#--starts to feel like hauling around a body. because thats all thats left of them isn't it? thats all there is. their corpses are gone.

[martynsimp69]

Hello there martynsimp69 I hope you’re alive after the Events

im coping <- this is a lie

[saltwaterburns]

Hi, hello. Could I request an Anthony Lockwood x reader fic, maybe with the reader comforting Lockwood after a near death experience during a case/when stress becomes too much/after a nightmare (your choice, truly)

Thank you so much in advance! I love your writing and I look forward to reading what you make of this request (no pressure though!!)

je sais pas m'oublier

summary: you comfort lockwood after a mission almost gone wrong and somehow end up tangled together with him in the library

warnings: lockwood gets injured and they don't kiss 😕

pairing: anthony lockwood x gn!reader

a/n: AAAAAA MY FIRST EVER FIC THATS A REQUEST. This is very nerve wrecking btw I don't want to disappoint anyone. If it's bad it's cause of nerves. I love you guys sm, all of your notifications make my day. And!!! When requesting I'd loveloveLOVE if you'd specify the readers gender! I tried to make this gn but it might tilt towards fem reader ;(

And to this lovely anon, i adore you endlessly!!! 🩷

It was supposed to be a simple case. Get there, find the source, capture it, get out. It really didn't seem like something to make a big deal out of. Yet here you were, desperately digging the ground for multiple sources alongside George while Lucy and Lockwood are trying to fight off the wailing type twos surrounding your lot.

"I've never wanted Kipps and his crew to show up more than right now." You laugh, a hint of worry sprinkled upon it. George snorts and you grin at the sound, your hands steadily guiding the shovel that's digging the ground, not a spot on your body left that appears clean. You feel small droplets of rain start to drop down and the waters of panic lap at your feet, your heartbeat echoing in your ears. The possibility of you not making it out in one piece tonight just became very real. If the rain continues, you won't be able to see the ghosts well enough to fight them off.

As if on cue, your shovel hits something wet, hard and slippery. Bones. You shout for George and leave him to deal with the sources, hauling yourself up the muddy hole to go and help your friends.

Your gaze settles on Lockwood. He seems to be doing fine at first glaze, but as you look closer, you see that he's limping. Why on Earth would he be limping? You dont have enough time to wallow on that because he falls, his rapier flying just a few inches too far for him to grasp.

You shout for him and without thinking, grab a magnesium flare off your belt, throwing it somewhere in the direction of the ghost. The explosion would've knocked you off your feet but your mind is locked on him, his lanky frame, that now on the ground looks small, fragile even.

"Lockwood, Locky are you alright?" You ask, dropping down on to your knees next to him, gently cradling his face in your hands. He groggily opens his eyes and you practically sob, pulling him close to you. His brown curls tickle your face but you only hold him tighter, smiling to yourself as you feel his arms slowly making their way around you.

"Fucks sake, you scared me. Scared me so bad. Why were you limping? You could have been ghost touched." You murmur, pressing a kiss to his head after every word. You don't give him time to answer before pulling away, cupping his cheeks and resting your forehead against his. His eyes flutter shut, dark lashes brushing against pale cheeks. How does he always manage to look so breathtaking?

"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry. I messed up a manoeuvre and slipped on the grass, it was rather stupid of me." He apologises, but you only hold him tighter.

George finishes up securing the sources with Lucy and all five of you start the journey back to Portland Row, soaking wet and covered in mud, awaiting the box of Arif's donuts that are sitting on the kitchen table.

You exit the steaming bathroom, a pink towel wrapped around your upper body, soaking wet hair leaving a path of tiny droplets all the way to your and Lucy's room. The ginger girl is fast asleep under the mountain of covers, soft snores emitting from her. You turn off her bedside lamp, darkness swallowing the room. You're used to the darkness, the way it disables all your senses at first. You pay it no mind and slip into a grey 'The Rolling Stones' t-shirt, rough drying your hair with the towel before disregarding it somewhere.

You don't go straight to bed. Something is crippling inside you, chewing on your heart. You leave your room and walk downstairs, stopping in front of the library door. Light is bleeding through the cracks all around the door, and you instantly know who's awake in there at this hour. It's him, always him.

You knock on the door a few times and twist the door knob, stepping into the dimly lit room. Lockwood is sitting there; his hair damp, his sleep shirt a little soaked as well. He has a book in his lap and it looks like he's trying to read but something is bothering him.

"Hey, you. I wanted to check up on you. Are you okay?" You ask, your voice barely above a whisper. He sighs softly and closes the book, putting it away before patting on the spot next to him, signalling for you to come and sit. You do exactly that and sit down next to him, looking a little worried.

He's warm. You can feel the heat emitting from him, his body. Its heating up your cheeks, tinting them pink.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm alright. Just shaken I suppose. Felt like I was looking death himself right in the eye for a second there." He chuckles, but there isn't any amusement laced in it. You don't reply to him, you just take his hand in yours and lace your fingers together.

Nothing else is said throughout the night. When George finds you two in the morning, he's laying on top of you, his head on your chest and his arms around your waist. You're holding him close to you, your grip unrelenting.

Part two, yes no maybe?!?! I hope you guys enjoyed 😁Feedback is always more than appreciated !!

[irrfahrer]

75. What is your favourite fairytale?

"Ah, fairytale- does as fairytale counts a story that is over 4000 kriffing years old? I mean most kriffing fairytales are just overly romanticized fables to bring the moral home to keep your little pups from doing stupid stuff, but honestly its pups, pups always do kriffing stupid stuff, so why kriffing bother Bachmann, but anyway. Some fiarytales are just overly romanticed old stories with a lot of generic pictures added to make everyone able to feel recognized in it, so why shouldn’t count a kriffing 4000 year old story count as a kriffing fairytale." Ziv looked as if she had bitten on a sour fruit with her ears pinend back, her eyes narrowed to thin slits and her fur bristled. She looked tierd, the skin surrounding her eyes under her fur was dark, almost blackish.

“So anyway, its not my favorite story, but it kind of is the story of my kriffing life or more accurate the story that haunts my Kriff-up of a Life like a kriffing Ark dog until I am crying and screaming and still have to go kriffing on raw. I know, sounds sexy, but it really kriffing isn’t. Just imagine you are a swet little flower living in a greenhosue perfectly adjusted to all your needs and you even have a kriffing sweet friend around who understand you although you have no kriffing vocal cords to talk, in fact you two just share your thoughts and emotions with eachother, best friends, true kriffing relationship goals. Then just som kriffing furred Sociopath who really stretches the not-very-social-radius of sociopathy, breaks in, slaughters every kriffing gardner inluding pinning one of them with a spear four times my kriffing height to a tree- which you all feel because you are a telepath and also fungal network is a kriffing thing for plants- and kidnaps you and your friend to haul off the kriffing planet on a kriffing freezer of a planet that really does not feel nice as a kriffing flower.” Automatically she lay a small paw on her chest where under her tunic the  pendant lay secure against her chest, keeping it safe and protected.Against the fur of her chest she felt the sapling shift in the pendant, leaning against her chest lik a child leaning against a parent with tiered closed eyes.

“And as soon as you are on that planet you are kriffing nuked with negative emotions, pains and kriffing evil thoughts because that planet happens to be a school for some very kriffed up people, but don’t worry, you are one hour later thrown and dissolved in a kriffing cocktail of chemicals and feel yourself every second of it kriffing burning up until your body is gone. But while your body is gone your mind is still there and not only that but your mind is turned into kriffing spores that latch on every living thing around them, take root and grow in those systems until all you hear are the kriffing agonized screams of all those minds tortured, suddenly caged inside a overtaken body and with only the only aim to spread more and eat,eat,eat. And you are panicky and in pain and try to find your friend who for sure is yet not infected and you find her but then you are overtaken by the screams because thats all thats filling you up and you can not even run away becaus you are the stuff that is running everyone mad. So yeh, you yourself are nolonger there, yet you can also not escape and all you do is scream, scream, scream and grow,grow,grow and eat,eat,eat. Then you are left alone on that kriffing freezing planet and even your friend is gone until half the planet is blown up, yet since you are spores you are also left there between all those bad thoughts and dead, rotten body and every sane is gone and had left you behind on the Force-forsaken-freezing-icecube that is a plant.”, Ziv lifted her small paws, shaking them as if she was celebrating yet her voice could not be any less enthusiastic: “Hoo-kriffing-raaaay.”

