meenerals

[avalior]

Following Angela's creation of her nanotechnology and the revolution she brought to the nanobiology field, both* Ziegler siblings underwent a surgery to be injected with nanites similar to those found in the Caduceus staff. They circulate throughout the body in the blood and can be used to heal with a physical touch, as Angela did with Mei in the 'Zero Hour' cinematic, and keep both* siblings in good health, healing any wounds they might suffer in the line of duty so that they can continue to function as field and combat medics.

Although intelligent, and specifically engineered to heal the body to a fit state, the nanites are not sentient and are incapable of independently recognising how a body is broken, only that is is -- for example, if a bone is broken and the two halves are not perfectly aligned with one another, the nanites are able to detect the bone is broken but are unable to independently recognise that the two halves will need to be realigned with each other before any fusion should take place in order for the bone to be considered healed from a human perspective, not just a bio-technological perspective. To address this, both* siblings had neural chips implanted that would help them control how the nanites would heal and to communicate with them directly, being able to utilise their medical education and biological knowledge to direct exactly how injuries should be healed to best avoid improperly healing civilians and colleagues in the field and leaving their bodies a grotesquerie of mishealing in horrific conditions.

There is not an infinite supply of these nanites however, and although they are self-regenerating over time, these are more often used for smaller, more visible injuries that can be correctly diagnosed and immediately addressed or for injuries to be treated in a tighter space where it may be more awkward or difficult to wield the Caduceus staff. For injuries that may require more extensive or prolonged use of nanobiotics, or they are unable to come into physical contact with the injured party, the Caduceus staff is used, as it has a greater pool of self-replicating nanites that can be utilised over a greater distance. While these can also be directed by the neural implant, and will be directed as needed, these are not often directed to the same precise level as those transmitted through physical touch as the staff is most often employed in the heat of battle when the general instruction of healing any injuries suffered in battle as they are suffered can be easily understood and executed by the staff's nanotechnology.

As there is not an infinite supply of nanites transmitted by physical touch, overuse of these nanites can result in dehydration, nausea, fatigue and full body aches at lower levels of overuse, and bleeding from the nose and ears, full body exhaustion, and intense myalgia at the most severe levels of overuse. This can only be remedied by allowing the internal nanites to self-replicate and regenerate -- while using the Caduceus staff on themselves will at least partially abate the physical symptoms for a time, it will not restore the levels of the internal nanites.

While Angela's nanobiotics revolutionised the medical field, there are injuries sustained in the field that cannot be healed exclusively with this nanotechnology alone, such as injuries sustained in car crashes, air strikes, and the like, as those injuries would potentially include internal bleeding, hidden broken bones, intermuscular injuries the injured party themselves may not be aware of and may be unable to communicate, etcetera. As such, the internal nanites are capable of performing a full-body scan, sweeping through an injured party's body to highlight injured areas, where the nanites compare their findings in the injured's body to the schematics of how the human body should look when in perfect health and report any discrepancies, which are communicated back through the implant. From there, it is left to the healer to parse the relevant information and interpret actual injuries suffered versus ongoing health concerns -- for example, a scan on Cole may reveal some smoke-related damage to his lungs due to his smoking, but that information would not be prevalent when treating him for a bullet or laser wound. The level of information relayed in these scans is relatively in-depth and highlights every missing correlation without specification -- for example, it will highlight a bone is broken in a certain area, but will not indicate how it is broken, the severity of the fracture, if the break has caused other injuries to the surrounding tissue in the same area. Repeated use of nanites in this fashion, without rest or sufficient breaks, can result in high intensity migraines and overall fatigue. These scans are not possible through the Caduceus staff nanites, as those nanites are engineered specifically to heal or bolster the body, nothing else outside of those parameters.

Given the varying biologies of Overwatch agents, both pre-Fall and post-Recall, such as Lena and the chronal accelerator, the prevalence of high-grade prostheses and how they might interface with human biology, and Genji and Sojourn's cybernetic bodies, it is imperative that both* have an understanding of each agent's biology and how their bodies should work as compared to the typical, standard, human biology. As such, it is made mandatory, as part of Overwatch's physical examinations, that a full-body scan taken through machines rather than nanites is carried out, that both* may familiarise themselves with the people they will be working with to better support them. If ever asked about whether this is necessary, or in the face of any reticence, Markus will always be upfront and frank about why this is needed and what, in terms of avoiding any horrific body horror misguided and misinformed healing, they are hoping to avoid.

While they can heal a great deal of injuries from minute to horrific, nanites are incapable of regrowing amputated limbs. If the injury is recent enough and the limb still fresh, reattachment is possible in a very methodical and delayed procedure, albeit not recommended for in-field application. For those such as Torbjorn, Cole, Genji, and Sojourn, however, where their amputations are several years old and the site no longer fresh, it is not possible for any of their limbs to be regrown.

please note: both* refers to the Ziegler siblings as used in this blog's overall canon. When writing with any depictions of Angela, this can be adaptable in line with any headcanons specifically regarding Angela this may retcon or not work alongside.

[prime-adeptus]

EX MACHINA – DOTTORE X READER

Not once have you strayed from your true purpose—if this is what your creator made you for, then you will fulfil it until your body breaks down.

CONTENT.⠀18+ only, minors dni. HORROR / DARK CONTENT UNDER THE CUT; gender-neutral reader; unhealthy relationship, psychological and emotional manipulation, possessive and obsessive behaviour, non-consensual body modification, conditioning and mindfuck, drugging, kidnapping, sadism, descriptions of anxiety attacks. Dottore is simply referred to as “The Doctor.” DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT | ~2.5k words

A/N.⠀dedicated to my beloved @hiperacid2! this is my first horror/dark fic and it was challenging to write, but i hope you like it, my fellow kindred and kuro hater (/j) // @angelshub @bitchcraftinc @kentocidal

CROSS-POSTED ON AO3

You follow his orders.

If the Doctor tells you to kill, you do so in cold blood. If he tells you to steal something for him, you bring him everything he needs. If he is not pleased with you, you recalibrate and retry the next time he needs you. Like a dog obeys its master, you obey your creator and he rewards you with his praise. Not once have you strayed from your true purpose—if this is what your creator made you for, then you will fulfil it until your body breaks down.

The halls of Zapolyarny Palace’s science wing are silent save for the sound of your footfalls and the occasional murmur from lower-ranked Fatui agents pass by. They do not look into your eyes nor do they greet you. It is not important whether or not they greet you. An agent’s purpose is to do the duty given to him, much in a similar vein to yours, and it is his responsibility not to be hindered by trivial things. The coat you’re wearing covers the lower half of your face and is heavy enough to withstand the unforgiving winters of Snezhnaya, but even then, the air within the walls is cold.

For a reason you haven’t been able to find yet, your body seems to be having difficulties regulating its temperature recently. Perhaps you’d ask the Doctor if he could fix the issue when he’s less occupied with his latest project.

The doors to his laboratory slide open the moment it detects your facial features. It’s dark inside the laboratory; the sun has not yet risen, the only light at this time of day comes from the main city, and frost settles on the glass panes of the window. As you enter, you find that the Doctor is hunched over his desk and that the room is in complete disarray. Papers are scattered across the floor. Beakers and other glassware have shattered into pieces, some of their contents spilling out on documents the Doctor spent hours organising. Your gaze scans every corner and you reach for your sword, about to unsheathe but stop when he speaks up.

“Ah, you’re here, Seven.” He drums his fingers on the surface of the desk, the telltale sign of his impatience. A sigh leaves his lips as he turns around to face you, his lips pursed in dissatisfaction. “Seven, my dear Seven, my prized unit 70-Y…”

He steps closer and closer until your faces are mere inches apart and you are staring directly into his mask. There is a strange sensation that travels across your system and once more the temperature beneath your skin spikes in pinpricks of static. Your ears are ringing, your hands are beginning to shake but they’re out of your control. You can’t comprehend what type of error it is and it only gets worse with each passing second. It can’t be an error; the Doctor never makes any mistakes, so it must be a flaw on your end.

“D-Doctor?” you stammer—another error you don’t recognise. “What… What happened?”

“You’ve grown incompetent,” he replies. You can’t tell whether he sees you malfunctioning in front of him or if he’s simply ignoring it for the matter at hand. “My commands for you were quite simple, were they not?”

Your lips part as you try to respond, but no words come out.

“You don’t understand.” It’s more of a statement than it is a question. “My research has been stolen, Seven. You’ve failed your mission in keeping my laboratory exclusive to us.”

“I’m sorry, Doctor,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. You try to continue, but your body is unstable, swaying until you find yourself falling to the ground. Your legs don’t move the way you need them to; it’s as though they’ve become rubber and can no longer hold your weight. Weakly, you push yourself up into a sitting position and look up at him. Your vision blurs and instinctively you narrow your eyes to try to focus, to reach out to him. “I…”

“You don’t feel well, do you?”

You can’t see him clearly. Something is different about his tone—the irritation has transitioned into something akin to amusement like he’s aware of something that you aren’t. You don’t understand. You don’t feel. That’s something only humans and animals are capable of. He despises having a human assistant; he needs something beyond human, so he created you. It is the only information about your ‘birth’ that you know. 

He lets out another sigh, tone dripping with annoyance once again. “What a bore.”

You detect him staring down at you in the same way he does with his failed projects. You have witnessed firsthand what he does to some of them. They’d get abandoned, their lifeless bodies piled atop each other until it was time for them to get disposed of. Emotions are unknown to you—it’s an area you haven’t explored, but when he ordered you to disassemble all of them with your own hands, you wondered if it could be compared to what humans describe as fear.

Irked and impatient, he clicks his tongue. “Find the thief and kill them. Do not fail me again.” He strides past you and toward the doors, ready to leave but not before he spares you a displeased glance over his shoulder. “And clean this up. You know I hate clutter.”

The Doctor does not return to his laboratory after the incident. 

For the past couple of days, you’ve been trying to find the Doctor so you could report your findings but he’s nowhere to be seen. While it’s not unusual for him to go off somewhere without a word, it is out of routine that he doesn’t have you follow him. If he has been sent on a mission by the Tsaritsa, you would know either from himself or one of his segments. You consider asking his fellow Harbingers, but you have also been forbidden from interacting with any of them aside from the Director. All there is to do is your objective and the disposal of the culprit as soon as you can.

The investigation has been difficult. There are no fingerprints you can scan, no notably suspicious trails left behind, and not enough of anything to form a hypothesis. All you know is that the Doctor’s journals are no longer where they are supposed to be. You consider interrogating the guards but decide against it. They cannot provide useful information, not when the responsibility for surveillance is yours. 

The only thing clear so far is the motive. Whoever broke into the laboratory needed the Doctor’s notes for a reason, whether it was to expose the moral ambiguity of his experiment or to take an idea for themself. Yet there is no evidence of a break-in; the windows aren’t broken and the security system hasn’t been tampered with. If the culprit truly had intentions of stealing or exposing him, they would’ve taken his most valuable research of all: his studies of the Gnoses. The door to his private library remains locked as well, which simultaneously proves the point and does nothing at all. 

You walk through the halls of the palace in silence, attempting to note anyone with suspicious behaviour to no avail. Every face starts to look the same, every voice seems to be monotonous, and the static buzzing beneath your skin returns once again. The discomfort seems to increase with every passing minute of inactivity. Your body feels heavy as if you’re slowly shutting down, out of energy. Have you neglected your self-maintenance? Why have there been errors in your system today?

No matter. Those aren’t of concern now—you’ve been given a mission to complete and you can’t fail him again.

Setting your destination to the laboratory, you decide to do another investigation. There must have been something you missed. A bloodstain, a fingerprint, anything the culprit could’ve left behind in their wake. As you make your way inside, you spot something on the Doctor’s desk that wasn’t previously there: a newspaper. It doesn’t appear to be recent; the date on the corner of the page indicates it’s over a year old.

That’s unusual, you note. He doesn’t like to keep anything unrelated to his work and research. 

The article seems to be about an aristocratic family’s activities which makes it all stranger considering his disdain for them. ‘The patriarch, 47, has now become a priest at the Church of Celestia. His heir did not attend the ceremony, most likely due to their dispute with their father earlier this year,’ it says. The names written in the article are mostly unknown, but as you continue to read, you find that something is off.

One of the people in the images looks just like you. Could it be that the Doctor modelled you after them? And if their reputation precedes them just as much as the article describes it, why haven’t you heard of them?

The newspaper nearly rips in half from how hard you clench your fists. You don’t understand why you did it. You aren’t supposed to have a physical reaction. You aren’t supposed to malfunction, and yet your system is out of your control again, the odd sensations spreading across your skin like frost does to water. There is something wrong with you, with everything. But there isn’t supposed to be—he wouldn’t lie to you, would he?

“So, have you figured it out yet?”

The Doctor steps into the laboratory with his arms crossed behind his back, walking with confidence and satisfaction. His expression melts into a scowl when he approaches you. “Hm. Your optical cybernetics aren’t working well anymore. You should’ve been able to detect me coming in.”

“There wasn’t a thief,” you whisper shakily.

“That’s right!” He grins. “And the heir?”

You choke out, “I… I don’t know.”

It couldn’t be you. No. It’s not possible. You’re an android created by the Doctor, the second of the Harbingers. You’re his assistant, his servant. You have always been here with him.

“Has my precious assistant gained sentience?” he coos mockingly, “A flaw in your code, perhaps? An error or a malfunction?”

“That can’t be,” you breathe. You’re suddenly aware of how unfamiliar it is to inhale and exhale, and how it feels as though there’s something lodged in your throat that is suffocating you. “Y-You made me. You never make mistakes.”

He ignores your words as he smiles at you wickedly, his eyes widening. “Isn’t it fascinating to discover something new? To feel something new?”

“How…”

You feel weak. Exhausted. Everything hits you like a storm and you can’t even figure out what any of them are; all you know is that you are afraid. The same man who built you will be the same man to break you.

“I’ve replaced some of your organs with artificial ones. Not sure what you’re missing here.” He feigns annoyance and clicks his tongue, a sound you’ve found to make you feel overloaded. There’s too much happening, too many truths, too many lies. You don’t know what to believe.

“W-Why?”

“Why?” He laughs as if your devastation is humorous to him. His voice echoes throughout the room in a way that makes your skin crawl. “To sate my curiosity, of course! And, well, I have a… fascination with you, Seven. Or should I say—” his laughter dies down and he leans forward, the smile never leaving his face. Then he says a name—your true name, and everything comes crashing down once again. 

It’s too much. It hurts. Your breathing is out of order, your mind (you have a mind) is in tatters and all you can do is wail as he rejoices in your torment. There’s a stinging sensation in your palms; when you look down, you find that you are bleeding from how hard your nails have been digging into your skin. Out of fear, you scream and cry until your voice is hoarse, until your energy has been drained, until there is nothing left. When you’re finally quiet and sobbing sporadically, the Doctor kneels beside you and pulls your hair back, forcing you to crane your head to look up at him.

He grins. “I suppose I can consider this hypothesis to be true.”

A sharp, biting pain pierces your neck. The world around you spins and slowly disappears behind a haze. Your limbs feel weak, boneless. Your body succumbs to the poison in your veins, and as you fall farther and farther from the light, the void takes you in its embrace.

You are alone with a woman you don’t know. She is the very epitome of holiness, bringing you warmth and comfort, but there is a sorrowful air about her. You try to ask, try to talk to her, but you can’t speak. With a smile, she holds you in her arms like a mother cradles her child, and she cries. She mourns for her child as droplets of her tears land on your skin, a mark of her grief. She whispers apologies to you, tells you that home doesn’t feel the same, and you mourn together with her over the loss of her only child.

Your world shifts, and you find yourself with a serpent. 

It hisses at the air, bares its fangs to something you can’t see. It wraps itself around your frame and softly nudges your cheek with its head, an attempt to comfort you when there is nothing but its presence and yours. It speaks to you in a language you can’t understand with its forked tongue. It coils around your throat when you sleep, both a warning and a reassurance that it won’t leave you alone.

You feel fondness and fear for it at the same time.

Your eyelids slowly flutter as the lid of your sleep pod slides open, exposing you to the bright lights of the room. A masked man is sitting beside you, his lips curved into a joyous smile when he sees that you’re awake. Something is familiar about him, but you can’t quite put your finger on it.

You feel strange, like you’re forgetting something. It doesn’t make sense. How can you search for a memory you’re not even sure exists? You want to ask, but a glance downwards steals away your attention. Your hands — they’re mechanical, sleek and black metal that goes up to your elbows. Your fingers are long and sharp, undoubtedly made to be weapons. Curiously, you bring it to your eye level to take a closer look; they resemble claws with their pointed tips and sharp edges.

“My dear Artiglio,” he says, watching as you push yourself up into a sitting position. “Are you ready for your first mission?”

Of course. How could you have forgotten?

You serve the Doctor, your creator. With the gift of life and lethality he bestowed upon you, your purpose is clear.

If the Doctor tells you to kill, you do so in cold blood. If he tells you to steal something for him, you bring him everything he needs. If he is not pleased with you, you recalibrate and retry the next time he needs you.

You follow his orders.

[thehappiestgolucky]

(from arisenreborn) Arisen #3, Arisen & Pawn #5, Misc. #3

Arisen #3. Do they ever get their memory back; if they do, does that change how they interact with the narrative, and if they don’t how do they feel about the loss?

Oooh oh that’s such a fun one!

Odessa’s memory loss is like split in two ways. Disa’s inflicted memory loss really only made her forget her current life, which when she remembered upon seeing Harve Village restored really only made her visit it more often. Harve Village was her birthplace and whilst her family ended up moving to Vernworth, she still held their values of protecting community like your family. This in itself doesn’t really change how she interacts with the narrative, she lead a pretty average life working as a soldier to protect citizens after all.

However

After meeting Rothais something starts coming back to her, a memory that not even Disa had a hand in hiding. A faint inkling of a life she had lead before, a scar similar to her own over her heart - facing off against the same Dragon. See, in my canon, Rothais recognised Odessa and her will from a time before him - of an Arisen that sought to try and shatter the cycle when the ruins he now hides in were a grand city of their own right. Odessa from then, having the dulled Godsbane Blade in hand, gets small tidbits of this life before. A small child Arisen. Wielding the very same blade over her hard earned heart, in a void unknown to everyone.

It changed her end goal. She realised that she had a chance to complete the breaking of the cycles that a previous incarnation of her tried to do ages ago. Becoming the Sovran was becoming complacent to the cycle, betraying the memory of a child robbed of her life to fulfil a never ending charge. She had to do that child right. She had to finish what she started.

Arisen & Pawn #5. What are they most afraid of? And what is their greatest hope, or dream?

Odessa actually has two big fears, being isolated for eternity and failing her loved ones. She lost her parents in DD2 and her previous incarnation of DD:DA (and most of her aus im so sorry sweetie) and from there has a strong habit of adopting her closest friends and people who she looks up to as her family. She gets terrified, antsy and miserable in total isolation and naturally gets devastated when forced to be alone. As Arisen, she has another, though it stems from the fact she recognises the cycle she’s trapped in.

