare soft looks would bring you when you were younger…but you weren’t that kid anymore. Being alive was enough, and with the things you’d seen, it meant far more than anything else. Elias seemed to share that sentiment, as he walked over and put a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it. 

“How did…how are…” Your head shakes quickly, memories flooding back along with the pain. But there, in your chest, a flicker of hope—something more blooming back to life. “Logan?” Your voice is tiny, pleading as you pause, gazing into Elias’s eyes. “...Hesh?”

“I already called ‘em back in. They’ll be here soon.” He gives you a proud nod. “I’m glad you’re still here, Sweetheart.” 

You laugh, smile wobbling. 

Alive. Hesh was alive. 

Every wall you’d built falls the second boyish laughter echoes out from the halls. You turn, hearing feet move down the floor, closer and closer as your body stills like a statue. 

Alive. 

When a shoulder pushes open the door, you stop breathing as a far older David enters the room, Logan, as always, not far behind. 

He’s mature now, with a beanie over his short brown hair and the presence of a grown man holding down responsibilities—he was smirking back and his brother, saying in a voice that haunts your dreams, “Think we should tell him what Riley found today, Logan?” 

The younger brother stops short, locks eyes with you, and his body goes as tight as a fishing line. 

Hesh’s brows furrow. “Logan?” He turns to you and those green eyes go confused for a moment, lips going thin. It’s a flash of recognition that re-ignites them—a flicker of something long past before they snap wide with fierce realization.

Blinking quickly, the man watches you, hands at his sides jerking forward by a millimeter as if to grab for you at even a single glance. No one speaks for a long, long time, and maybe you don’t want them to. Hesh and you are locked in a look of pure pain and elation—a dance of life and death. 

There aren’t any words for it beyond the sudden mad scramble for the other’s hold. 

You collide in a sharp breath and a hand to the back of your head—keeping you to him as you both grasp for purchase; for a glimpse of your childhood back.

“Jesus Christ,” Hesh breathes, anchoring you to him as his chest sputters. “Oh my fucking God.”

“Hesh,” you whimper through a sobbing laugh. “You son of a bitch, I should throttle you.”

He scoffs wetly into your ear, hands quivering and voice cracking. 

“Me? If I remember, Doll, you were the one to take that tumble down the hill—I…I tried to find you, y’know that? I swear, I didn’t want to leave but I—”

You pull back and slam your lips to his. 

It was far better than an ‘I love you’ when he melted and grappled you closer.

[aurumacadicus]

stony ficlet number ask 113

Steve dropped to the ground where he stood, shield clattering to the broken cement at his side. He was exhausted. He could fight for hours, but he really hated it. He couldn't tell if that was just physical, though. Sometimes the emotional toll was worse than the physical one, based on who they were fighting.

He heard the whirr of repulsors, the dull clank of metal hitting the ground and the whirring of the gears of armor whining under the effort of movement. Steve sucked in a deep breath, then blew it out through his lips slowly, tipping his head back so he could catch sight of Tony in the armor.

"How are you feeling?" Tony asked, flipping his mask up. "You're sitting down. That bad, huh?"

Steve managed a faint smile. "Oh, I don't know. I was thinking I might lie down and die for about a half an hour, okay?"

"Oof," Tony answered, unable to keep from wincing at least a little bit. It seemed like it was instinct, though, rather than actual worry. He stepped a little closer, left leg giving an alarming little squeak with each step. "Well, as long as it's only a half an hour. Anything longer and I'd just take a nap in the armor."

"Absolutely not," Steve retorted. Sure, the armor could cradle his body and keep it safe, but sleeping upright was difficult on the body. Tony smiled, mischievous and sweet all at once, and Steve couldn't help but smile back, smitten. He motioned at Tony's leg. "Something is squeaking."

Tony flipped his face plate shut, and Steve took a moment to just take him in, watch how the armor shifted in minute increments to test every bolt and joint. It was always a marvel to see. Tony had designed the armor all by himself, had checked every piece with his own hands. He was so incredibly smart. So incredibly clever.

"Quick fix once we get home," Tony said, face plate popping back open. His hair was sticking to his forehead with sweat, and there was a little swelling on his left cheek. It would probably bruise. But his eyes were bright at the idea of tinkering with the armor later, and his smile was wide with pleasure at his armor having worked with only a small malfunction.

So incredibly beautiful, Steve sighed, leaning his chin on his hand.

"Well, I'm hungry, so finish being dead, and--what?" Tony asked when he noticed the way Steve was staring at him. He blinked, lifting a gauntleted hand to his face. "I didn't get more than a glancing blow to the face, is it bad? It doesn't feel bad, I--"

"It's so unfair that you can still be so handsome after a fight," Steve said, trying to sound like he was complaining, but he could feel the goofy smile crossing his face. "I think I should kiss you all over."

Tony let out a surprised little huff, eyes crinkling with amusement. "Well, that could be arranged, maybe, after you eat something."

"You?" Steve asked hopefully.

"Maybe something with more carbs," Tony suggested instead, holding his hand out to him.

Steve took it, forcing himself not to drag Tony down for a kiss. He'd learned his lesson the last time when he'd lunged up and gotten cut by the edge of the face plate. But once it was removed, he was kissing Tony wherever he could reach.