She pinned her  fluffy ears back, whiskers bristled like from elctricity. Suddenly she felt very, very tiered as she started to massage the dark circles under her eyes utterly exhausted: “And here you have the all-so-kriffing-beautiful stuff I am dreaming about regulary because that little flower hanging around my neck” not on a theard, a theard was easily to rip. It was a chain, a chain around her neck: “- happens to have a gentic memory and sorts through it in my sleep when my kriffing mindshield is down. Yeh, my life is kriffing kriffed up, just blast my head away al-kriffing-ready. Whats the moral of the Fairytale? Do not Kriff with Sith-alchemy, its bad for sweet little telepathic flowers.”

[angry-geese]

OSHA Non Compliance

Nanami Kento x Reader

Warnings: nsfw/minors do not interact. shameless smut. fingering, oral (fem and masc receiving), face riding, praise kink (kinda), multiple orgasms, mutual pining. gojo slander. a little dub con due to the sex pollen stuff. afab reader

Notes: some sex pollen smut with Nanami. i have a post thats pretty similar to this thats a gojo x reader which you can read here

Word Count: 3.3k

If there's one thing you two can agree on, it's how this is all Gojo’s fault.

The job was supposed to be simple; get in, exorcise the curse, get out. It wasn't a particularly deadly one, but it was proving to be difficult for lower grade sorcerers. Anyone who had come into contact with it fell violently ill, suffering effects that lasted between hours to days. The symptoms themselves varied from person to person. Nobody seemed to give a straight answer.

In response, you two were sent out.

As odd as it was, you didn't question it. Curses are odd, things like this happen. Two grade one sorcerers should have been enough to take this thing out. One alone should have been enough, not to mention the army of sorcerers sent after it before. Gojo wanted you to take backup just in case, shrugging you off when you asked why he couldn’t do it himself. You were certain you could take this alone, but he was insistent.

Reluctantly you dragged Nanami along.

The two of you weren't officially partners, but most of your jobs were done together. It was a mutual agreement. He found you much less annoying than Gojo. That's not to say he didn't find you annoying at first, but you were more tolerable. Nanami wasn’t much older than you—only by a few years—but he acted as a mentor when you first started out. You quickly improved, nearly rivaling him in strength. It wasn't long before you became a grade one sorcerer, same as him. On that day he was there to celebrate with you.

He likes to think you’ve turned out to be a semi-functional human being. Maybe he’s gotten sentimental as he’s grown older. He hated for his work life to cross over into his home life, but he’s made an exception for you. Any time you’d call, he’d come running.

The curse had taken up residence in an abandoned school, only being discovered when the building was being surveyed for possible reuse. You’re not sure why nobody had noticed it sooner, but you’ve learned not to question a curse’s behavior.

It’s attack had a strange area of effect. You've never seen anything like it. The fact that such a non-lethal curse was considered such a high grade should have tipped you off in the first place. The curse released some strange sort of fumes. Or spores. You really weren't certain what they were. It was airborne and you knew that you needed to stay far away.

While the direct hit missed you, you were still affected. You took in a lung-full of the stuff before you managed to get away.

If it weren't for Nanami…

You barely make it back to the car. You’re not injured, so much as you’re lightheaded, and nauseous.

“I’m not going to make it back to the school.” You say.

“Are you hurt?” He asks.

Slowly you shake your head. It's not wrong, per se, but it's not right either. This is a strange type of hurt.

Your apartment is closer. The drive was twenty minutes on the way there; you make it back in about eight.

You’re not sure what to do once you get inside other than contemplate your life choices. You toss your keys and bag aside. There's not much you can do aside from flop down on your couch and pray. Not that you’re the praying type normally, but what could it hurt?

The effects of the pollen seem to hit you all at once. The sickly sweet taste in your mouth makes you gag. You fall to your hands and knees and retch, but nothing comes up. If you thought you felt bad before, you definitely do now. Sweat beads on your forehead. You feel jittery, yet lethargic. Heat radiates off your skin like a furnace. Your mouth has gone dry. Your clothes feel too tight. You’d claw them off your body if your partner wasn't sitting a few feet away.

You swallow hard as heat begins to pool between your legs. You shift uncomfortably, trying to get some relief.

While you’re slowly losing it, Nanami looks fine. As calm and collected as ever.

Nanami didn't seem to get the brunt of that attack. Or maybe he's better at hiding it than you.

He is.

He’s been dealing with an aching cock since you two left that building. He was all-too aware of every corner and bump on the ride home. You were too busy trying to escape with your dignity to notice him, and the tent that grows in his pants. He covers his lap with his suit jacket. You think nothing of it.

He studies every dip and curve of your clothed body. They cling to your skin with sweat in a way that makes his cock throb. Nanami knows how wrong it is. He shouldn't feel this way. You're his damn partner! Looking at you this feels so wrong.

In an attempt to comfort you, he smooths a hand across your back, gently squeezing your shoulder. Sweat beads in your hairline. Your chest heaves.

“I don't think it’s something we can wait out,” you say, swallowing hard.

“What are we-” it’s as if he didn't realize what he was asking. His eyes go wide, before his gaze shoots straight to the ground.

“‘Ken-” You say, hoping he can't hear the way your voice trembles, “I feel like I’ll die if you don't touch me.”

It's with a sinking, horrifying feeling that he agrees. Slowly you climb into his lap. It feels wrong. But your body fits perfectly against his. He’s your partner—your friend—you shouldn't be wanting him this way. He’s pliant against your touch, moving with you, paying close attention to each and every one of your movements. Every cell of your being wants him to fuck you.

“I know.” He says. “Me too.”

He hauls you into his arms, setting you down on the couch back-first. The sudden weightlessness you feel makes you gasp. There's nothing gentle behind his touch. Your hands work to undo the buttons of his shirt, but they tremble so bad it's hard to do.

“Don't worry about that.” He coos. "Let me take care of you."

With shaky hands he undoes the buttons on your pants, sliding them down your legs. His face heats up at the way your panties are already soaked through. All this just for him?

He tries not to stare too long. If you were the only thing he looked at for the rest of his life, he'd be content.

He strokes at your clit through the thin fabric of your panties. He almost seems afraid to touch you. For a moment he is, but that quickly wears off when you moan. He can't help but watch the way you squirm and writhe under his touch. How the delicate fabric clings to your skin from how wet you are. He hates how much he enjoys seeing you like this. It feels wrong.

“Please,” there’s a hazy look in your eyes.

He swallows hard. You’re not thinking straight, he thinks, this is so wrong.

He pulls down your panties, throwing them aside with your pants. You tug off your shirt, quickly tossing it aside. His hands come up to palm at your breasts through the fabric of your bra. He gently tugs the fabric down, exposing your breasts. Your nipples harden in the cool air. As wrong as it feels, you would be lying if you said your partner wasn't attractive. Not only is he handsome, and one of the most powerful sorcerers you have met, he was a close—if not your closest—friend.

Nanami’s touches are feather-light. It's not that he's worried about hurting you—though the fear of that is there—he doesn't want this to ruin your friendship. He doesn't want you to view him differently because of this. The two of you have gone through much together; he doesn't want this to make things awkward. He’s just wanted you for so long.

