#women covered in blood🥰🥰🥰🥰 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 3 months

Text

Napoleonville [Chapter 6: The House Of Salt And Scales]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, smoking, infidelity, Evangelical Christians, kids, parenthood, Willis Warning, (Mis)Adventures With Aegon, Targ family dysfunction, bodily injury, blood, alligators, ANGST!!!

Word Count: 7.5k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @marvelescvpe @toodlesxcuddles @era127 @at-a-rax-ia @0eessirk8 @arcielee @dd122004dd @humanpurposes @taredhunter @tinykryptonitewerewolf @partnerincrime0 @dr-aegon @persephonerinyes @namelesslosers @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @daenysx @gemini-mama @chattylurker @moonlightfoxx @huramuna @britt-mf @myspotofcraziness @padfooteyes @trifoliumviridi @joliettes @darkenchantress @florent1s @babyblue711 @minttea07 @libroparaiso @bluerskiees @herfantasyworldd @elizarbell @urmomsgirlfriend1 @fudge13 @strangersunghoon

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 🥰🧁

“Did you hear that Willis is single again?”

Ugh. “Yes, Mama. I heard. You told me already.” You linger in the doorway with a white bakery box in your hands: your mother’s favorite, grasshopper pie, straight out of the 1960s. She allegedly ate through two a week when she was pregnant with you. Cadi has already dashed inside and made herself at home; she’s probably jamming the movie she got from Blockbuster—Predator, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Amir recommended it—into the VHS player. “You told me, Willis told me, all his deputies told me, Cadi told me, my mailman told me, the checkout ladies at the Piggly Wiggly told me, literally every resident of Napoleonville has informed me in no uncertain terms that Willis is single again. And I could not possibly care less.”

Your mother sighs and presses a hand to her forehead, wounded and incredulous, like she’s just watched a 60 Minutes segments about a tsunami or a genocide. “I just don’t understand it. In my day, people married for life.”

You glance back longingly at your Chevy Celebrity. “Yeah. I know they did.”

“When your father, and God rest his soul, when he was young, he was a hellion,” your mother says, as if you don’t remember it, as if you weren’t there. “He’d get his paycheck every Friday and stay out all night with his buddies, sometimes he didn’t come home the whole weekend. I’d lay into him when he finally showed, I’d say, ‘Rene, how on earth am I supposed to put dinner on the table if I don’t have any fish in the icebox?!’ Once he punched a hole in the kitchen wall and I had to cover it up with a picture of President Eisenhower! And I never even thought about leaving. How could I have done that to you? Forcing you to grow up in a broken home? Mothers and fathers living apart, whoever heard of such a thing? It’s unnatural.”

You’re brainstorming recipes to distract yourself. Caramel pretzel cookies. Banana chiffon pie. Cheese Danish cupcakes with diced cherries and a hint of vanilla. “Everyone draws their own lines, Mama.”

“But it’s not just about you,” she implores, her eyes shimmering with sympathy she never had for other women. You remember what she said on the rare occasions you confided in her about your frustrations with Willis: Of course a man isn’t going to want you bothering him with your feelings when he’s had a hard day at work. Of course a man—after you’ve had his baby, after you almost died to do it—is going to be crossing off days on the calendar until you can have sex again. He keeps a roof over your head and he never hits you, what more could you ask for? “What about Cadi? What if she grows up thinking that her marriage vows don’t mean anything? It’s the foundation of society, marriage. If that goes, everything goes.”

It’s the foundation of a lot of coercion and unfairness and misery, that’s for sure. “I wouldn’t want Cadi to stay in a situation that makes her unhappy. Would you?”

Your mother throws her hands up, like you’ve told her you’re converting to communism and catching the next flight to the USSR. “Life isn’t just about happiness, sweetheart! It’s about commitment, it’s about responsibility! If everyone did what they wanted all the time, no one would stay married!”

“Maybe that speaks to the value of marriage as an institution.”

“And morality is already falling apart in this country,” your mother continues, ignoring you. That’s what she does when she can’t refute facts, logic, evidence. “Young people living together, women having babies with two or three different men, people doing drugs, people on Welfare, people shooting and stabbing each other, sex shops everywhere, naughty magazines at gas stations, men wanting to marry other men—”

“Okay, Mama. I really have to go now.”

“Alright, I’ll shut up. I will, I will, I swear.” She makes peace with a brisk kiss to your cheek like a stamp on an envelope. “Enjoy a nice quiet night to yourself. Do you have any plans?”

Well, Mama, I’m trying to resist the temptation to call my engaged dominant oil tycoon not-boyfriend and tell him to come over for kinky adulterous sex. “Not really. I’ll probably take a bubble bath and then watch something Cadi would think is boring, like 20/20.” You hand over the bakery box, and your mother’s face lights up.

“Grasshopper pie?!”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. You know it’s hard for me to make it myself anymore. This rheumatoid arthritis, it’s got me all twisted up.” She nods down to where her fingers grip the box, knobby and increasingly useless.

“When’s your next appointment?”

“I’ve got one in…oh…about three weeks, I think. I’d have to check my daybook. All the way over in New Orleans with some specialist that Dr. Cormier recommended.”

“Okay. Want me to go with you?”

“Yes, that’d be fine.” It would be more than fine; she wants you to go, though she won’t say it. You aren’t sure if she doesn’t want to impose or doesn’t want to admit how reliant she’s becoming upon you, like growing up in reverse.

“Mawmaw!” Cadi shouts from inside the house. “Hurry up! I want to watch Predator!”

“You quit your hollering, I’ll be right there!” Then your mother looks to you and offers one last piece of very unsolicited advice. “Just be kind to Willis, alright? Give him a chance. I don’t think he’ll ever find a woman he likes as much as you. That’s what everyone says.”

“Mama, he has no idea who I am.” And he’s not interested either.

“Sure he does. You’re the mother of his child, and you always will be. Maybe you’ll find your way back to each other.”

“I’ll think about it.” You definitely won’t. “Goodnight, Mama.”

“So long.” She shuffles into the house, and once she’s shut the door you hear her muffled voice: “Arcadia, come on over here and help me slice up this pie…”

You drive home with the windows down and blasting St. Elmo’s Fire. There’s still an hour or two of sunlight left; the world is painted in gold and blood orange, the soybeans, the sugarcane, the grass growing tall and wild, the Spanish moss swinging from the trees, the earth ripening as its revolution hurtles towards the apex of summer. Cadi is out of school until August. Amir will be announcing his looming departure to San Francisco. Aemond will be getting married.

The adolescent alligator that Aemond is so afraid of is in the far corner of the front yard, basking in the last of the daylight. You walk into your room, flop down on the bed, lie there staring longingly at the pink phone on your nightstand. You reach to pick it up, then stop yourself. Aemond hasn’t fucked you, hasn’t kissed you, has rarely touched you at all since you found out about Christabel. But he stops by your house and invites you to his; he stitches himself into your life like someone somewhere once sutured his face back together.

I can’t. It’s wrong. He’s engaged.

Aemond doesn’t know you’re home alone. It’s Friday, and usually Cadi would be here with you until tomorrow morning.

Maybe it’s not really cheating until he’s married. I mean, if Aemond and Christabel aren’t sleeping together, if they almost never see each other…is it even a real relationship?

Wistful thinking, yes, denial, yes; but with each passing minute your resolve not to pick up the phone weakens.

We don’t have much longer until the wedding. Our time is slipping away.

He’s a robber baron. He’s arrogant, he’s delusional.

And I want him. I still do, and I can’t stop.

The phone rings. You sit up, startled. It’s not Aemond, you tell yourself so you won’t be disappointed when it isn’t him. But it is.

“Hi,” Aemond says; he sounds out of breath. “I’m really sorry to bother you.”

“No, it’s okay, Cadi is actually having a sleepover with my mom. They’re watching Predator. My mom has no idea what it’s about, she’ll be clutching that Bible she got signed by Jerry Falwell a little extra hard tonight. What’s up?”

“This is going to sound random, but…you haven’t seen Aegon, have you? He hasn’t shown up at your house, he hasn’t called? You don’t know where he is?”

Aegon? Why would I know anything about what Aegon’s doing right now? “Um, no…?”

A long exhale, a lull that’s full of dread.

“Aemond, what’s going on?”

“He and my father got into it a few hours ago. They were screaming at each other, kicking furniture over, which isn’t all that unusual, honestly. But then Aegon ran away.”

“Wait, like, he’s gone…?”

“He stormed out the back door, went down to the lake, and then headed north into the trees. And I assumed he’d be back by now, but it’s getting dark and he’s not here. He never came home. His Porsche is still sitting in the driveway.” There is a pause. “I think he’s out there.”

“Out where?”

“In the woods,” Aemond says, shellshocked, terrified. “In the bayou.”

Your eyes dart to the window; the golden daylight is dwindling. “Aemond, he can’t be alone in the bayou. It’s dangerous. He could die. There aren’t just alligators, there are wild boars, cottonmouths, copperheads, snapping turtles, brown recluses, fire ants, I don’t think there are any black bears this far south but it’s always possible, he could drown, he could get trapped in quicksand, you cannot let Aegon spend the night out there.”

“I don’t know what to do.” You’re not used to hearing this in Aemond’s voice: the panic, the vulnerability. “No one else seems worried. They said he disappears all the time, and that’s true. They’re convinced he’s found his way to a strip club or a Waffle House or something and will drag himself home eventually. No one will listen to me. My father has forbidden me from getting anyone else involved. He doesn’t want gossip getting around town and overshadowing the new rig project or…you know. The wedding thing. My wedding. And I can go over his head, sure, I can make calls, but when investigators show up here to start searching my father is just going to tell them to leave. How is it even possible to find Aegon? At night in a fucking swamp? Is anyone going to be willing to go out there before morning? Do I need people with bloodhounds or a helicopter?”

No way, you think as soon as the idea hits you. But it’s the right thing to do. It’s the only thing to do. “I can think of someone who knows their way around the bayou.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s just after 7 p.m. when Willis arrives to pick you up: grinning smugly, mullet fluffed, Plymouth Gran Fury hauling his brand new 20-foot jon boat. He’s dressed for night fishing in boots, camo-colored waders, and a grey hoodie with SHERIFF printed across the front in black letters. You climb into the passenger seat wearing sneakers, denim shorts, and a blue raincoat over your Pepsi t-shirt. You haven’t been fishing since you were married to Willis, and you’ve never missed it. It’s a grisly business: hooks through lips, hooks through eyeballs, hooks swallowed and tangled up in some doomed creature’s guts.

Aemond is waiting at the mouth of the Targaryens’ driveway, just out of sight of the mansion they call The Last Desire. He gets in the back seat and sits there testily with his arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line, glaring out the window as an indistinct blur of primeval vegetation passes by outside. He has on his Marlboro jacket, light-wash jeans, and Adidas sneakers. You hope he doesn’t ruin them; although you suppose he can always buy more. He could buy a hundred more, a thousand more, and it wouldn’t make a difference. You can’t fathom what it’s like to live that way. It seems to conflict with all the laws of man and nature.

Aemond speaks grudgingly to Willis, a quick flat statement that invites no conversation. He didn’t call Willis to explain the situation, you did. You’re afraid to leave them alone with each other. You aren’t sure who would be more likely to end up a corpse decomposing in the muddy silt at the bottom of Lake Verret. “Thank you for agreeing to help with this.”

Willis chuckles warmly, either oblivious to Aemond’s prickliness or unbothered by it. “Bien sur! It’s my job, son. We’ll hunt your brother down.” Then he glances over at you, smirking, prying. “So, sugar…how’d you two make each other’s acquaintance?”

“Amir and I baked the cakes for his engagement party.”

“Engagement party, huh?” Willis looks at Aemond in the rearview mirror. “You gettin’ married?”

Aemond is still staring out the window. “Obviously.”

“So you ain’t single?”

“Legally, I am in fact single until the day the marriage license is signed.”

Willis returns his attention to you. “So he ain’t the petit ami you’ve been so secretive about.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend, Willis. I really can’t be more clear than that.”

“Oh, I know you got one. I know all your looks, sugar. Some days you come ‘round my office lookin’ lovesick, like you’re just a-floatin’ on a cloud. Other days you’re real mean, like you don’t want me takin’ none of your time, like you got somebody more important to spend it on. And then sometimes you just look…” He smiles, mischievous. “Well, how can I put it? Satisfied. The cat who ate the canary. And I recall exactly what that looks like on you. It’s been a while, sure. But I remember.”

From the back seat, Aemond sighs irritably. You say to Willis: “Can we please focus on finding Aegon?”

“Sois calme, sois calme. That’s why I’m here. We’ll be in the water in ten minutes.”

There is no more discussion; the only sound is the radio, Holding Out For A Hero by Bonnie Tyler. Willis turns onto a winding dirt road that leads to a boat launch about a mile from the Targaryens’ property. He spins his Plymouth Gran Fury around and backs it down the concrete ramp towards the rippling, slow-moving currents of Lake Verret. It’s difficult to see from the driver’s seat—most people would have someone get out to guide them—but Willis knows the way by heart. He’s been on boats since before he could walk; Willis’ daddy knew the bayou, and his daddy knew the bayou, and his daddy did too, all the way back to before the Louisiana Purchase. Your family are newer arrivals (relatively speaking), having only been in Napoleonville for about 100 years and keeping mostly to the town. You remember your 11th grade science teacher saying once that alligators have been around since before the dinosaurs went extinct. Maybe that’s what Willis is: a relic of a distant time and species, afflicted with a cunning ruggedness that won’t allow his kind to go extinct.

When the trailer is mostly underwater, Willis gets out of the car to unhook the straps that keep the boat moored to it. You go outside to help and Aemond follows, though he doesn’t know what to do. He’s never handled a boat this size and it shows; perhaps a yacht would be more his speed. He stands aside and watches, frowning, hands buried in the pockets of his Marlboro jacket. His lack of expertise riles him. He’s not used to being the incapable one. He hates not having control.

Willis already has a tow rope tied to a metal handle at the bow of the jon boat; he lifts it out and gives the free end to Aemond. “Hold onto that, will ya? Don’t let her get away.”

“Sure,” Aemond replies ungenerously. Willis returns to his Plymouth Gran Fury to finish backing the trailer into the lake until the boat floats. Standing on the shore together, you and Aemond stare at each other, unable to speak honestly, unable to decide what you’d say even if you could.

The jon boat bobs in the water, and you show Aemond how to pull it away from the trailer using the tow rope. Willis drives the trailer back onto dry land, parks his car in a flat area near the boat launch, and then joins you and Aemond by the water’s edge. He walks to where the boat is floating just to the right side of the concrete ramp and, with some difficulty, clambers inside as the boat rocks under his weight. Then he stands in the middle of it and gestures for you to approach. “Let’s get goin’, sugar.”