Her current biggest fear is failing to end the cycle, to doom a future incarnation of her to fix what she and DD:DA her couldn’t do. To go through the horrors of the world, the truth laid bare, and not find a way to free the world from a forced will. It also links in with her fear of failing her loved ones, because she wants Fe’gahl to be free of it too. She doesn’t remember or know what became of her previous incarnations main pawn, and she doesn’t want Fe’gahl to be lost in the void forever if she fails.

But it’s also her greatest hope, to finally shatter the cycle she had only cracked. To show this great will that the people of the world’s will was strong enough to substance itself, and not need to bring a repeated of destruction and pain to simply carry on living. She finds that hope in Fe’gahl, seeing him become his own person even whilst still a pawn has been hopeful for her to see. She knows he’ll be ok without her. She just has to achieve that world.

For Fe’gahl, his greatest fear is Odessa dying. It makes a giant pit in his stomach, a hollow gouging pain in his chest. A very real fear, from how reckless she is, and one that he has to make himself not think about or he’ll make himself sick with worry. She’s everything to him, a way he rationalised at first as simply being the main duty as her pawn - but later became true of him being her little brother. Odessa is his guiding light whilst he’s experiencing all these new things, she’s reassurance, she’s stability, she’s fun and he loves her dearly. He’s scared of her dying - scared of being alone without guidance anymore, scared of failing to protect her. He’s not really sure he can survive at all even as an undying pawn without her.

His greatest hope really comes from witnessing the world and really wanting to leave it better than he found it. A lot of that need to help people comes from Odessa encouraging it out of him - since she doesn’t like him blindly following orders. He see’s the good helping does, sees the difference stepping in makes - wants in some way to achieve that in any world he can. Really his dream is to help, in any way he can, make a place better than when he first arrived.

Misc #3. What is their go-to fast food order?

(really about to show my autism safe food moment-)

Uhhh Odessa probably would order a combination of burgers and side chicken nuggets. Big burger. Wouldn’t always check what she ordered but uncannicaly can handle spice and stuff just fine.

Fe’gahl probably seems like a main of like a small burger, chips and salad kinda guy. Probably some average sauces like ketchup. Nothing too out there compared to Odessa “Hey wanna see if I can fit 3 burgers in my mouth at once?”

I just have chips in fast-food orders so I am very not versed in foods that other people that can handle lots of textures eat lmfao-

The ask meme can be found here if you want to drop an ask!

[courtiersarecool2]

Asra Jacks Off In Bed Next To You

Warnings: smut, angst and spoilers

Even though you can't remember your past with Asra, he- and his cock- certainly can. You're also asleep next to him while he gets off.

Asra glowers up at the ceiling, trying to block out the feeling of his cock straining against his underwear.

Sleeping with you is usually uncomfortable enough- the longing to hold you close is often unbearable- but that is when he isn't aroused.

Each time he closes his eyes, the magician is met with scenes from the past. Your teasing smile as you gaze up from between his legs. Your blissful expression as you lay beneath him. Every memory sends blood rushing to his cock- exactly why he had tried to bury them deep within. After all, your relationship had ended when the plague took you, there was no point lusting after someone who didn't feel the same way.

His eyes flit to you for a split second.

Moonlight adorns your face, your peaceful expression sending shame coursing through Asra's body. He can easily imagine your disgust, your horror, if you woke now and noticed his hard on.

Asra turns his back to your sleeping form, facing the wall.

There's nothing the magician can do; shuffling out of bed would surely wake you. No, he can't risk you seeing him in this state. He rolls onto his back, squeezing his eyes shut, attempting to sleep once again.

Yet his dick throbs incessantly, preventing Asra from any rest.

The magician can hardly remember the last time his cock had reacted in this way. Since your death, Asra could barely touch himself, his body aching for your hands running across his skin. Only you could truly satisfy him.

But with you beside him, your soft breaths sounding in the darkness, it is almost the same.

Maybe, if Asra can bury his shame long enough to finish himself off, tomorrow would be better.

Driving away this unwanted need would surely improve things- and it is clear there is only one way he can do that.

Asra's cock twitches in approval at the idea- his body is desperate for release.

The magician's mind is repulsed, however. How can he think of touching himself with you mere inches away? A mixture of arousal and shame sends his cheeks flushing deep red.

Yet Asra can't stop his hand sliding down his body- or his hand meeting his shaft, palming it through the thin fabric of his pajamas. Although hesitant and clumsy, the light rubbing against his cock is divine.

A memory forces its way into his mind- one of you on this bed with him, your lips wrapped around his cock. Involuntarily, his hips snap forward, cock rutting hard against his palm, a needy moan falling from the magician's lips at the long-awaited friction.

Asra is almost nauseated by the guilt that runs through him, sending tears to his eyes- but the gratification is irresistible. He needs to cum.

After a few moments of shame and panting, the magician slips his hand beneath his underwear.

Reluctant fingers trace his tip, gently running over the already red and swollen flesh.

Even the lightest touch is intoxicating- pleasure coursing through Asra's body. The overwhelming sensitivity serves to remind him how long it has been.

Yet Asra is keenly aware of your presence beside him, the warmth of your body in the dark.

Doing this so close to you feels wrong. It feels disgusting. But he can't stop himself.

His fingers creep lower, stroking up and down down his shaft, rubbing harder now, his length almost painfully stiff. All of the magician's restraint is being used to keep his hips still- he can't risk letting his movement wake you. But every twitch of his cock, every shock of pleasure, sends his inhibitions further away.

Biting his lip, Asra wraps his hand around his cock, stroking slowly, softly, from its base to its head, then back down. Each stroke is hypnotic, weakening his resolve as he tries not to moan. It's feeling of precum dripping from his tip, making his cock slide slickly against his fingers, that finally shatters his self control. Before he can stop himself, Asra thrusts hard into his fist, unable to fight against his body's desires.

His hips move automatically, as if he is in a trance, bucking upwards again and again, ecstasy forcing soft whimpers from the magician's lips. A sheen of precum begins to coat his length, cock sliding easily against his fingers.

Images of you riding him appear in his mind, the memory of your gaze, half-lidded and lustful arousing the magician even more. Asra loved having you on top of him, moaning blissfully as you came again and again around his length. He grips his dick harder, chasing the long absent feeling of your walls squeezing down on him.

Overcome by euphoria, the magician relinquishes control, letting his body take over to do whatever satisfies his cock. The movement of his hips is animalistic and harsh, driven by his immense need to get off. Save for wanton thoughts of you, Asra's mind is blank, conquered by the haze of pleasure his body has inflicted upon him.

The magician can feel his precum seeping into his boxers, a damp patch forming next to his tip. And he can hear how slick his cock is too, judging by the sloppy noises echoing around the room. His thrusts only get harder as his cock slickens.

Within minutes, Asra feels close to cumming, his cock unable to cope with this much pleasure after so long.

But he can't stop yet. Not when it feels so good.

Just when he feels on the edge of climax, when the pulsating of his cock reaches a crescendo, he squeezes the tip of his cock, stopping his cum from shooting out.

Once Asra is certain his orgasm has been staved off, he begins to stimulate himself again, starting by tracing teasing circles on his upper thigh. His fingers trail to his balls, massaging them lightly, relishing his own gentle touches. After a few moments of holding back, he lets his hand wrap around his length, fucking it once more. Asra can't contain his voice, soft moans filling the air.

He thrusts roughly into his hand, cock sliding through from base to tip, every inch being pleasured. It's how he wishes he could fuck you: deep and thorough, claiming you as his once again.

As he imagines you beneath him, a rustling sounds from beside him and you shift slightly. The magician's head whips around to look at you, his heart pounding hard in his chest. But he doesn't stop. In fact- deep within his lust-filled mind- Asra almost wants you to see him pleasuring himself. The risk of it- although terrifying- excites him in some depraved way, sending his hand moving faster, pumping his cock furiously.

Your name begins to fall from Asra's lips- over and over- whispered reverently, urgently. His hand is a blur as he rapidly strokes his cock, orgasm building once again.

Asra pulls the blanket up to his face, hungrily breathing in your scent. It's the same as the times he buried his face in your neck, kissing and sucking at your skin, as he waited for his balls to fully drain inside you.

How he yearns to cum inside you now, feeling your insides twitch around his cock, milking every last drop of his seed.

The memory of releasing inside you is what finally brings him over the edge, moaning your name loud in pure bliss. With one hard thrust, he releases, as he imagines burying his cock deep within you, ready to paint your insides with his seed.

Rope after rope of cum shoots from Asra's pulsating cock, coating the inside of his underwear in sticky white. His hand positively drips with it, especially as he continues to stroke his dick, wringing out more of his seed. Even when the magician thinks he can cum no more, his cock twitches and his balls empty further, a few splurts of cum escaping his underwear and shooting onto his stomach. Asra had never came nearly as hard as this- at least not without you touching him.

It takes a few minutes for Asra to slow his breathing, his body's yearning finally quenched. As soon as the magician recognises what he has done, self-loathing floods him.

Asra covers his face with his clean hand, battling away tears, a surge of insurmountable shame overpowering him. Without the haze of arousal shielding his mind, the magician is crushed.

How could he face you in the morning? Undoubtedly he would have to leave you alone again, travelling to faraway lands to escape what he has done. But for now, Asra fixes his eyes on the ceiling again, his underwear a drenched mess, regret eating away at him until he finally falls asleep.

[tommyspeakycap]

Can I request some chilly fluff? Anything really, just some cute sweet chilly fluff with a little bit of angst maybe?

of course! here's an idea that's been swimming around my brain all day lol

helping hand

ben isn't coping with his newest responsibility and his best friend comes to save the day once again

It's honestly less about the news than it is about the fact that you didn’t here it from him. Texts have gone mostly unanswered since you read that online article you first believed was false, only for it to be confirmed by him. You offered a congratulations despite the pain it brought to you to hear that you had completely lost your chance.

You had probably called him about a million times, each time ringing out and some even being hung up after merely a few rings.

At first, you worried that something had happened. Then you managed to wrangle the news out of Mason that everything was well, you let yourself have those days of utter heartbreak that he had found a girl, started to settle down and then completely cut you out of the picture. This was the first time in all of your 23 years that you hadn't been able to speak to him about things that were going on. He seemed to have completely fogotten about you and you couldn't bring yourself to think of a reason why.

She never really did like you, his girlfriend. You could only imagine it had something to do with the fact that Ben was incredibly close with you. A lot of girls had been unhappy with the fact that while dating Ben, they were subject to teasing that everyone was surprised he was dating when they had thought he was so clearly in love with you. You understand that, it would be irritating but nothing had ever happened between you and Ben that might suggest you would ever get together. People just love a rumour.

What had really hit you, however was seeing her from the Instagram you followed. She didn't even appear to be in London, never mind with him and that made no sense by the timeline you had managed to figure out.

That's how you found yourself standing at his door with what felt like a million bags and a feeling of hurt you had never actually had before. You cornered Mason, refusing to leave until he told you what the hell was going on and when he did, you were gone like a flash with a broken heart to seek out the man who needed you now more than he ever did.

Your heart shatters even more when you step into his house, pushing it open and pulling out the key he gave you a few months ago as you head carefully to the kitchen. You can hear him trying to talk, his voice strained and croaky as he attempts to speak over the sound of the screaming baby girl.

"Come on sweetheart," he begs, "Please take your bottle, I promise you're just tired."

His house is messier than you've ever seen it with gifts unopened, blankets and bottles, baby toys and clothes strewn around everywhere you could see.

You're quick and quiet to get to work clearing the place up, clean clothes being folded and sat in his clean laundry hamper while sorting the dirty things and shoving them into the washing machine by colour before tidying away all the blankets into the baby boxes he had set up in his front room. The infant upstairs screams the entire time you whiz around, throwing an entire bin bag worth of rubbish out of his kitchen before restocking all the shelves and his empty fridge with food for him and milk powder for the little girl. The pizza you shoved in the oven the second you arrived was finished after 15 minutes, so you plated that and left it on the kitchen island before you decided to make you presence known to him.

"Need a helping hand?"

His head whips around rapidly, instinctively tucking his daughter closer into his chest before he recognised your voice and turned his face back away from you. "You shouldn't be here, (y/n)." He mumbles, bouncing his legs to try and get that screeching to stop before he starts crying again himself.

How had everything ended up so messy? He found a girl that he thought he loved, he had his best friends and he had you. She got pregnant and he was ecstatic until she told him she wasn't interested in having a baby. It was too late to do anything about it, so she gave birth to that baby and legally signed over parental rights wholly and fully to a destroyed Ben. You, of course, had to find this out half from the tabloids and half from Mason. Ben was absolutely affronted. He was mortified. How had he gotten himself in this position?

You were the first and only person he wanted to tell. He was desperate to seek out your arms and have an absolute sob to you so you could help him fix this like you do with everything else, but he couldn't bring himself to face you. He cut you off slowly and carefully without even noticing himself because she had coaxed him into it. She played him like a fiddle, let him grow her platform and fund her lifestyle until she had everything she wanted from him and left him with something that was supposed to be theirs to love forever.

As if things couldn't get worse, from the moment he found out she was having a baby he had realised he didn't want kids or a life with anyone but you and now here he is, with a baby that has no mother and he had lost you. How could he just go back crying to you now after all the hurt he had caused you? What kind of person does that? He made this mess and it was his to clean up.

"Mason told me what happened. You can fight me all you want, Ben but I'm not going to go anywhere so you may as well just let me help." You say firmly, not inviting a single space for him to actually contest your words. His shoulder deflate even further than they already are as he finally turns to meet your eyes.

There's bags and dark circles beneath his with greasy, messy hair and a shirt he probably hadn't changed in longer than he should.

"I'm sorry." He croaks, clamping down on his lip with his teeth so he doesn't immediately burst out crying at the sight of you standing there in his house. God, he's missed you so much he couldn't even begin to put it into words and his emotions are so messed up from the lack of sleep that he'll cry at just about anything right now. "It's forgotten about. We don't have to talk about it, I'm here to help."

The weight that lifts off of Ben's shoulder is the kind of immense relief that only really you can bring to him, honestly. There are few people that he has ever met that can ease him like you can and knowing he doesn't have to explain this whole situation really is something he's so thankful for.

"This is Lilly," he says weakly, nodding his head down at her whining. You smile immediately and without thought, stepping forward to get a closer look at the small baby, only two weeks old and already giving her dad a run for his money. "Hello Lilly," you coo softly, raising your hand to stroke her cheek with your finger in the most gentle manner he's ever seen. "Can I? I feel like I've missed out on two weeks worth of aunt (y/n) cuddles."

He tries not to think much into the fact you refer to yourself as her aunt because if he lets enough thought onto it, he'll find himself breaking his heart over you all over again. Ben nods, passing her into your arms carefully.

"I'll feed her, I made some pizza for you so you should go eat." You hold our your hand to take the bottle from him, but he frowns. "I-" Ben stutters, "I don't want to just lump you with her, plus she's upset so I shouldn't leave her y'know? It's not fair on-"

"Go and eat Ben, and have a shower while you're at it. We'll be fine in here, I've babysat a million times before." You shrug, taking the bottle from him as you step further into the nursery instead of standing in the doorway cradling the still whimpering little girl in her pink onesie. "But I-"

"Go."

"I should-"

"Ben go, now."

Ben sighs in defeat and turns on his heel, the rumbling of his stomach finally giving him away as he realises just how hungry and smelly he actually is. No wonder the infant was crying in his hold.

He trudges downstairs, hearing the sounds of those winging dying down as he does, half expecting to walk into the messy swamp he had left when he went upstairs earlier this morning, only to see the whole bottom floor of the house was basically as spotless as it had been the day he moved in, bar the baby variety adjustments he had made to welcome the new arrival.

He makes a mental note to thank you more and do some grovelling and apologising later on. He knows he has to do it and he knows he'll explain in more detail what really happened probably later today, but for now he will scoff that pizza down his throat faster than he has ever consumed a meal in all of his life before raining the cupboards that he discovered you had stocked. He is reminded with every step he takes around his house that this is you, again, here holding him up when the world around him feels like its completely crumbled.

This is what you do, you keep him together, fix him up after the heartbreaks and breakups preparing him for the next girl who's pieces you'll have to pick up when they hurt him. This time he doesn't want another girl, he wants you. This time, the one time that he would be miles too late. He's got a baby now that he needs to focus on and he can't imagine that you're going to want an instant family even if you could really see past the fact he had ghosted you for nearly five straight months from the moment he found out his girlfriend was pregnant. He can't forgive himself, so how on earth would you?

If he would ask, you would tell him you already had. Seeing how hurt he was, how genuinely sorry things had ended dup like this with everyone in his life he was was enough for you. It was enough to cause you actual physical pain. You never could hold a grudge considering the situation he had ended up in.

Ben had never ever once in his life being more thankful for his shower. He’s also pretty sure he fell asleep against the wall with the heat of the shower steam loosening his muscles and the fatigue of barely an hours sleep catching up to him. He towel dries off his hair, letting the towel hang around his neck as he rubs it against his head while he pads along the soft carpet of his hallway from the bedroom to his beautifully done pink nursery where he hears no crying, at all.

But he does here soft talking.

“Giving your daddy a hard time eh, pretty girl.” You hum softly, slowly swaying from side to side. She lays in your arms, looking up at you and stealing every bit of your heart with her daddies eyes. “He deserves it a little, you know. Just ‘cause he done me out of some adorable baby cuddles y’know?” Ben can hear the teasing smile on your lips as he leans against the doorframe out of your sight, keeping quiet so as not to be detected. “But he’s a good man, sweet girl. One of the best, actually. And i know he’s already such a good daddy to you, he loves you so so much. Do you know that, eh?” You say quietly. Ben catches the sight of you swaying that amazed little baby who coos up at you, reaching for your finger to hold. “Mhm, and i love you too. You have no idea how loved you are.” That’s one thing Ben can agree on.

“And you might not know it now because you’re little, but i do know one thing for absolute certain; I’m always gonna be here for you, and for your daddy even if he’s as stubborn about it as they come. You’ve got to help me out though, eh sweet girl? Be good to that daddy of yours. Yeah, sleepy baby? Mhm, my sweet girl.” The way you hum, bouncing her carefully and swaying in just the right way for her to fall asleep in your arms. Ben watches you for only a minute more, softly singing a little lullaby to her that makes Ben’s heart swell to ache so much that he has to take a small little video before he heads off downstairs with one last look.

When you finally greet him downstairs with a tight hug that he sinks into immediately, resting his cheek on your shoulder as your hands massage your fingers through his freshly cleaned hairs as his arms hug around your waist. “I’ve missed you.” He admits, words muffled by your sweatshirt. The feeling of your fingers at the nape of his neck makes him hum in content and sink into you peacefully just like his baby daughter did not half an hour ago. You’re just perfect for them both in every way and there is not one bone in his body that doesn’t wish he had started his family with you.