He never intended for his work life to cross over into his home life. That was until you came along. Nanami can't imagine a life without you around.

Two of his fingers press against your entrance, his thumb circling your clit. His fingers are long, and fairly thick. Only one enters you at first, but you’re wet enough he adds a second one not long after. His fingers curl, stroking against your g-spot. His touch feels like too much yet not enough. You desperately grind against his hand, chasing your own release.

If he can just get you to finish, maybe he can wait it out. You’ve clearly got it worse than him. Right?

He pulls you up into a kiss. His lips taste sweet. Your lips part, allowing his tongue into your mouth. His chest presses against yours. Your thighs tighten around his hand, though not in an attempt to stop him.

Heat pools low in your stomach, slowly building in intensity. You moan into Nanami's mouth. You're reduced to a whining, whimpering mess under his hand.

His free hand moves to cup your cheek, tilting your head so your gaze meets his. A sleepy grin spreads across your face. The pad of his thumb brushes over your glossy lips. In a moment of lucidity you wrap your lips around it, swirling your tongue around the digit.

Nanami almost forgets how to breathe. Nobody can get him nearly as flustered as you can.

The coil in your stomach snaps. If you knew how much you gushed around Nanami's fingers, you'd be blushing. Your cunt clenches around his fingers as you ride out your orgasm on his hand.

Your first orgasm provides no relief. In a matter of seconds—probably less time than that if you're being honest—you're ready for another round.

You work the last few buttons of his shirt open before he gets impatient and pulls the thing over his head. You let out an audible “oh!” at the sight of his chest. It's more toned than you expected; not that you’ve given it much thought.

“Like what you see?” He says in a sudden moment of boldness that it surprises both of you.

You nod. Now really isn't the time to be shy, but you can't help it.

He's painfully hard, his erect cock leaking precum against his thigh. The tent in his pants is impressive to say the least. You get on your knees, tugging his pants down his hips. You were right to notice his bulge. He's huge. Long and thick. Uncut too. The hairs towards the base of his cock are light—a similar sandy blonde as the hair on his head—and neatly trimmed. He always takes care of himself. A prominent vein runs up the bottom. A small pang of guilt hits you when you realize how needy his cock looks. His chest, the tips of his nose and ears, and the head of his cock are all dusted with pink. He looks at you with such adoration it makes your chest flutter.

You slide off the couch, getting on your knees. Nanami parts his legs just enough for you to kneel between them.

His eyes go wide the moment your lips touch his cock. You press kitten licks to the tip, watching the way his lip twitches in frustration. Nanami’s hands bury in your hair. The feeling of his nails raking against your scalp makes goosebumps raise along your skin. What you can’t fit in your mouth, you stroke with your hands. Saliva runs down your chin in streams, tears stained black with eyeliner streaming down your cheeks.

The only sign that he’s about to orgasm is the way he tilts his head back, cursing.

When he cums, he cums a lot. It's thick, but runny, and has almost no taste to it at all. His cum spills out the corners of your mouth when you pull off of him, releasing him with a pop!

Without thinking, you swallow.

With how long he stares down at you, it almost seems like you’ve done something wrong.

You can't stop the squeak you let out as he hauls you into his lap. He lays back, guiding your hips so you’re kneeling above his face.

“What are you-”

“It’s only fair that I return the favor,” he says.

No matter how hard you try, he doesn't let you wriggle out of his grasp.

“I- I don't want to suffocate you.” You say.

The amount of his testicles Nanami would cut off just to get a taste of your cunt… He’ll give you a hint, it's more than one and less than three.

“You won't.” He said. Even if you could—which you couldn't, he’s stronger than he looks—he’d die happy.

Your thighs cradle his head in an almost perfect way. There's almost no better feeling. His tongue dips between your folds, circling your clit. You taste sweet, he notes. A kiss is pressed to your clit before long, slow strokes of a hot tongue lavish it in affection. He kneads your thighs gently all while alternating between licking and sucking on your bundle of nerves.

He wants nothing more than to take his time with you. After all, he’s got years to make up for.

You can feel and hear him panting against your dripping sex. He can do little to hide the way he grinds his bulge against the couch. He grunts when you tug his hair, guiding him to where you need him most.

There's a feeling of emptiness as you cum, your walls contracting around nothing where something should be. You ride out your orgasm with a series of short, high pitched moans, rocking your cunt against his mouth. Nanami takes all of it in stride, lewdly slurping at your sex. Your thighs shake, your cunt spasming as he continues to press kitten licks to your clit.

And god- the sight of his face; his lips wet and slick from your cunt, eyes hazy with lust, his hair a mess.

"It's no use." You say. It's in-between whimpers and moans. Even as your second orgasm approaches, you feel no sense of relief. "I need your cock."

He feels himself twitch with need. His cock barely went soft the first time he came. Nanami wants nothing more than to sink his length into your warm, wet cunt.

He doesn't bother carrying you to your room. He would have fucked you in the car if you asked. He’d fuck you on every flat surface of your apartment if you wanted him too.

His cock presses against your entrance, rubbing at your folds. He doesn't mean to tease you, he just wants to drag this out as long as he can. You're so wet you take his cock with no resistance. He groans at the feeling of your cunt as you sink onto him.

Cumming on his tongue is intoxicating, but it feels like nothing in comparison to his cock. Nothing substitutes for the hot, full sensation of his cock inside of you. You string together words in some desperate attempt to make a sentence. Being completely filled is making you woozy. Nanami fits just so well inside of you. It's like you were made for this. You're not sure if it's the pollen, or just him, but you can feel every ridge and vein on his cock.

"Can't believe-" he huffs, "can't believe you got tighter after cumming twice."

"Please Ken," you whimper.

It hurts, but it feels too nice to stop. Nanami can't tear his eyes away from the way your tits bounce as you ride him. The sounds of skin slapping on skin echo through the room, mingling with his grunts and your moans, creating a lewd cacophony.

"Fuck," he says, his seemingly calm demeanor fading, "you're so fucking pretty."

Gojo would give him shit about this for weeks if he knew…

You're starting to think he meant to do this.

"I'm going to kill him," you say, although it's hard to stay mad for long.

“Me too,” he says.

Your orgasm rolls over you like a wave, throwing you around and spitting you back out, leaving you an absolute mess. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. Eyeliner runs down your face in streams, leaving black trails across your skin. It's the first time you've cum from g-spot stimulation alone. But it's also the same as the other two times you've cum: you're ready for another round instantly.

At some point in time Nanami gets on top. Your legs lock around his back, pulling him in. Maybe you blacked out. Exhaustion creeps into your limbs, leaving them sore and wobbly.

Nanami thrusts harder, trying to quell the fire that pits in his stomach. He doesn't warn you that he's coming. If he's being honest, he didn't know he was either. You just feel hot ropes of his cum fill you, spilling out, staining your couch. When he cums, his cock doesn't even go soft. If anything he’s harder. Almost instantly he’s ready for another round. He's never felt anything quite like this.

The sensation of his cum dripping out of you, running down your thighs in streams is bizarre. There's so much of it. You don't want him to stop. He brings a hand down to give your ignored clit some attention. His spare hand wipes your tears away, his thumb gently brushing across your cheek.

Even as he's made you cum for the nth time tonight he doesn't stop. The two of you can only fuck and cum until you're no longer sure where your body ends and his begins. It doesn't feel like enough. You’ve never been so full. He wants to cum in you and breed you until your womb is swollen with his child.

At some point he collapses from exhaustion—he thinks—and he's certain the two of you are going to die. No human can survive this, he thinks, that's impossible.

Neither of you died.

It could be minutes, it could be hours; by the time you wake up the sun has set completely. You're not sure what time it is, but judging by how long the sky's been dark, it must have been a while. Nanami snores softly, his drool pooling in the valley between your breasts. You card a hand through his hair, brushing it out of his eyes. One of his eyes cracks open. He can't tell if he’s dreaming or not. If he is, then this is too good to be true.