You take Willis’ hands when he reaches for you and let him help you into the jon boat. When you stumble over a bench seat, he steadies you with a hand on your waist, familiar but in no way erotic; not for you, at least. Still, from where he is standing on the lakeshore with the tow rope, Aemond glowers venomously.

“Your turn, son,” Willis calls to him, winking. “And I promise not to get too sweet with ya.”

But Aemond doesn’t need any assistance to board the vessel. He has long limbs, good balance, and an ironclad determination not to let Willis see him falter. Aemond sits at the bow of the boat. You claim a spot in the middle. Willis takes a seat at the stern, starts the outboard motor, and guides the boat into the treacherous swampland that lurks like a stalking animal at the edges of Lake Verret.

In the bayou, the water is sluggish, currentless, thick with vivid green salvinia and duckweed. Towering bald cypress trees grow out of the opaque depths and are adorned with greyish, anemic bundles of Spanish moss like spiderwebs. Mangrove trees with their myriad of semi-submerged roots are sanctuaries for catfish, turtles, baby alligators. Larger gators—as big as the female that lives in your yard, and some up to seven or eight feet—prowl with only their nostrils and ancient yellow eyes peeking out from under the water. Great blue herons tiptoe along the shallow shoreline and stab at fish that unknowingly flit between their long skeletal legs. Cicadas shriek in the trees so loudly they almost drown out the hum of the boat’s motor. When the last of the daylight vanishes, Willis tells Aemond to turn on the spotlight mounted to the bow, and the water becomes a soupy, greenish, primordial witch’s brew beneath its glow. Aemond lights a cigarette and puffs on it as he ponders this alien corner of the world that he’s found himself in.

Willis has a number of items stowed on the flat aluminum floor of the boat, you notice now: nets, paddles in case the motor fails, bottles of water, ropes, fishing poles, flashlights, hunting knives, a few sturdy wooden walking sticks. He’s wearing his sheriff’s pistol on a belt fastened over his waders. This makes you uneasy, though you can’t recall ever seeing him use it. It seems wrong to be able to end a life with so little effort.

“Aegon!” Aemond shouts from the bow, using a flashlight to look to the sides of the boat where the spotlight’s luminescence doesn’t shine so brightly. You grab your own flashlight to help him search. “Aegon! Where are you?!”

There’s something burning in your nose and throat as you lean over the side of the boat to peer into the shadowy wilderness. Salt, you realize, but that doesn’t make any sense. Lake Verret is a freshwater lake. You turn towards where Willis is steering the boat with the rumbling gas-powered motor. “Do you smell that?”

“Yup. Sure do.”

“But…how…?”

“One of the rigs mighta hit a salt dome while they were drillin’, I figure,” Willis says. “There’s been talk for years that we got salt domes under the lake. But that don’t stop these oil companies.” He stares meaningfully at Aemond. Aemond glances back, rather abashed. “And ya know what that means. If the water turns brackish, most of the fish’ll die. And who’s got to live with that for generations to come? Not the Targaryens or the Rockefellers, that’s for sure.”

Aemond resumes shouting for his wayward eldest brother. A dark snake, perhaps six feet long, slithers down the length of the boat through the murky water. “Aegon! Aegon!”

“What did he and Viserys argue about?” you ask.

Aemond is cagy. “It’s…kind of personal.”

“Personal like he got a stripper pregnant or personal like he murdered someone in a drunken hit-and-run?”

“Neither. But closer to the first option.” Then he roars into the darkness: “Aegon!”

“Maybe the bon a rien already found his way back home,” Willis says. “Maybe—”

And then there is an echo through the bayou, faint but vaguely human, a ghost, a phantom. “Aegon!” Aemond shouts back. “Where are you?!” Willis cuts the boat engine so you can hear the reply.

Faintly, very faintly, his disembodied voice drifts out of the trees. “Over here! Help me! Quickly! Seriously, really really quickly!!”

“Keep talking!” Aemond yells. Willis is listening intently, trying to pinpoint a direction. His thick, dark eyebrows are knit together in concentration that is rare for him.

Barely audible over the screams of the cicadas: “What the fuck am I supposed to say?! Just get over here and save me!”

“We’re trying to figure out where your voice is coming from, so don’t stop talking!”

“Help me! Come help me!! Right now!! My arms are getting tired!!”

“What? What are you doing with your arms?!”

“I got him,” Willis says. He restarts the motor and steers the boat down a narrow corridor of the swamp. The path is only about ten yards wide and bordered by mangrove trees with nests of exposed, labyrinthian roots. The water is probably relatively shallow: five feet, ten feet, just deep enough for secrets. The breeze is cool and wet, almost chilly. On the shore, you spy a snapping turtle the size of a golden retriever. Its long prehistoric claws are coated with mud and green blades of marsh grass. It ogles you as if to say: What are you doing here? You don’t belong here. This is where the dinosaurs that survived the asteroid live.

“Aegon?” Aemond calls.

“Here! Over here! I can see you, I see the lights! Oh my God, I’m not gonna die! Thank you Jesus!”

Aemond laughs in relief. “I didn’t think you two knew each other.”

“Shut up and save me, you muppet!”

And then you see Aegon—the spotlight hits him, he is illuminated in a stark white glow—and your stomach plummets, your blood goes cold. In an alcove of the bayou, right where the water meets the shore, Aegon is up in a bald cypress tree. He’s about five feet off the ground and standing on top of a branch just thick enough to hold his weight. It’s too narrow to balance comfortably on; he is hugging the trunk to ensure he doesn’t fall, and a fall would be catastrophic. Sprawled on the muck surrounding the base of the tree are a plethora of alligators, all approximately ten feet in length. That’s big enough to be lethal humans. That would be big enough to kill a bear, a horse, a shark. When the spotlight shines on them, the gators begin to squirm and hiss, glaring with soulless reptilian wrath at the boat. Willis shuts off the motor, and the boat bobs placidly.

“Oh, fuck,” Aemond says.

“Yeah, exactly!” Aegon pitches back. He’s wearing an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt and tiny turquoise blue shorts. He is barefoot. “So what’s the plan?! By the way, hey, cake lady.”

“Hi, Aegon.”

Aemond says: “How the hell did you get up there?”

“I was pissed off about the dad thing and I was walking for a long time, then I realized I was probably in the wrong neighborhood for someone with two legs and no desire to get eaten. I tried to find my way back but then these pig-looking things started chasing me and I freaked out and climbed up here to hide until they left. But as the sun went down, alligators started showing up. And the more time went by, the more alligators there were. And that’s the whole story, can you get me down now?!”

Aemond asks Willis, petrified: “How do we get him down?”

Willis surveys the scene for a moment, thinking. “Alright. Here’s what I reckon. We can toss him one end of a rope and he can tie it to the branch above him, right at the base where it’s real thick. Then we’ll hold the other end of the rope, and he can kinda shimmy on down it into the boat.”

Aegon says: “But what if right before I get to the boat, when I’m like four feet above the water, an alligator jumps out and bites me?”

“They don’t usually do that,” Willis replies.

“Usually?!”

“Look, we don’t have a lot of options,” Aemond tells his brother. “We can do the rope plan now, or we can leave you here, backtrack all the way to the boat launch, get the car, get some help, and hope they magically have a better solution for you. Or you can wait up there until morning to see if the alligators leave. You pick.”

“Isn’t that the hick sheriff guy? Can’t he shoot them?”

“Gators got brains ‘bout the size of a walnut, son,” Willis says. “And if I don’t hit ‘em where it counts, I’m just gonna make them angrier. That ain’t good for any of us.”

“Okay,” Aegon concedes. “Throw me a rope.”

Willis grabs one from the bottom of the jon boat, hands an end to Aemond, and tosses the other to Aegon. It takes the eldest Targaryen boy four attempts to catch it; the rope keeps falling and smacking the hissing alligators in the face before Willis lugs it back to the boat to try again. Once he finally obtains the rope, Aegon knots it—double, triple, quadruple—around where the branch above him, just barely within reach if he stretches as far as he can, meets the massive trunk of the bald cypress tree. Willis tells Aemond: “Now ya gotta hold the rope real tight. No slack at all, or it’ll dip and he’ll end up in a gator’s lap.”

“Yeah, Aemond!” Aegon says, his voice shaky. “No slack!”

“Got it.” Aemond loops his end of the rope around his waist, makes a knot, and then grips it with both hands and tugs it until it forms a straight diagonal line from the tree to the boat.

“Ya sure you wanna do that?” Willia says softly, nodding to Aemond’s waist. “If somethin’ goes wrong and he ends up in the water, you’ll be goin’ in with him.”

“I’m sure.”

“Alrighty.” Willis grabs one of the heavy wooden walking sticks from the aluminum floor of the boat. “If a gator tries to cause a problem, I’ll whack ‘em good. Don’t let ‘em get their jaws ‘round ya, not an arm or a leg or nothin’. If they get ahold of ya, they’ll roll and rip your bones right outta the sockets.”

“Awesome,” Aegon says from the tree. “I’m so glad you told me that. Yeah. Great. Any more super helpful alligator trivia, Sasquatch?”

“Yes sir. If one chomps down on ya, poke it in the eye with your fingers. A whack to the snout or a poke to the eye is the best way outta a gator’s mouth.”

Aegon gulps and clutches the rope, steeling himself.

“What should I do?” you ask Willis. “Should I get a stick too—?”

“Nothin’. You don’t do nothin’. You just sit down right in the middle and keep the boat steady. And if your petit ami starts goin’ overboard, maybe try to snatch him. But don’t ya fall in. Ya don’t want to be in that water. If there are gators above the water, there are gators below too. I guarantee it.”

You sit in the precise middle of the boat, using your weight to reinforce the vessel’s center of gravity as Aemond and Willis stand at opposing ends. Right before Aegon begins his descent, Aemond snags your attention. He makes a motion with one hand, a slicing, a prohibition. Don’t do anything insane, he means. Don’t risk trying to drag me back into the boat if I start going over.

“Whenever ya ready, bon a rien,” Willis says. And no one else but you knows that what he’s calling Aegon is a good-for-nothing.

Aegon begins scurrying down the length of the rope, rapidly closing the distance between himself and the bobbing jon boat. He passes above the hissing gators congregating at the base of the bald cypress tree and then over the water, where there are ripples that multiply out from epicenters and flashes of movement just beneath the surface but no homicidal alligator activity. When Aegon nears the boat, Willis seizes him and helps him into it; and then Aegon ruptures into hysterical giggles.

“I almost died, can you believe that?” he asks Aemond, who is untying the rope from his waist and beaming, the first real smile you’ve seen from him tonight. “Because I ran away from Viserys?! What an idiotic way to go. I’ll never let that bastard convince me to off myself. I gotta outlive him. I gotta do Jello shots on that motherfucker’s grave someday.”

“Yeah, you do,” Aemond agrees, squeezing Aegon’s shoulder.

“Goddammit,” Willis grumbles. He’s using his walking stick to jab at the water near the rear of the boat. “We’re hooked on a mangrove root or something.”

“Do you need help?” Aemond asks, headed towards him.

“Yes sir, if you’d be so kind. I don’t…I can’t see…what the hell is it stuck to?”

“The motor…? The blades of the motor?”

“Oh, Jesus Christ, you’re right. Yup. There it is. We musta drifted into it while we were preoccupied. Okay, we gotta push the boat off the root and then we can get movin’ again. Grab a stick, let’s start pushin’.”

“Should I get a stick too?” Aegon says, joining them. “I can hit stuff with sticks. I really want to get out of here…”

There’s a bit of a commotion at the back of the boat as the men try to propel it away from the mangrove tree. Willis is complaining that the water is too deep to touch the bottom with his stick. Aemond’s stick keeps slipping off the mangrove roots when he tries to get leverage. You aren’t sure what Aegon is contributing, if anything. The boat has begun to rock.

You look to the tree where Aegon had been imprisoned. The alligators are fully awake now; they are headed into the water and disappearing there, unseen, unheard, and yet all around you.

“I think we need to go now,” you say, but no one is listening to you. They’re still wrestling with the mangrove root. You rise, taking a few steps to the left to offset the boat’s listing towards the right. “Guys, we need to—”

The boat is freed from its organic jailor and lurches sharply towards the left. As the men cheer triumphantly—completely unaware of what’s happening—you are jolted off your feet and tumble backwards over the side of the boat.

The shock of hitting the water stuns you. It is cold and impossibly dark; when you open your eyes to try to find the surface, the boat, you can’t see anything. You paddle blindly. Something brushes your leg, and you scream bubbles of mute terror. You can’t breathe, you can’t think, you are picturing those ten-foot gators slinking into the water that you’re now thrashing wildly through. You swim towards what you think is the surface and strike unyielding metal—the underbelly of the boat—hard enough to put stars in your skull like the flashes of lightning bugs. You get turned around and don’t know where you are again. Something glides past your arm, and you gasp before remembering that there’s no air. Dark water—salt and silt and decomposition—surges into your lungs, your stomach, sinking you like an anchor from within. There is a whirlpool of motion around you and muffled shouting. Then something closes around your wrist.

The eyes! you think frantically. I have to poke out its eyes!

But the vice around your flesh has no teeth. It’s not a reptilian jaw, you realize now, but a human hand. It leads you and you obey.

When you break the surface, you cough bayou water from your throat and blink it out of your eyes. Willis is leaning over the side of the boat and stabbing at gators with his stick, shrieking at them in French. One lunges at him from the water, jaws snapping. Willis whips the pistol off his belt, aims it squarely between the creature’s eyes, and fires. The boom is deafening; the bleeding gator sinks into the water. Aegon is kneeling in the boat and offering his arms to help you climb up.

You look beside you. Aemond is barely keeping his head above water. “Go!” he orders you. “Get in the boat!”

With Aegon’s help, you heave yourself over the side and collapse to the aluminum floor, lungs aching, skull pounding, heart thudding mercilessly, soaked to the skin. Then you force yourself to your hands and knees to see where Aemond is.

“Aemond?!” Aegon is yelling. “Aemond, where are you?!”

He’s gone; you don’t see him in the water. You try to scream for him too, but the water still in your throat strangles you. Your hands close around the edge of the boat, and Willis grabs your raincoat to yank you backwards. “Other side!” says, pointing. “We’re gonna capsize, we need weight on the other side, go there!”

You scramble to the opposite end of the boat, sobbing now, still hacking up muddy water. Where’s Aemond?? Where is he??