But with that realisation comes one more; that he will not settle until he has given everything he has, tried with every morsel of him to earn your forgiveness. He might not of started his family with you, but he is damn determined to make you part of it.

[stealingpotatoes]

The Thorns of the Crown

ao3 link

summary: After everything Corvo’s family has been through in the past six months, he’s not so sure the throne is worth it all. (Emily doesn’t take the throne back au)

--

The Loyalists had been fools to think they could kill him and take his daughter, and still get away with it.

Corvo had silently fought his way through the Lighthouse, putting guards to sleep as he forced his way to the very top, where he knew his would-be murderers were. Where he knew Emily’s now-captors were.

He entered the foyer of the highest part of the Lighthouse as quietly as a ghost, and was immediately met with the grotesque sight of a golden statue of Hiram Burrows, standing proudly in the middle of the golden-gilded room. It was ironic to lay eyes on the false sight of the traitor Corvo had defeated, while on his way to deal with the very traitors that had ordered him to do it. The Loyalists had not learnt from the mistakes of those before them, it seemed.

A grand staircase wound around the circular walls that surrounded the beastly statue, leading to a room above. That was where they had to be.

I’m coming Em.

Corvo lifted his mask off as he quietly ascended the winding stairs. There was no point of hiding behind the face of Death; the Loyalists knew who he was. Or, at least they thought they did.

Corvo finally drew up to the entrance to the war room, and put his back to the wall beside a bust of Burrows. With a deep breath in, he channeled the Void through his hand, and watched the world shift into muted reds.

He looked over his shoulder, through the wall.

There were only two yellow shapes -- two men -- in the room ahead. Not guarding, but sitting at a table. No, slumped against the table. Are they sleeping? Or something else?

Corvo checked his crossbow, making sure it was loaded with sleep darts, and rounded the corner fast.

A dead man’s silence lay over the room like a heavy shroud, interrupted only by the harsh patter of rain.

The top of the Lighthouse was a purpose-built war room. It was finely wood-panelled like the rest of the building, but the left wall was covered with a huge map, places circled and labelled with smaller papers. There was a lit fireplace at the far end, with chairs surrounding it.

At the room’s main centre was a large war table -- where Burrows had no doubt spearheaded his campaigns and his war on the common people of Dunwall.

But it was not being used to plan any wars now; at the end of the table, fine foods had been served with expensive-looking wine. The food had not been eaten -- but the drink had been poured.

Martin’s body was slumped in place, and Pendleton had fallen half-off his chair. Neither of them were moving in the slightest.

Corvo slowly began to lower his crossbow, keeping a firm grip on it, and skulked towards Pendleton.

He put two fingers to the pulse on Pendleton’s neck, and heard the crunch of boots on glass. Corvo stepped back.

Shards of glass were shattered about by Pendleton’s limp hand, with drops of blood-- no, wine spilt around them.

Corvo glanced back up across the table; Martin had a glass in his hand too, and Corvo was willing to bet he had no pulse either.

Corvo stood up straight. From the glasses and past experience, he did not have to guess what had happened to them. Poisoned -- but with no boatman to save them.

But where was the man that had done this?

Corvo activated his dark vision again, scanning for any more yellow shapes that might have been out of range before.

His dark vision melted back away, unsuccessful -- but as it did, Corvo’s eyes halted on a purple shape on the floor behind Martin.

He moved over to it, a new sense of dread filling him, and crouched to pick it up. He inspected it for barely a moment; he didn’t need any longer to recognise it. It was Mrs. Pilsen, Emily’s favourite doll, the one Corvo had given her back upon his return to the Tower.

Corvo ran a thumb over a new, small crack in the doll’s painted porcelain face -- Emily must’ve dropped her. But she had been here. She had to have been. So where is Emily now? And where is Havelock?

A little girl’s scream was Corvo’s first answer.

Corvo’s eyes widened. Emily.

The voice had come from above, and-- outside? Corvo looked around the room again, and he zeroed in on the second set of stairs, behind the wall. She had to be up there. She had to.

As he rushed up the stairs, he noticed the small splashes of blood on the wood of the stairs and floor. If so much as a speck the blood is Emily’s, Corvo thought, running, then I am going to make damn sure Havelock wishes he had never been born.

The trail of blood continued into the office at the top of the stairs, out onto the metal balcony that began out of a door in the glass-roof and wall. Corvo continued his pace, unfolding his sword as he burst into the pouring storm once again.

There was no sign of her there. Corvo raced to his left, up another set of stairs. He paused on a landing -- the trail stopped there, on a maid, dead, surrounded by her own blood. It was no relief.

“NO! Let me go!”

Corvo’s eyes darted up.

On the walkway far above, two people were moving-- struggling, silhouetted against the sky. One far larger, one far smaller.

“Quiet now! And move already, child!”

Havelock.

A hundred words of vengeance filled Corvo’s head, but he said none of them. He only darted to his left again, bounding up the rest of the staircase to the entrance of a sheltered stairwell. The voices were audible again as he entered.

“Hold still you stupid girl!” Havelock’s voice boomed through the rain.

“Let me go! I am the Empress!”

Corvo kept running up the twisting stairs.

“Didn't you learn anything in your short life?” Havelock yelled seethingly. “Empresses are pieces on the board. And Empresses can sometimes die--”

Corvo stepped out of the shelter and onto the walkway. He didn’t need to announce his presence -- Havelock looked up the second Corvo laid more than two steps on the metal.

Another bout of thunder and lightning struck somewhere in the storm.

“No! Stay where you are Corvo, or I jump,” the Admiral yelled over the rain.

“Corvo! Save me!” Emily screamed.

Corvo stopped walking.

“That’s right,” Havelock said, a maniacally grim satisfaction rising in his voice at Corvo following his orders. “If you take one step closer, we’re both off the edge.”

I don’t need to take a step to get to you, Corvo thought.

He made a show of folding his blade back up and sheathing it, before holding his hands up slowly in a surrender. The rain was beating down on him.

Corvo let himself lock eyes with Emily -- but only for a moment. Then he fixed his blazing-ice gaze on Havelock, who wore the grin of a man that thought himself entirely in control.

Havelock opened his mouth to begin some taunting speech. Lightning struck beyond the edge of the walkway.

Corvo curled his raised left hand into a fist, feeling that sharp pins-and-needles sensation on the Mark and called the Void forth. It heeded his demand with a sharp whisper. Time ground to a complete halt around him.

The lightning behind Havelock and Emily stopped its descent half way down, looking like a harsh rift of pure light in the sky. Water droplets stood in place, small gems floating against the dark storm clouds.

Everything was still.

Corvo didn’t waste a second; he ran forward and at once pulled Emily out of Havelock’s unknowing grip, shoving the Admiral hard as he did it

Corvo took a short, undeserved moment to take in the frozen sight of Emily, half in his arms, before releasing his taxing hold on time.

The grey scream of the dragged-out present disappeared. and the world resumed its pace. Emily almost tripped onto the metal floor with the force of time’s discharge, but Corvo held her safe.

Havelock hung for a moment, as if time wasn’t yet properly flowing, his footing just lost and surprise written all over him. He had expected one last piece of control -- control over his own death. But he had fallen into the same trap as all those before. He had become too comfortable in his position, and he had forgotten that Death belonged to no man, and followed no man’s orders. No matter their station.

Havelock fell.

Corvo, still holding tight to Emily, peered ever so slightly over the edge. He watched the Admiral’s screaming descent until he hit the jaws of the rocks below.

After what felt like a moment too many, Corvo turned to his daughter, still holding onto him for dear life. He held her back, and tucked a drenched strand of messy hair from her face. The rain still beat down on them, ceaseless, soaking their already-soaked clothes and hair.

“Are you okay?” Corvo asked hurriedly.

Emily gave him a shaky nod, eyes still wide with fear. “I-- I think so.”

Corvo nodded in return. “We need to get out of the storm.” Logic was slowly returning, replacing the blood haze seeing Emily in such danger put him in.

Corvo made himself let Emily go for the moment, and she ran ahead onto the covered metal stairwell he had just come from. Corvo followed just as swiftly. They both traversed down the small stairs, the sound of Emily’s little shoes on metal filling Corvo with more and more relief.

He had only paused by the bottom doorway for a second when Emily barrelled right into him for a hug. “I knew you’d save me! You’re my hero, Corvo,” she said, voice half-muffled by his wet coat but slowly coming back to herself.

When she pulled away briefly, Corvo knelt down to just below her eye level and pulled her into a proper hug. He knew was probably hugging her too tight, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about anything but the feeling of his daughter in his arms. She was shaking and freezing-wet, but still warm enough. But still alive.

The storm raged on on the walkways outside of their small shelter.

Eventually, they both pulled back, and Corvo took Emily’s tiny hands in his. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“You-- you already asked me that,” Emily said, still shivering from the cold and the fear. When Corvo’s worried expression didn’t change, she told him, “I think I’m alright. I’m alright now you’re here.”

Corvo nodded, feeling some small part of the weight on his shoulders go.

“Is it going to be okay now? Will I-- will I be Empress?” Emily asked, almost eagerly.

Corvo glanced down.

He thought of Jessamine. Of her cold dead eyes in the Gazebo. Of her blood on his hands.

Empresses are pieces on the board. And Empresses can sometimes die.

The Heart was beating, an unrelenting pulse in the back of his mind. An incessant reminder that what Havelock had said was true; Empresses die. And who was Corvo to be able to stop it? He had failed once; he could fail again. Death followed no one’s orders; not orders from Empresses, nor those from Lord Protectors.

I know what it felt like to drive a blade into your Empress.

Empresses die. And for what? So men could take control of the damned city of Dunwall? This city didn’t care about them. It didn’t care about anyone. It ate everything alive. It would not let an Empress be safe, no matter how good or pure of heart she was.

The crown and throne were nothing but a curse and objects of desire for ambitious men who thought themselves the better of people. The curse of power nearly took the last of his family from him -- the family that, because of the crown and its rules and its curses, he had never been able to openly call his own.

Empresses die. And so did Burrows, and Havelock, and Pendleton, and Martin. And so did everyone else that tried to hold that kind of power.

Now I want nothing but to leave this wretched city, and fade from the memories of those who reside here.

Emily was just a girl. She was Corvo’s girl, his baby girl. She wasn’t meant to be a piece on a board, a piece in Dunwall’s deadly game of power. She wasn’t meant to hold an Empire in her small hands.

She wasn’t meant to die.

If they went home, if Corvo let Emily take back the throne… what fate would he be damning her too? She would be forever caught in the crossfire of power-grabs and the schemes of conniving politicians. All it took was one wrong move, and Corvo would lose her to that crossfire. That was not the life he wanted her to live. That was not the death he could ever let her die.

This was the only way he could protect Emily. He wasn’t sure if Jess would ever truly approve of it, but she had not been through what they had been through. He hoped what was left of her would understand.

Empresses die. But Emily wouldn’t. Not if Corvo could help it.

The Heart continued to beat.

Corvo pulled Emily closer and planted a kiss on her forehead, “It’s going to be okay now. I promise.”

A relief seeped into Emily’s big brown eyes, and Corvo felt something squeeze in his chest at her expression. “Are we going home then?”

Corvo swallowed. He shook his head.

Confusion knit itself between Emily’s furrowed brows. “What?”

“We can’t go home, and you won’t be Empress,” Corvo said slowly, forcing the words out. This was how it had to be. I can’t protect you from this city. Nothing can, Corvo thought. “Dunwall and Dunwall Tower-- they aren’t safe,” he said instead. “They aren’t ever going to be safe.”

Corvo had expected Emily to show more resistance, or be more upset at the idea they couldn’t return to Dunwall Tower -- but maybe he still expected Emily to be the girl she had been six-and-a-half months ago, before this all happened. But she was not that girl; Emily merely nodded, with a look she was too young to have in her eyes.

“So where are we going to go?” she asked.

Corvo tightened his grip on her hands. “We’re going to take a ship out of here--”

“Like a pirate ship?”

Corvo huffed out a half-laugh, relief at really having his daughter back hitting him hard. I love you so much, he thought. “Yes, like a pirate ship,” he said with a small smile. “We’re going to take a ship out, and-- and we’re going to make a new home, somewhere else. Just the two of us.”

“Three of us,” Emily corrected. After seeing Corvo’s confused expression, she made an obvious face. “Mrs Pilsen! I grabbed her when they took me, but I left her downstairs.”

Corvo shook his head, half-laughing again. All that had just happened, and Emily’s first concern was her favourite dolly. It filled Corvo with faith. They could do this. They could live a normal life, where Corvo could just be a father and, Emily could just be a daughter. Where she would be allowed to be a child, and not a piece to be manipulated.

He squeezed Emily’s hands. “The two of us and Mrs. Pilsen. We’ll make a new home. How does that sound?”

Emily’s eyes drifted to the floor below, and she bit her still soaking-wet lip for a moment. “I…” her gaze returned to Corvo, and she slowly gave him a small smile, “I’d like that.”

Corvo pulled her into another hug.

---

Emily woke up to the slight sway of the sea beneath her.

They had been on this boat more than a week now. It wasn’t like any boat she had been on before -- far less fancy, and far more dirty.

Emily knew a smuggler was a lot like a pirate, but this boat didn’t look like the boats from Emily’s story books. This was a big metal steam-ship, not a pirate’s sailboat with a flag of skull-and-crossbones.

And the pirates in the stories never had to check themselves for signs of the plague, or make certain no rats had come aboard, but the smugglers had had to. So had Emily and Corvo.

Emily wasn’t sure “Slackjaw” was a real name, but apparently it was the name of Corvo’s friend who set this all up. He owed Corvo one, because he had saved “Slackjaw”'s life. Which made sense -- Corvo was good at saving lives. He’d saved Emily’s life more times than she could count. He’d been saving Emily’s life since before she could even count.

But Corvo had saved Slackjaw’s life, and so Slackjaw owed him a favour. Corvo used that favour to get him and Emily on a smuggler’s ship with new clothes and made-up papers.

The papers didn’t have Corvo or Emily’s real names on them, but Corvo had said that he and Emily would need to take new names, to stay safe.

Emily hoped they could come up with something better than Slackjaw.

She rubbed her eyes and sat up in her cot-bed, before glancing to the other side of the tiny cabin.

The cabin -- if it could even be called that; oversized cupboard seemed more apt -- was flakily-painted metal, like the rest of the ship. The tiny room was almost empty, besides Corvo and Emily’s few belongings, and the two foldaway cots pressed against the walls.

The size of the room allowed very little space between the two cots -- and so Emily had a very good view of Corvo, sitting on the far end of his.

He was fully dressed already. It still was funny to see him in something other than a long coat, but Emily supposed the roughspun jacket and shirt he was wearing now suited him well enough. His folding sword was somewhere underneath the jacket, and that gave Emily no small amount of comfort.

She squinted in the near-dark. Corvo was looking down at his hands, clasped as if they were tenderly holding something. He mumbled something at his hands, entirely fixated on the empty space.

“Father,” Emily started, barely able to stop herself from grinning as she did every time she called him that. Corvo said she was allowed to now. “Father?”

“Mm?” Corvo hummed in an almost-startled reply, quickly looking up from the nothing in his hands.

“What time is it?”

“Early enough that you can go back to bed,” Corvo said fondly.

“Is it early early?”

“What does that mean?”

Emily rolled her eyes. “Is the sun out yet?”

Corvo glanced back ahead, as if he could see through the walls of the cabin. “No,” he said, turning back, “but it will be soon. The crew’s beginning to wake up.”

Emily perked up. “Can we watch the sunrise? Please?”

She thought Corvo might say no for a second, but instead he smiled and nodded. “If you really want to.”

Emily nodded gingerly, then shuffled to the end of her cot and pushed herself onto the floor.

Corvo stood up too -- bent over slightly, unable to stand to his full height under the cabin’s short ceilings. He’d moved his hands apart now, as if he’d put the nothing he was holding back down somewhere. Emily paid no mind to it, only grabbing her coat from the back of the door and putting her shoes on, before giving her father a big smile to say she was ready.

Corvo returned the smile, and quietly opened the door, letting her pass into the cramped metal hallway.

He didn’t have to tell her to try to be quiet too. Emily knew that some of the crew would still be asleep, and they needed to be nice and courteous to the smugglers, as any guest would be towards their hosts.

Part of that meant Corvo had to help around the ship a bit, so he and Emily were more worth their while. The smugglers seemed to like him; they’d told him that if he ever wanted a solid job, he could join their crew. Corvo didn’t seem that interested.

After a short time of quiet footsteps in the hall, Corvo and Emily reached a heavy metal ship-door, which Corvo opened with ease.

The fresh not-yet-morning sea air hit Emily with a gentle breeze as they stepped onto the side deck of the boat. It had been getting warmer every day, as the ship got further from cold Gristol, and closer to sunny Serkonos.

The sea ahead was almost dark, but a peaking of the sun on the horizon drove a warm streak across the water.

Emily walked up to the ship’s metal side railing and peaked over it, but didn’t look off the edge. She had done that on the first day on the ship, and promptly regretted it, needing Corvo to calm her down and remind her that they weren’t at the top of the Lighthouse anymore. That she was safe.

“I can’t wait to be in Karnaca,” Emily said. “Will you show me everything you told me about?”

Corvo nodded with a small smile, a fond and loving look in his eyes. “I’ll show you whatever you want to see in Karnaca.”

“And can I go swimming in the bay, like you said you used to? Ooh, or climb the big trees? And-- and--”

Corvo chuckled, “You can do all of that, and more.”

Emily grinned giddily, and looked back to the sea ahead.

The sun was beginning to rise over the waters, painting the world around them hues of orange. Emily wondered if the sun was rising just the same in Dunwall. She supposed it didn’t really matter; what mattered was that it was rising, and that she had her father by her side to see it.

A new day was dawning for them both, and Emily found herself apprehensively excited. It would be a strange new future ahead, one that she did not know, but she had decided it would be a good future. She knew Corvo would make sure of that.

Emily leaned in closer to Corvo, who too was partly leant on the railing, and rested her small head on his arm. In response, he lifted his arm up and pulled her closer to his torso, before settling his arm on her shoulders in a warm half-hug.

Emily smiled, snuggling nearer and keeping her eyes on the rising sun ahead.

[morganaspendragonss]

give me all your love now

full credit for the idea goes to jamie ( @silvarafael ), i am just the person lucky enough to be trusted to write it. thank you for letting me, lovely, i hope i did it justice 💚

title from we might be dead by tomorrow by soko

ao3 | 2.6k | 2.12 fix-it of sorts

The fire is everywhere, and all TK can think is that they’re going to die here.