"You still with me?" You ask.

He nods.

You're cradled chest to chest, his heartbeat as steady and alive as ever. He pulls out slowly, admiring the mess between your thighs. Even in his sobering state he finds you truly beautiful. From the way your skin glints with sweat to the way you run your tongue over your parched lips. You stretch out, trying to work the stiffness out of your limbs. You’re certain you’ll be sore in the morning.

Nanami disappears into the kitchen, returning with two glasses of water. What you could really use is a shower.

If you want, he'll never mention this again. He's starstruck by your naked form, his cum dripping down your thighs. Part of him wants to see you like this every night. But that might still be the pollen talking.

He's sputtering out an apology; stringing words together in hopes of begging for your forgiveness.

"I didn't think that's how it'd happen," you say, shrugging, "but…"

You really can't complain. Everyone but Nanami seemed to realize how head over heels you were for each other.

"You… liked it?" He asks.

If you didn't like it, he would know. Nanami can't believe it.

"Minus the nearly dying part." You say. "I've spent the past year and a half trying to get in your pants. So yeah."

Instantly his face turns red. How has he not noticed? He's both mortified, and relieved that you feel the same—or at least similar to him. Then the embarrassment hits him. He didn't think he could be more embarrassed than he was standing naked in your living room.

"I'm gonna go shower." You say. He gives a nod in response, stopping dead in his tracks when you say: "join me."

[mcyt-imagines]

okay can i request a technoblade x male!reader, where techno and the reader are fighting someone *maybe quackity its not important tho) together and the reader gets injured, techno gets worried but realizes the reader can handle himself? sorry if thats too specific

I have combined this request and another request for a male reader fluff fanfic, so the ending is a little softer than a fighting fic may usually be! However, this is basically gender-neutral, whenever I added gender-specific pronouns it seemed really forced?? So I just left that out, I hope that’s okay! Enjoy :D

Underestimated 

It had only been a few days since Quackity’s butcher army attempted to publicly execute Technoblade. He hadn’t left your side since he returned home, hand in yours or arm wrapped around your waist as if to remind himself you were still here with him despite everything. Techno had been making preparations for another attack when he knew they would inevitably return to try again. But Techno never knows when to stop and start taking care of himself, that’s when you stepped in to pull him away from his plans and into your arms. It was as if the second his head hit your chest all adrenaline he had been running on the past few days, ran out. That was about 6 hours ago, and the two of you still had no intent on moving any time soon.

Your hands toyed with his hair as he continued to read slowly to you, glasses reflecting the soft warm glow from the nearby fire. It’s crackles had slowly been lulling you to sleep against Techno’s chest, mouth pressed loosely against his calm pulse. His hand rubbing soft circles into your skin at your back beckons you deeper into your subconscious, the soft rumbling of his voice fading fast in your ears.

A slam of the front door sends both yourself and Techno bolting up, tangled in long limbs and a lack of space as Phil comes into view from around your fireplace. “Quackity’s headed here!” Phil chokes out, obviously having run a considerable distance to deliver such a message, Techno stands, and you follow suit. “Already? He’ll be underprepared.” Techno mused, moving to start gathering his supplies. Tools recently sharpened, potions brewed days ago, and stacks of fireworks prepped for firing.

You mirror his actions, gathering your weapons with a bridled enthusiasm. You hadn’t been home when Quackity and his army had taken Technoblade and you had beat yourself up over that fact. Knowing that perhaps the outcome could have been different if you’d been there, you were going to make sure that was the case this time. Mind distracted by theoretical outcomes you equip your armour with practiced familiarity, knowing you’ve done this hundreds of times before. But only this time did it truly matter. 

A hand presses to your shoulder and you turn, “You’re staying inside the house. You know I can’t lose you, not now, not ever.” His hand moves from your shoulder to your hips, squeezing softly. Your eyes search his and only find pain and worry. “I’m fighting with you; you know I can handle myself Tech.” He looks away from your face, unable to meet your gaze.  He knows you’re right.

And he also knows you won’t take no for an answer. Especially considering they were able to take him to Manberg last time. “Fine.” He huffs out, “But you have to keep this.” Techno takes the golden charm off of his shirt, the small totem’s eyes glinting as he pins it to your shirt. You open your mouth to question him, “I have another for myself, don’t worry.” He meets your eyes then but only for a second, pulling you tightly to his chest. “Be safe my love.” His lips press soft atop your hair, “I always am.” You raise your head and meet his lips, hand cupping the back of his neck before pulling away with a smile. “Time to kick ass, huh?”

Even on the battlefield, you can tell that Technoblade is still worried, he is distracted by your presence in the fight. You intend to prove during this fight that his anxiety is for naught, Quackity didn’t even bother with a spiel about how Techno deserves this and he’s going to get justice instead opting to fight instantly. His butcher army stood by his side and seemed to assume Technoblade would be alone, Phil and yourself rid them of that assumption as quick as it had come. You were quick to notice they were down a man, Ranboo was missing. Technoblade was right, they were underprepared.

Fundy’s blade clashed with your own, drawing your eyes off of Techno and onto him. “He has to face justice; can’t you see that!?” There was no skill or nuance to his attacks only power behind them making them hard to block but easy to predict. However, you were breaking a sweat as he finally managed to nick your shoulder, with a particularly quick thrust of his sword your armour fracturing upon impact. You muffle your cry of pain with a grunt, nailing the fox hybrid with a deep slash across his chest. Fundy fell backward with a cry, shaking as you stab downwards into his chest and finish the job, his body disappearing and his items popping out of seemingly thin air.

You look over to where you last saw Phil, Tubbo now squirming futilely beneath his sandal. Your head whips around as Quackity screeches, bloody body barely making it to the ground before disappearing. It seems you’d at least get a good haul of loot from these idiots. Techno’s eyes are frantic searching for you for a moment, you watch as his body visibly relaxes when he spots you. “Are you alright?” His hands are all over you, feeling for any injuries. You intake sharply when he gets to your shoulder and he growls, “That bastard.” You place your hand over his, “It’s merely a scratch Tech. I’m fine. Are you okay?” You are acutely aware of the growing patch of crimson on his torso, white shirt stained dark. “Nothing I can’t patch up.” He grumbles, hands tentatively pressing on and around the area.

Techno refuses to let you patch him up first, practically throwing you onto the kitchen table so he can get a closer look at your shoulder. It’s barely even a scratch. But you’re quick to realise it’s a great excuse for him to touch you so gently. Pressing on your skin as if too much pressure would cause you to shatter completely. “You dropped your arm to avoid the brunt of the force behind his blade,” Techno observes looking to you to confirm, you shrug lightly in response. “I’ve seen you do it before. Watched you do it the other day when you were sparring with Phil.” 

He nods solemnly, deciding he truly can’t do anything about your shoulder. Due to it being a scratch and nothing more, as you had said several times. “Well, for someone who just watched me do it you completed the move pretty well.” His eyes can’t meet yours and you smile softly, “Eh, my reflexes are just pretty good. Not a whole lotta skill involved for me.” You are quick to change the subject, ushering him onto the table so you can look at his torso wound.

Your fingers are nimble, working through each stitch with a practiced precision that Techno watches with a keen but relaxed eye. You’re usually the one to patch him up, he can do it sure, you’re just better. And maybe he secretly likes how close you have to get to him and how gentle your hands work against his skin. “I was watching you… during the battle I mean, you made short work of Fundy.” Your hands still for a moment fumbling with the bandage, your eyes move to his and he looks away quickly. “You were? I uh, he isn’t traditionally trained or anything, so he wasn’t much of an opponent.”