Both Willis and Aegon are grasping for something. They’re shouting and stabbing into the water with their walking sticks. And then they’re hauling him into the boat: Aemond, blood pouring down the left side of his face, a gash by his temple, another on his forehead; something bit him or clawed him. He’s wearing only his jeans and a white tank top; he ripped off his Marlboro jacket before diving in after you. You don’t see his Adidas sneakers anywhere. They must have been kicked off in the water. His glass eye has been knocked out and lost in the muck. What’s left in its place is a void, gaping, pink; it’s difficult to look at, you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t. It has the visceral, gory quality of organs never meant to be seen. His fingertips go to the socket to feel for his prosthetic. When he confirms it isn’t there, he covers his face with his hands and moans.

He saved me. He jumped in after me.

You crawl to him. “Aemond—”

“No!” He pushes you away, and you see that there’s blood and ancient silt from the bayou in his empty eye socket. It will have to be cleaned out. Willis watches, astonished, bewildered. For once, he is at a loss for words.

“Aemond, please…” You’d do anything to help him. You don’t know how to help him.

He saved me.

Aegon reaches for Aemond. “Hey, hey. It’s not that bad. Hey…” He drops to his knees, presses his forehead against Aemond’s, stains himself with his brother’s blood. And when Aemond tries to pull away, Aegon doesn’t let him; he’s got his fingers tangled in Aemond’s wet hair. “Thank you for saving me. I’m always almost getting myself killed and you’re always saving me. What would I do without you, huh? None of us would be okay without you. Thank you, Aemond. You hear me? You’re not gonna get this again anytime soon, so listen up. Thank you. Thank you.”

“I’m just so—”

“I know.”

“I hate that I’m like this.”

“It’s not a big deal. You’ll order a new one.”

“You know what he’s going to say.”

“Fuck him. Why do you care what he thinks? Because you think he’s the one who gets to decide what you’re worth? He isn’t. He’s not qualified.”

Aemond nods, but he doesn’t seem to be convinced. He still doesn’t look at you. He turns so the left side of his face—bloodied, eyeless—is angled towards the water and out of your view. Willis goes to the motor, starts it, and begins guiding the boat back towards the launch where he parked his Plymouth Gran Fury.

Aegon glances over at you. “You okay, cake lady?”

“Yeah.” But your voice shakes. The rest of you is shaking too; now that the adrenaline is wearing off, you can feel that you’re shivering in your wet clothes.

“Put it on,” Aemond says softly, and at first you don’t understand. Then you see that he’s pointing to his Marlboro jacket, left hurriedly flung on the floor of the boat. You unzip your dripping raincoat and don Aemond’s Marlboro jacket instead. It smells like him: smoke, cologne, effort, secrets.

“Thank you,” you tell him, wanting to say more. Aemond doesn’t answer. He stares into the murky water, greenish under the glare of the spotlight, and says nothing to anyone all the way back to the boat launch. Wordlessly, he helps Willis re-hitch the jon boat to the trailer. He remembers the steps. He’s a fast learner. The blood on his face is drying; his right eye won’t allow itself to look at you. The only sound on the drive to the Targaryens’ mansion is the radio of the Plymouth Gran Fury, which Willis turns up to cover the silence: In A Big Country.

At the end of the cobblestone driveway, lights are on in the vast house called The Last Desire. Everyone gets out of the car. Willis shakes a rather puzzled Aegon’s hand, then turns to Aemond, who ignores him. Willis chuckles, more curious than offended.

“So ya are the man who’s been givin’ her that satisfied look. I knew it. Yes, I knew what I saw. What’s your secret, son? Ya must really know your way around a woman if ya got her so mad about ya with a face like that. Ya look like the Rougarou got ahold of ya—”

Aemond grabs Willis by his hoodie, yanks him off his feet, jacks him up against the side of the sheriff’s vehicle. Immediately, you and Aegon are shouting and trying to break them apart.

You plead: “Aemond, don’t!”

“Aemond, he’s got a gun!” Aegon screeches.

Fortunately, Willis isn’t grappling for his pistol. He holds both palms in the air, open and empty, like he’s surrendering; but there’s still a smile on his face. Aemond doesn’t act like he’s heard anyone. He leans in close to Willis, his voice low and dark and snarling, his sole blue eye glinting. “You had so much in your filthy fucking hands and you just threw it away.” Then he slams Willis against the car one more time, tears away from him, and strides up the porch steps and into the house.

Aegon hurries after him, casting you a quick glance and a beckoning wave. It’s an invitation. You coming? Aegon mouths, and then vanishes inside.

Willis peers up at the house: stained glass windows, immense white columns. You don’t see any signs of Vhagar the Great Dane. Willis speaks calmly and without looking at you. “I think he��s in love with you, sugar.”

Improbable. Impossible. If he was, he couldn’t marry someone else. “He’s not.”

Now Willis’ eyes flick to you. “All I’m sayin’ is that I’ve been fishin’ on that lake since as long as I can remember, day, night, sun, storms, and nothin’ on earth would have gotten me to jump into that water. Not even Heather Locklear herself.”

“Just go, Willis,” you say, exhausted, heartsick. “Thank you for what you did tonight. But please go now.”

“How ya gonna get home?”

“I’ll figure it out. Don’t worry about me.”

“Of that, I am incapable,” Willis drawls. Then he climbs into his Plymouth Gran Fury and is gone. You sprint up the porch steps in your soggy sneakers, searching for Aemond.

In the white-and-gold foyer, Viserys is just arriving. He struts across the marble floor until he is close enough to his two oldest sons to embrace them, to hit them, to extract their teeth with his knuckles. The others pour through the doorways—Alicent, Criston, Helaena, Daeron, Otto—but while they gape in horror and fascination, they don’t speak in anything more than murmurs amongst themselves. Viserys steals only a glimpse of Aegon, swift and disinterested, then examines Aemond: wet clothes, no shoes, grime and blood, dazed fury. When his cool, pale gaze reaches Aemond’s empty eye socket, Viserys flinches and looks away.

“So you lost another prosthetic,” is all he says. His face twists into a grimace. And you expect Aemond to do something, to jab back, but he doesn’t. He’s frozen, he’s paralyzed. His right eye is misty. He’s biting his lips so they don’t tremble. And suddenly you hate Viserys Targaryen, you hate him more than you can imagine hating anyone. You think that you could watch his entrails unspooled from his body without feeling a thing. The Targaryen family patriarch hasn’t spoken to you; you don’t register to him at all. You might as well be an oriental vase or a house plant.

“You’re the one who did it, Viserys,” Aegon says, stepping in front of Aemond seething and sharp like a blade. “You remember that part? I do. I remember. The North Sea, 1968. I remember him trotting around after you, always so desperate to prove himself, always doing anything you asked, anything you could dream up, worshipping you like you were God. And where were you when he was getting his eye socket debrided at Moorfields Hospital? In fact, where were you when he got his hands caught in a winch when he was eleven? Where were you when he fell off a pipe deck and broke six ribs because one of your idiot employees forgot to close a safety gate and he couldn’t see it? Where were you then? Where are you now?”

Viserys scowls down at him—revolted, repelled—but he doesn’t reply. He feels no instinct to defend himself. He is unable to internalize shame; it rolls off him like raindrops.

“You’d love me so much if I was dead,” Aegon says, grinning, baring his teeth like an animal. “How sick is that? You can love bones in a box, but not someone standing right in front of you. You love Aemma, a ghost. You love Baelon, and you never even knew him. You’ve got nothing for me. That’s fine, I don’t care, I’ll be alright without you.” He points to Aemond. “But you’ve got nothing for him either, and he’s everything you always wanted. You’re disgusting, you’re broken. You belong in a box too. The part of you that was human is gone. I don’t give a fuck about what’s left.”

Aegon shoves Viserys, hard, and then storms past him. As he crosses into the kitchen, Helaena grabs for his wrist. You can hear her whisper: “What the hell happened?!”

Then Aegon remembers one last thing. He whirls around and bellows at Viserys, his voice reverberating off the vaulted ceilings: “And I’m not getting my vasectomy reversed! You can’t make me! It’s bioethics! I asked the lawyer!” He stomps off and disappears, Helaena in tow.

Alicent shoots Viserys a hateful glare and then flees from the foyer, her long auburn ringlets streaming out behind her. Viserys goes in the opposite direction. Daeron and Otto share an awkward glance and then depart as well. Only you, Criston, and Aemond remain in the room, surrounded by treasures that might as well be handfuls of earth, flour, swamp water, salt.

Cautiously, Criston lays a hand on Aemond’s shoulder, on his right side where he can see it. “Aemond…”

“Don’t touch me,” Aemond says as he wrenches away. He leaves like a hurricane, like a flood, receding until there remains only wreckage and memory.

Criston sighs deeply, and then he asks you: “Do you need a ride home?”

You don’t respond. You haven’t decided how to yet. You stare at the place where Aemond stood, a void like a star that died out. Do I follow him upstairs? you think.

Do I?

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond

214 notes · View notes

alessiamalfoyzabini · 2 months

Text

Dark Moon | Chapter Five

Pairing | yandere!Jimin x Reader

Word Count | 2,7k

Warnings | +18, MC is attacked, insults, receives hatred and humiliation, angst, blood, Jimin takes care of her and also teases her, slight fingering, Jimin tastes her, MC does not understand her feelings, Hoseok grabs her by the neck

This fanfiction is yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.

I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | She just wanted to escape her past, take charge of her life and break out of her steel cage, praying in God for a miracle that could change her life for good.

And her prayers were heard, but it was not the Divine that answered her.

That was certainly the devil in the guise of an angel, she thought as those corrupted and empty eyes searched her soul with extreme voracity.

He turned a sweet, false smile on her, before pushing her into the abyss.

➢ Author's Note | Hi guys, here's the fifth chapter of Dark Moon 💜Let me know what you think, I've only been writing yandere for a short time, but I love it and I hope you like what I write too 💕🥰

Taglist: @katherine-kookie, @dragons-flare, @m00njinnie, @seokjins-luigi, @pjmsneverland, @jimincrystal, @ajkwww, @ungodlyjoon, @hecateslittlewitchling, @namjoonsbuspass, @darkuni63, @xicanacorpse

Taglist is open!

Chapter List - Previous - Next

"Here she is, Jimin's new dog."

Y/N lifted her gaze to Ester, the woman watching her with disdain and a more than obvious expression of envy.

Other girls behind her giggled, as if to humor her, and Y/N preferred not to respond to that provocation.

After the terrible evening she had spent with that monster, she just didn't want to know about fighting with that chick as well, her face aching from the slaps she had received, as well as her head from the repeated tugging. Not to mention her throat, she was so ashamed to even admit it to herself.

"Aren't you going to answer? After an evening of getting fucked like a bitch in heat, I bet you don't lack appetite," Ester spat between her teeth, pointing to the small plate of cookies the young woman had indulged in, after a whole day spent in her room, between the covers. Terrified that he might return to finish the job.

"Leave her alone, Ester! It's certainly not her fault that you're no longer in Jimin's good graces.... ever if you were ever there, maybe you found yourself in that position because you were the only one who could stand it," Hanon interjected, Ester seemed hesitant to continue with her torture, from what Y/N understood, Hanon was Namjoon's favorite, and everyone knew the man had quite a bit of power within the Dark Moon, almost on par with Seokjin himself.

"Why do you get in the way? Have you become best friends yet?"

"You said I am Jimin's new dog.... does that imply that you were previously one too?"

Silence fell in the room, the women present stared in surprise at Y/N, then a growl ripped the air and the girl felt something hit her head, she screamed in shock at the sudden aggression and fell back, bumping into a tea table that caused her to hiss from a sharp pain in her side, then a weight not inconsiderable for one of her build came down on her.

Soon realizing that Ester was striking her in a frightful fury, the young woman dodged a few blows by covering her face with her hands, but she could not avoid Ester's well-manicured nails that dug into her cheek, leaving long scarlet streaks as a reminder.

"Ester, that's enough!!!" shouted Hanon, shocked by her colleague's fierce anger, grabbed her by the shoulders pulling her back, but she really only moved a little before she came back to strike at every point Y/N, who tiredly grabbed Ester's hair, pulling it to herself before punching her in the nose, the one with a stunned cry froze, falling to the side.

"What's your problem!" gasped Y/N in shock, touching her face with her heart struggling against her rib cage.

To her horror, she saw the fingers of her hand smeared with blood; all the women were watching her with their hands to their mouths, confused by that sequence of events far too fast to reason logically.

"My problem is you, you filthy little bitch! I don't know where the fuck you came from, but I'm going to make sure I bring you back, so it'll be just like before!" growled Ester with murderous eyes and a bloody nose, raising her arm once more so that she could strike the young woman, but a much larger and stronger hand clamped around her wrist, blocking that violent movement.

Jimin looked somberly at Ester, who fell silent in response, making herself tiny.

Then the boy cast a glance at Y/N, whitening slightly. The girl had ruffled hair and an obvious wound on her face, a trickle of blood flowed down from her forehead to join the disaster that stretched across her cheek, she was also holding her side with a pained expression, her arms were red, and bruises would surely appear soon. Ester, on the other hand, had only a streak of blood under her nose; it was obvious who had started it all, but the man wanted to hear it.

"I won't repeat myself twice, who started this?" his grip on her wrist intensified, Ester squeezed her eyes shut in pain but did not speak, nor did the others.

Y/N looked at Jimin and Ester with disdain, him because he was the cause of her pain, her because she was so obsessed with the man that she had gone so far as to beat her for no good reason.

But the boy did not seem angry with her; perhaps she could have used that situation to get that woman out of her way; he had a feeling that with Ester around she would not have an easy time of it.

It was Hanon who spoke up, trying not to put too much stock in the young woman, who by snitching would surely attract the displeasure of the other women as well. But that was how it worked there, newcomers were always the victims of bad jokes and nastiness.

"Ester didn't understand her place here, so she didn't take your decision well, Jimin."

Ester gritted her teeth, glowering at the older woman, who was not intimidated by her gaze.

Jimin nodded in her direction, casting another glance at Y/N.

"Take her to her room, let her stay there until I return," Hanon immediately took a step toward Y/N, but Jimin blocked her, "I wasn't referring to her."

Y/N winced as Jimin threw Ester to the floor, who let out an outraged cry before the boy stepped over her to reach Y/N.

"You're coming with me," he said harshly, before lifting her by the arm without hurting her to the profound amazement of the young woman, "You need to be medicated," he hissed under his breath to be heard only by her, the others watched that exchange increasingly dumbfounded, never had they seen Jimin so caring toward one of his girls. Nor had he been with Ester, who felt a painful twinge of jealousy sweep over her without her being able to do anything, not in Jimin's presence. She had to bow her head in the face of that defeat filled with humiliation.

"Can you walk?" asked Jimin coldly, Y/N nodded but he looked at her skeptically, she was limping as she continued to hold her side that had hit that tea table, the blow must have been quite severe and Jimin with an all too natural movement passed one arm under her legs and the other around her hips, lifting her up like a hapless little bride.