For all his training, for all his experience, panic still has him by the throat; he’s been trapped in fire plenty of times before, but it’s never been like this. It’s never been his house, never been his boyfriend in danger. Carlos’s terrified gaze locks onto his as they crouch on the bedroom floor, and TK has to force himself to focus because it’s not just his life on the line anymore — Carlos needs him to take charge.

He searches through the smoke for something, anything, that could help them, his eyes eventually alighting upon the window. 

“The window,” he says, coughing. “How far down do you think that drop is?”

Carlos frowns. “Um, I—twenty feet? Twenty-five?”

TK barely manages to suppress a wince; a twenty foot drop is no joke, and visions of all the different injuries they could receive flash through his mind, ranging from a few bruises to a broken neck. But the flames are getting ever closer and the smoke thicker, and he knows that there’s no other option.

Either they jump, or they die.

“Come on.” He grabs Carlos’s arm, one hand on his back to keep him low, and they stumble over to the window together. Carlos seizes a chair and slams it into the glass until it shatters, grunting with the exertion.

He takes a step backwards when it’s done, tossing the chair away and looking at TK nervously. TK understands that fear, but he refuses to let it show right now, not when Carlos is so obviously struggling as it is.

“Go on,” he says, “you go first. I’ll be right behind you, I promise.”

“Okay.” Carlos nods and turns to the window, and TK takes the opportunity to let his mask slip. He folds in on himself with a hand pressed against his chest, closing his eyes as he fights to take a breath. His vision is going hazy at the edges and he knows they need to get out as soon as possible—but he refuses to leave before Carlos does. 

As much as Carlos would protest, TK knows that he is the priority in this situation. He doesn’t care what happens to him, as long as Carlos gets out and lives.

Then hands are on his face, gently bringing his head up. TK meets Carlos’s eyes, aching at the raw pain in them—Carlos so rarely lets his worry and fear show openly like this, and TK knows that the same thoughts he’s been having are running through his boyfriend’s mind.

“If we don’t…” Carlos starts, shaking his head. “If we…”

His jaw clenches, eyes going wide, and TK puts his own palms on Carlos’s cheeks, steeling himself for what they both believe might be the last words they say to each other.

He keeps his voice as calm as possible when he says, “Hey. I love you too, okay? Now go!”

He pushes on Carlos’s arm for emphasis, and lets out a breath of relief when Carlos nods and turns back around, stepping to the window. His hands clench briefly at his sides before he seems to steady himself and climbs onto the sill. Carlos sends him one last backwards glance, and TK forces a smile, a fresh pain stabbing through his heart as he gets one in return.

Then Carlos is gone, disappearing through the window with a barely audible yell. TK waits a minute, praying that Carlos is unhurt—or, as unhurt as possible—then moves forward, reaching to haul himself up.

But, before he can, the bedroom door crashes open. TK whips around, his watering eyes taking a second to recognise the bodies in the doorway as his dad and Billy.

“TK!” his dad calls. “Follow us!”

He stumbles over, gratefully accepting the damp cloth from Billy. “Dad,” he croaks. “Carlos, he—” He gestures to the window, hoping the message gets across as another coughing fit almost sends him to his knees. He’s steadied—he doesn’t know who by—then almost dragged out of the room, only aware of a guiding hand on his back and the sounds of his home collapsing around them. Dimly, he registers another voice, another set of hands, but TK can only focus on putting one foot in front of the other, everything else blending into a distorted mess of sensations.

Fresh air, when it hits, is both a blessing and a curse. TK heaves, falling to the ground as he tries to take in lungfuls of clean oxygen, but his throat is raw and his chest tight, and black spots dance in his vision as he fails to breathe. He’s vaguely aware of shapes moving around him, of the searing heat still at his back, but the burning inside him and the pounding of his own heart in his ears overwhelms it all; panic settles deep within him, and TK begins to slip as the darkness only grows.

It feels like a blink, but when he comes back to himself, the scenery is completely changed. He’s no longer outside, rough tarmac under his palms, but flat on his back, staring up at what his clouded mind slowly comes to realise is the inside of an ambulance. 

TK sits bolt upright, ignoring the dizziness that washes over him, and bats clumsily at his face until he manages to dislodge the oxygen mask someone must have strapped on him. He blinks hard, trying to clear his vision, but someone steps in front of him before he has a chance to figure out what’s going on.

“That stays on, Strand,” Captain Vega admonishes, replacing the mask over his mouth and nose. TK squints up at her, confusion clouding his thoughts.

“Cap? What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you, too,” she says wryly, before appearing to reconsider. “Actually, no, it’s not. Next time we’re in an ambulance together, please try and make sure that it’s because you’re doing your job, and not because you’re the patient.”

It takes a second for her words to process, but when they do, it’s like a puzzle finally falling into place. TK’s eyes widen and he shoves at the gurney, attempting to drag his uncooperative body into a standing position. He fails fairly spectacularly, his frantic wriggles leading him to almost roll off the gurney and onto the floor — if it weren’t for Tommy catching him at the last second, he’d probably have a broken nose to add to his list of injuries. Whatever those injuries are, anyway.

“Woah, woah, woah!” she cries. “What do you think you’re doing?”

TK takes a moment to breathe, the exertion setting his aching lungs aflame, then looks up at Tommy through watering eyes. “Carlos,” he gasps, the single word taking all the air he has.

Tommy’s face softens and she glances out of the ambulance. “Paramedics are with him,” she says, and TK’s heart plummets when no further explanation is forthcoming. That means… Well, he knows what it means. 

It means that Carlos is hurt, badly, and Tommy doesn’t want to tell him.

He opens his mouth to argue, to plead, to do something, but before he can, his dad appears, switching out with Tommy in the ambulance. Other paramedics he thinks he vaguely recognises from calls jump in too, slamming the doors shut behind them. One of them tries to guide him back onto the gurney, but TK fights against them, panicking as the rig rumbles to life.

“No, I can’t leave. Carlos — I need to see him. Please. Please, I—”

“TK!” His dad is gripping onto his wrists, pinning them down, and TK is too weak to stop him. “You need to calm down, okay? You inhaled a dangerous amount of smoke back there; you have to focus on breathing for us.”

“But—Carlos—”

“Is already being transported.” His dad sighs, loosening his grip. “Son… He fell twenty feet. They wanted to get him to hospital as soon as possible.”

The information sinks in slowly, the guilt following much faster. TK slumps, a sudden, intense weariness overcoming his body even as his mind goes into overdrive with worry. He still itches to know how bad Carlos is, but his imagination fills in the gaps plenty, and TK feels sick with the knowledge that whatever happened, it’s on him.

Carlos fell twenty feet, and TK was the one to tell him to jump.

This is all his fault.

*

“You should not be out of bed.”

TK looks up from pulling on the shirt Paul had donated, scowling at his dad. “I’m fine,” he counters, though his lungs decide to betray him by sending him into a coughing fit.

“Want to try that one again?”

When he’s recovered, TK takes a couple of deep breaths, then looks his dad dead in the eyes. “Sure. I’m fine.”

His voice is raspy and talking grates at his throat, but no coughs follow this time, so TK considers his point firmly proven and continues getting dressed. He can feel his dad’s gaze burning holes in his head, but he ignores him, pushing himself up onto unsteady feet.

His dad shakes his head, but walks over and lets TK lean on him. It’s frustrating to need the support; TK is grateful for it, but it also means that he can’t go anywhere without his dad agreeing to move, which he knows he’s going to refuse to do.

“The doctors wanted to keep you overnight.”

“It’s not like I’m going to leave the hospital,” TK points out. 

“But you won’t be getting any rest either, and they specifically told you to do that.”

“What do you want me to do, Dad?” he demands. The outburst hurts, but TK swallows down the pain and focuses his gaze on his dad, setting his jaw. “I need to see him; I need to know that he’s going to be okay.”

“I know that, son,” his dad says, sighing. “But you can’t take care of him if you don’t take care of yourself.”

“I’m barely hurt. You were there too; you heard them say that the smoke didn’t do any real damage.” TK looks down at his shoes, bitterness welling up in him and bleeding into his voice. “‘Lucky’ was the word they used. Wish I felt it.”

A brief silence falls, then his dad shifts, pulling TK’s arm over his shoulders. “Alright, then,” he says wearily. “Let’s go.”

The walk to Carlos’s room is both too short and too long. It feels as though it takes forever to get through the endless corridors, but, by the time they’re standing outside the door, TK hasn’t even begun to prepare himself for what’s waiting for him. His dad had given him the cliffnotes version—burns, a broken arm, a nasty head wound and probable concussion, a shattered kneecap that had needed surgery, and more bruised skin than not—but hearing and seeing are two very different things.

It’s only his dad at his side that gets him to take those final few steps into the room, his hands trembling as he nears Carlos’s side.

He looks… TK wants to pretend that he’s just sleeping, but there’s a slackness to his face that betrays the lie before he can even tell it. Carlos is a light sleeper—not a restless one, but if he were truly sleeping, he would have woken up at this point, roused by so many people being in the room. 

Andrea looks up at their entrance, immediately standing to give up her chair for him. TK goes to protest, but she sends him a stern look and he wilts, accepting the seat with a grateful nod. She rubs his shoulders gently, her gaze so kind and motherly that it almost breaks something in him.

“He’ll be okay,” she murmurs.

TK swallows, squeezing his eyes shut. Tears begin to slip down his cheeks, and he twists away when she reaches to wipe them away. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “This is all my fault.”

The frowns of everyone else in the room are practically audible, and TK burns with shame under the weight of all their gazes.

“What do you mean?” Gabriel asks, his tone hard—though TK knows the anger isn’t directed at him. “You didn’t start the fire; this is the fault of that sick bastard who rigged your house.”

“Not the fire,” TK corrects quietly, opening his eyes but not daring to meet anyone’s gaze. “Carlos. Jumping out of the window was my plan. We didn’t know if or when help would come and I just… I guess I panicked because I couldn’t think of anything else, and I told him to do it. All I wanted was for him to get out safe, and now look where we are. If I’d just gone first, then—”

“Then, you’d be in the bed instead of Carlos, and the rest of us would be in exactly the same position,” Andrea interrupts. “You had no way of knowing what was going to happen, and I know you did the best you could. What matters is that you’re both alive; the rest we can figure out.”

TK shakes his head, wanting to argue, but all the fight has left him, replaced by an overwhelming guilt and sorrow. Andrea pulls him into her side as sobs wrack his body, the physical pain paling next to the open wound of seeing Carlos so still before him.

*

“Are you okay?”

TK sighs, wearily looking up at the sound of the hesitant voice from the bed. “Don’t ask me that, Carlos, please. Not now.”

Carlos purses his lips, but nods, understanding clear in his eyes. He’d woken up a day ago after sleeping for two, and to say he’d been struggling would be an understatement. The total loss of their home and all their possessions had hit him hard, and they’d spent much of that first day he was awake just holding each other, words irrelevant and unnecessary.

Today, though, has been different. The team has been trickling in and out, making attempts at light conversation and, when that’s failed, offering up reassurances and, several times, their homes if TK and Carlos need it.

TK appreciates it, but he’s glad for the quiet in this moment. It’s just the two of them, his dad taking a breather with Carlos’s parents in the cafeteria, and he feels he can finally let some of the exhaustion of the past few days show on his face.

Not all of it—he still has to keep up some sort of façade for Carlos’s sake—but it’s not as though Carlos can’t see through it anyway. They know each other too well for that.

“Hey, um, back there,” Carlos starts nervously, not needing to clarify what he means by ‘back there’, “just before I jumped. I thought… I thought we weren’t going to make it. And I just—I just couldn’t say it. I don’t know why. But it kills me that we could have died and I didn’t tell you that I love you, I—I’m sorry, TK.”

TK frowns, reaching to grasp at Carlos’s hand. “What are you talking about?” he says. “Carlos… I know you love me. You don’t need to say it for it to be true. I promise you, I know.”

“I know you do,” Carlos says. “I still should have said it.”

“Baby, no.” TK leans over and kisses Carlos’s palm, lips lingering for a long moment. “No. Don’t… Don’t think about it, okay? We’re alive, and we have the rest of our lives to say it; can we just enjoy that?”

Tears shine in Carlos’s eyes, but he manages a wobbly smile as he meets TK’s eyes. “We can try,” he allows. He sinks back into the pillows, squeezing TK’s hand as hard as he can. “I love you.”

TK smiles. “There we go,” he says softly. He kisses Carlos’s temple, resting their foreheads together and closing his eyes.

“I love you too.”

[mymoonagedaydream]

bucky or peter, u choose. you get extremely hurt on a mission, your leg completely crushed underneath something. screaming in agony and pain, and peter or bucky have to hear your screams (as well as the team) as they fight off the bad guys. peter/bucky finally gets to you and just never lets you go when you get on the jet, hospital, home etc. thank you mama-🤍R

In the Ruins

Summary: You faced incredible danger every day, sometimes you just couldn’t run fast enough.

Pairing: Bucky x y/n

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Language, the FLUFF this got me feeling some kind of way man

Author’s Note: Thank you for the request R, I really appreciate all your support my lovely

---

A huge chunk of concrete crashed to the floor in front of you.

You snapped your head upwards, squinting at the pale moonlight streaming through the hole left in the roof. Your whole body lit up with panic as you watched thick cracks spread over the ceiling like shattering glass.

‘What the fuck was that, Stark?’ You hissed into your earpiece.

‘Shit. I took some damage earlier, must’ve thrown my aim off.’

You’d broken off from the rest of the group when you arrived at the Hydra base, leaving them to take out any hostiles while you searched for prisoners. 

You’d found nothing, so you were hastily making your way back to the action through a maze of abandoned warehouses and hangars, when Stark’s projectile crashed against the roof.

‘The whole fucking ceiling is caving in.’

Bucky’s frantic voice crackled in your ear. ‘Get out of there y/n.’

You immediately took off running, eyes fixed on the exit, trying your best to dodge the countless falling fragments of concrete. Just as you cleared the halfway point, one of them crashed against your shoulder and knocked you onto your back.

Before you could begin to scramble back to your feet, a vast steel girder came loose above you and thudded to the ground, crushing your lower leg and pinning you firmly to the floor.

You screamed out in agony, incredible pain shooting through every part of your body and sending hot tears streaming down your face. The intensity of the sensations completely flooded your mind, you had to beat your fists against the floor in an attempt to shift your focus to anything other than the pain.  

Gulping in deep breaths, you brought your hand up to your ear, doing everything you could to keep your voice calm and level.

‘I need help, I’m trapped. My leg is-’

Another boulder of rubble crashed against the girder while you were speaking, making you involuntarily shriek down the line before you could pull your hand away.

A frenzied chorus of voices responded, telling you to stay calm and assuring you they’d be on their way as soon as they could.

A pool of blood started seeping out from underneath the steel. Feeling yourself go a little woozy, you lay back and started circling your arms above you, doing all you could to stop yourself passing out. 

You worried that if you weren’t awake to respond to their shouts, they might never find you in the ruins.

It felt like you’d been lying there for hours, swimming in searing pain and trying anything to keep your mind alert, when you finally heard footsteps approaching. All your remaining energy went into making enough noise to guide them towards you.

Bucky scrambled over the rubble, yelling your name until he spotted you. He knelt down and gently lifted your upper body onto his lap, wrapping his arms around you and anxiously scanning your face.

Steve and Tony weren’t far behind, quickly surveying the scene and bracing themselves to lift the beam off you. Bucky grabbed both your hands and wrapped then firmly around his metal fingers.

‘This is gonna hurt, squeeze as hard as you need to. Ready?’

You nodded shakily before burying your face in his neck and screwing your eyes shut. He gave them the signal and they yanked it away, the movement shooting all new kinds of pain into your crushed limb.

As you wailed and clenched Bucky’s hand, you quickly glanced down and saw the extent of the damage to your leg. It was completely shattered. The sight of it immediately made your vision start to cloud and your head go dizzy. 

He must’ve felt your body going limp, because his free hand quickly moved to support the side of your face

‘Stay with me y/n. Focus on my voice.’

His face was blurring, his voice starting to sound a little distant.

You felt him gather you up into his arms, your head flopped against his shoulder and your limbs sagged. The pain started to dull, all your sensations slowly fading as you slipped out of consciousness.

---

The whirring of the jet’s engine gently tugged you out of your deep sleep. 

Pulling your heavy eyelids open, you found yourself sprawled across a row of seats, your upper body still propped against Bucky and his arms still wrapped tight around you.

Bruce was kneeling down beside the seats, ferreting around with your leg. As you came to your senses a little more, you felt panic start to rise in your chest, realising you couldn’t feel anything he was doing.

‘Buck?’ You whimpered, blindly fumbling your hand over his shoulder. ‘Buck I- I can’t-’

‘It’s alright.’ He enclosed your grasping hand in his, bringing the other up to cradle your head and leaning down to press his lips against your forehead. ‘It’s just numbed. You’re gonna be okay.’

Even if that wasn’t true, even if he was lying to keep you calm, just hearing those words subdued some of your panic. Bucky had that effect on you, the deep cadence of his voice always made you feel safe and soothed.

You took a deep breath and settled yourself deeper into him, trying to focus on the feeling of his fingers softly stroking the side of your face.

As soon as the jet landed, you were rushed into surgery.

---

A slow, steady beeping crept into your left ear. In your right, you could just about make out some soft snoring.

You slowly opened your eyes, your vision focusing on the all-too-familiar infirmary halogen lights. The amount of times you’d sat in here passive-aggressively huffing after Bucky had gotten injured playing the hero... 

The shoe was on the other foot now, you’d definitely never live this one down.

You turned your head towards the snoring. He was slumped in a chair, fast asleep.

‘I told him he didn’t need to stay.’ Bruce shuffled through the door of your room. ‘He insisted.’

Your lips curled into a wide smile. ‘Yeah, he does that.’

You gave a low whistle, chuckling slightly as it jolted Bucky awake. He grinned when he caught your gaze, leaning forward and taking your hand in his.

Once he’d established that the anaesthetic had fully worn off, Bruce informed you that you’d suffered multiple splinter fractures, and that resetting your bones into their correct place was one of the most complex challenges of his medical career.

You’d walk again, but not for a long time.

As soon as you’d been thoroughly checked over and Bruce had left you to rest, you arduously shifted yourself over to one side of the hospital bed, looking over to Bucky and patting the space beside you.

He was so careful as he climbed in next to you, cautiously testing every movement to make sure he didn’t accidentally hurt you. You had no choice but to stay flat on your back, so he lay on his side next to you, propped up on his elbow with his face hovering over yours.

His free hand danced over your face and neck, his fingertips sending soothing tingles down your spine as they traced the curve of your jawline.

‘I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.’

‘You’d carry on.’ You brushed your thumb over his chin. ‘That’s the deal, Buck. That's what we have to do.’

You lifted your head slightly as he lowered himself onto his shoulder, letting him slide his arm underneath you and settling your cheek against his chest.