You force yourself to keep your brain on track, tightening the bandage around his middle as gently as you can. One of his hands grabs your wrist, you still immediately and meet his eyes. “I… you really can’t take a compliment, can you?” His sigh is soft, and his eyes are warm, “What I’ve been trying to say is that I’m sorry for underestimating your skills and that I’m proud to fight by your side.” Even as he says such sweet things, he still can’t seem to hold your gaze. The grin on your face is enough to bring his gaze back however, “Best be getting used to fighting with me then because I don’t plan on budging anytime soon.” Your lips press firmly to his cheek a few times before he turns his head to catch your lips.

“We can start training tomorrow because I’m still exhausted.” Techno groans, shifting to get off of the table, your hand finding his with ease and leading him back over to the fire where the two of you had been hours earlier. That’s when you notice his hair, you gasp softly and take a seat in front of the fire. Techno moves to sit behind you, you quickly pat the ground in front of you. “Your braid’s come loose, let me fix it for you.” 

He moves with vigor at your words, knowing your nimble hands against his scalp will send him to sleep in minutes. The warm glow of the fire highlights his bright eyes as they peek back at you every few moments, “Head forward, my prince.” You press a few soft kisses to the back of his head and his hands snake around to knead your soft thighs. You huff out a breath of air as your cheeks heat up at his ministrations  

“I’m trying to focus on your hair here.” You grumble, “What?” You can hear the smirk in his voice, so in retaliation, you focus your full attention on his hair, not noticing his hands on your thighs begin to slow their movements until they stop, and you’ve finished the braid. “Techno?” The soft snoring you hear in response warms your chest and you carefully manoeuvre him to lay down on the plush fur rug in front of your fireplace. 

He’s normally a light sleeper, which means he truly must’ve been exhausted by that fight. You quietly lay next to him, tangling your legs and wrapping an arm over his chest being careful near his wound. “I love you, Techno.” A kiss to the side of his face doesn’t wake him as the crackling fire and howling of the chilly wind outside lulls you into a peaceful sleep.

~Requests are always open!~

[one-boring-person]

Ooh okay i might have figured something out!(this is kind of related to that ask before! So it’s the reader but before the first kiss and everything. )

How about Since Rambo has to fix everything back up in his home and ranch, what about the reader showing up and helping him do so- and asking the man on a date at their own Home? How do you think(headcanon or story wise either way) that date and day would go down?

I feel he’d be very kind of, nervous. But the reader would be very excited and adore him, and i think if would be very cute to see rambo flustered because the reader keeps reminding them how cool they think he is, and how excited they are to see him around more. (Basically just the first date AT the readers ranch home. You decorate or design it to look however you want!!)

Thank you!! And if not, thats fine. (I just crave a good cozy date with old rambo that preferably ends in smooches and him staying over)

Dude, your asks are giving me life at this point! I hope you like this as much as I enjoyed writing it!😊💛❤

I Admire You More.

John Rambo (Rambo IV/V) x reader

Warnings: swearing, mention of death

Masterlist

The sun already feels harsh as it beats down on John's back, his body drenched in sweat from the nearly unbearable heat of it, allowing dust and dirt to stick to him in some places as he hauls timber around the place. Doggedly, he ignores the discomfort of his shirt sticking to his back, focusing instead on getting the heavy materials to the place where he needs them, his muscles straining from the exertion. His hands are somewhat grazed from the rough wood, calluses lining his palms from his years and years of work, each one telling a different story of how they came to be. 

Emerging around the front of the house, John drops his load, grunting with relief as the planks clatter against each other, his arms glad to be free of their burden. Stretching out his back, the veteran glances over at the veranda, where the floor has completely rotted away - he'd been meaning to fix that for a few days now, but necessities like water, electricity and gas had to come first, even if he didn't actually have a bedroom or anywhere totally safe to sleep yet. Having now found time between laying tiles on the roof, which he had tried and found incredibly difficult, John intends to address the problem, so he no longer has to worry about breaking his ankles every time he tries to get in the house.

Sighing, he moves to the frame of the veranda, taking up a hammer and crowbar as he gets to work pulling up the rotted planks already there, grimacing at the sight of the foundations underneath. Even in the slight shade provided by the roof over him, he finds himself heated far too much, beads of sweat rolling down his back with each movement, though he doesn't pay them any mind until a familiar shout pulls him from his thoughts. 

Looking up, he has to bite back a smile as he sees his new friend, (Y/n), riding up the driveway towards him, a broad grin on their face as usual, a hand raised in greeting. Acknowledging them, John lifts his own hand, flicking dark hair from his eyes as he watches the young rancher pull their horse to a halt, the animal instantly responding to their instruction. Once stopped, (Y/n) climbs down, leading the horse behind them as they come nearer to John, still smiling at him as he puts on the most approachable expression he can, still a little uncomfortable about smiling freely at people.

"Mornin' John! How're you doing?" They call out, flicking their Stetson back from over their eyes, a habit he's noticed they do frequently.

"Not bad." He responds, knowing his gruff voice doesn't sound too friendly, though he does try. He likes (Y/n), a lot, and wants the friendship to work out properly, despite the fact he's already managed to develop feelings he thought he'd lost the ability to have for them.

As they grin back at him, he feels a small flare of fondness go through him as he recognises the youthfulness in the expression, a need to protect that near-innocence accompanying it.

"Good, good! What're you up to today? I see you managed to fix the wall up." They remark, gesturing to the patched panelling to his left, where a large hole had appeared in the wall.

"Just fixing the veranda here." He explains, using the hammer to show them what he means, "Yeah, I managed to finish the wall up at some point yesterday."

"Looks good. The wall and the veranda, that is. Is it gonna be a tough job?" They question, head tilting to the side curiously.

"Shouldn't be, but this heat ain't gonna help." John replies, rubbing a hand over his forehead.

They're quiet for a moment, seemingly considering something. Coming to a conclusion, they open their mouth to speak.

"Do you want any help? I'm quite handy with a hammer and nail." They offer, looking somewhat tentative.

Now it's John's turn to stay quiet, his dark eyes fixing the younger person in place as he regards them, thinking it over. 

"Some help would be nice, thanks." He finally concedes, going over to them to help with the horse, which he lets loose into the nearby field with his other.

The smile returns to its place on their face as they follow him back to the veranda, taking up the hammer he offers them, waiting for his instruction as they approach. 

"Just pull up the old boards for now and leave them over there." John instructs them, an odd sensation he hasn't felt in years swelling in his throat as they attentively watch him, following his every move with a look of pure admiration.

"Got it." They nod, moving to a corner to do as they're told, instantly crouching down by a loose plank. With a sharp movement, they jam the hook of the hammer underneath a loose edge, the wood creaking quietly as it is forced out of its original position, nails pulling from rotted beams with some ease. Under their T-shirt, John can see (Y/n)'s arms tensing with each jerk of the hammer, his throat feeling tight as he swallows, mentally reprimanding himself for the unbidden longing that springs to his mind.

Shaking his head, he gets down to work, the two now lapsing into a comfortable silence as they tear up the boards together. The going is faster than he thought it would be, both he and (Y/n) meeting somewhere in the middle of the frame after only an hour of working tirelessly, their brow now coated in a sheen of sweat, just as his is. Their arms are doused in a layer of dust and dirt, smears of grime adorning their forehead from where they've wiped their hand over the damp skin. John once again has to bite back his smile at the sight of the young rancher looking somewhat dishevelled after only an hour of work, the corners of his lips quirking up slightly.

"What? What is it?" (Y/n) interrupts his thoughts, their expression mildly concerned.

"Oh, err, you have a little dirt on your forehead." He clarifies, gesturing to the correlating spot on his own head.

"Oh, whoops." They laugh, lifting a hand to rub at the marks, only making them worse.

"You've made 'em bigger, now." John chuckles, unable to stop himself as he feels a smile cross his face at his friend's antics.