"I can very well walk by myself," she hissed with contracted lips, not only had she yet to recover from the pain he himself had caused her, now she was also feeling strange twinges in her head and face, she was losing blood and still did not know what had hit her head so brutally.

"Jesus, give it a rest!" blurted Jimin, lowering his gaze to her face, they found themselves inches apart, their breaths mingled and Jimin squinted his eyes at the faint scent of cherries and peony that the girl exuded, her expression seemed to him that of a frightened puppy trying to show herself strong in front of the hunter, "You need me, no one else will stand by you like I do," he continued, feeling a strange feeling of possession in his chest, she could only survive because of him.

"You think you scare me?" she huffed like a cat, but Jimin sneered as he entered through a door the girl had never seen before.

It soon turned out to be the infirmary of the Dark Moon, the beds arranged in a row in that space so white and clean it sent chills down her spine, it looked like a room out of a real horror movie.

The boy had her lay down with a strange delicacy on one of the beds, before walking away in search of products to disinfect the cuts.

"Do you feel pain anywhere?" he asked, Y/N licking her chapped lips from the long bites she had given herself the night before out of nervousness.

"I was beaten, of course I feel some."

"You're right" was the man's simple reply, which led the girl to wonder what he was up to, he seemed far too placid, she was sure that in another situation he would have slapped her for her boldness.

When Jimin reached her with everything she needed, the girl flinched, fearing a sharp reaction. But the boy remained firmly in place, scrutinizing her expressionlessly.

" You’re scared for so little, sweetheart," he sneered, earning a glare, "Now, let me see."

It took Jimin the next few minutes to realize that the extent of the damage was too great to settle for simple disinfectant and bandages, something heavy had been thrown at the girl's head, which continued to bleed, albeit more slowly. Moreover, the scratches on her cheek were deep, from whatever angle he looked at her he agreed that stitches were needed there, and he was not really the person for such a job.

For the moment he dabbed the medical substance with soft cotton, Y/N hissed occasionally squinting her eyes, escaping the boy's predatory gaze.

"Are you... Are you going to punish her?"

Jimin blocked his action, tilting his head slightly to observe her better, they were so close that he once again smelled her scent.

"Don't you want to?" he asked, but she turned away, "No ... that's not it. You want me to punish her," he chuckled.

He took her chin between two fingers, forcing her not to look away from his.

"Do you like this awareness?"

Y/N clenched her fingers, clinging to the sheets as if to escape a disgusting guilt, and her mind was asking her to lie, to evade it.

"Go ahead, tell me. What is it that causes you pleasure? The fact that he will suffer for beating you... or the idea of someone standing up for you?"

"No!" she exclaimed, knowing she was lying.

Jimin held her tighter to him, "Liar, you've lived a shitty life and I bet no one has ever bothered to make you feel protected," each word was a stiletto to her poor heart.

He was right, she wanted someone to protect her, she was tired of fighting the world alone, she just wanted to rest. She needed a hero to chase away the bad guys for her, but Jimin was no hero and he certainly would not be hers.

"Stop it, you don't know anything about me! You're just a madman who kidnapped me and took my sister away!" she exclaimed with tears in her eyes, hitting him in the chest with weak fists, the man towering over her with his weight, crushing her against the bed.

"You only have to look at you for a moment to realise that you're just a little slut quivering for a little attention, would you get wetter if I told you I'd be willing to kill her to avenge you?" an electric shock to her core was what made her miss a beat.

No, she could not get aroused by such evil. She was not like him, she was not-

She arched her back as Jimin's hand sank without warning into her intimacy, she hadn't noticed the silent movement under her skirt and gasped wordlessly as his fingers moved in and out of her soft slit.

"Mhm... Yes, you are such a slut all wet," giggled the boy.

She tightened her legs around that hand, felt the man's fingers curl up before snapping out with a strange wet sound, watched him lick her essence with the tip of his rosy tongue, before sucking in contentedly.

Jimin squinted his eyes as he swirled the taste of her on his tongue, his palate was in ecstasy at that forbidden sweetness, the thought of ripping off her panties and licking her until she screamed tickled his mind, but torture was his speciality.

As if he had done nothing naughty, he went back to applying patches to her face, all under the shocked eyes of the woman, who had not even moved to avoid that little sexual assault.

Which she still couldn't understand.

"Ester will get what she deserves, don't worry," he clarified, "But you will have to surrender in return."

"Surrender to what, to you?" huffed the young woman, shaking her head, "I am not yours, Jimin."

The man felt his cock stiffen and swell inside his boxers at the sound of his name, spoken in a low, persuasive tone.

He smiled like a feline at the hostile provocation, putting his lips to the young woman's, "You will beg to be mine".

He was about to kiss her, his intentions could be read clearly, he tilted his head to reach her better and Y/N imperceptibly moved her head further back, indecisive. Was she to fight and deny herself? Was she to give him at least that once as thanks for saving her from Ester's fury? But that would once again have been like selling herself as a prostitute.

Her doubts were not answered, the boy's soft, turgid lips never reached hers.

"Am I interrupting something?"

The look Jimin gave the man standing in the doorway must have been worth a thousand words, because Y/N saw him stretch his lips into a smirk.

"You know very well, Hoseok."

The girl frowned, then remembered. It was that red-haired man who had laid hands on her sister that night.

A blind rage pervaded her, with what courage was he showing up there after all he had done to a little girl?

She jerked off the bed with a force she never believed was hers, pushing Jimin away who was stunned at her reaction, wanting only one thing, to ruin Hoseok's beautiful face.

She almost succeeded, almost.

For even before the girl's hands could reach the man's perfect face, Hoseok did not find it difficult to peg her by the throat two feet off the ground.

The young woman struggled against that death grip, gasping for air and kicking at his abdomen to try to stop him, but Hoseok seemed to chuckle at her grit.

A firm grip imprisoned his wrist, Hoseok looked with a raised eyebrow at Jimin, who was watching him coldly.

"Leave her, hyung. I don't want to repeat myself."

"She attacked me out of the blue, I'm just teaching her to stay in her place," blurted his friend, tightening his fingers even more around that thin, soft neck.

Jimin inhaled through his nose, "She's hurt, she's not thinking straight. Look at her, she's still bleeding and needs stitches," he hissed, trying to calm himself. He didn't want to argue with Hoseok, he was a close friend and didn't want to go that far, as sensing his thoughts the man let go of his grip in a rush, causing Y/N to tumble to the ground, who took to coughing paonazzily in her face.

"Then call a doctor," he said adjusting his jacket, "But mind you, one more little joke like that and you won't be able to save her, I heard about the fight and was curious how she was doing, I didn't expect such a welcome."

"You raped my sister!" croaked in tears, Hoseok tilted his head.

Then he raised his eyebrows, as if he suddenly remembered.

"Ah, yes...that whiny girl who was with you, I didn't rape her, I just ascertained if she was a virgin, and she was lucky for her," he shrugged, "Surely she'll be better off than you," he sneered, casting a glance at his friend, "She ended up with a big shot, you on the other hand will be forced to take a lot of cocks."

Again that annoyance, Jimin did not know where that sense of oppression he felt in his stomach came from every time he imagined her with another man.

"You're a disgusting being," hissed Y/N at the address of Hoseok, who laughed openly.

"Well, I'll be off then... and who knows, maybe your next client will be me."

"Don't bother," was Jimin's dry reply, which surprised Hoseok and Y/N.

Hoseok sealed his lips, Jimin was very strange in the last few days, just since he had kidnapped that girl, he understood that it was better to cut it out, an angry Jimin was also a lethal Jimin.

He took a step back and with a nod to his friend got out of the way, collapsing the silence in the room.

Y/N felt her eyelids grow heavy, slumped to the floor and did not hear Jimin's half-expletive, which caught her before she could hit her head.

110 notes · View notes

miniwheat77 · 6 months

Text

Denim. (Gaz x Reader.)

!nsfw, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, blood, injuries, reader gets hurt, sorry if I missed any.!

Inspired by that famous blue denim button up Gaz’s operator has on 🥰

Not edited.

This one! ^^^

Your foot tapped nervously against the floor of the Humvee, you were sitting in the passenger seat, watching for any signs of an ambush.

This was an important mission, one for the books. Since Hassan had been killed, someone named Amir had taken his place. After he’d attacked an American Military base, he had a target on his back of course. It was a big day. You could feel that this was right, that you were going to take him by surprise. You could feel it in your gut. You weren’t apart of the fight with task force 141 when they took down Hassan, but you were now. Here you were. This was a good chance to prove yourself to them. You had all reinforcements. The plan was to surround the building he was inside, take cover. And hope that he would surrender.

“You okay kid?” Captain Price asks you. You nod your head. “Something just doesn’t feel right.” You mumble.

He nods his head. “Yeah. I feel it too. But we take orders and if Laswell is okay with it, I suppose we will be too.” He nods. You swallow hard. “These people..” you pause. “They’re different.” You look out the Humvee window, keeping an eye out. “What do you mean?” Gaz asks. He’s in the back seat. “They don’t surrender. If they feel trapped, they attack. I mean.. this is the place with the highest rate of suicide bombers. I just think this is a bad idea.” You mumble. You can hear the both of them sigh, like what you’ve just said changes everything. “I mean.. for christs sake, they send small children in with bombs to do their dirty work. They don’t care. They’re dirty and don’t care who they hurt. They beat and rape women out in the street, behead each other for small mistakes. I think we should turn back. He’s not going to surrender, we have to come in guns blazing.” You mumble.

Your heart races in your chest. So does John’s.

You don’t think he’ll listen to you, but he does. “Change of plans fellas.” He calls into his radio. “We’re going to go in hot. Forceful.” He mumbles. Hearing everyone call back. You sigh a breath of relief. Thank god. “Refuse to be a sitting duck to a terrorist.” John mumbles. He knows he’ll have someone to answer to, but he can’t find it in him to care all that much. Gaz can sense the relief in the way you relax your shoulders, reaching by the window to place a hand on your shoulder. Giving it a reassuring squeeze. Feeling you lean back into his touch. You and him were fairly close, but pretty much all of the task force was. It was always strictly platonic and had never stretched any further past that, it was forbidden obviously.

When you arrive, you can feel that same sense of nervousness filling up your stomach. It’s got it in knots, something still didn’t feel right. Like something bad was going to happen. When the building was surrounded, everyone raised their guns. Creeping closer to the building, le easy to file in through the doors. “Watch close. We don’t know what we’re going into.” Captain Price says, everyone agreeing. When given orders, everyone bursts through the doors, making their way through the first floor. “Watch the doors close. If he’s here, he’s going to try to run.” Ghost orders. Everyone agrees. Flowing through the building like a bad case of termites.

The top floor is where the problems start.

As soon as they caught sight of your cavalry, they fled to the top floor and set up traps.

“Okay. Gaz, Y/N. You guys start on the left. Me and Ghost will go to the last door on the right. Everyone else keep a close eye on the stairs. Watch close.” He nods. Everyone agrees, splitting up and going their separate ways. You push open the door, raising your gun quickly. Gaz looks past you. “Looks clear to me.” You nod. He agrees, the both of you stepping forward. A yell leaves your lips when a man emerges from behind the door, slicing right through your cargo pants. Gaz is quick to fire at the man, dropping him where he stands. He lifts you up, sliding you back behind the door and closing it. A few others come running. “Just one. He got her thigh with a knife.” Gaz breathes, tugging his first aid out of his pack and wrapping a bandage around your thigh. The cut looks deep. He’s worried. Gunfire makes everyone perk up, coming from the direction Captain Price and Ghost have gone. “Go, I’ve got her.” Gaz nods. “Shit. This did not go to plan.” You laugh. “Never does. You alright?” He asks. You nod your head. “Yes. I’m all good.” You smile. “I’ll be fine.” You breathe. He kneels down on one knee behind you, letting you lean back on him. He’s got his sidearm ready, just in case. After what feels like forever, he’s getting antsy. You need a doctor and he’s tired of waiting. Captain Price and everyone else emerges. “Did you get him?” Gaz asks. “Yep. He didn’t go easy but we got him.” Captain Price breathes. “They had 3 or 4 bombs. Ready.” Price kneels down in front of you. “You did good Y/N. Saved us from a big catastrophe.” He smiles. You send him a lazy smile. “Let’s get her back to base, yeah?” Gaz says, nervously. He’s worried about you.

The both of them each take an arm, helping you down the flights of stairs to the Humvee you arrived in. Getting worried when your head began to hang. “Shit. Y/N?” Gaz asks, stopping. They let you down. “Y/N?” Gaz asks again. Shaking you slightly. “Think she passed out.” Price says. Gaz presses his fingers to your throat, feeling your heart beat. “We got to get her back.” He nods. He lifts you up, hurrying down the remainder of stairs, Price throwing open the door. Gaz gets you inside, holding you. Price hurries to the drivers side, getting in.

—

You don’t remember much, but you wake up in the infirmary. You try to fight your way out of the wires and lines you’re connected to, resulting in you being restrained until you fully came to. Finally understanding that your leg had been cut pretty deep, barely missing your femoral artery. You were a little out of it from the meds they had you on, but you were doing better. “Do you want us to go get Kyle?” The medic asks, resulting in a confused look from you. “What?”

“Kyle, you kept asking for him. Do you want us to go get him?”

“Oh uh.. no. I’m okay.” You mumble. You must’ve been asking for him when you had to be restrained. You remember him sitting with you, when Captain Price emerged from that room. But that’s all you remember. “We’re going to work on some release paperwork and we’ll get you on your way, how does that sound?” She smiles. You nod your head. “Sounds amazing.” You sigh.

She disappears and a few minutes later, Gaz is pulling the curtain back. “Hey.” He smiles. “Hi.” You send him a lazy smile. “How are you feelin? Better than earlier I hope.” He chuckles. “Much. It hurts but it’s better.” You mumble. “Gotcha. Captain sent me down here, I’ll help you get back to your room.” He crosses his arms over his chest. He’s wearing his full set of gear. Vest and all. “I’m sure I could’ve handled it.” You laugh. The medic comes back with all of your paperwork and sets you all up to leave.

He walks alongside you, a hand on your lower back. He’s ready to catch you if you fall. All you have on are socks and the tied up gown they’d put you in. “Hey Gaz. I forgot to give you some bandages for Y/N’s leg. For any bleeding on her stitches just in case.” His radio goes off. “Uh. Here, come inside my room. I’ll run back before we go all of the way to the women’s barracks.” He leads you down the hallway a little more. You complain about the hospital gown the whole time.

“You can borrow something of mine. I’ll be right back.” He laughs, closing the door behind him as he makes his way back to the infirmary. You sit on the edge of his bed for a minute. The throbbing in your thigh is relentless. You stand up, step over to where he’s got his clothes, picking up the first shirt you see.