He started humming softly, a song you didn’t recognise. Probably some wartime ditty. If you weren’t so tired you’d have made some joke about how he was old enough to be your great- grandfather, just to see him smirk and scrabble around for some kind of comeback. Maybe some other time. 

The deep vibrations in his chest lulled you back to sleep. You were both alive and safe, that was enough for now.

---

[killedkennys]

(   another   )   assorted   headcanon   dump  .

kenny’s   dad   pawns   all   their   shit   for   drug   and   drink   money   when   times   are   tough ,   and ,   well  .   times   are   always   tough   in   the   mccormick   household  .   hence   the   barebones   furnishing   of   their   home  .   most   stuff   they’ve   ever   owned   that   was   worth   anything   is   long   gone ,   save   for   the   clunky   old   television  .   carol   is   indifferent   to   and   even   an   active   participant   to   him   doing   so   because   she   needs   her   fix   just   as   much   as   stuart   does  .

sometimes   they   ransack   kenny’s   room   for   anything   of   value ,   as   well   as   kevin’s  .   pokemon   cards ,   stray   electronics   left   unattended   for   even   the   briefest   moment ,   clothes ,   toys ,   books   ---   anything  .

kenny   has   learnt   to   be   very   private   and   secretive   about   his   belongings   as   well   as   any   money   he   might   make  .   he’s   pried   one   of   the  floorboards   loose   in   his   room   and   that’s   where   he   stashes   special   stuff  .   shoves   his   toybox   over   it   to   make   the   hiding   place   even   less   likely   to   be   stumbled   upon   when   his   parents   are   rooting   through   his   shit  .   there’s   a   thick   roll   of   emergency   cash ,   added   to   frequently   and   secured   with   a   rubber   band ,   left   untouched   for   as   long   as   he   can   stand   to   leave   it   be   and   let   it   accumualte  .   mysterion’s   costume   is   also   in   there  .

mysterion   is   insanely   and   genuinely   good   at   parkour  .   he   genuinely   honed   the   talent  .   what   can   he   say  ?   he   was   doing   the   most   to   have   a   way   cooler   superhero   persona   than   eric  .   i   think   mysterion   started   off   as   a   way   to   make   cartman   mad ,   but   then   he   found   he   actually   kind   of   liked   taking   on   this   identity  .   he   feels   seen ,   and   heard ,   and   recognised   as   mysterion  ;   not   ignored   and   barely   acknowledged   as   the   poor   kid  .

he   died   a   ton   of   times   while   he   was   teaching   himself   to   hop   roofs  .   fucked   up   a   bunch   of   landings   and   broke   his   neck ,   or   shattered   every   bone   in   his   body  falling   from   fatal   heights  .   the   latter   deaths   really   shook   him   up   and   he’d   ease   off   on   his   efforts   for   a   couple   of   days ,   but   breaking   his   neck   was   instantaneous   enough   to   present   more   of   an   idle   annoyance   while   he   waited   around   to   return   to   life   if   anything  .

that   being   said ,   he’s   unspeakably   fast   when   he’s   in   pursuit  .   difficult   to   keep   up   with   even   for   his   fellow   heroes ,   and   it’s   near   enough   impossible   to   escape   his   clutches   as   a   criminal  .   he'll   cut   any   corner ,   take   any   risky   shortcut ,   leap   clear   over   a   daunting   gap   between   buildings   that   gives   his   mortal   colleagues   pause  .   he’s   utterly   unafraid  .

if   mysterion   knows   a   mission   is   going   to   be   exceedingly   dangerous ,   he’ll   bring   a   gun   with   him  .   just   in   case   he   needs   a   quick   out   from   a   hopeless   situation  .   his   dad   owns   a   few ,   and   stan’s   uncle   jimbo   leaves   them   lying   around   all   the   time   when   the   boys   come   to   see   him  .   it’s   scary   to   put   a   bullet   in   his   own   skull ,   but   if   he   just   doesn’t   think   about   it   too   hard ,   puts   the   barrel   to  his   head   quickly   and   pulls   the   trigger   in   a   quick ,   adrenaline   fuelled  action ,   he   can   pull   it   off  .   it’s   getting   easier   each   time ,  horrifyingly  enough  .

stuart   is   very   prideful   and   quick   to   dismiss   anything   he   sees   as   pity   or   charity   cast   the   mccormicks’   way ,   and   i   think   that’s   something   all   his   kids   have   picked   up   on   to   some   degree ,   since   they’ve   been   raised   around   that   mindset  .   kenny  can   become   very   reproachful   if   he   feels   that   you  treat  him   differently   or   even   just   feel  bad   for   him   because   he’s   poor ,   and   he’s  highly   averse   to   accepting   anything   interpretable   as   a   handout  .   it’s   not   so   much   that   he   minds   his   friends   doing   nice   things   for   him   occasionally ,   or   whatever  .   he's   slightly   more  open   to   such   things   if   the   kindness   is   extended   towards   karen   instead  ;   otherwise ,   he’s   unlikely   to   be   particularly   happy   about   it .   

whereas   stuart’s   stubbornness   in   the   matter   is   rooted   in   wanting   people  to   know   he   can   (   barely   )   provide   for   his   own   fuckin’   family ,   thank   you   very   much   ---   the   kids’   stubbornness   is  more   about   showing   they   can   take   care   of   themselves   and   get   by   on   their   own  .   they   don’t  need   people   feeling   bad   for   them  .   they   have  each   other ,   and   they   can   handle   it   on   their   own  .   again ,   kenny   is   open   to   subtler   gestures ,   such   as   inviting   him   over   to   your   place   because   his   home life   sucks   ass  .   but   anything   over   the   top   /   coming   across   as   saviour   of   the   poor   kid   vibes   is   really   gonna   irk   on   him   in   a   big   way  .

[too-gay-for-marvel]

i dont need a hero

a/n: did i make a bad guy who just wants to be a bad guy? you got it babey. ive got no more excuses for my behaviour. the only excuse i have is that i will never learn, and that is the greatest talent i possess. my second greatest talent is that i refuse to proof-read any and all things. youre welcome

Request:  classic enemies to lovers trope with Wanda maximoff? love your writing btw

Word Count: 1668

Warnings: swearing

Pairing: Wanda x Reader

Wanda was no stranger to having enemies.

Tony Stark had been her enemy in the past. She had wanted to get rid of the Avengers at one point. Ultron, Crossbones, Secretary Ross, the list was endless. It no longer upset her to know that she had enemies in life because she knew it was part of the occupation. If she had wanted to make nice with everyone, she wouldn’t have volunteered to help Strucker.

But that also meant she knew those enemies could turn into more. And as you slept on your stomach and her fingers traced shapes over your naked back, it was just a flood of memories.

“Is that the best you’ve got, little witch?” You taunted right after deflecting another one of Wanda’s blasts. It was infuriating.

But her eyes swept over the collapsed buildings you had left behind. It reminded her of all the people you had hurt, all the destruction you had caused over the last few months. She looked back at you and started throwing everything she had with renewed anger. And it proved to be successful when she finally hit you in the chest, sending you flying into a pile of rubble.

Wanda made her way to where you were laying in the rubble, cuts and freshly formed bruises littering your skin. There was a laceration through your left brow, but the smile on your face was, once again, infuriating. When would you realise you had lost?

But you just locked eyes with her and chuckled.

“That’s much better.”

You shifted underneath her fingers, causing your muscles to stretch before relaxing once again. When your shoulder blades moved just right she could see the scars littering your skin. If the light from the moon shone through the curtains, she could see the lines on your back and arms.

Almost immediately her fingers started to trace over the slightly raised scars. She noted the way they criss crossed over the relaxed muscles in your back. The stories they told, not with words but with her own imagination.

Some of them she recognised from your tales of conquest against the X-Men, against the Avengers, against the X-Force. Those were ones you bragged about to the disappointment of Fury and Maria. Others you hadn’t outwardly talked of, but instead cried about them in your sleep. Those were the ones she spent the most time on, trying to send all of her love and support through those gentle touches.

And a few she remembered from firsthand accounts.

“Just move!”

Wanda was too transfixed by the missile heading her way to notice someone running toward her. She didn’t even know someone was nearby, which made it all the more shocking when arms wrapped around her waist. Her body tensed as her feet were lifted off the ground and she was suddenly launched off the side of the building right as the missile hit the spot where she had been standing.

Wind rushed past her ears along with something that sounded like a scream. She couldn’t tell who was screaming. The trip to the ground took only a second or two but it felt like it was never going to end. Well, it did until she forcefully met the ground. The air was knocked out of her and the person on top of her didn’t help.

“Get off me,” she grunted as she pushed the person off and sat up. Only when she was up did she notice it was you, new scratches on your face and blood dripping down your ears.

“You stupid Avengers, always in the way,” you mumbled just loud enough for Wanda to hear.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Wanda shouted, pushing herself onto her feet and watching as you did the same.

“What do you mean, what was I thinking?” You shot back. “You were the one who didn’t move!”

“I didn’t need your help.”

“You almost got hit! By a missile!”

“And yet you were the one who almost killed me!” Wanda stepped forward, her finger jabbing into your chest as she talked.

“I saved your life!” You shouted back, throwing your hands up in indignation.

“You pushed me off a building!”

“Don’t criticise me! No one else was helping!”

“I didn’t need help from some wannabe hero!”

“I’m not trying to-” you were cut off by the sound of a gun and your eyes widening. You both looked down to see a dark red spot near your hip grow larger.

You hit the ground before she could catch you.

Her index finger found the long-since-healed entrance wound on your back and she brushed over it as gently as possible. You shivered underneath her but quickly stilled. She smiled to herself at the way you had relaxed underneath her touch, but it reminded her of all the times she hadn’t managed to bring you back down to earth.

Wanda had walked in on you training. At least, she thought you were training. It looked more like you were just shooting Tony’s bots for fun, but there was no smile on your face. No, instead your brows were furrowed and the corners of your lips were turned down.

“Tony didn’t want to rebuild those so soon,” she said just loud enough for you to hear. Even though you didn’t flinch or turn, she knew you had heard by the way your frown turned more angry.

“He can kiss my ass,” you mumbled before shooting one last bot. Then you simply tossed the empty gun aside, not caring that it shattered once it hit the floor.

“Something wrong?” Wanda asked with as much sincerity as she could muster. She would never say she was your biggest fan, but she had come to tolerate you over the past few months. And to see you so… distraught. It left a weight in her chest that she didn’t know how to deal with.

She was close enough to see your jaw tighten for a moment before you turned and walked to sit against the wall, sliding down to the floor. You wrapped your arms around your knees and pulled them tight to your chest. Then your chin rested on your knees, and Wanda knew that was a look of defeat.

A look she knew all too well.

Before she gave herself time to change her mind, she walked forward and sat down next to you, crossing her legs instead. It was a more open position, she thought, and maybe it would help you feel a little more comfortable. Because if you didn’t get more comfortable soon, she felt like her chest was going to collapse.

“I never wanted to be a hero,” you said after an unbearable amount of silence. You weren’t looking at Wanda, instead keeping your eyes on the opposite wall.

She wanted to ask what you meant, but knew that it might interrupt whatever train of thought you were starting down. It never occurred to her that she could just read your mind to know what you meant. That thought never reared its ugly head. No, she had decided to just wait for you to talk it out.

“I don’t care about keeping people safe,” you started again. “I don’t care if people get hurt and it’s my fault. I’d prefer they don’t get hurt; I’m not a monster. But I don’t care to be a law-abiding citizen like the rest of you.

“But I don’t want to be a hero.”

A single beat of silence.

“And that scares me.”

“Why does it scare you?” Wanda asked, daring to break her silence in an attempt to keep you talking. She didn’t think she could fix whatever you were feeling, but maybe talking it out would help. That’s what her therapist always told her, at least.

“Because you can’t love a villain.”

“I’m sure someone can-”

“-No,” you interrupted, finally turning to look at her. “You can’t love a villain.”

She didn’t know what to say. What could she say? Had she thought of you as possibly something more? Sure, there were moments. But were you right? Could she really love a villain? Someone who got people hurt and didn’t really care, or who got themself hurt? Could she love someone like that?

“You need a hero,” you said softly, with a smile that just damn near broke Wanda’s heart.

And before she could come up with a reply, you stood up and walked away.

That was months ago. And now here you were, naked in her bed. You had slept here more than a few times recently, your newest epiphany keeping you awake through the long hours of the night. But this was the first night it had gotten serious, the first night she had admitted things that she would have otherwise kept secret.

It all happened so fast; You had come back from a mission a little dirtied up but otherwise okay. She had offered to let you use her shower to clean up. You had stripped down in the middle of her room. And the next thing she knew, she was pressed up against the wall of the shower with your hands on her hips and your lips on her neck.

“Tell me to stop,” you mumbled before leaving another kiss. “Tell me you need a hero.” Your knee slipped between her legs and she threw her head back until it rested against the wall.

“The last thing I need is a hero,” she said with a gasp as your knee pressed a little harder.

You pulled your head back just enough to look at her. There was something in your eyes, something other than lust, but she was too distracted to try and figure out what it was. Instead she grabbed your face with both hands and pulled you into a fast, sloppy kiss.

And at the memory, Wanda smiled as she felt that phantom kiss on her lips.

That kiss filled with love.

[mylifeisactuallyamess]

So I am going through my WIPs and I haven’t posted this one either.

Idiots....

Poe Dameron x Reader

Warnings: angst. That’s pretty much it! They wasted so much time being IDIOTS!

Word Count: 1758

You stood at the entrance to the cave watching the sun rising over the tall trees on the planet Ajan Kloss. The Resistance had been here for a few weeks now and it seemed a decent hiding place from the First Order, for now anyway. You gripped the cup of caf in your hands as the first rays of the day shone into the cave, the sky was tinged with a light golden hue as the small clouds hung lazily in the atmosphere, today was going to be another hot day which you didn’t mind. You cocked your head at the sound of a ship and you recognised it instantly, the Falcon was back which meant he was back. The sound of the ion engines powering down filled you with dread as you pictured Poe Dameron in your mind, his dark messy curls and his smouldering brown eyes making your heart heavy. Poe was the love of your life but this war had ripped you apart, with him risking his life everyday you couldn’t take it anymore, the worry of him not returning pushed you to a breaking point. You had rowed it was your biggest row and the entire base had heard, not that you cared. With a sigh you downed the last of the caf and your feet dragged as you headed to the conference room, you still had a job to do.

You concentrated on Finn as he briefed everyone on the mission and Poe stood to the side, his arms crossed as he let his friend do the talking. Since the evacuation of D’Qar and the Battle of Crait Poe had changed and you could finally see the leader that Leia wanted him to be coming out in him and it made your heart ache all the more. You were proud of him and maybe you breaking off your relationship had been what he needed to really focus on his duty. As you listened you couldn’t help your gaze slowly drifting to Poe, his arms crossed over his broad chest, the necklace with his mother’s ring hanging from it resting on top of his shirt and you felt another pang knowing now that ring would go to someone else. You let out a small sigh and you saw Snap look at you quickly a frown on his face and you quickly schooled your expression. You flinched slightly as Poe addressed the group in his Commander voice but you couldn’t concentrate on what was being said as his voice rolled over you and you tried to fight the rising well of sadness inside you. The briefing ended and you felt someone grab your arm dragging you out of there.

‘Snap…?’

‘You need to stop.’ You pulled your arm free and let some people walk past before fixing your gaze onto him.

‘Stop? Stop what?’ You hissed.

‘You let him go, stop being all doey eyed over him.’

‘I’m not having this conversation…’ you went to walk round him but he spun you back to face him.

‘This isn’t healthy.’

‘What do you want me to do? I can’t just turn off my feelings, they don’t just wink out existence! I can’t calibrate them to be stable! I…..’ you stopped as more people walked past you and you knew Poe would be coming out next and you didn’t want to be here when he did. ‘Just leave me alone Snap.’ This time he didn’t stop you and you walked faster as you heard Poe greet his friend, you didn’t stop until you made it back to your room locking yourself in the refresher you finally allowed yourself to feel. You sat heavily on the floor as the sobs took over your body and you brought your knees up resting your forehead on them. Maybe if you curled yourself up enough you could hold yourself together, that worked right? You rubbed your wet face on your trousers as you rocked slightly feeling the permanent crack in your heart hurt more now than when it happened. You hated yourself sometimes, how you couldn’t just let him do what he did for the Resistance, you had to love him so much that it drove you insane when he didn’t check in or he didn’t return on time. You hated that you loved him too much. You heard a noise and looked up sharply, wiping your eyes hurriedly to try and disguise the fact you were crying.

‘Hello?’

‘It’s me.’ You closed your eyes as a fresh wave of sadness threatened to engulf you just at the sound of his voice. He said your name and you could tell he was sitting just the other side of the door.

‘Do you need me for something?’ You winced at the waver in your voice hoping he didn’t hear it as silent tears now spilled down your face.

‘No.’ You waited for him to say more but he didn’t and you shuffled closer to the door imagining him sitting resting his head and back against the door, his leg cocked and his arm resting on his knee with his eyes closed. You leaned against the door wishing you were really snuggled against him and another silent sob beat your chest as you put a hand over your mouth. ‘You ok in there?’ You could tell by his voice he had heard you crying and you wondered why he had come to find you, neither of you had really spoken after your row a few weeks ago and you had told yourself it was better that way. A clean break and all.

‘Yeah,’ you heard him shift against the door probably matching your position now and you placed a hand up resting it on the cool surface.

‘Will you talk to me?’

‘Poe…’

‘Please, you didn’t really let me have a say when….when you broke it off.’ The strain in his voice tugged at your heart and you found yourself reaching up to unlock the door. At first nothing happened but slowly the door slid open to reveal Poe’s tear stained face. Seeing him like that broke something inside you and you covered your face with your hands as fresh sobs took over. His hands were on you in an instant, his voice breaking as he whispered in your ear, you clutched onto his shirt as his familiar comforting scent washed over you. Your lips collided desperately as you looked for comfort in the only person who could provide it for you. He kissed you just as passionately, his hands pulling you to his body as he craved to feel all of you at once. He mumbled your name against your mouth as he scrunched his face up trying to curb the new tide of tears that threatened to wash over him. Your mind tumbled with all the things you wanted to say; I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I want you back, I’m sorry, don’t leave me, I love you…. But you couldn’t bring yourself to say them, you couldn't get past the obstruction in your throat, Poe stole the very air from your lungs as he lavished his full attention on your lips and body. You could feel yourself responding, you never stopped loving him, you never stopped wanting him, never stopped needing him. His hands held you with such care like he was worried you were going to break as he cupped your face gently wiping the fresh tears off your face.

‘I can’t do this anymore…’ he whispered his warm breath fanning over your face as he pulled away slightly. ‘I can’t bear the thought of you finding someone else, I can’t live like this…live without you.’ His voice cracked again and you caught the tear that slid down his cheek. You tried to think of something to say, you tried to speak to reassure him but you still couldn’t get the words out and you felt your heart shatter as the light faded in his eyes as he realised you couldn’t say these things back to him. You felt cold as his hands left your face, he sat back on his heels and he nodded as if telling himself this was for the best.