Noticing the change in mood for him, (Y/n) makes a point of wiping their hand more deliberately over the dirt, leaving long striping marks over their skin.

"Maybe that was the point." They grin back, striking a brief pose.

Laughing softly again, John rolls his eyes and shakes his head, the veteran starting to feel a lot more relaxed as (Y/n)'s cheerful demeanour rubs off on him.

"If you say so, Tiger." He comments, briefly moving to grab a nearby cloth that he had placed out exactly for the reason that it is now needed, "C'mere."

Ignoring the butterflies in their stomach from John's clearly more laid-back mood, (Y/n) steps closer to their friend, taking the proffered cloth from him. Wiping it over their forehead, they pull it away again after a moment, looking up to him for reassurance that they got it all.

"You missed a spot." He points out, amused.

Repeating their actions, they once again return their gaze to his, curious. He only shakes his head, taking the cloth from them. Without thinking about what he's doing, John leans in and presses it to their brow, gently rubbing away the stubborn mark, somehow managing to miss the way their eyes widen in surprise. They have to consciously hold themselves back as they go to follow his hand as it withdraws, having enjoyed the older man's touch much more than they should've.

"There, now you're all clean again." John murmurs, eyes flicking back down to theirs.

With a small smile, (Y/n) thanks him, ducking their head down to avoid letting him see the blush dusting their cheeks.

"How'd you wanna do this decking, then?" They ask him after a moment, looking to the pile of timber nearby.

"I'll show you what I had in mind." He says, leading them over to the wood, mentally cursing himself now for being so personal with them, unaware of their true reaction to his actions.

The day passes somewhat quickly, the two working tirelessly to get the veranda as complete as possible. As the time goes on, the sun only gets hotter, leaving them both drenched in sweat and dirt until around five, when the temperature finally starts to drop a little. Having only stopped briefly to eat some cookies that (Y/n) brought with them, the two find themselves incredibly hungry as they finally come to a halt, muscles aching under sun-warmed skin, in dire need of something to drink and a shower. Taking note of his friend's somewhat worse state, John finally stops, putting down his hammer as he pushes his slick hair from his face.

"We should call it a day, we've done enough for now." He says, watching as (Y/n) straightens and stretches before turning to face him, briefly revealing a strip of skin on their abdomen to him as their shirt rides up.

"Sounds good to me." They respond, sounding a little breathless as they crack their knuckles, flexing their wrists.

They seem to consider something, head tilting to the side as they pick their Stetson up from the step they left it on, having taken it off when it got too hot for them. A conflicted look crosses their face, before they seem to shake it off, as if steeling themself.

"Would you, err, would you like to come to mine for drinks?" They ask him, rubbing the back of their neck sheepishly, "You don't have to, I just think it might be, err, nice, seeing as I like your company, and we're both on our own. I have food, too, but you don't have to eat or anything…"

(Y/n)'s voice trails off at John's expression, the veteran somewhat surprised by the offer. 

"You like my company?" Is all he manages, eyebrows lifting.

"Yeah, I do!"

"But...why?" He asks, confused.

"Because you're always friendly, you don't mind listening to me, I hope, anyway. You're kind, caring, funny when you want to be, you're cool as hell and you're really smart, too! I feel safe when I'm around you." (Y/n) gushes, only to slow towards the end when they realise they've gone on a bit, face turning red, "Sorry."

"No, no, don't be." John says, stunned by the compliments, unused to receiving friendly comments like that.

"But yeah, I like your company, and I'd like if we could talk a bit more over drinks or something." His friend explains, looking hopeful.

The veteran finds himself rendered speechless for a long moment, his heart screaming at him to go to (Y/n)'s, to further their relationship, but his brain is telling him no, so he doesn't mess up what they've already got. Internally, he weighs up the options, regarding the younger rancher as they wait patiently for his response. Eventually, it's that that makes his decision for him, the older man knowing that his friend will always be patient with him.

"I'll take you up on the offer." He finally says, unable to help the small smile that creeps onto his face as a wide grin splits (Y/n)'s, their gaze lighting up in happiness. 

"You will? That's great! I'll go get stuff ready." They reply, body practically buzzing with excitement, only for them to glance back after a second, "Do you have a working shower, or do you wanna use mine? I don't mind if you do, I've got plenty of hot water."

"I don't wanna intrude that much…" 

"You're not, don't worry." They reassure him, smiling.

"Ok, then I'll take the shower, too. Mine isn't working so well yet." He agrees, glad that he can finally have a good clean in a working shower.

"Ok, that's fine. Let me just catch Leo, then we can go." They say, heading off to the field, where their horse is grazing idly, having spent the entire day alone as John's other horse was taken inside the stable due to the heat being bad for its underweight body.

"Alright, let me just get some clean clothes." John nods.

Ten minutes later, the two reconvene, starting off on the walk over to (Y/n)'s ranch, the horse trotting quietly beside them as they talk amongst themselves, discussing the animal in question. It doesn't take long for them to reach the main house, (Y/n) briefly tying Leo up outside, saying something about putting him away again in a moment.

"Welcome to my home. Sorry it's a bit messy." They chuckle, opening the door for the veteran, allowing him inside.

It is messy, but the small room looks cosy, the somewhat cramped space giving him a familiar sense of comfort.

"I like it." He compliments, gruff voice soft.

"Thanks." (Y/n) smiles fondly as they look over the area, "The shower's just through here. Take as long as you need, I'm just gonna put Leo away. Oh, and get yourself a glass of water or something if you want it."

"I will do, thanks." The veteran watches as his friend leaves the house again, before he moves off into the shower, choosing to clean himself first, so he can get his racing thoughts in order. 

It's been a long time since anyone showed him the kindness (Y/n) is now showing him, and it's started rubbing off on him, his feeling towards the young rancher steadily getting more and more affectionate. He admired them, their youthful vigour mixed with some past difficulties having combined to create a mature yet fun person, something that reminded him a little of himself when he first joined the Special Forces, all those years ago. They don't quite have the same innocence, but the optimistic view of the world and the people living in it have definitely started to chip away at the barriers around his heart, a defence he built up some time ago to prevent unnecessary pain, but he's not unhappy about it. He hopes they won't escalate, but he knows the friendship is helping him recover from decades of trauma.

Showering quickly but thoroughly, he changes into his clean clothes, before he goes back into the main room, where (Y/n) is waiting for him. Swapping with him, they smile as they go past, disappearing as he takes a seat on the sofa, enjoying the warmth of the room. It smells distinctly of his friend, and reassures him, settling the nerves racing through him. They only spike again when he hears (Y/n) come back into the room, his body tensing as he stands, unsure of what to do.

"You don't have to stand on my account." They chuckle, waving him back to the sofa as they go to the fridge and grab a couple of beers and some food, joining him and handing him a bottle.

Taking it, he waits for them to crack the cap off, taking a deep drink of it as he reaches for some food, the two of them simply eating at first, too hungry to talk much. The food doesn't last long, but it leaves them satiated, the beers soon replaced by more as they start to talk again, both much more relaxed now.

"Did your family always have the ranch?" He asks them, regarding his friend from his comfortable position on the sofa across from them, lidded eyes fixed on them.

"Yeah, it's been in the family as long as I can remember." (Y/n) replies, glancing around the lounge with a proud smile, "I've never left it."

"Really? Didn't you go to university?" John inquires, lifting an eyebrow in surprise.

"No, no. Never had time for it." They explain, biting their lip, "Always had the ranch to run."

John doesn't say anything, watching them closely as they seem to fade into their thoughts, clearly reliving a memory.

"My parents died the year before I was supposed to go. Left the ranch to me because my siblings left for New Orleans and some place in Kansas, so I had to forget about going to university." They reveal sadly, sipping their beer with a grim smile.

"I'm sorry." John says, frowning at the change in mood, having never really seen (Y/n) appear as dejected as they do now.