He steps inside his room, closing the door behind him. He’s got a washcloth in his hand for your thigh. He’s watching his feet until he steps inside, finally bringing his eyes up from the hard concrete floor.

His lips part, mouth falling open slightly. You’re finishing buttoning up his shirt, one of his favorites. It falls slightly over your hips, your white cotton panties still visible. “Oh.. uh. Sorry.” He looks away. You look up. “Sorry.. it’s the first thing I saw, I didn’t want to dig through your stuff too much.” You blush, crossing your arms over yourself. “It’s fine. No worries. Here, I brought you this.” He nods. Holding out the washcloth. “I can help.” He smiles. Seeing the blood seeping from the bandage on your thigh. He nods for you to sit back on his bed. He kneels down in front of you, hearing you swallow hard at his close proximity. He bites at his lip in concentration, unwrapping your wounded thigh. Still fresh from where the knife had sliced through the skin and flesh. He’s gathered up everything else he needs. Some more bandage, some stuff to wrap it. He takes the wet washcloth, beginning to dab at the blood around the wound. Your bleeding was mostly stopped by now, just gently seeping through. He pats it all the way clean, lifting up an antiseptic spray. “Might burn a little.” He looks up at you.

His eyes shine in the moonlight that peeks through the window that sits high up on the wall. You nod your head. “I trust you.” You smile shyly.

The typical friendly relationship you’d had with Kyle is gone. Completely gone.

He sprays it onto your wound, being generous with it to avoid an infection. He sees you flinch, clutching at his sheets. This surely isn’t how he wanted to see it happen. He could imagine a million different reasons you’d be clutching his sheets like that. This isn’t one of them. He swallows hard, bandaging it up and wrapping it up once more. His fingertips brush against your inner thigh and he feels you shiver under his touch. “Sorry.” He blushes, looking down. “It’s okay.” You breathe. “Thank you, Kyle.” You breathe through your nose. He sits up, sitting down next to you on his bed. “Kyle hm?” He smiles. “We’re using actual names now?” He laughs.

“Seems like a more genuine thank you.” You smile. He bites at his lip, clearly nervous about something. “No problem, dove. How does your head feel.” He mumbles. “It feels okay. Doesn’t pound anymore..” you trail off. Playing with your hands nervously. “You alright?” He asks. “Yeah. Today just… scared me. That’s all.” You look down. He nods his head. Leaning into you closer. “Today scared everyone. The most anyone has been hurt in this Task Force was getting shot on our vests, it hurts but it doesn’t bleed or incapacitate us.” He trails off.

“My shirt looks good on you.” He smiles. He can see you blush, looking down. “Thanks. It’s yours after all.” You laugh. “I promise I’ll wash it and give it back.” You nod.

“No rush. I think it looks better on you anyways.” He smiles. “I don’t think that’s true. It looks pretty good on you.” You giggle. “I don’t know about that one.” He laughs. It’s low, sexy.

He rests his hand on your knee below your wound, running his fingers over your knee. He can feel chills rising on your skin underneath his touch. “Kyle?” You breathe. “Yeah honey?” He breathes. “I.. I’ve never had sex before.” You breathe. He smiles. “Hey.” He laughs. “I’m not..” he laughs. He lifts his leg up onto the bed, taking your hands in his. “I have to say this right because I want you to know.” He pauses.

“I do like you, and trust me, I would love to have sex with you. But I don’t expect you to at all. I would never pressure you into anything.” He smiles. His cologne smells amazing, and you’ve never been so close to him before. You grasp his hand that lies on your knee, bringing it up to the very top of your thigh. Above your wound. He smiles. “That’s a good girl.” He breathes. He glides his hand back and fourth over your bare skin, fingertips rubbing across the edge of your panties. He lowers his hand to your center, fingertips brushing over your clothed opening. He can feel you breathe out. Pressing ever so slightly into you, rubbing his fingers back and fourth. You tilt your head back slightly and he takes this opportunity to kiss your neck, you sigh out. The relief and warmth he makes you feel is intense and immediate. “Kyle…” you breathe. Body seeming to melt into him.

“S’alright sweetheart. I’ve got you.” He breathes. He pulls you into him, gripping your chin and turning your head to look at him. “You look so fucking stunning. So beautiful.” He sighs, pressing his lips to yours. He rests his right hand onto your left thigh, the one that isn’t injured. He’s a really good kisser and when he pulls away, you still have your eyes shut. He can’t help but smile. Your breathing has picked up slightly. He rubs his nose over yours, you can feel his warm breath on your face. “You can stop me.” He breathes. Resting his massive hand on your thigh, toying with the shirt you’ve got on. You shake your head. Your eyes clench shut. “I don’t want you to- I don’t want to stop.” You breathe. He leans into you, kissing you again. He pushes you back slightly, lifting himself up. He opens your legs, avoiding your wound as he pushes himself between them. Laying you back, lips moving with yours in sync. His jeans sit low on his hips. He presses himself right into your pelvis, you can feel how hard he is against you. You moan gently into his lips, and he tugs at your bottom lip with his teeth.

Kyle has never been so turned on in his entire fucking life, he’ll swear by it. You’re so fucking beautiful, and the way you look in his clothes. It’s everything.

He rocks his hips into yours, feeling you wrap your legs around his lower back. “Fuck sweetheart. Driving me fucking crazy.” He pants. He sits up slightly. He can see your panties have a wet patch of your arousal. He knows you want him just as bad as he wants you, and that fuels a fire inside of him so big that an ocean wouldn’t be able to put it out. He rests his fingertips at the top of your slit, rubbing gently through the cotton fabric of your panties. Gentle circles just right, right where you need him. Hearing you whine. The way your lips part in surprise. The small sounds you’re making. It’s nearly too much. You’re overwhelming him already and he’s barely touched you.

He works at his pants, getting them off as quickly as he can, his vest and shirt following after. He toys with the buttons on the shirt he’s let you borrow. Tugging them open so that he can get a good look at your bare chest. So pretty, just like every part of you. He takes his time with you. Hands cupping your breasts and massaging them, feeling your relax into him. He leans down, kissing your skin, wrapping his lips around one of your nipples, hearing you gasp. You try to be quiet.

He moves lower and lower. Fingers sliding into the hem of your panties. He tugs your panties down, avoiding your bandage. You’re shy, closing your legs slightly as he pulls them off. “Nothing to be nervous about. I’m gonna take good care of you.” He breathes. He can see the redness on your cheeks. He spreads your legs gently. His touch feels like gentle brushes. His breath hitched in his throat when he sees you, so bare for him. He inches closer, the tip of his cock nudging at your entrance. You shiver at the feeling of it. Eyes slightly going wide when you see the size of him.

You swallow hard and he smiles. “It’s alright. I’ll be gentle.” He breathes. “You can always stop me.”

You nod your head. You’re not going to stop him. He circles your clit with his index finger, collected your arousal on his finger. Feeling you going tense beneath him. He can tell he’s working you up. “S’alright darling. Try n relax for me, yeah?” He breathes. His accented voice sends chills up your spine. He rests more of his body weight on you, burying his face into the crook of your neck. He’s going to muffle your sounds. He pushes his index finger into you, hearing you gasp. He starts slow, not wanting to push you. His finger fucking into your wet hole. You clutch the edges of the shirt you’ve got on. Knuckles going white. He pulls back, sitting up onto his knees. “Feel good?” He asks. You nod your head eagerly, moving your hips down into him slightly. He can’t help but smile.

He slides it out of you, hearing your whine in protest. He collects more of your arousal with his middle finger, pushing both of them into you. Your thighs shiver slightly, your eyes shutting. “O-oh fuck Kyle.” You mewl. The way you say his name has his cock jumping slightly. He’s so turned on. He scissors you open, thumb rubbing against your clit. You’re so soft, and wet. You’re driving him crazy. Right when you’re on the edge, he pulls away. Hearing a frustrated whine leave your lips. He can’t help but chuckle. “Don’t worry. I’ll make it up to you.” He smiles. Seeing your cheeks redden. He inches closer, the tip of his cock drawing over the expanse of your pussy. Gathering your arousal at the tip. He moves himself between you, pushing your legs up slightly. He spits right on the opening of your pussy, sliding his cock up the cavern. Once his cock is lubed up enough, he nudges the tip right at the entrance. Watching his tip disappear between them. You sigh.

He inches deeper, pushing your hips into his bed. “It’s gonna hurt baby. Just try to stay relaxed for me.” He mutters. Seeing you nod your head. “I’m okay. Been through worse.” You smile.

When he starts to hurt you, you reach your hand down. Pressing down onto the wound on your leg. The pain spikes up on it, drawing the pain away from Kyle’s cock stretching you out for the first time. When he bottoms out, his mouth falls open. You finally draw your hand back from the wound on your thigh. The worst of it is over now. You can’t help the tears that gather in your eyes. “F-fuck. I feel so full.” You whine, lifting your hips slightly. “Yeah baby. So full of me.” He gasps. He can’t contain the way he feels. He doesn’t want to. “Oh fuck.” he whines. Burying his face into your neck again. He draws his hips back, thrusting back inside of you. You stiffen underneath him. Wrapping your arms around him. Your eyes get heavy, you can’t keep them open. Shutting them tight as he starts to fuck you, he pulls his cock almost all of the way out of you before thrusting back in. He’s got a steady rhythm. Feeling you shiver. “Feels so good Kyle, so good.” You whine. “Yeah baby. I know. Got me so close already. Fuck.” He grits his teeth.

“Look at me.” He breathes, tilting your chin up to look at him. “You okay?” He asks. You nod your head, struggling to keep your eyes open. “Keep looking at me sweetheart. Wanna see your pretty face when you cum.” He breathes. You shiver at his touch. It’s unbelievable how fast this happened, how fast you have right into him. “Kyle.” You wince. “M’I hurting you?” He pauses immediately. “No. Don’t stop.” You breathe. He pushes your legs up, spitting on the base of his cock to make sure he’s not going to hurt you. “Thank you.” You breathe, looking up at him. The moonlight shines perfect on your eyes. “What?”

“For taking care of me. For reassuring me. And for staying with me earlier when I was h-hurt.” You hiccup. Your teeth are gritted. He keeps the same steady pace, he’s a perfect fit for you, his cock slipping between your walls perfectly. He laughs slightly. “I got you.” He breathes. “Nothing to worry about now. I have you, I always will. Just try to relax for me.” He breathes. “Keep looking at me.”

Your eyes snap up to his. Chills rising on your skin. You’re right there, right on the edge. It’s intense, the unfamiliar build of an orgasm. Kyle is fighting off his own orgasm. He hisses when you claw down his back. The burn has his brain spinning. He doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out before he finishes. He leans down to kiss you again. It’s sloppy and wet but desperate. He raises himself up slightly, rocking himself into you at a slightly different angle and that’s when you lose it. He forces you to look at him, your eyes getting heavy. He clamps a hand over your mouth to muffle your cries. Body shaking and convulsing as you reach your orgasm. You clamp down around him, walls throbbing with your orgasm. The coil that’s wound up in Kyle’s is about to snap. His body shivers and he bites down onto his lip. Just a couple more thrusts and he’s growling out, eyes rolling back into his head. “Oh fuck-“ he whimpers. He relaxes into you. Avoiding your wound as he slides out of you, moving himself next to you.

Right there he knows he’s gone. You look more beautiful than ever. Face flushed, his shirt half buttoned up. Skin sweaty and flushed too. Full of his cum. It’s a good look for you. He laughs after a few minutes of silence and you can’t help but laugh too. “That escalated quickly, ah?” He laughs. “Yeah, yeah it did.” You let out a breath of relief. He moves to rest his arm on you. “Hope I didn’t hurt you too bad.” He breathes. “No, I’m good. Really good.” You blush. He pulls you into him, “you look really good too.” He smirks. Seeing you roll your eyes.

“We should make this a thing.” He sits up slightly. “What?”

“I mean.. I’m not doing anything next weekend.” He smiles. “Are you asking me on a date, Garrick?”

“Yeah. Yeah I am.”

“Of course, I’d love that.” You smile.

“Great. It’s a date. Now get some rest. You’ve got some healing to do.” He smiles.

#gaz smut #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #gaz mw2 #kyle garrick #gaz cod #call of duty mw2 #cod mw2 #soap mw2 #ghost mw2 #captain john price #price mw2 #alejandro mw2 #captain price #johnny soap mactavish #mw2 smut

298 notes · View notes

anonymouscheeses · 11 days

Text

Big fckn redesigns here. Well mostly Charlie but Vaggie somewhat too 🥰🥰

Blue fits Charlie soooo much and I cease to see that many redesigns with this color. I still want red to be used in most of their designs because well. They are in hell, but not too present so to make way for other unique colors. Charlie has several physical traits from her parents but also she has some details in her clothes that match with them. When I uhh, introduce their designs you'll see lmao. I also tried to make her have a more roundish design, I jst LOVE those typ of designs omg. I just want the characters with not too many sharp corners pls Viv bro... 😔 oh yeah she's mixed cuz her mom's are darker in their redesigns. Alot of their genetics went down to Charlie so she doesn't look like an exact copy of Lucifer, I kind of hate that trend with hh and hb characters, like did the moxxies dad give birth to him bro 😭 also I kept her bow because it looks so cute and silly on her it just fits, I wish they made it bigger in her show design because it would fit her silliness so much. She has a cape with stars because morningSTAR smh why didnt they do something fun with that, missed potential but whatevs yknow I still love og designs no matter what anyone sayss. Did you know I love Charlie, I could ramble for days. I think I love Charlie guys. Maybe jst a hunch idk... also... s-snake fangs.. jeepers anddd..... snake tongue.... shiver me timberz

The wife ever. I had animation in mind more when I designed her, not like in a "How easy or hard would this be to animate" way. But I like to imagine when she's shocked her hair kind of fluffs out plus her actual fluff, when she's mad her bow turns into kind of horns and then her jacket expands like wings. Gave her a more hotel like outfit, she likes to work for fun (ew). Her socks are socks but she has some fluff under them she just tries to cover it up because she hates herself 🤪 (she doesn't hate her bigger body she actually feels much more comfortable chubby than when she was skinny with Adam. She was burdened with the weight of Adam's image of women... In this sorta rewrite she gained weight when she goes to the hotel because she's more happy. I'm dying I love chub Vaggie so much guys please) headcanon: she kind of likes fashion, it's like a fun hobby of hers to stitch together clothing and go out and buy clothes she'll never wear. She taught Charlie how to stitch and she SUCKS so you can jst see it on Charlie's pants.