‘Poe…’

‘No it’s ok. You made it perfectly clear how you felt a few weeks ago.’ You didn’t miss the bitter tone in his voice as he went to get off the floor but you grabbed his arm finally finding the strength to speak.

‘I love you.’ He gave you a watery smile but he didn’t make a move towards you.

‘I know,’ he sighed and rubbed his face, the sound of his stubble against his calloused hand sounded loud in the small space.

‘I’m sorry oh god Poe I’m so sorry!’ He watched you for a second but unable to leave you crying he pulled you back to his chest. He waited for you to calm down before speaking again, your face was pressed against his chest as he gently stroked your hair.

‘I’ve struggled these past few weeks,’ you tensed your arms around him in a reassuring squeeze. ‘Not having you to come back to has been the hardest.’ He moved you slightly, his hand tilting your chin so you were forced to look into his tear filled eyes. ‘I know I’m reckless and I know I will do whatever it takes for the Resistance but….I always thought of you and if I didn’t think I could make it I wouldn’t do it.’

‘You did?’ He nodded as he gazed adoringly at you.

‘But you didn’t let me say that,’ he whispered. ‘You went off and thought you knew it all as per.’

‘So…’

‘So it means we wasted at least three weeks being sad and angry at each other just because we love each other.’

‘So we‘re idiots?’ You asked and he smiled at you before kissing you gently.

‘Well, you’re clearly the bigger idiot than me...ow!’ He recoiled as you pinched him but you couldn’t help the stupid grin that spread across your face and he captured your lips in another kiss.

‘So what happens now flyboy?’ You bit your lip as he grinned back at you, a dark look clouding his eyes a look he only ever gave you.

‘We make up for lost time.’ He slammed the door shut and you hoped no one would come looking for you anytime soon because he was going to keep you busy for a few hours at least.

[hellisheuphoria]

Chapter 5: Withdrawn.

The MC skips class, and runs into problems soon after.

[This chapter contains scenes describing blood, wounds, stitching and vivid dreams, so read at your own risk. And thank you for reading <3]

You did not know if your eyes were open, swirling darkness blinding you everywhere you looked. The air was frosty and cold, chilling you to your very bones.

It was silent, but muffled. You opened your mouth to speak but nothing could be heard. The silence engulfed you, lulling you to a sinister lullaby.

The darkness pierced your skin, biting you with its horrible, sharp claws. Black ink swirled through your skin like a tattoo, slowly spreading through your body.

You could breathe it in, you could feel the ink choke you from the inside and drown you slowly, filling your lungs with a feeling of desperation as you clawed at your chest for air.

It trickled down your hair, turning it into a beautifully menacing black. It was intoxicating you, a corrupt pleasure you’d felt like no other.

It whispered in your ears, muttering a mad gibberish than you could not understand. Its whispers echoed in your ears, bouncing and ringing on and off. It all merged into one, deafening your ears.

You could taste it. It tasted like deep mourning, melancholy, the feeling of hopelessness and anguish. A pure lamentation.

Everything came to a still, yet you could feel a presence behind you, frost nipping at your skin as the hair on the back of your neck stood at its end.

You could breathe, but it did not satisfy you. You could breathe, yet it poisoned your insides.

You could breathe, but you were dying.

His eyes were dark and soulless, filled with emptiness and sorrow of a malicious kind.

His arms wrapped themselves around you, bringing your bodies together as dread coursed through your icy veins, your body unwilling to move.

His hands found themselves wrapped around your neck, slithering around you like a noose.

”Oh, my dear, sweet MC...” His lips curled into a venomous smile, the whispers ringing in your ears like alarms, the volume increasing by the second.

”It’s too bad that I hate humans, you see.” He closed his eyes, relishing the aroma of fear dancing around the both of you.

”Otherwise, we may have gotten along quite well.” His claws dug into your neck, your body limp against his.

The only thing you could see was the glow of his eyes, crinkled with the pleasure of watching you die, unable to move and unable to speak.

Before the world melted away, and your soul ceased to exist in such a transparent, spurious world.

———————————————————————

”MC-“ A hand swatted at your shoulder, shaking you from your spot on the sofa.

”MC! Wake up!” You slapped away whoever it was standing over you, refusing to open your eyes.

Suddenly, a rush of cold water slid down your neck and you jumped forward, shivering in shock.

Luke stood over your form, looking guilty and holding an empty cup. He was already dressed in his usual attire, beret and all. You stared at him, and he nervously looked away from you.

”Uh, MC! I’m sorry, but- but you were gonna be late if you didn’t wake up, and I don’t want you to be late so I had to throw water at you.. It wasn’t a lot though! Just a-“

You hushed him, putting a finger to his lips in your drowsy state. “Luke, I understand. Just, let me relax for a bit. I can run to school, we’re at the dormitories anyway.”

He nodded his head vigorously in response, still feeling guilty for his method of awakening you.

”Uh, MC..” You turned your head toward him, eyes droopy.

“I- I’m so sorry I didn’t help you last night! I thought you wanted some space to yourself, and I thought it was the right choice!”

He rambled on, ”I could hear you crying, but I didn’t come to help you, I’m really, really sorry! It was selfish of me, I’m sorry, MC!” He exclaimed, looking down and avoiding your gaze as you stared at him in confusion..

”Wait, crying? Luke, I don’t remember crying last night. I went straight to bed. At least- I don’t remember crying.” His eyes widened, clearly as muddled as you were.

”But, I could- I could hear you crying. Look, there are tear marks on your pillow right there!” Your head snapped to where your head had just been resting a few minutes ago. If you looked close enough, there were really tear stains.

Your fingers unconsciously brushed your cheeks as you looked back at Luke, who stared at you in bewilderment as you had done the same.

Perhaps, these dreams were getting out of hand.

———————————————————————

“MC, will you really be going to school without your uniform on? Won’t you just get sent back?” Simeon spoke, his beautiful eyes staring back at yours.

”Yeah. Either I go, or don’t go. I’m pretty sure that everyone would rather I go.” You nonchalantly replied, glancing at the mirror as you fixed your hair.

”Hey, how about you guys go on to school without me? I might take long, due to, uh, getting ready...? You know, I still gotta look decent. ” You tried your best to act as casual as you could, and hoped he’d fall for the trick.

He sighed and smiled at you, “Okay, we’ll see you at school, alright? Don’t take too long.”

You were relieved he took the bait, otherwise you would have really had to go to school. Who could be asked to go, knowing that there would be a whole bunch of drama waiting for them? Certainly not you.

You heard the groups footsteps become more quiet and quieter, until they couldn’t be heard at all. You silently opened the door and stuck your head out, looking at both sides of the hallway.

You then closed the door and sighed in relief, standing by yourself in Luke’s dorm. He wouldn’t mind, would he? You needed this day for yourself, no questions asked.

You opened the door and then locked it with the spare key Luke handed to you, and took off in the other direction, set on going back to the House of Lamentation to collect your things.

———————————————————————

The floorboards creaked as you silently stepped into the house, closing the door behind you and attempting to try your best at staying as unnoticed as possible, like a mouse.

Nothing could be heard except for the pitter- patter your feet made as they stepped on the floorboards, but you still kept on trying your best to keep them as short and silent.

You opened the door of your room, rushing in there as fast as you could and shutting the door. Everything was in its same place as you had left it last night, your bed unmade and your clothes in heaps of piles everywhere.

You quickly gathered your school clothes, your laptop, essential items and other things you would need. You didn’t plan on staying here for a little bit, maybe a few weeks. You could probably couch-surf between dorms. If they let you, of course. If they didn’t, you always could just roam around for a little bit, pulling all-nighters or sleeping on benches.

The minute your grabbed your laptop, the shelf above it collapsed and fell, causing a huge ruckus. Your froze and your breath ceased, flower pots fell from the shelf and broke, the shards cutting the back of your hand.

You winced and pulled it back, wiping the blood on your shirt, and trying to press on it. It still bled quite heavily, and it looked as though you would need stitches, but you were no professional.

Something ran across the hallway, making their way towards your room, you closed your eyes instinctively, facing the other way when they opened the door, panting.

”MAMMON! What the hell-“

Levi burst into the room, his phone in one hand and a violent aura being emitted off him.

”Wait, you’re not Mammon! You’re MC!” He gasped, out of breath.

”I thought Mammon was in here stealing your things, what are you doing here? Didn’t you run away?” He eyed the bag in your hand, full of your belongings.

”Oh..” His eyes darkened, an envious tone surfacing in his voice.

”So you’ve ditched us, huh?” He grabbed your injured hand and pulled you closer, hurt and betrayal swirling in his eyes.

”MC..” He noticed your pained expression and looked down at both of your hands intertwined, feeling the blood ooze out of your wounds, a horrible contrast to his pale skin.

He looked back at your desk where broken flower pots lay, shattered into fragments.

”Oh, MC! We have a medical kit in the kitchen- follow me there!”

He ran off to the kitchen, with you trailing not too far behind. He grabbed a small kit off the top of the refrigerator and opened it, pulling out surgical thread and a needle. You winced at the sight of it.

”I’ve done this before- it’s a story for another time- but it might hurt for you because you’re human. I’ll try my best, but I can’t guarantee anything.”

Blood was beginning to drip into the table, and so you tied your best to stay still as he disinfected it, trying to wash off the blood at the same time.

When he pierced your skin with the needle, you hissed in pain- and Levi anxiously went red, panicking that he was being too rough. When he finished, he bandaged it and packed up, hiding the evidence that someone had been injured.

”Levi?” He turned towards you, humming in response.

”I’m sorry for getting blood on you, if you want, you can change and I’ll wait.” He looked down, noticing the blood on his shirt, but then also noticed the blood on yours, too. He raised an eyebrow jokingly.

”Oh, right- I have to change too, haha.” You smiled in response, relieved he wasn’t treating you any differently.

You went to your room and Levi went to his. There was still broken fragments everywhere, so you would need to be careful. Especially of your hand, too.

You changed out of your bloody clothes, tossing them to the side onto the pile of your dirty laundry. You then noticed the bag sitting untouched on your chair and picked it up, retrieving your laptop and placing it inside of your bag.

You heard him come inside of your room and close the door, walking behind you. You hummed and slung the bag over your shoulders, finally turning around.

”Oh--“ Your words died in your mouth before you spoke, recognising the person in front of you.

Belphegor.

He stood in front of you, his tall figure looming over you and his usual frown on his gorgeous, yet evil face.

”MC,” he smiled in relief, yet still looking tired and drowsy. “We looked for you for so long.”

You shifted anxiously, your eyes darting everywhere but on him. “I-I know. And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you guys.” You meekly responded, feeling intimidated by his figure.

He noticed the bag in your hands and his expression soured within less than a second.

”MC.” His voice willed you to look at him, your eyes meeting his.

”You’re leaving?” He looked so hurt, so vulnerable, his eyes glistening with crushed hope, his bottom lip trembling with sadness.

His eyes hooked onto yours, the world being zoned out as you could feel yourself being pulled in, your mind in a drowsy state as your body took a life of its own, unwilling to obey your commands.

”Belphegor...” you whispered out his name in a weak tone, feeling ever so sorry for him. You didn’t realise it, but you were falling deeper into his spell, sin ravaging his aura as he willed you to close in on him and forget your childish tantrum so you wouldn’t leave him behind.

Levi’s voice cut through the air as he crashed inside, holding his phone in the air with a worrying expression.

”MC, they’re on their way here!”

Belphegor and you separated as Levi jumped in, practically bouncing with energy as he yelled.

”Levi, Belphegor,” you worriedly spoke up, grabbing both of their attention.

”I need your help to hide me.”

[whump-it]

The Bad Thing:  Rory’s Tape Gag

Ok.  Here it is!  The Bad Thing is happeneing and Rory is starting to get whumped!  CW here for victim blaming, self blame, self hatred, whumper playing whumpees off against one another, threatening to whump a woman and a tape gag of course!

Tag time!

@haro-whumps @grizzlie70 @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @iaminamoodymoodtoday @burtlederp @my-whumpy-little-heart @moose-teeth @pepperonyscience @faewhump @crowned-avery @whump-tr0pes @spookyboywhump @finder-of-rings @liliability @whumpfigure @girlwithacoolcat @tears-and-lilies @inpainandsuffering @whumppsychology

He was laughing.  It was muted by a hand to his mouth.  Knuckles against his teeth.  But he was laughing.  She didn't dare look at him.  Didn't dare make eye contact for fear that somewhere through the terror and dread, that somewhere in the horror of her emotions, the hated of him might be showing on her face.  Taking that kind of liberty would only lead to trouble. 

Beyond the basement door and blissfully, briefly unaware of the ridicule and hurt coming their way, Rory and Callum carried on talking.

***

"I miss Haz,"  Callum muttered, a slight slur to the words.  A slip at the edge.  He had shuffled over to Rory with an ease born of history despite the fact that his hands were bound behind his back.

"I know," Rory whispered.  He nearly always whispered.  Callum spoke out loud with an uninhibited volume that made Rory cringe away and want to yell at him to shut up.   To be quiet.  To tell him that their situation was precarious enough without him talking at a volume that might attract unwanted attention. 

"The last time I was in a basement I had him," Callum said, matter-of-fact.

"Alyaa had to take him back to her apartment," Rory winced as Callum tipped his head to rest his right temple against Rory's shoulder, which was still bruised from his most recent beating.  "We had to let him go so we wouldn't get hurt."

"Wouldn't get hurt," Callum muttered back, breathing in then exhaling a shaking sigh.  "I miss him.  He's soft."

"I wish I could bring him to you," Rory murmured the words with a tip of his head.  A tilt of his lips into Callum's hair right above where his brain was fighting against him.  "Cal.  We'll get back to him.  You're going to have him again I promise you.  I promise.  I know how important he is to you but if you can just hold on just... just..."  Rory breathed in shaky and unsteady and closed his eyes against the tears that always seemed to be there.  Always just on the edge of falling.  He pushed his face into Callum's curls and let them tickle at his skin.  Let them sweep across his forehead and cheek where he would feel their phantom touch long after they'd moved apart.  His bound hands unable to move the sensation. 

Next to him, Callum shifted.  He moved and tipped his head and carried on until their foreheads met. 

"Cal," Rory said, louder than he meant to, the volume unmodulated by the constriction of his throat against the fall of his tears.  "Cal I love you.  Haz is waiting for you.  He's safe.  He's safe and he's waiting for you." 

***

Ethan snorted and bent forward then breathed in and composed himself.

"Oh that's just precious," he said, his words sneered out over a laugh.  "They're going on about that stupid teddy aren't they?"  He looked at Alyaa, her head bowed and eyes fixed on the ground.  Her hair falling down past her cheek.  "I asked you a question."  The laughter had gone.  Dried up.  It hadn't been funny to begin with.

"Yes," she said quietly.  So very quietly.  "Haz is... Callum's... he's not well."

Ethan looked at her.  Looked and looked until she began to bend under the weight of his stare.  She jumped and flinched when he raised his hand, spinning a roll of heavy duty tape around his index finger.

"Hmm,"  Ethan spun the roll around and around.

"He's not..." Alyaa stopped speaking as soon as she had started.  Her throat cut off her words without her permission, the muscles tightening around the threat of tears.  Callum was ill and Rory was scared and Haz was too far away.

And Ethan had a roll of tape.

She flinched again at the sound of the bolt on the door slamming back, looking up just in time to catch the swift movement as Ethan reached out and gripped at her forearm hard enough to bruise. 

"Time to pay your favourite pair a little visit," Ethan said, pulling her arm to drag her closer.  "Well come on then.  Anyone would think you didn't want to see them."  Ethan smiled at her, cruel and cold, the twist of his lips utterly unmatched by the hatred in his eyes.

Ethan pulled her through the door and into the basement, and she was utterly unable to stop herself from looking straight at Rory.  Straight at Callum.  Glancing back and for between their faces until the weight of her guilt for not keeping them safe forced her shoulders to hunch.  Her gaze to lower. 

Callum looked shattered.  Completely and entirely worn out.  Yet despite that, when he saw her, when he saw Ethan, he had mouthed the word "master".  He had bowed his head.  Across his face, she saw the flash of emotions and memories that had taken only seconds but that she had enough knowledge of to recognise.  He wanted atonement.  He wanted perfection.  He was too ill to know if he was ashamed or not anymore.

Rory looked furious.  And scared.  And he looked at her and Ethan equally before tipping his head back down to touch temples with Callum.  The utter horror that he was protecting Callum from her felt like a shard of ice settling through her core.

"Sounds like someone's missing his little teddy bear," Ethan said, smiling that smile again.  The one that never reached his eyes.  Alyaa could hear Rory's breathing pick up, his teeth clenched as he breathed heavily and just a little too fast through his nose.  She could see his jaw working and she had no idea whether she wanted him to speak or to stay silent.  Each option had the potential to harm all of them.  It was just a question of which of them would pay the highest price.

"Wow," Ethan said, cold sarcasm threading through the word.   "You look really cross.   Really cross."   He drew the words out, stretching them out on a rack of scorn and humiliation, deliberately designed to make Rory more and more furious.

Alyaa could see Rory's breathing speed up in the rise and fall of his chest.  In the flare of his nostrils.  Her mind overlapped on itself on two words.  Speak.  Hush. 

"Damn right I'm cross," Rory said.  Alyaa closed her eyes.  “Where do you get off thinking that any of what you’re doing here is ok?  What the fuck is the matter with you, you sick freak!?  Callum is not well.  He should’ve been in the hospital days ago.  He needs an operation.  You’re hurting him.  You’re going to hurt him.”

"I'm not going to hurt him," Ethan said with a cruel laugh.  "Have you seen him!?  I mean come on.  Look at him.  Why would I hurt that?"  Rory glared back.  "Oh I'm sorry.  Did I speak in a foreign language?  Are you too stupid to understand?"  Alyaa saw Callum's flinch at the word stupid.  He mouthed it silently, eyes downcast.

"I said "look at him"."

"I'm looking," Rory said slowly and quietly.  "At you.  And I don't like what I'm seeing."

Alyaa dared to open her eyes but kept her head down.  Her shoulders up.  She jumped when Ethan ripped a long strip of tape off the roll, biting it off with his teeth and holding it up in front of her face while he pointed at Rory with his free hand.

“That one needs to stop talking don’t you think?”

She held her breath.  The room seemed to buzz with the oppressive silence that followed the statement and the tearing of tape.  She couldn’t move.  She couldn’t make herself touch the tape.  She braved a quick look at Rory beyond the tape dangling in front of her and he looked terrified.  He didn’t have his hands to use, tied up behind him.  He was trapped in a basement and he was about to have his voice taken from him.  He looked like he was fighting to stay upright, fighting against his body that wanted to curl up, and fighting against crying. 