"Don't be, there was nothing anyone could've done. Besides, this has been the best thing that ever happened to me." They cast John a sideways glance, "I met you, after all."

Cocking his head to the side, John smiles gently, battling with the urges in his head.

"I'm sure your parents would be really proud of you." He murmurs, leaning over to clasp their shoulder lightly.

"Thank you, John." They smile back, their bottle forgotten now as they find their eyes fixed on his, getting themselves lost in their dark depths.

Somehow unable to pull back, John finds himself staring at (Y/n), his body sending him all kinds of urges, his hands practically itching to just wrap around their smaller body and-

Suddenly, a pair of lips are on his, tentatively pressing against them. What feels like electric shocks go through him at the unfamiliar touch, his eyes widening as he instinctively draws back, his body running on instinct, even as he instantly misses the sensation. Terrified eyes find his, horror etched into a face he's come to love and admire.

"Oh shit, I'm so sorry! I don't know what I was doing, I fucked up, I'm so sorry!" (Y/n) instantly apologises, scrambling to pull out of his space, convinced they made things awkward, when John knows full well it was his own fault, "Please forgive me, John, please! I'm so sorry-"

"Don't apologise, (Y/n). You didn't do anything wrong. You just caught me by surprise, is all." John tries to reassure them, but they don't seem to hear it, only panicking more as they try to get up.

Knowing they won't listen to him now, John swallows, before he swiftly leans out, wrapping his hands around (Y/n)'s waist. They have split second to look surprised, until they find themselves being pulled onto the veteran's lap, lips connecting again.

This time, the touch is much more desperate, John pressing as close as he can, relishing in the contact as he feels his friend relax into his touch, melting against him as their hands slide round his neck into his hair, pulling his head closer. Groaning lowly, he uses his grip on their hips to press them flush together, kisses becoming more insistent as pleasure, relief and love fill him, his body feeling like it hasn't done in decades. He can feel them everywhere: their hands in his hair, their lips smoothing against his, their legs wrapping around his waist, their scent enveloping him as he kisses them. Under his palms, he can feel their muscles tensing and relaxing, the veteran hesitantly pushing his hands past the hem of their shirt to feel bare skin against bare skin, keeping them at their hips as they moan quietly. As the sound escapes them, their mouth opens slightly, allowing him to slip his tongue in, sliding in alongside theirs.

John presses closer, eventually pushing them back onto the sofa, (Y/n)'s body cradled underneath him as he continues to explore their mouth with his tongue. Breaking apart for air, they stare at each other, a familiar smile creeping onto their lips as they look up at him, love and adoration flooding their gaze. Gently, they card their fingers through his hair, taking one hand to trail their index finger along his cheek, tracing over the scar on his cheek, a fond look on their face.

"God, you have no idea how much I've dreamed about kissing you." They confess, voice quiet.

"You have?" He questions, his rough voice resonating through (Y/n) where their chests are touching.

"Yeah. I admire you so much, your bravery, your courage, your strength, both mentally and physically. You're too good to have been treated as poorly as you have been, and I've always wanted to show you that, but I never knew how." They murmur, cupping his face as he goes to look away, blushing, "It's true. You're a better person than I'll ever be, and you must've proved that hundreds of times. There's no one else I'd rather have as a friend, or even more than that if you'll have me."

Eyes wide, John doesn't know how to reply initially, his head spinning at what he's hearing, every fantasy he's ever had since he met his new friend suddenly flashing past his eyes in much higher clarity as he realises that they like him as much as he likes them - loves him as much as he loves them. 

Unsure of how else to respond, John dips his head back down and connects their lips again, pouring all of his unspoken words across connection, feeling euphoric as he once again relishes in the knowledge that they are actually there, and it's not his imagination. Kissing back, (Y/n) smiles into his lips, pressing closer.

After a moment, John pulls away again, looking over (Y/n)'s face one last time before he drops down beside them, pulling their smaller body into his. Instinctively, they curl into him, hand resting on his chest as their face presses into his neck, smiling contentedly. Wrapping his arm around their waist, John holds them close to him, burying his face in their hair as they both feel fatigue starting to envelope them, pulling them both into a comfortable sleep. Just as they go to drift off, John whispers to (Y/n).

"You don't admire me nearly as much as I admire you. I love you. So much." His voice is husky, lulling them sleep.

For the first time in years, John does not jolt awake halfway through the night, his sleep undisturbed by nightmares.

[venusandromedadjarin]

There Are Others

Ch. 14, A Glint of Beskar

18+, smut, spoilers?, 1.8k words

You’re both quiet as the Crest jolts through hyperspace, afraid to play the recording the droid had uploaded. You put the child in his nook hours ago, after playing with him in the hull for a while. You can’t remember what the next planet is that the ship is heading towards so you remain quiet, stoic even, next to the silent suit of Beskar.

Some time later, he reaches for you and you jolt awake, unaware you’d fallen asleep, “Are you okay?” The words tumble out of your mouth quickly, unable to be stopped. His cloak is draped over you, the cockpit cold as the stars streak by above the glass. You let him pull you up into his arms and he crushes you against his chest which is heaving underneath the breast plate. You try to pull away, to look up at his visor. “Mando what’s going on? Is it the child? Is it-“

“I listened to the message,” is all he says. You stare up at him, waiting for him to elaborate but he doesn’t; he just looks down at you.

After a few moments like this, you plead with him, “Please talk to me. Don’t shut me out.”

“I’m doing the opposite,” is all he says as he backs away and sits down, gesturing for you to do the same.

“What-“

He holds up his hand, silencing you, and you watch him as his shoulders fall, leaning back. His next words are whispered, barely intelligible through the modulator, “There are others.”

“Others…” Your mind reels: Other green babies? Other Mandalorians? Other people like Kuiil? Other women? Other what?

“Like me, y/n.” He sounds broken, scared… surprised. “I always knew there must be, but the ones I know are in hiding. They were in the sewers of Nevarro but the covert moved because of me.” He sighs, and you wait for him to go on, watching intently. “Kuiil said they are a cult. In his message, he said that-he said that of my people.”

“A cult? Thats ridicu-“

“It’s true,” the finality of his tone makes you blanch and he briefly reaches out to you as he sees your expression, but quickly drops his hand. His next words are spoken like a confession, and you can’t tear your eyes away from the helmet as he speaks, “When I was a child on Nevarro, my village was attacked and up until recently I thought I was the only person to survive. I hid in a cellar with a little girl, a friend… but I left her. I was lifted out of the cellar by a Mandalorian, the carnage continuing around me as he took me from her. I hid her, afraid of what would happen to her if they found her. I didn’t realize I was being saved, so I left her.” He looks up at you as you gasp slightly, connecting the dots, but he pushes forward with his story, the words coming faster now. “I was trained to fight, to kill. I’ve been doing it since that cellar and I thought it was the only thing left for me. The Tribe raised me to never show my face. That is the creed. The way. We follow the Way of the Mandalore. We’re warriors. But there are others.”

He finally allows you to speak, looking at you and you search for his eyes through the vizor, hoping to meet them, “That doesn’t sound like a cult to me.”

He cuts you off again, “The others might not be like me. I had heard rumors… rumors of Mandalorians who removed their helmets. Who lived normal lives. Kuiil gave me names. In his message, he said there is a group called the Death Watch. He said they could help me. Help us.” He looks down at his clasped hands, his elbows resting on his knees as he leans forward. “There’s a woman named Bo-Katan that Kuiil said could help us.”

The silence stretches out between you, both of you aware of what his confession means. The information sinks into your soul, firing synapses you thought had been ruined a long time ago and though there’s much more pressing questions you want to ask, you decide to stick to a simplistic one, afraid of scaring the man in front of you. “How do we find her?”