Second outfits! Charlie's hotel uniform for. Well. Hotel stuff. She usually only wears it when new people come to the hotel, which.... isn't often, if at all. She still likes to keep it just in case. Also she goes really cartoonish when it happens, she does the looney tunes run and changes into her clothes in like 2 seconds. Can you see my vision? 😭😭

Vaggie's is in her armor. She has several pairs of armor lying around in the hotel in completely hidden spots. It's kind of surprising uhh. Yeah she wears it alot more than Charlie wears her alt uniform but still rare to find her in it. I don't get the whole thing with the exterminators and them not being able to fight according to Carmilla. Which is kinda stupid, I'm not gonna lie. So, instead of that, Vaggie has just let her guard down and has gotten much more comfortable in her surroundings so she feels like she doesn't need to fight anymore, she's just gotten rusty 's what I'm sayin. I have no idea how to draw armor. You can tell...

Extra below cut vvvv

BABY CHARLIE!!! With the heads of my redesigns for Luci, Eve, and Lillith. Haha you still cant see them. Uhh, ill definitely finish the thing one day. Its not even that big of a project thing, i think i jst keep going to other drawings so im like not focusing on one thing lmao. Lucifer has heterochromia because he was cursed to forever be reminded of his betrayal. I only explained that because Charlie has it too, it's kind of a curse on the entire blood line where at least one eye is red. This is like. Slightly older Charlie than the baby Charlie in show? I jst wanted to put her in overalls cuz omg that's jst so cute ughhh 😭😭

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin hotel vaggie #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel eve #hazbin hotel lillith #chaggie #varlie #rainbowmoth #charlie x vaggie #vaggie x charlie #ill get to the other........ one day #art #fanart #artists on tumblr #digital art #charlie morningstar #vaggie #i hate her name. its now Valerie. or was it Valarie. i dont remember. uh. hi #i totally forgot abt my human au ILL ANSWER QUESTIONS SOON YOU GUYS I JST HAVE ALOT IN MIND RIGHT NOWW #lillith morningstar #lucifer morningstar #eve morningstar #WHY AM I SO HAPPY THATS A TAG. ITS LITERALLY CANON THEY WERE PRT MUCH POLY. I JST LOVE THE FACT ITS ACCEPTED 😭😭#hazbin hotel chaggie #hazbin chaggie #lucifers stolen wives #could that be the ship name for those three. or if someone comes up with a better one 😭🙏 im ass at ship names #baby charlie #also every morningstar member has a curse of some kind. sooo ill explain in the other post thatll come out in 2069 /j

64 notes · View notes

nescaveckwriter · 5 months

Text

Paintbrushes And Romance

Dean x reader

Part 3🥰

A/N: Thank you for all the love and likes, comments and messages, y'all are awesome 🐞🥰

Warnings: Some light swearing, Violence, Some Sexual Content, PTSD Triggers. 🙈

Really could you sound any more like a dork, you say lying in bed that night looking out the window at the stars, did you really have to use the whole "fudge saying" from that one series you were hooked on Hart of Dixie you recall. Thinking about his arms around you, the way it felt, the woody musky scent coming from his clothing, the way his piercing emerald green eyes looked right through your soul. What is it about this man, that has you so intrigued. You smile, while thinking about what you already know about him, he has a smile that could light up a room, his eyes are so enticing, he is a sheriff, probably why you felt so safe in his arms, he is much taller than you, he is really strong, and damn he is handsome, the type of handsome that can make any women's knees feel like jello. With the sound echoing of his gruffy voice you fall asleep.

......

The rain slowly falling against your window wakes you up, instead of the cheerful way you always greet the day, a moment of dread washes over you, you thought by now, the anniversary of the day that altered your out look on life , wouldn't botter you as much. The fear rushes over you again, the memories flashing, you try to fight the tears burning behind your eyes.

Feeling your chest tightening is enough to send shivers down your back, breathe in calmness and release the fear, you think out loud, that's what your psychologist told you the first time it happened and even after learning all the coping mechanisms and strategies, you still find yourself in this situation, every now and again when you can't chase away the darkness. Sometimes its like you can still smell the spoiled milk and fear hanging in the darkness of the trunk he shoved you in. That's the smell you tried washing off of you for weeks, months even and still it sometimes hit you like a brick in the face, being a 20-year old girl believing the world is full of good people, and then being taken, bound and gagged, definitely shakes that outlook.

Dragging yourself out of the comfort and safety of your bed, you think back on that day, you were so scared, thinking about how to get out of the situation, being held at a wooden shed you found a rusty nail sticking out of one of the wooden shafts, you silently rubbed your bound hands against it, scraping more than just the rope, digging out pieces of the flesh on your wrists aswell.

Hearing him say how his going to have his way with you, him coming closer to you unbuckling his belt, was just the motivation you needed, scared out of yourself, adrenaline rushing through your veins, you cut the last piece of the rope, while his hovering over you, you pushed him onto the floor, surprised look clearly visible on his face, you quickly untie your feet, got up but he catches you, trying to wiggle out of his grip, that's when you felt it, pushing through your skin, subconsciously letting your fingers run over the clearly visible scar on the right side of your ribcage, you felt the blade of the knife tearing through your flesh, falling to the ground, you wanted to scream but held it in, hearing him say, I've got you now, you piece of trash, that's when you saw it in the corner of your eye, a steel pipe, your last hope, you tried pulling it closer, fingers barely cathing the edge, with one big push you slide your body closer to the pipe, feeling the blood gushing through your side, you find strength somehow, and bash the side of his head in with the piece of steel, he fell like a sack of potatoes, covering your whole body, you don't know if it was the fear of him waking up and going through with his threats of touching and then finally killing you or the adrenaline, but you managed to get him off of you, you got up and ran as fast as you could, barefoot across a field into what looked like a kind of creepy scrapyard, but you were desperate and afraid, you ran up to a door screaming, begging, so that whoever is behind the door, hoping someone is there, would open up! The door flung open, an old rugged man, with a angry voice saying what the hell, he stopped looking at the bruises on your face , then seeing the blood staining your clothes, you couldn't really hear what he said, falling to your legs, you see him picking up something that looked like a shotgun, then hearing the man who took you behind you screaming come hear you piece of... Before he could end his sentence, you heard a loud banging noise, then cathing a glimpse on the man collapsing to the ground, looking back at the old man, holding the smoking gun, before everything just went black, and from that day, Bobby Singer became like a second father too you, sad smile on your face, and tear stained cheeks, you look yourself in the mirror, knowing your not a victim but a survivor.

.....

The raindrops on the impala is making it shine even more, Dean notices, while finding a parking spot at the coffee shop, its his off day, so he got out of the car with his red flannel shirt, hoping to see the coffee shop angel and finally asking her if he could buy her a coffee, maybe then he could focus on something else, rather than this heavy case hanging over him.

Filled with hope and anticipation he walks over to the corner where the shop is, cathing a glimpse of Bobby Singer, the man who was more of a father to him than his own dad, Bobby taught him how to hunt, how to fish, hell, how to be a good man, not that he always succeeded in that part, but hey he tries.

He is hugging someone, that's when he sees her, but today she doesn't look like the little ray of sunshine, that he came to recognize, tears are streaming down her beautiful face, all Dean want's to do is to wrap her in his arms, holding her until whatever made her cry like that, just disappears into the warmth of him.

He walks closer, wanting to talk to her but, Bobby, stops him, son, no don't go after her, let her be. But I just want to, let her know I care said Dean! Son, she doesn't want anyone looking at her like she's a victim. Bobby! what the hell do you mean, did something happen to her, no-one reported a crime he, tries to scan his brain, trying to think of a case that might have involved her. Did he miss something, anger bursting in his voice. Damnit Dean you idjit, listen, something happened to her ten years ago, let's sit down, and I will tell you how I met this amazing, women who is stronger than most, Bobby said with admiration in his voice. As Bobby tells Dean the story of what happened to her that day, the emotions visible on his face, from severe anger, to this deep sadness, a sort of sadness he never felt, it actually felt like his heart was ripped out of his chest, trampled on even, how is this damn world fair, how could something so horrible, happen to someone as amazing, as her, he thought.

Thanking Bobby for telling him and also swearing that he will never pity her, Dean walked to his car, before getting in he made a promise to himself and whoever is listening up above, that he would always protect her, no matter what, he will go to hell and back for her.

#mary winchester #misha collins #benny lafitte #saileen #jack kline #eileen leahy #jensen ackles x reader #jared padalecki #castiel spn #sam and dean #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester imagine #Spotify

40 notes · View notes

stinkypardonpete · 1 month

Text

RE4!LEON S. KENNEDY X MALE READER PART:2

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

{A/N: This fanfic is a bit sloppy and not really detailed as my first one and I’m sorry for that! But this is part two of my first fanfic! REMEMBER everything in this fanfic is made up and not real and did not happen in the actual Resident Evil 4 game.}

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

~I’m Worried About You, You know..?~

••••••••••••••••••••••��••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

plot: You and Leon on a mission together to rescue baby eagle(Aka Ashley). While killing some infected you get a big scratch on your leg. You try to ignore it and hide it so Leon doesn’t see because you don’t want to bother him more. When he finds out about your injury he tells you his real feelings for you.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Leon and I walked slowly and quietly around the houses of the now infected village. Leon still hasn’t talked to me that wasn’t about the mission, I wished that we still talked even if he hated me. There were two old infected women who’s faces was wrapped in bandages, Leon put his arm in front of you and signaled for you to hide behind a wooden crate.

The infected ladies let out snarls and hisses but didn’t hear me or Leon. “Let’s head out that way, there’s not as many infected there.”, I inquired to Leon. The path we were planning on taking would pass the center of the village, where most of the infected were. Leon’s eyebrows furrowed together and his eyes narrowed at the path I was pointing at. A second later he huffed, “Yeah, sure.” He answered bluntly.

The path was covered in foot marks from who I assume were the infected. Reddish-brown leaves coated some parts of the dark brown mud. The path was peaceful until an infected man shuffled right in front of us. It scared me and Leon until the man started limping towards us. Leon acting fast, trudged to the man and slit his throat. The infected’s blood sprayed until the body went limp and fell to the ground. The noise of the body falling attracted many other infected to come our way.

“Well the party certainly came.” Leon sighed as he cocked his gun. Sometimes I forget that Leon is just a man who got his life taken away from, I know he’s still the nice Leon somewhere in him. I reloaded my gun and retighten my utility belt as I got ready to shoot any infected. Suddenly, lots and lots of infected people started hustled to me and Leon. Me and Leon didn’t focus on each other and instead focused on killing all these infected people. After about 10 minutes of on-going fighting, my body started aching and cramping up. I knew if I stopped moving for even a second I would be at the mercy of the infected. “Leon! We need to find a house to rest at! My body is giving up on me!”, I heaved out. My body was sweating like crazy(I like me a sweaty muscled body….LOOKING AT YOU MR. KENNEDY), it felt like more and more infected was coming every second. Leon observed my face, seeing the tears that were slowly starting to form in my (E/C) eyes. Leon quickly scanned the area and saw a house that seemed empty. “Reader! Come here!”, Leon blurted out to me. I look over at Leon who was killing every infected in his way. I start stabbing my way through the infected until I felt a sharp and excruciating pain on my right ankle, I don’t think about it and I run inside of the house.

“Fuck, are you okay?”, I asked Leon, who was leaning against the wall. I’m not gonna lie, he looked hella hot with his sweat making his golden bangs stick to his forehead. The chest compression shirt that complimented his strong muscles(AND HIS BIG ASS MIKERS🥰⁉️⁉️⁉️). He looks so irresistible and attractive at this angle. Wait, what am I thinking? Yes I’ve liked Leon for a while but there’s no way in hell he would like me back, I’m a man… I suddenly remember the giant scratch on my ankle. I pull up my pant sleeve and examine the cut. My finger reaches at the cut and I hiss at the pain the touch gave me. I didn’t carry any medical stuff with me or any herbs so I knew I was screwed. I knew Leon might have some but I didn’t want to bother him any longer since he already hated me.

I hear Leon moving off the wall and I quickly pull my pant leg down to hide the cut but Leon noticed this. “What happened?”, he said aggressively at me. I look up at him and I feel my face warm up a bit. “Ah-nothing! Just rubbing something off.” I answered back. The pain was throbbing like hell. It felt like someone was stabbing me over and over again. Leon narrowed his eyes at me and kneeled in front of me. “Don’t lie to me reader, what happened?” He said sounding a bit more soft. I told him again that it was nothing and not to worry about me. He rolled his eyes and grabbed my arm and dragged me towards the rusty bed and sat me down on it.

Leon pulled the pant leg up and gasp at the giant scar on my ankle. He leans his hand at the cut and grazes over it softly. It hurt a lot. I whimpered at the pain and moved my arm away from his hand. Leon looks up at me and asked how much it hurt, to which I replied with ‘It hurts like crazy’. He grabs his bag and searches for any herbs or bandages. He brings out an alcohol bandages. He pours a bit of alcohol of a cotton ball and looks up at me. “This is gonna hurt..”, he warned me as I nodded sadly back at him. He slowly brings the alcohol-coated ball to the top of my cut and i stuttered the words ‘Fuck’ and ‘stop’ at the burning sensation. Leon muttered an apology as he continued to dab the cotton ball on me.

The silence was loud. The awkwardness between us was too much, I wanted to say something but I kept quiet. Leon groaned and nervously said, “So uh, how have you been lately?”. His question surprised me a bit before I answered back. “Oh it’s been alright..”. I would’ve been better if you actually talked to me. “That’s good” Leon said. I decided that this is the right time to bring up how I have been feeling about him, how he never talks to me, ignores me. I opened my mouth to say my words until I get interrupted.

“I’m sorry…..”. An apology rumbled out of Leon’s mouth. I look down at him as he bandages my cut. He continues, “I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring you and being rude to you during this mission. I’m really sorry. It’s just been hard, I’ve been trying to…..understand my feelings. I get it if you don’t want to be friends anymore or don’t accept my apology and it’s okay if you don’t.”. A loud pause happens until I answer. “I forgive you Leon, I am mad at you for ignoring me but I forgive you.. but, can you at least tell me why you did ignore me?”.

Another pause. Fuck, maybe i shouldn’t have said anything or at least reword my sentence Leon raises his head with a surprised but nervous face. His fucking enchanting ass face “It was because, um, I like you…”, Leon stammered, muttering that last part but loud enough for me to hear. Mines and Leon’s faces warm up at the confession. I didn’t want to believe it, was he lying to me? My sweaty hands grip the bedsheets as Leon forces his head down. I take a moment to sink in the new information and look at Leon. My hand reaches out for Leon’s face and cups his warm cheek. “I-I like you too Leon. But I thought you won’t like me because I am a boy.”, I confess. Telling Leon I liked him made me feel happier. Leon puts his hand on top of my hand that was on his cheek. He looks up at me and smiles softly, I smile back at him. “C-can um you know..” I stutter out until Leon leans at my face and kisses me gently. The kiss felt like something out of a dream. Leon gently gripped the back of my head then massaging it. His other on my cheek, his thumb rubbing my eye bags. The kiss is one of those ‘I can’t let go yet’ kisses. Both of us pecking each others lips and then fully kissing each other, pulling back each other for more.