“Well my sweet little nightbird,” Ethan said.  “You have a choice.  Either you take this piece of tape and shut him up,” he jerked the piece of tape a couple of times in front of her. “Or I can shut you up.  You choose.”

“Me,” Alyaa said, quickly.  The need to protect pushed forward in her mind.  Rory and Callum should bein the hospital right now while Callum recovered from surgery.  They shouldn’t be tied up in a basement and she was all too aware that if they had stayed away from her then this would never have happened.  She should have kept them at arms length instead of pulling them down to be damaged along with her. “You...if you want...want...to shut someone up then shut me...shut me up Ethan.”

On the floor in front of her, a sob broke free from Rory, quickly followed by Callum looking over at him, horrified and shushing him in the presence of the person that he believed to be his Master.

“Don’t even, for one moment, think that you can tell me what I want,” Ethan spat the words at her, and she cowered under their weight, shaking.  Trembling.  “Tape his mouth and then, as you’re so keen, I’ll shut you up too.”

“No!  Please Ethan, please.”  Alyaa forced the words out even as they shook with the forced of her body’s shaking.  “Please just me...just...just me.  They didn’t...they...they’ll be quiet,  I promise.  Please Ethan.  Please!”

“Hmm...you see, as much as I enjoy listening to all of this?  It’s boring me now.  Taope his mouth shut.  Don’t argue with me.  Do.  It.”

Alyaa gasped out on the air that she didn’t realise she had been holding.  As she reached with a shaking hand to take the piece of tape she heard Rory starting to plead with her.  Small, whispered out, begging little no’s and pleases.  He was shaking his head.  Saying her name, interspersing it with his begging.  It felt like a physical attack upon her.  It hurt to hear it.  It made her want hinm to stop and she had the means to do that in her hand.  It made Ethan into the winner.  It made her into the villain. 

She wanted to be sick.

“I’m sorry Rory,” she whispered as she knelt in front of him.  “S...sorry.  I’ll be gentle  I’m so sorry.”  As she took the tape in both hands and raised it, she almost choked on the feeling in her gut when Rory mouthed “please don’t” at her, the words silent, the terror stripping him of his voice as much as the tape did when she pressed it to his lips.

His tears fell as she stood back up. 

[captain-tch]

All That I Can Give

summary: kiko is a struggling business owner thrown into the chaos of the borderlands. when she makes a mistake that will threaten her life, she learns just how far she will go to keep herself alive. 

TW: DEATH, MENTIONS OF ATTEMPTED SUICIDE, MENTAL HEALTH, TOXIC RELATIONSHIPS, VIOLENCE

chapter 10: little firecracker

previous chapter

Kiko bolted upright. Her hand flew to her chest as she cast a panicked gaze around the room. Tetsu was still asleep on the sofa, a light snore filling the silence around them. The door was still firmly locked as it was last night. From what she could tell everything looked normal. 

So why did she fly awake so suddenly? 

She shrugged it off. Maybe something in her dream startled her so much her brain pulled her back into reality. Not that she was sure what it could have been. Her dream had been polluted with a never ending cycle of her hands slamming the paper weight into Ryuk’s face. The loop brought a slight frown to her face. If she thought hard enough, she could still feel the ghosts of his blood and viscera on her skin. 

Lying back down, she tried to turn her thoughts away the dream she was having. She prayed she wouldn’t return to the world where she could relive one of the greatest moments, and greatest shames, in her life. Her eyes had started to drift close when she heard it. 

Voices. 

Kiko jumped to her feet. Her heart raced with each passing moment. She tried to gently shove Tetsu awake, going as far as lightly slapping his face. All he did was turn around in his slumber. Kiko muttered a strong swear word under her breath. 

She lunged for a nearby pan, holding it in a vice like grip. Creeping her way to the door, she sneaked a glance at the pharmacy. Inside, there were a group of five people. Men and women poked around their supplies, sweeping their arms along the shelves and stuffing as much as they could into their bags. All of them carried a weapon of some sort. 

Kiko couldn’t contain her gulp when she saw the sniper rifle. 

These people weren’t playing games. 

She turned back to look at Tetsu. The bruises looked even worse today. Her heart ached as her mind flashed to the game the night before. She wasn’t going to let anyone hurt him ever again. 

It was only going to be a matter of time before they started searching the entire pharmacy. These people take what they need, then steal everything they want. Kiko had a unsettling instinct that that included people too. Maybe she could distract them, or scare them away? Not that the latter was likely, her only weapon being the kitchen utensil gripped tightly in her hands. 

Kiko placed her hand on the door handle. Sending a silent prayer to whatever higher power was mocking her, she opened the door and slammed it shut behind her. 

All five intruders spun in her direction. Kiko suppressed the urge to shudder as the sniper rifle sight was trained on her. The man holding it leered at her, his pierced tongue darting out of his mouth. 

“What do we have here?” 

In the strongest voice she could muster (which was still riddled with a scratchy rasp), she commanded the room. “Take what you need and leave.” 

No one moved. 

Kiko raised her pan in an offensive position. She couldn’t imagine how pathetic she looked - a kitchen appliance against one sniper rifle, a katana and semi automatic weapons. The bruise on her neck and bandages covering her hand and elbow did nothing to support her case. Still, she stood her ground, trying to ignore how her knees shook. “I told you to leave.” 

“We’re not going anywhere.” The man nodded to one of his friends. Immediately they surged forward, stepping closer to Kiko. 

She spun around to face them. “I’m warning you!” 

They ignored her, moving forward and reaching for her. In one smooth move, she slammed the pan into her attackers head. They stumbled backwards, gripping their bleeding forehead with a curse. 

Simultaneously, Kiko heard the sound of three distinct clicks. 

“Leave. Now.” She prayed her words were as solid as her resolve.

“You’re a little fire cracker, aren’t you?” The man with the pierced tongue laughed. 

From the corner of her eye, she could see the man with the katana moving towards her. She subtly took a step back. Her weapon was nothing against his katana. The distance he had meant she would be skewered the moment she tried to attack him. 

“I’d be careful if I were you.” Kiko tensed her muscles. “Get too close and you’ll get burned.” 

With those words, she darted forwards. She ducked out of the way of her attackers, flying behind the shelves as a shield. Without a second thought she flung herself out of the shattered window, glass slicing into her legs. 

A shot rang out. 

Kiko fell to the floor. She groaned, pulling her head off of the concrete. She tried to pull herself upwards, only for a foot to land on her back. A cry ripped out of her throat. 

“Careful little firecracker.” The man whispered, metal pushed into her spine. She froze. “You’re coming with us.” 

“Hey, Niragi!” A new voice shouted. Kiko tried to crane her neck to see, wincing at the pain igniting in her body. “Guess what we found.” 

Kiko’s blood turned cold. It wasn’t long before Tetsu’s broken body was thrown besides her. Her eyes scanned him for any new injuries, struggling to differentiate between the old and the new. His chest was rising and falling. 

Kiko sighed a breath of relief. At least he was still alive. 

“What should we do with them?” 

Kiko clenched her jaw. 

“Let’s take them back. We could always use some fresh meat.”

With those final words, the butt of a gun slammed into the back of her head. The world around her melted away. 

                                                             *

Kiko awoke with a start. Her head banged with a blinding pain. Liquid was running down her arm. The bruises on her neck pulsed. She groaned, rolling her head to the side. 

She caught sight of Tetsu, his body limp in a chair. His hands were tied behind his back and his legs roped against a chair. The events of the last day came rushing back to her. 

Kiko thrashed against her bonds, groaning as more liquid moved further down her arm. The looters. The gun shot. The darkness. 

“Where the fuck are we?” Kiko muttered. She finally looked up to take in the rest of the room. Two of them tugged at a memory of the back of her brain. She swore she could remember encountering someone with those muscles, and that hoodie at her spades game. The more she tried to think, the more intense her headache got, until she was nearly crumbling in her seat. 

Giving up on those two, she surveyed the remainder of the room. She recognised some faces, sneering at the memory of them looting her temporary home. She couldn’t hide the smirk she saw at the cut on one of their foreheads. At least she managed to do a little damage. 

“You’re awake!” An eccentric man appeared in her line of vision. She had to control her expression, feeling an urge to raise her eyebrows at his robe and sunglasses adorning his face. “My name is Hatter, pleasure to meet you. How are you feeling?” 

Kiko remained silent. 

“Niragi here tells me he found you while they were on a supply run. Living in a pharmacy?” 

Her lips remained sealed shut. Hatter sighed, a dramatic hand falling to his forehead. He spun away from her, his robe swishing with the action. Already she got the vibe he had too high of an ego. She was itching to put him back in his place.

“How am I expected to help you, when you don’t speak to me?” His gaze turned to somewhere she couldn’t see. He gave a small motion of his hands. 

Kiko’s mind raced with the possibilities. Was that him delivering a silent kill order? Was that code for torture? 

She quickly found out as a finger pushed into her shoulder blade. Kiko’s body instinctively doubled over, a high pitched shriek forcing itself from her. More liquid rushed down her arm. She saw her own life drip to the floor, marking the carpet an ugly red. 

The gun shot. 

It hit her then that she must have been shot. The adrenaline of the attack must have diluted the pain. That, coupled with a constant, low pulsing agony all over her body, must have erased the injury all together. She was definitely feeling it now. Kiko clenched her jaw to stop herself from screaming - in pain or fury, she wasn’t sure. 

The pressure left her wound. Kiko gasped for breath, her body still crumpled. Hatter crouched down so he could meet her eyes. She fixed him with a steely glare. “You were living at the pharmacy, am I correct?” 

The memory of the blinding agony lingered as she reluctantly nodded her head.

“My men found some playing cards there.” Hatter pulled out an array of cards, including the seven of diamonds and two of clubs. Amongst the pile, she spotted a hearts card. Kiko’s interest piqued - that wasn’t one of hers. “Are these all yours?” 

“They’re ours.” Kiko cleared her throat. She jutted her head to Tetsu. “Some of those cards are his.” 

“I have to say, it’s quite an impressive collection.” Hatter flitted through them, assessing each one as if it held the secrets to life itself. “Can I ask you a question?” 

“Go ahead.” 

“How are you still alive?” His gaze wandered over the wounds littering her body. Compared to Tetsu, she was perfectly healthy. This didn’t go unnoticed by Hatter.

“Because I have to win. To get back home.” 

Hatter’s face lit up in a bright smile. “We need more people like you. Niragi, you were right to bring them here. I don’t necessarily, um, agree with the method.” He looked at Kiko’s bleeding shoulder. “Try not to shoot them next time.” 

Kiko resisted the urge to make a smart remark. It wasn’t like they were brought here by choice. 

“I have a proposition for you and your friend. If you’re willing to accept it.” Kiko subtly leaned forward. “I want you to stay here. You play games for us, and in return, we provide you a safe haven where you can do whatever you like.” 

“What’s the catch?” 

“We have three rules here. To maintain order, we all need to follow them. One - everyone wears beach wear. It’s harder to hide weapons.” Kiko’s eyes must have involuntarily moved to the muscled man’s gun for him to continue. “Only the militants can carry weapons.”

Once again she had to bite her tongue. It clearly wasn’t the best idea, considering her attackers seemed to have an addiction to spilling blood.

“Rule number two - turn in all playing cards you earn. And three... death to all traitors.” 

Kiko gulped. She had a feeling if she rejected this offer, she would be deemed a traitor. It was clear by the rules he was clearly unhinged - what other options did she have? 

“What is it you want with the playing cards?” 

The man spun around, pulling open a curtain Kiko didn’t notice earlier. Along the wall, was a diagram of all the possible playing cards. Some had crosses through them, while others remained unmarked. “Once we have a full set, one person can go back to the real world.”

Kiko glanced at Tetsu, still unconscious. The only thing reassuring her he was still alive was the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Her mind flashed back to her own brother, the cheeky glint long gone. Now with Ryuk out of the picture, she was determined to get that back. This was a chance to go home. A chance to see Riku again. 

“We accept.” 

She wasn’t sure how Tetsu would feel about her agreeing on his behalf. He was the one to say do anything you can to find your way home. They just had to follow the rules, and everything should be fine. As she told herself this, an uneasy feeling settled at the bottom of her gut. 

The man’s smile grew tenfold. He clapped his hands together. “Welcome to the Beach!”

[votederpycausemufins]

me: you first started writing this story 12 days ago, take a break also me: CHAPTER 16 BAYBEEEEE

@petrichormeraki

Grian realized waiting was easy. No one was running around or trying to hurt him. People were trying to give him seeds and played music! And the voices liked how nice people were being too. But at the same time, the Watcher couldn’t help but worry. Why wasn’t Tommy back? Maybe he should go through himself. But it was a small portal. An enderman could barely fit, and to a watcher, those mobs were rather short.

What if you just got smaller? But he looks so dope like this! maybe he’s like a… i forget the animal but if he can get his head through he can get the rest through. Why’s he trying to go through anyway?; he’s basically a giant monster who’ll be attacked if he goes through. But he’s powerful. He’ll be fine!

Grian had move voices talking, and one seemed very convincing about going through the portal. Yes, it was a perfect idea. He just needed to squish himself through the frame. A number of Hermits tried to stop him as he started to move. He shook a wing as a lead caught on it. Another tried to catch him, but he moved out of the way and it managed to tie Mumbo up. Oh! He could bring Mumbo as well. Two heads would be better than one. He gave a chirpy laugh as Mumbo seemed to scream as he went through the portal. Grian followed behind, though he struggled squeezing everything through. There was a flash of white light, and then nothing.

Dream could feel the Watcher enter the world. He made sure that Tommy had no easy escape from his current prison before the former admin left the room. He walked in the direction of the portal. Everyone was here and his new piece of leverage had arrived. All that needed to happen now was destroying the portal and having the powers of admin returned to him.

Mumbo’s face hit grass as he ended up on the other side of the portal, tied up in the rope of a lead. He started to look up and had to squint at the bright sky. Had he blacked out and the storm had passed? But looking around, the only familiar thing in his vision was the infinity portal and Mumbo realized he had gone through it.

There was a squawk as Grian came through the portal. Mumbo tried to get up and reach his friend, but the fact that he was tied up had slipped his mind and he ended up just essentially wriggling around. Grian leaned down to look at him and Mumbo met the Watcher’s eyes with a gasp. Mumbo remembered when Grian was using his watcher powers, he could see how the eyes almost never looked at the same place, always focused on watching everything. The two main eyes may have just looked purple, but Mumbo could always see the symbol of the Watchers that seemed to have imprinted itself within the pupils.

But right now, all the eyes looked down at Mumbo. They all looked glossy and somewhat unfocused. Instead of their purple color they had a reddish-magenta hue and the symbol of the Watchers was absent. “G-Grian? Are you okay?”

I mean, obviously he’s not. Yessss, stare into his eyes! If Grian’s a bird, does that make Mumbo some kind of-

Mumbo immediately started to try and get out of the robes that tied him up. No. No this couldn’t be happening. He had told them no. They said they wouldn’t try again. Grian had made it very clear that Mumbo was under his claim as a Watcher. He shouldn’t be hearing voices.

After a bit more struggling, Mumbo was free. He was able to stand up and brush himself off, then start to put Grian towards the portal. “Alright Grian, back in the portal.” Grian just moved out of the way and chirped at Mumbo. “Don’t be such a spoon of a bird! In the portal!” He tried again with no luck. He was about to try again when he noticed someone approaching. Mumbo had no clue who they could be or what they might do. He had heard some of the horror stories Tommy had told, so Mumbo decided his best option was to hide.

Using Grian as a wall between him and whoever was arriving, the redstoner stayed quiet, trying to listen. He could hear them approaching, walking on the grass, and then they stopped. Mumbo nearly peeked out from behind Grian, but then they spoke. “No clue why the Watchers put up with you. You’re clearly out of your element Grian. But that being said, you’re useful. And now you’re in a world with people more like you than any of those Hermits. No reason to leave.”

Mumbo’s heart dropped as he heard what sounded like a beacon powering down and then the magic of a portal shattering. As if living in an unknown world wasn’t bad enough, now there was no escape. 

And we’re stuck here. Mumbo’s a genius, he can fix it. He’s only a genius at redstone, it’s hopeless. Maybe he-

Mumbo forced himself to stop listening. Grian had started to move and he needed to follow to stay hidden. Until they reached the nearby forest, there was no other place to hide. Mumbo slowly kept in step with Grian, creeping his way until they finally reached a tree. He used that as cover instead and to finally see what was going on.

The redstoner recognised the man donned in lime green that stood next to Grian. He was the one to show up in Hermitcraft and come after Tommy. One that many of the horror stories had been about. And for whatever reason, Grian was following behind him. Mumbo wanted to shout, to reason with Grian, but his fear for his own life kept him hidden and quiet. 

Mumbo watched as the two left, and then he felt safe enough to move. Grian had made Tubbo the admin, right? And he had made… someone else one too. But he couldn't remember their name, and Tubbo’s communicator still likely wasn’t working. Nonetheless, he tried, only to get an expected error message. Who else could he contact?

Tommy! Ranboo. Fundy might work? Tommy might be with Philza so either of them. Wilbur or Techno? Quackity! Sam. Why would you ever try Quackity? Because you can, lol. 

Mumbo didn’t know all the names, but Tommy and Philza seemed the most reasonable. Mumbo sent each of them a private message, summing up what was going on and trying to give a warning. There was no error message, but also no reply, so the redstoner could only hope they saw the messages. And then he started moving, hoping to find something to help him, like a place to stay or materials.

Dream toyed with Grian’s addled mind. If only he knew how easy it was to capacitate the dream slayer. He could hardly believe that this was what he had been terrified of for so long. He could enjoy this for a while, but right now, he needed to do what he planned to from the start. He had summoned Tubbo and Ranboo, knowing they would have their guards down. As far as they were concerned, Dream couldn’t do anything and they could do anything as admin. Oh how wrong them were.

Dream walked to another room and sat at the table, leaning back in his chair as he waited. It only took a few minutes before Ranboo and Tubbo appeared in the room. Tubbo seemed a bit disoriented from the teleport, but Ranboo as an enderman took it well. “Tubbo, Ranboo, how good to see you.”

“You should be in the vault Dream.”

“You two have something that doesn’t belong to you.”

“Grian made me the admin.” Tubbo spoke up, sounding confident. Dream smiled at it, he had no ideal anything he tried would be futile. Anything either of them did.

“Well, he doesn’t have to keep it that way.” Dream stood up, walking to the doors. Tubbo and Ranboo looked ready to attack, but then he opened the door.

“Grian?” Tubbo sounded hurt and worried for the Watcher. The essentially mindless beast gave a trilling coo which left the admin pair unsettled.