Our little make out session stopped as Leon sits beside me on the bed. I grab his hand and wrap my one around it, like I was protecting it from everything in the world. I looked over at Leon. His now swollen lips was a mixture of red and purple, Sweat on his forehead, half-closed eyes, and his drunken daze. I smiled as I leaned my head on his broad shoulder.

We might be surrounded by infected-snarling monsters but being next to each other made us feel safe.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

{A/N: OMG IM FINALLY DONE! As u can tell I got lazy at the end and it has HELLA cringe. But it’s done now so yup! Imma start on the requested one tomorrow and might finish it :)}

#Leon Kennedy #leon Kennedy x reader #leon Kennedy x male reader #Resident Evil 4

21 notes · View notes

beneathashadytree · 2 years

Note

omg hello! I was the anon that requested that law one shot and can i just say, it was so perfect. i feel like you wrote for him so well i absolutely adored it sm. thank you for taking the time to write it! it was so well written and I felt like law wasn’t ooc at all ahhh. tysm.

anyways i saw you were still looking for more one piece requests so i decided i’d request again (if that’s okay? if not ignore me, my apologies.) but another one piece man that i am absolutely head over heels for is zoro. i simp for this man so hard oml. if you could write a zoro x reader where the reader is jealous of hiryori and her interactions with zoro during the wano arc i will cry (i think i speak for most zoro simps when i say we were all jealous of this girl during this arc.) i guess this would fall under a hurt/comfort genre too? idk. i’d imagine reader is part of the straw hats though, and that there’s a some sort of unspoken preexisting relationship there but that’s all up to you! thank you so much!

YOURS, MINE - RORONOA ZORO X READER

Warnings : general negative feelings, this isn’t to depict Hiyori in a bad light at all, there will be lots of plot holes in this because I am nowhere near Wano, this isn’t proofread, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : hurt/comfort (my fav hehe)

Word count : 3.0K (holy. shit.)

Additional notes : Oh nonnie, I’m so so glad you liked the Law piece! I enjoyed myself sm while writing it so I’m happy it paid off 🥰 And thank you so much for requesting! However I have a terrible announcement to make… I am absolutely nowhere near Wano😭 I’m VERY behind on One Piece, as I’ve said in my rules for requesting. I had to spoil myself the entirety of the whole Hiyori thing to write this, and I did a lot of research to do that, so there might be some discrepancies. I did adore the request idea though, and I so desperately want to write for One Piece characters, so I got it done! I hope it’s not a let-down though😭 Let me know what you think💗

Requests : Are open! Check the rules over here.

Want to support me financially? Here’s my CashApp!

Masterlist

They’d never thought that there would come a day when they would say this, but they were dangerously close to cursing Zoro’s soft-heartedness winning over this time. After all, it was what had gotten them into this mess of a situation in the first place.

Initially, they’d set off with Zoro, as they often did. Considering the fact that they’d always been the one he’d tolerated the most amongst the crew, it had only been natural that their shared comfortable silence slowly developed into lingering glances, prolonged-more-than-was-probably-necessary subtle skin contact, lazy naps together bathed in sunlight in the crow’s nest, and worried murmurs in each other’s ears whenever one left to fight on their own. The development was a gradual one that left a blanket of bliss covering them amidst all the blood and sweat, and so they reveled in always accompanying one another, the words expressing how they felt left unspoken.

They’d shared Zoro’s skepticism when the breathtaking young woman had run in their direction, the frantic look in her eyes only increasing her wariness as she begged the swordsman to help her and the child burrowed in her arms. He didn’t get much time to choose, given that Kamazo had chosen that moment to aim his blade at her—and with a quick glance at her bloodied clothes and visible terror, he struck back as the horrible fight ensued. His kindness and soft spot for weak children and women being sullied by the bloody hands of the wicked had won over.

It wasn’t out of weakness or cowardice that they’d snuck away. Given their experience with the Strawhats, they could certainly pull their own in a fight; after all, that was how Zoro had come to respect them so fiercely from the start. However, they could very distinctly recall an argument from a long-distant past—one where he’d very clearly (almost harshly, even, if they hadn’t known him too well to think that of him) asked them to not interfere with his fights. Clumsy as he was with his firm words, they knew the lingering message.

I cannot guarantee our safety if I worry too much about your protection. I truly cannot afford any distractions. Your strength will be needed elsewhere. I can deal with things better on my own.

Respecting his decision and the effort it took for him to get over his pride to admit that, they’d since adhered to their solo battle strategies. And so with that talk still in mind, they’d left him to protect the woman and the girl, determination set on their face as they bounded off with their own plan to dispose of anyone that should prove to be a threat.

A decision they’d come to horribly regret, really. Especially when they’d happened to stumble upon the shack while scouting Zoro out, overhearing muffled sounds from inside. If they strained their ears hard enough, they could make out what could be soft words of gratitude and immense admiration from a female voice. Frowning, they peered in through the window and saw a sight that sent a painful pang ringing through their chest.

The stunning woman (Hiyori was her name, they’d come to learn) had herself entirely wrapped around his bandaged arm, tugging at him with a sweet expression of concern on her face that reminded them an awful lot of the worry they often wished to display whenever Zoro went out on his own. That feeling was too familiar for them to not recognize, and knowing that this woman was harboring it had them feeling worse than they’d expected.

Zoro’s exasperation and agitation seeped through his yowl as Hiyori pulled at his injured arm once again, and they had half a mind to strut in and push her away. How insensitive of her; pushing a heavily wounded man like that, even if he himself insisted on moving, was absurd! The swordsman knew his own limits well, but aggravating his injury still was too careless of her.

The bitter thoughts welling up inside of them stunned them momentarily, and they stilled in place from outside the shack. Since when had the mere idea of seeing him with someone else disturbed them so greatly? This wasn’t fair on either of them. Hiyori had no blame in this—after all, the young woman hadn’t done anything wrong to cause them to feel such anger towards her. In fact, she’d protected Toko as best as she could, even going as far as to shield her with her body.

And in all honesty, they couldn’t even blame her for expressing admiration for the man that had clearly stepped up and risked dealing all of the damage for their sake. His incredible strength and indomitable mental fortitude were a force to be reckoned with, and they knew more than anyone else just how awe-inspiring he was.

But a small part of them—the part that dug its heel in and turned its nose away to spout venomous words in their mind—remained stubbornly annoyed. Hadn’t their own feelings sprouted from admiration as well? It was how things started, wasn’t it?

No, no, that wouldn’t do. They shook their head at the awful thoughts that clouded their mind, no longer even looking through the window, too caught up in their messy thoughts. Before pointing any fingers and getting mad at a woman they’d never even met prior to this, they’d have to remember that Zoro didn’t owe them anything. After all, there hadn’t been anything official between them; nothing of concrete substance. It wasn’t as though he was their boyfriend.

Still, the very thought alone drove a sharp knife deeper into their gut, twisting and leaving a gut-wrenching pain in its wake. Perhaps it was only wishful thinking and useless whining on their part, but a part of them had believed that words weren’t needed to expressed the affection they’d thought they’d shared between them—and perhaps they’d blindly hoped that that same sentiment would’ve been enough reason for him to completely rebuke any approaches from Hiyori. He couldn’t be that oblivious, really, could he?

This was just ridiculous. With a roll of their shoulders and a determined expression on their face, they brushed off all their distracting thoughts. Dwelling too long on this was useless. The conversation going on inside had long turned to background noise, and with that, they walked off.

***

After finally catching up with the rest of the crew at the ruins of Oden castle, they slumped in their seat, a detached and rather despondent look on their face.

“Weren’t you with Zoro?” Nami asked, a small frown on her face as she watched a troubled look flash in their eyes. “What did that idiot do?”

They weren’t really trying to be rude or anything, but they hadn’t the willpower to mention anything they’d seen. It wasn’t important anyways, so they only shrugged and hoped that it would pass as that. Nami’s frown only deepened, but before she could open her mouth to question them further, a loud cry of their names had them turning around to watch as Brook leaped in their midst.

“Zoro-san!” he cried out, his jaw dropping as he seemed incredulous, “You’d never believe what I saw him doing!”

Furrowing their eyebrows, they looked up at him. “What happened?”

“He was asleep, with a lovely maiden in his arms! They seemed rather cozy too,” Brook hid his face in his hands, clearly distraught, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this envious of him. She looked so coy and sweet too.” Sighing, he went on to say, “I wished she’d look into my eyes like that while cuddled up to me… though I have no eyes, and there’s only bones for her to cuddle! Yo ho ho ho!”

“Oh my,” Robin chuckled, amusement flickering in her eyes, “That’s certainly an interesting turn of events.”

Neither of them had noticed how their face had turned away as their heart plummeted at his words. Though Brook was a terrible gossip, he was never one to tell a lie, so what he’d just said had to be the truth and nothing but. A small part of them argued in the back of their mind that there had to be some sort of logical explanation or a misunderstanding of some sort, but even if there had been, it didn’t matter. The swelling pain in their chest that threatened to spill their tears wasn’t letting up, and they didn’t care to know more about Zoro and that Hiyori anymore.

There were many cries of envy and shocked gasps and murmurs amongst the crew members, but they could hardly pay attention to anything other than their own thunderous heartbeat in their easy and that queasy feeling in their gut. Since when did Zoro let others—aside from their crew on certain occasions, that is—cling to him? It was nauseating; how jealous they felt at the moment, and how upsetting it was admitting that fact to themself alone.

Without so much as a word, they brushed themself off and got up, mumbling something about wanting to go for a walk. Though Sanji made a concerned comment, they shouldered every single one of their jumbled emotions like a heavy jacket and left the crew behind for a bit of fresh air, and hopefully some clarity of thoughts.

***

“Hey. Hey. Oi!”

Sitting on a jagged tree stump, they turned at the voice of the person they least wanted to see at the moment. Mustering their nerves, they gave him their most withering look, to which Zoro visibly winced.

“What did that damn skeleton say?”

“I don’t know, is there something in particular you didn’t want him telling us?” they cooly replied, arching their brow pointedly as he seemed to struggle with what to say.

“No, but knowing him he probably said things that weren’t true,” he grumbled.

They prickled at that. “Are you implying that Brook is a liar?”

“I didn’t say that,” he quickly shot back, “I just… he probably hasn’t said everything or explained anything properly.”

“And why does it matter to you? What you personally do shouldn’t concern any of us.” Shrugging, they crossed their legs. “It’s your life after all, not ours. You don’t owe us any explanations.”

“Stop pretending like you don’t care,” Zoro snapped, scowling at them even though his eyes showed clear concern for them. “Just… listen, okay?” He paused for a second, watching the dubious expression on their face, before adding, “Please.”

Hesitating for only a moment, they nodded. “Alright.”

He sat near their feet, crossing his legs as he leaned back a little against the tree stump. “Kamazo got me with his scythe.” Lightly, his fingers grazed the bandages on his chest. “That woman—Hiyori—she managed to stop the bleeding and wrapped me up like this when I was passed out. Woke up, she thanked me and told me of her identity.” He looked up at them. “I’ll tell you about who she is when we regroup. Anyways, I fell asleep again in the middle. Too tired.”

“Best sleep of your life, I’d wager,” they mumbled under their breath, rolling their eyes as they let their annoyance slip past the icy façade for a moment.

Zoro’s stare intensified at their face, something akin to helplessness on his own. A small, bitter part of them was glad to see him fumbling to find answer.

“You know damn well that’s not true,” he sounded a little irritated as he said this, and so he took a couple of seconds to close his eye and calm himself down. “Woke up and the damn woman was stuck to me like a leech. Said something about it being cold. Dunno, I was pretty much out of it when I first woke up.”

It seemed he was being honest, so they took the chance to ask him, “Did she… happen to show any indications of any…intentions?”

Zoro awkwardly glanced to the side as he cleared his throat. “Yeah. She said men liked it when she slept beside them. Asked me if I did,” and before they could interrupt him, he continued, “And I told her to shut the hell up. Think I got the message across.”

For a few seconds they both remained silent, before they nodded, “Fine. I believe you.”

The swordsman blinked blankly. “Is… is that it? You don’t have anything to ask me?”

“I mean, what else should I say?” they sighed, something cold and hard in their chest melting slowly as the brown eye they always found themself seeking worriedly tried reading their expression. They stood up, offering him a hand to pull him up. “Come on, looking up like that can’t be comfortable for your back. Let’s get back to them. You need proper rest.”

“I’m fine,” he grumbled a little, but remained otherwise quiet as he followed them. And maybe it was just their imagination, but they could’ve sworn that Zoro had walked much closer to them than he usually did—and maybe it was their own selfish desire to see him smiling at them only, but they were almost sure they saw the corners of his lips quirk upwards a little. The warmth of their cheeks probably gave their thoughts away.

***

Separated for a while after having reunited with the group at the ruins, they waited patiently for Zoro to come back. He’d said he had something to do, and so they’d nodded and silently promised him they’d wait for him. Understanding in his own eye, he’d went off, and they’d grown annoyed to notice that Hiyori had trailed after him. It was a little comforting to know that Zoro had no interest in the woman who’d turned out to be such an important person, but still; was it necessary for her to follow him like a lost duckling?

Upon his return, the other Strawhats had already begun to walk off, too impatient to wait on him all this time. In his arms he carried an unfamiliar sword, its blade gleaming in the light of the setting sun. It almost looked majestic. Though they were gaping in awe at it, they didn’t fail to notice how Hiyori’s smile was a little sweeter and more eager as she walked next to him.

“Enma was my father’s. I know it’s in good hands now,” her voice was soft as she said that, her smile gentle.

Zoro hummed. “Ah.” He paused only seconds later, a slightly concerned look on his face as he spotted the aggravation on theirs. “What’s wrong? Where are the others?”

“They already went off. I was waiting for you,” they glanced back at Hiyori, who was currently murmuring something in Toko’s ears and grinning so wide her face seemed almost dazzling, “Looks like you’re receiving gifts of love now. Don’t let me interrupt.” Part of them was joking, a half-smile on their face, but some annoyance still brimmed underneath the surface, the jealousy still clawing at their chest.

Zoro rolled his eye, exasperation on his face as he impatiently strutted over to them. “Idiot,” he grunted, sheathing his brand new sword and snatching their hand so quickly it momentarily stunned them. Quick to drag them away, their confusion morphed into hyperawareness as his hand curled around theirs, the calloused skin a lot warmer than they expected. “Doesn’t matter how I got it or who gave it to me. Don’t overthink it.”

Now picking up the pace to fall in step beside him, they glanced down at their tightly entwined hands, a grin making its way onto their face as they glanced up to see him flush up till the tips of his ears. Cool-headed and stoic as he might seem to others, it was rather endearing how he was always so easily embarrassed and flustered by any show of affection towards anyone.

The skinship was no exception, but their heart melted just the tiniest bit in their chest as they realized that he’d done that as a form of reassurance; confirmation that whatever they had wasn’t just going on inside their head. Perhaps it was a miniscule display for someone else, but for them, it meant the entire world, knowing just how meaningful it was to Zoro himself; for him to put himself completely out there and expose vulnerability to someone else.

“Getting all soft on me, Zoro?” they teased, despite the blush that warmed their own cheeks as they smiled at him, pointing their chin at their clasped hands as they walked through a much more secluded area.

“Shut up,” he mumbled peevishly, not even turning to face them as his face grew impossibly redder, a strained look on his face, and they struggled to chuckle out loud at how desperately he was trying to not let his embarrassment show any further.

“Oh, but it’s fun to tease you a little,” they grinned, an uncharacteristic joyfulness painting their words as they reveled in the newfound physical touch. They glanced around, noting that there barely was anyone around, if at all, “And no one’s here, anyways, so—“

Before they could say another word, Zoro halted in place, rough hand reaching up to push back their hair and leave a clumsy kiss to their forehead. Rooted to the spot, their eyes blew wide as his lips brushed their skin, leaving it tingling as he pulled away without so much as a glance back. His raging blush to the nape of his neck was more than telling, however, even as he grit his teeth and walked away wordlessly.

Spluttering, they gaped after him, heart clamoring in their chest as a multitude of swelling emotions fought inside them. Of all of the mixed feelings that jumbled up together, the most prominent of them was a deep affection that bordered on something else; something they didn’t dare name lest it slip past their fingers. It completely washed out the bitter taste of any previous jealousy from their mouth, clearing their mind of any coherent thought of anything aside from him and his strong figure in front of them bathed in the warm colors of the sunset. It was a little striking, and they stumbled for a second at the realization.

“I—You can’t just do that! Hey, Zoro!”

Taglist: @stories-that-shaped-me @wifeofkyojuro

396 notes · View notes

geekwritersworld · 2 years

Text

Where the daisies grow *Part 2*

Part 2

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x You

Warning: slight angst (few mentions of wounds), just a mention of throw up, nothing besides this :)

Summary: This is the second part to Where the daisies grow. Read the first part here 🥰

A/n: I've tagged the people who asked for a part 2, and of course, do let me know what you think❤️Part 2 of the request made by @luvlyencanto

He felt cold. Arthur had gone back home to let the rest know what had happened. Tommy didn't leave. He refused to let go. Only releasing you when the nurses told him the longer he refused to let them get to work on you the quicker you would die.

Tommy didn't know how to cope. He couldn't smoke in the hospital to calm his nerves, pacing wasn't working and he couldn't sit for even less than a second- it hadn't even occurred to him to sit down.

His watch displayed the time to be exactly midnight, informing Tommy that he'd been standing in the hospital hallway and occasionally punching the wall for almost 3 hours.

Aunt Pol and the rest of the Shelby siblings had gotten there only a short while after Tommy had with you. They sat quietly, every so often pacing but mainly remaining quite for the most part. Arthur had headed to the closest pub and John was outside smoking. He asked Tommy to join him but he knew his older brother wouldn't step foot outside the hospital until you were doing the same with him.

When the operating room door finally did open , the doctor emerging taking his mask off, Tommy stalked straight in his direction.

"She's stable now" The doctor spoke immediately, afraid that Tommy would threaten him again "her injuries are severe, her ear and lip have been stitched, she has got a broken rib and we've stitched her the wounds on her arms, she has a concussion due to the force of the blow she suffered to her head, she needs as much rest as she can get"

"and?" Tommy eyed him, inches away from the doctors face.

"there will be scarring I'm afraid, but other than that she should recover completely in a month. Her eye is severely swollen but it will go down in its own time" He looked over Tommy's shoulder at the two women who were standing right behind Tommy now "Of course she is also running a fever which will make things slightly difficult, but she will pull through Mr. Shelby"

"How long will she have to remain here?"

"Another few days at least, just to be careful. You can see her now if you wish but she's under heavy pain medication so she may not wake for a while" slipping past Tommy he disappeared into another room.

"you wanna go in first Tommy?" Ada whispered, her hand on her big brothers shoulder.

"Yeah" he didn't look at her and instead pushed open the door to head into your room at the same time Pol went to update John and Arthur.

Tommy thought he could handle seeing people go through some of the worst, but looking at you he realized even war couldn't prepare him for the sight of you laying limp covered in bandages, bruises and stitches.

Quietly nudging a chair next to you and sitting down he eyed the little specks of dried blood near the gash in your arm that wasn't bandaged up.

There were chills going down his legs, he felt weak repressing the urge to throw up realizing the amount of pain you were probably in back at the alley.

"What the fuck happened" he softly caressed your knuckles aware that you couldn't hear him.

When Ada and Pol came in with John and Arthur following, Tommy hadn't moved nor acknowledged their presence. His attention solely focused on you.

Pol tried to get Tommy to at least hydrate himself "I'll fucking drink when she's regained the capability to do the same" he snapped causing Pol to sigh rolling her eyes.

Arthur and John took Finn home deciding to return later in the morning hours. Ada tried convincing Tommy to get some rest for which she only got silence as a response.

Heading home with Ada, Polly promised to return in the morning with the boys. Tommy continued to sit there and watch the sky turn light blue then yellow. Then he proceeded to shut the curtains when the afternoon approached not wanting the sunlight to directly fall on your eyes and hurt them if you woke up.

The Shelby's had come and gone. After all the betting shop still needed to be run.

It was only towards the following night that Tommy saw your finger twitch. Almost like a shiver. He'd immediately leaned in closer whispering your name.

Tommy watched your eyelid twitch and then a faint whine.

And then...nothing. Not knowing what it mean it, Tommy immediately fetched the doctor who assured him it was normal and you'd come to soon.

After waiting for another excruciating twenty minutes Tommy let out a breath letting his head fall into his rough palms and rested his elbows on his knees, hunching.

"you look miserable" your throat burned with dryness

Snapping his head up Tommy moved towards you so fast it was a surprise he didn't topple over onto your bed. He knew you'd be thirsty having been in this position himself before.

Pouring you a glass of water he helped you lift up slightly and drink. And then he poured you another glass of water which you sipped immediately. And then another.

"It won't be the drinks that will kill me, it'll be a stroke you'll be the cause of" Tommy sighed

You didn't dare to actually giggle remembering the pain in your lungs.

"Before you ask" you breathed " I don't know who it was"

Shaking his head "how do you feel?" he avoided the topic for the moment, not wanting you to see the rage he was feeling.

"fantastic" you sassed

"You-"

"You're awake!" Ada let out a cry rushing to your side nudging Tommy away with her arm. Tommy rolled his eyes moving away reluctantly.

Ada wasn't the last of them much to Tommy's annoyance. Finn, John and Pol came next, fussing over not letting Tommy stand next to you. Arthur followed suit few hours later and it was when Arthur started exclaiming about how Tommy'd been moping since you'd been hurt that Tommy finally had enough.

"Alright fuck off"

When you were finally cleared to go leave, Tommy was there by your side. The same way he had been for every single day that you had been at the hospital. He hadn't left in the last three days. He ate when you did, walked around your room to stretch his legs when you were awake and rambling, held your hand while you slept and made sure the hospital covers were covering you properly to protect you from the cold and when he noticed you shiver in your sleep he wasted no time in asking for a second blanket for you and tucked it in carefully. He slept on the chair for all three days refusing to go home or make any other arrangement.

He didn't leave you at all and you weren't sure if it meant what you were hoping it did, or if if it meant nothing at all.

Holding your hand Tommy led you inside the house and helped you sit down on the couch.

"Are you sure you don't want to go to bed?" Tommy sat down next to you.

"I've been in a bed for 3 days Tommy" you leaned your head against the back of the couch.

"Right, tea?" Tommy raised a brow

"shower" you closed your eyes.

Tommy didn't respond for a few seconds making you turn your head "not me, you"

"what" Tommy never had such conflicting feelings before. He wasn't sure what to make of anything that happened in the last few days it made him uneasy.

He'd caught you staring at him multiple times at the hospital, he'd felt you caress his hand when you thought he was asleep. And he'd heard you ask the nurses to get him something to eat when you'd once again mistaken him to be asleep.

He'd felt you run your finger through his hair when he was beginning to wake.

Tommy wasn't sure if you felt the same for him as he did for you or if it was just the heavy medication you were on.

"I said, shower- for you, not me"

Tommy looked at you incredulously "right".

He decided to wait till Pol got home so you wouldn't be alone.

"I have to ask" Tom said out of the blue walking into the living room with a glass of liquor.

Sighing, you opened your eyes knowing what was coming " like I said, I don't know who it was, all he said was to tell you it wasn't over"

Tommy's expression remained neutral but you knew the wheels were turning in his head.

"FUCK" you flinched not expecting him to suddenly shout.

"Tom-"

Tommy turned to look at you with another yell.

"Tommy, look you can go after them later" you sighed not wanting to deal with him

"damn fucking right I will, I'm going to find those bastards" he paused to throw his glass of liquor against the wall "I'm going to put a fucking bullet through their eyes" he yelled looking at you.

Letting out a worn sigh you turned to look back ahead and slowly got up from the couch.

Tommy called looking at you "What are you doing?"

Rushing to your side Tommy put an arm around you carefully.

"Going to go to my room for peace and quiet since you won't let me have any here" you smiled sarcastically making Tommy roll his eyes at you. He couldn't comprehend your persistence to remain sassy despite the hell you'd been through.

Helping you up the stairs he was tempted to resort to carrying you up the stairs but the pressure on your ribs made the pain unbearable.

You decided to attempt and change your clothes later on since you were already exhausted considering your injuries.

You spent the next few days falling asleep due to heavy medication, waking up at odd hours and losing track of time and days by the end of the following week.

However, the one thing you noticed was that Tommy had been around all the time. He was there when you woke in the middle of the night, he was there when you woke in the afternoon to get you to eat.

You appreciated all of this, no doubt. But it made you nervous. Nervous because the more he was around the harder it was to push away your feelings.

You spent a lot of your time in your room. Either sleeping, reading or staring at the ceiling.

Tommy sat with you every now and then. But today you hadn't seen him much. Pol was home - you knew that much. She said Tommy was at the betting shop, but you didn't believe her when you caught her eyeing her cigarette intently.

Deciding to wait till Tommy got back you laid back down on your bed. It had been a week. Your eye was looking better and the wounds were healing too. But the weakness still lingered around.

You'd fallen asleep, you realized when you groggily opened your eyes and saw it was broad daylight outside, realizing you had slept the entire day you began to slowly try and get up wincing at your injuries.

That was until you heard arguing downstairs, which you could heard quite clearly since your door was wide open.

"What were you bloody waiting for Thomas ?"

"Pol-"

"Just fucking tell her how you feel Thomas, you've been in love with her for a year now"

Furrowing your brows wondering who Polly was talking about. Your stomach dropped and your heart tightened at the thought of Tommy with another woman.

At the sound of approaching footsteps up the stairs you immediately closed your eyes not wanting them to know you'd heard them.

It took every bit of strength left in you to swallow the lump in your throat and keep the tears at bay. Whoever it was coming up the stairs, though you imagined it was Tommy since you could tell by the footsteps, you weren't in the mood to explain the cause of your tears to them.

He spoke your name with such softness it could've very well gone unheard. Except that you heard him and ignored him prompting Tommy to call your name a little louder yet still softly.

Slowly opening an eye you feigned exhaustion and looked at him "Tommy?"

He sat next to your legs on the bed after helping you sit up placing the white daisies next to your bedside table and ran his fingers through his hair "How are you feeling eh?"

"Better I suppose" your voice croaked and you hoped he'd assume it was because you'd just woken up. Tommy snapped his head up in your direction looking directly into your eyes.

Your felt warm and your palms felt clammy. His icy blue eyes bore right through yours. You shuddered at the way he looked at you, you never could get over his eyes. They always made you weak and you often felt as though his eyes resembled the ocean during the coldest winter morning, though you didn't know what that looked like having lived in small heath your whole life.

His eyes seemed so cold and yet, they were the cause of the warmth that spread through your skin. The eyes that made you long for home. The eyes you could lose yourself in- the eyes you were already lost in.

You ached all over- not from your injuries, but from the pain in your chest at the realization that he wasn't yours. That there was someone else- possibly Lizzie- who could call him her home.

You felt gray, like the days when the cloudy skies made small heath dull and gloomy.

Tommy watched you stare right back at him. He wasn't good with words- he never had been. So he did the only thing he thought of in that moment.

He didn't plan to ever reveal how felt to you. But spending almost 3 days at your side and hearing the nurses talk about how it was a surprise they were able to save you, Tommy didn't want to think about how long he spent hurling the contents of his stomach in the hospital bathroom while you slept.

It was only this morning when Pol told him that you felt the same for him that he finally realized he had to tell you before he lost you to some fool.

When he came up to your room he knew you were awake but he didn't point it out.

Instead he sat down next to you looking at his feet trying to form the sentence to tell you, when he heard your voice however, he knew you heard him and Pol. But he wondered if it was shock or something else.

But the longer he stared at you the longer he focused on your injured eye, lip and nose and the more his heart tightened at the thought of you almost slipping away just a few days prior.

Although Polly told him you felt likewise about him as he did about you he couldn't help the nerves. He almost rolled his eyes at the fucking nerves he hadn't felt since the war.

Tommy wanted a future with you, a life -whatever was left of it at least. He wanted to give you a home, to live with you near the fields where the daisies grew and he didn't want that with anyone else.

He craved to be the one to protect you, the one you quarreled with as his wife, to be the one to kiss you and make up for it. He wanted a child who had your eyes, who called him their father and you the mother. He wanted to make you tea when you were tired, he felt a need to be the one who protected you and held you on the nights you were haunted by your past at the orphanage and had panic attacks as a result of the memory, he didn't want you to be alone with those thoughts anymore, he didn't want you to deny them anymore; instead he wanted to kiss your forehead as he helped you through them.

He loved you more than he realized his war torn heart was capable of.

Finally snapping out of his thoughts he was still looking at you in the eyes and then proceeded to do the thing that would either make you his or render him incapable of having children as a result of you either kicking him in the groin or you denying him. Either ways, without you Tommy didn't give a fuck about the future.

You never noticed Tommy leaning in but when you felt his warm breath on your lips; you weren't about to complain.

Tags: @jyessaminereads @cevans-winchesterr @elliaze @ladespedidas @budugu

496 notes · View notes