“Now, you have something that belongs to me.” Dream spoke. He filtered his own thoughts into the mind of the Watcher and then he could see the watcher magic flow around Tubbo and Ranboo. Dream felt energized as the admin powers were given back to him and he saw the pair grow exhausted from the energy being drawn from them. Now everything was just how it should be.

Mumbo kept chopping at trees with his netherite axe, gathering resources. He Put down an ender chest and was glad to see all the usual contents were there. He used some of the diamonds he had to craft a chestplate, thinking that would be a bit more useful. One shulker box was cleaned out of items Mumbo wasn’t completely sure he would need and instead house more essentials.

As he cut down another tree, there was a wave of energy leaving Mumbo looking around. There was nothing obvious that it could have been. It still left him on edge, and he put his supplies away, switching to his sword.

Creeping through the forest, Mumbo was prepared to attack. Even if he wasn’t the best fighter, or really a fighter at all, at least he might have an element of surprise. Above him, the sun was starting to set, helping him even more as his black suit and hair blended into the shadows. Mumbo was starting to wish he had gone to False’s sparring sessions more, but there always seemed to be one redstone project or another he thought was more important.

Light caught Mumbo’s eye and ahead he saw a fire. For a moment he thought it would be a lava lake, but there were blocks all over the place, some of sorts that couldn’t generate naturally. That could be someone’s home. Or possibly even former home. If it were the first, then Mumbo hoped it would be someone to ally with, if it were the latter, the land being abandoned could do well as a shelter.

Mumbo continued forward until finally he reached a place that seemed to be a crater. There had been some sort of explosion, destroying the place. While it made Mumbo sad to see what was likely a very nice build destroyed, it also gave him hope that it would be safe now. That was until he heard someone speaking.

“Stupid stupid stupid. Now I’m stuck here and have to rebuild and-”

Mumbo knew that voice. “Tommy!” He ran towards the blond.

“What the fuck?” He heard Tommy say before he slid down into the crater and stood next to the boy.

“Tommy, that Dream guy, he got Grian and-” Mumbo started to explain before freezing.

“Grian?” Tommy asked, staring at Mumbo with magenta eyes.

“T-Tommy?” Mumbo drew his sword. Was this some copy? A trap? What?

“Yeah, what the fuck do you want?”

“I… What’s going on? Who are you really?”

“Oi, I’m gonna ask the fucking questions.” Tommy crossed his arms. “Who are you and what are you doing in Logstedshire?”

[tricksters-captain]

Roman Sionis / Victor Zsasz imagines - Make You Forget

AN: I gave up towards the end I’m sorry!! I hope you still like it though!!

Overall Summary: You just started working for Roman Sionis and once he and his partner take notice of you, everyone knows you’re in trouble. After being broke up with, Roman takes his chance...

Pairing(s): Roman Sionis x Fem!Reader x Victor Zsasz

Word count: 3,397

Warnings: Smut. Threesome. Strong language. Submissive reader. 

“New girls. We open in ten minutes. Ground rules...” A older woman who had interviewed you for this gig gathered you and two other girls in front of the bar. You tried to swallow the lump in your throat as she looked down at a notepad in her arms. Were the other girls this nervous for their first shift too?

“...First rule, smile; look pretty. If you smile, you’re approachable, you keep the atmosphere happy, happy customers buy more drinks. Sell as much as you can; how well you do at selling drinks equals whether you’re good enough to stay. You have a month trial for this. If anything happens during the night to do with Mr. Sionis, you do not react or leave or question it. If Mr. Sionis wants you for whatever reason, you say yes. You do not speak to any cops, detectives or journalists without my permission and my permission comes when I get permission off Mr. Sionis for you. It’s sink or swim here, ladies. I suggest you grab your life jacket and try to swim.” 

You couldn't say you were surprised at the rules. This was Roman Sionis’s club and Roman was known for his temper and mob deals.

“Appearance is also important. Make an effort. This is one of Gotham’s top clubs, not a goodwill.” You felt her judgemental eyes scan you over which prompted you to go to the bathroom before the doors opened finally. 

You tightened your ponytail and took out your eyeliner pencil and lipstick to top up your makeup. 

Your uniform was revealing and very uncomfortable. A metal-like frame hovered over your short skirt and nude colour top and you could tell you’d have to get used it to quickly in order to not stand out. You pulled at the fabric to try and cover you a bit more but it didn’t do much. 

“You ready, girl?” One of the other new girls smiled at you as she too fixed her appearance in the mirror.

“Here’s to working for Roman Sionis.” You exhaled with a forced smile before you both left the restroom. 

You couldn’t help but celebrate as the month came to an end and your name was one of the top positions on the girls board in the break room at the club. 

All the girls who served at the club had a leaderboard for who could make the most sales (just for some healthy competition) and so that your manager could kick the ass of whoever wasn’t pulling their weight. 

“Damn girl. Took me at least three months to make top 5 girls.” One of the more experienced employees approached you and slung her arm around your shoulders as you looked up at the board. 

“Guess I’m just naturally talented.” You smirked playfully, 

“You mean just insanely gorgeous.” She winked at you but you just rolled your eyes at her compliment. 

“I gotta head home. Anniversary to celebrate.” You pulled your bag onto your shoulder and zipped up your coat. 

“Have fun.” She wiggled her eyebrows at you and you responded by lightly pushing her shoulder as you also wondered about the dirty thoughts in both of your minds.

It was your three year anniversary with your boyfriend and even thought things had been hard, you were actually quite excited. 

It didn’t take long to get across the east end of Gotham to your apartment but by the time you opened the front door, you expected to be greeted by your boyfriend, he wasn’t anywhere to be seen. 

You frowned, slumping your bag onto the floor and kicking your shoes from your aching feet. 

“Chris?” You called out, placing your keys and phone onto the countertop before getting a glass from the cupboard for some water. 

Suddenly, you could hear whispers and scuffling around in the bedroom. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You sighed, placing the glass onto the side as you mentally prepared yourself for what you already knew you were about to see. 

“Could you have been a cheating asshole on the day that wasn’t our anniversary?!” You stormed through the door to see Chris pulling his shorts up his thighs. 

“What are you talking about?” Chris looked up at you as he tied the drawstrings. 

“Don’t act dumb.” You opened the door to the closet to see a half naked girl. There wasn't many other places to hide in the small bedroom.

“Get out.” You ordered her to move as you reached for your suitcase.

“I’m sorry––” The girl was quick to leave the room and the apartment. 

“What are you doing, (Y/n)?” Your boyfriend tried to approach you but you swung around, shooting him daggers as tears built in your eyes. 

“What are you doing, Chris?!” You snapped. “Because I’m leaving. Now.”

“Fine! I’m sure you’re earning plenty with Roman Sionis’s as your boss... So, maybe it’s time for you to move out.” 

“Yeah! Maybe it is!” You retorted. 

You almost winced at the way he said Roman’s name like it was almost dirty to work at the Black Mask Club. 

“You know, I knew things weren’t right between us but I didn’t expect you to bring a girl home to our bed in our apartment, Chris.” You admitted as you rushed to gather your things.

“Don’t act so innocent, (Y/n). You work for Roman Sionis in that god awful club.” 

“Yes! I work for Roman Sionis but I haven’t slept with him!” You were enraged that he would even dare say something like that to you. 

You reached for your phone, tossing the keys from the counter at your boyfriends head as you made your way out.

You were fortunate that you didn’t have to work the following day but you knew you'd be back soon enough and you considered if you could even cope with facing crowds of men. 

The breakup hit you fully when you laid down that night on your friends’ couch. You tossed and turned as you replayed the relationship in your head, torturing yourself until the light streamed through the blinds and filled the apartment. 

“You look like shit. What happened?” Was the first thing said to you when you walked back into the club. 

“Me and Chris broke up.” You managed to say. 

You knew you looked a mess. Your eyes were puffy and ringed with dark circles. Your hair hung down where it would usually up and styled for a shift to keep it out of your face. 

You glanced at the rota as the girls tried to hug and comfort you but you only felt worse when you saw what duty you were on. 

“Kate, can you swap with me just for tonight? I can’t bare with being a ring girl tonight.” You cringed at the hoop tray that hung up on the wall. 

“No problem.” She sent a weak smile your way with sympathy in her eyes. You tried to return it before you started to apply makeup which didn’t manage hide how rough you looked. 

You ran your hands through your hair trying to add some volume but gave up after hearing your manager yell for you to get out on the floor. 

“Here. You need it.” One of the girls passed you a shot before you left to go to the door and you downed it gratefully; holding onto the burning taste

You felt even more uncomfortable in your uniform that night since you knew you weren’t looking up to standard. 

You were grateful that you’d only be clearing tables and taking the occasional orders rather than prancing around in the hoop but it wasn’t even halfway into your shift when you started to let your mask slip. 

You ran your hand through your hair and sighed deeply as you made your way through a crowd with a tray of empty used glasses. 

You regretted not keeping your eyes up when you felt yourself hit something, sending you and the glasses to the floor. 

“Shit.” You cursed as shattering glass scattered everywhere and bringing everyone’s attention to you.  

Your head shot up as you apologised, praying you didn’t bump into anyone important when you met eyes with Victor Zsasz, of all people. 

“Shit.” You let the word escape under your breath as your eyes went wide. 

“What the hell is going on here?” Roman rounded Zsasz from the booth he was sat in and starred down at you. 

“Mr Sionis. Mr Zsasz. I am so sorry. It’s my fault.” You rambled as you rushed to pick up the shards of glass. 

Roman starred down at you with a studious look as you hissed, cutting your hard on a large piece of glass.

He recognised your face as he had noticed you before (which was rare with his workers). Within the first two weeks, the girls had warned you that Roman and Zsasz had been watching you as you worked. You just excused it as him watching you to see if you were doing a good job as his new waitress but even you had to admit getting attention from an attractive man like Roman was flattering. 

“Oh mistakes happen! Darren! Get a broom and a mop! Get this glass off the floor so we can all continue dancing!” Roman’s bright smile returned to his face as he put on his show. The bartender, Darren, didn’t waste anytime doing as he was told. 

“Come here, little bird.” Roman took hold of the hand you hadn’t injured and brought you off your knees. “Now go back and deal with that nasty little cut you’ve got there. I’ll send Mr Zsasz to check on you.” Roman beamed at you. 

“I’m really sorry, sir.” Your skin was on fire as Roman cupped your hand with both of his. 

You tried to best to get to the back room as fast as you could where Dinah helped you with your hand. 

“I’m so dead. I can’t lose this job.” You felt as if you were going to break down and cry again. Could more go wrong?

“You’re a top girl. If anything you’ll get a slap on the wrist and a warning.” Dinah didn’t sound too convincing as her eyes flickered up to yours.

“Or I’ll get knife across the wrist.” You were panicked by the fact that Roman said he’d send Zsasz back to check on you. He was Roman’s right hand man and you had heard all about his adulation for knives. 

“Knock knock.” Zsasz appeared in the doorway, his shoulder leant against the frame while he looked down at the both of you. 

“Mr Zsasz––” You jumped to your feet but he was quick to interrupt. 

“––Roman wants to talk with you upstairs.” 

You felt your stomach drop and all you could do was bob your head ‘yes’. 

Zsasz lead you back out onto the floor with a nod of his head to follow. 

You walked through the crowded club to a backdoor which you knew was the stairs to Roman’s apartment above. 

You peered over your shoulder to see Roman meet Zsasz’s eyes and nod his head all the whilst speaking with one of your coworkers by his usual booth. 

Fuck.

“Take a seat.” Zsasz licked his lips as he too sat down on one of the sofas. 

You sat down on one of the empty couches and tried your hardest to slow your heart to avoid a panic attack. 

Zsasz’s eyes seem to burn through you like Roman’s touch did.

“Miss (Y/n) (Y/L/N).” Roman’s voice coerced your eyes away from your hands and straight to the man himself as he sauntered in. “My girls seem to like you a whole lot. Practically begging me not to fire you. Not that I’d dream of it. You make me a lot of money, Miss (Y/L/N). Not to mention that I am a fair man.” Roman spoke as he walked down the hall toward you and Zsasz. 

“One of the little birdies told me that you aren’t exactly having a great time right now; couch surfing, long term boyfriend cheating on you.” 

“How did you?” You already knew the answer. The girls downstairs told him hoping he’d cut you some slack. 

“See what I don’t understand is, why any man would throw such a sweet face out onto the street?” Roman approached you, lifting your chin with his gloved finger. You couldn’t tell if you were even breathing at this point.

“I––”

“––Shhh.” Roman hushed you, “Don’t you worry anymore, little bird. I’m here to make it all better.” Roman crouched down, running his finger up your jaw to your cheek. 

Zsasz smirked as he watched.

“Mr Sionis.” You started, 

“Call me Roman. Please.” Roman’s finger dropped to your plump lips. His eyes watched as his name glided off your tongue. 

“Roman. I don’t know what’s...” You could barely speak with Roman being so close. His smell was intoxicating and his touch was electric. 

“It’s okay, little bird.” Roman repeated his actions from the club where he took hold of your hand and brought you to your feet. 

You couldn’t look away from his eyes. A blue like nothing you’d seen before, only highlighted more by the thin dark liner. 

“This can’t be comfortable. Let’s take it off.” Roman’s fingers brushed over your the cage of uniform. 

Roman waved Zsasz over with a spin of his finger and soon Zsasz was behind you pulling off the metal overskirt and top off your body. 

You were then left in your nude-coloured undershirt and skirt stood in-between Victor Zsasz and Roman Sionis. 

“Tell me, little bird. Do you find Mr. Zsasz, here, and I handsome?” Roman has a mischievous look his eye as he watched you. His tone was playful and it only excited you further.

Your mouth was completely dry as you struggled to find the right words to answer.  

“She does, Boss. I caught her watching you just last night.” Zsasz stepped closer to you, brushing your hair off your neck as he placed his chin above your shoulder, smiling at his boss. 

“Is that right, Mr. Zsasz?” Roman step forward himself. 

“That’s right.” Zsasz’s laugh rang in your ear as he answered.

You closed your eyes and tilted your head back slightly as your chest rose and fell whilst your heart raced. 

“Well I think we should help our (Y/n) here forget about that stupid old boyfriend. What do you think, Victor?” Roman suggested, 

“Please.” You were almost shocked that the words left with your breath.

Roman chuckled at the unexpected answer but didn’t waste anytime. 

He circled his finger once again at Zsasz and stood back.

Zsasz’s lips brushed against the back of your shoulder causing a shiver to ripple across your body. 

He sucked and nipped along your neck as you leant into his body. Your hand automatically reaching up and wrapping around the back of his neck to bring him even closer.

Zsasz kept his hands on your hips, his nails digging into the skin through the thin material of the skirt. 

You could feel how hard he was against your ass as he held onto you. 

Within minutes, your skin was then enflamed by a different touch. 

Roman placed his hands on your waist, above Zsasz’s. He brought the both of you closer as he pressed his forehead against yours, his breath hot on your cheeks. 

“Now that’s a good girl.” Roman purred as he admired how you looked giving into Zsasz’s touch. 

Roman guided your hands away from Zsasz and brought them to his own bulge. 

Your eyes snapped open to see the lust dark in Roman’s eyes. 

You leaned forward, kissing Roman with a desperation. 

Zsasz let you move forward, letting you go just to rip the back of your shirt and skirt, leaving you in your underwear.

You rushed to unbuckle Roman’s belt and dug your fingers into his boxers, taking hold of him. 

Roman deepened the kiss, hungry for more. 

 As you went to pull down the man’s pants, he suddenly spun you around.  

You gasped at the sudden change but willingly reached towards Zsasz who had slowly started to unbutton his shirt as he watched you and Roman. You finished the job by pulling it down his arms, his lips on yours immediately after. 

You moaned into the man’s mouth as his tongue explored yours. 

Roman’s hands slithered round your stomach and cupped you, rubbing the wetness of your panties and smirking against your neck. 

“Victor.” Roman pulled away, pushing his hair back off his flushed face as he caught his breath. 

Zsasz took the hint and kicked off his pants, pawing himself through his boxers as he took your hand and walked slowly backwards towards the bedroom. 

Roman poured himself a small glass of whiskey and threw it back as he followed you both. 

The minute you stepped inside, Zsasz backed you up against the wall, pinning your wrists above your head as he rubbed himself against you. The delicious friction almost enough to make you cum on the spot. 

Roman placed his glass down on the bedside table and the sound seemed to send a signal to Zsasz as he pulled from the wall and pushed you down onto the bed. 

You fell back, starring up at the men still stood above you. 

Your stomach fluttered as you saw the desire in their eyes and their erect members poking through their boxers. 

“She was your pick, boss.”  Zsasz looked between you and Roman. 

Roman's eyes devoured your body before he joined you on the bed. 

His lips fought against yours as you both kneeled up on the mattress. 

Zsasz placing himself behind you again.

“Enough.” Roman growled as you pumped his cock with your hand. 

He forcefully turned you onto your stomach, your ass facing the man and your face in line with Zsasz’s waist. 

“Fuck.” Roman cursed as he slid his tip against your slit, his cock twitching against your wetness.

You exhaled a shaky breath as he pressed himself against your entrance, stretching you out slowly. 

“What a naughty little bird.”  Zsasz cooed as his hands tangled themselves in your hair, raising your head to look at him. 

Zsasz removed his length from his boxers, he wrapped his hand around it and brought his tip to your lips. 

“Is the naughty little birdie gonna be a good girl?” He asked as his pre-cum wetting your bottom lip. 

You closed your eyes tight as Roman began to pump in and out of you slowly, letting you adjust to his size. He groaned at how tight you were around him. 

“Good, Boss?” Zsasz teased his boss’s moans with a thick smirk on his lips.

You took that moment to lick up Zsasz’s tip. 

But Zsasz didn’t like teasing. 

He thrusted your head forward with his hands in your hair. 

You didn't object as you took his member into your mouth. 

“Fuu...” Zsasz closed his eyes as you began to suck. 

You let pleasure overtake you as Roman picked up his pace, you matched his pace to Zsasz and soon you were all a sweaty, panting mess. 

Roman slapped your ass as you pulsed around him and let out a loud growl. 

Roman’s thrusts were getting so fast and a rough you had to take Zsasz from your mouth and use your hand. 

Roman rolled you over and propped one of your legs up onto his shoulder. 

You looked up at Zsasz as he placed a thumb in your mouth, hooking your cheek as you pumped his cock above your face. 

Roman grew sloppy as he neared his end and you cursed as you too came undone. 

Zsasz finished before Roman, cumming into your mouth as he threw his head back.

It didn’t take long for Roman to spill his seed onto your stomach as he pulled free. 

“That’s our dirty girl.” Roman held your chin between his thumb and fingers as he praised you. 

Zsasz left and returned with a towel as Roman pulled his pyjama trousers on over his naked half. 

“Here.” Roman handed you a yellow pyjamas shirt that seemingly had his face printed on it. “Mr Zsasz please take our little bird to the shower so that she can get cleaned up.”