He shakes his head slightly, almost shyly, “Kuiil left coordinates of the last place he knew they were, but it’s a long shot. My people, we like to move.” He stand to his full hight suddenly, looming over you as you crane your neck upwards. “Come with me.”

“Of course I will,” your brow furrows, confused at his command. Where did he think you’d go; did he think you’d leave?

“No, come with me right now,” his voice is softer as he pulls you to your feet, for the second time that night, and crushes you to his chest. You breath out an agreement, your hands resting on the cold pauldrons on his shoulders. He leads you to the ladder before descending, watching you as you follow, knowing you can feel his gaze on your ass. “Can I?” He asks when you step down in front of him, and you nod. Without waiting another second he hauls you up into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carries you toward the bedroom, flinging the door open with one arm, his other supporting your weight. He sets you down at the foot of the bed, instructing you to undress slowly, his heavy gaze never leaving you from under the helmet. He stands extremely still as you drop your clothing to the floor, his breath heavy and uneven. Once you’re naked, you step towards him, increasingly aware that the last time he saw you naked in the light was when he dropped the towel from around your breasts. You flush as you reach towards him and start to undo the Beskar. He lets you, just watching as you take away his armor, figuratively and metaphorically. He reaches up to stroke your mouth with a gloved thumb before slowly sliding it between your lips and you groan at the intrusion before gently biting the leather and pulling. He slides his hand out before pulling the other glove off and reaching down to tease your clit. He stops the second you moan, removing his hand and reaching down to pull his shirt off. His tan skin glows under the soft light of the bedroom and you let your eyes wander to the trail that disappears into his pants. Without much thought, you slip your fingers into the waistband, gently pulling downwards as you sink to your knees in front of him, his cock springing up when it’s no longer constricted by the fabric. He hisses as you reach the floor, his pants around his calves and he smoothly kicks his boots off, the pants following. Before you can lean forward to take him in your mouth, he’s pulling you to your feet and pushing you towards the bed, his cock poking against your stomach.

“Close your eyes.” You do as he says, letting him guide you backwards onto the bed and scooting upwards so your head is on the pillows. You hear the familiar hiss of the helmet being removed, and then his mouth as he kisses the top of your foot, trailing up your leg and over your hip. He nibbles at your stomach, whispering sweet nothings against your skin as you shiver beneath his breath. You hum when his fingertips pause near your ribs, ghosting over your birthmark. He sucks at your nipple, his hand cupping your other breast as you arch into his touch. When he reaches your pulse point and sucks hard enough to leave a bruise on your neck, you gasp, feeling the warmth pool between your legs.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispers against your neck and in that moment, you swear to the Maker that you feel the stars collide as every single cell in your body sparks to life.

“You’re mine,” he moves in between your legs, and you open for him, welcoming him into you, begging to be one. “You’re still my best friend. You’ve always been with me, in my heart, y/n.”

You gasp as he moves inside you, slowly at first but then steadily, his hands entwining with yours above your head. He kisses you, hard and passionately. You arch into him, wanting to be closer to him and he wraps an arm around your middle, his hand pulling the small of your back upwards, your hips moving together.

“When I found out you were in that encampment, when I found the kid, I knew I couldn’t leave you again,” your gasps mingle with his as he continues to confess to you, his pace never faltering. “I’d come back for you over and over. I’m sorry it took so long.”

You have to force yourself to keep your eyes closed, wanting so badly to look into the brown eyes staring down at you with heavy lids. Between gasps you manage to get a few words out, “I’m here now.”

He groans at your admission, sucking another mark onto your neck and making you tremble. He kisses you again, the movements frenzied and bruising, but loving all the same. His movements become erratic, both of you close to orgasming but trying to drag out the pleasure of this moment. When he lets go of your hand, his arm still holding you against him, you rake your nails over his shoulders and back, making him moan at the mixture of pain and pleasure. His other hand tangles into your hair, tugging gently. You gasp against his shoulder as he hits the pleasure point inside of you, and he continues to move against it, feeling you come undone beneath him. Goosebumps raise on your skin at the sensation and your legs tremble as you wrap them around his waist, hooking your ankles together. You weave your fingers into his hair, pulling him down to you, kissing him hungrily, dipping your tongue into his mouth. Your moans mix with his as you begin to clench around him, both of you on the edge.

“Y/n,” he breaths out against your lips and it pushes you into the searing light of the orgasm. Your whole body burns white hot as you cry out for him, trembling in his arms, and seconds later you feel him pump inside of you, filling you as he groans against your mouth, kissing you heavily. He collapses on top of you momentarily before rolling over and pulling you on top of him, his cock still inside you. You lay against his chest, both of you breathing heavy and shaking. He’s quiet for a few moments before whispering, “Say it.”

You adjust your head, making sure you’re safely in the curve of his neck before opening your eyes, the flutter of your lashes against his pulse point making him shiver. He stiffens slightly, but you reassure him by laying your palm against his cheek, making sure to stay in a position that you can’t see his face.

“I’ve missed you, Din.”

[sickviking-fr]

This is a long one, fellows. Buckle the fuck up.

Y'all know I only started this job two weeks ago and was all excited but it all went to shit day one. Well I got an offer from Walmart to start at a dollar more and I took it.

So last night was my last night at this grocery chain and I guess the universe knew it. The manager was happy for me so that was good, he'd been super nice and supportive for the few days since I gave him my resignation so I came in deciding I was going to give my all and do the best I could. I shot down four energy drinks because I knew it was going to only be me and one other on the shift and I was determined.

Those energy drinks took an hour to kick in but once they had I was WIRED and Manager appreciated it. About half an hour into the shift, Manager pulls me and the other guy (we will call him Jack for no reason) to the side, clearly high on caffeine himself, to give us the low down. He gives us a huge list of stuff to do and says he's sorry, its ordering night and he's all alone so he can't help us. And like, I get it, shit is the opposite of streamlined and efficient here, as you all know from my bitching, he's got a lot of work ahead of him. Jack and I have to do the work of 6 people and Manager has to do the work of three.

"Time is our enemy tonight, guys, we don't have a minute to spare standing around talking. lets get to it!" he finishes his speech.

Me, being out of my gourd on energy drinks, yell "NO BOSS! WE CAN'T ALLOW TIME TO BE THE ENEMY! LETS GO BOYS, WE'RE MAKING TIME OUR BITCH TONIGHT!" Manager punches me in the shoulder and says "Heck yeah, thats the attitude I wanna hear, why the fuck are you leaving me?!" and with that he's gone.

Now. When I said that, Time looked over at God and said "Hold my flower. No, hold my fucking flower! Who is making who their bitch? We'll see about that!" And God sayeth unto Time "Kick his ass babe, I got yo flower."

So my first task was to stock Gatorade and the energy drinks which I did in record time, taking only a half hour to do about two hours of work, working three pallets and condensing them down to one AND wrapping it up so Manager can swing by with the forklift and haul it off no questions asked. I'm feeling invincible. Next, me and Jack have to go stock water. He's exhausted, was up all day and feeling sluggish so not a whole lot of help tbh. Thats okay I'm running on four energy drinks and the high of imagining the boss begging me to stay, I've got this!

There's several pallets of various types of water container on the floor to be organized and stocked, and I'm on it like a fly on dogshit. In only fifteen minutes I put up a full pallet worth of gallons (Probably about 60-70 gallon jugs) before Time makes her move.

I don't know where Jack is, I'd sent him to move another pallet a while ago and he's not back yet. I move on to the 2.5 gallon jugs with spigots (Different brand but this same jug tbh) get about twenty up, only have four or five more that can fit on the shelf. Both hands are full of these heavy ass jugs, I lift one up onto the shelf and the spigot comes off. It just pops the fuck off. I drop the second in surprise and its spigot pops off. There's water pouring everywhere, I'm now soaked and panicking trying to gather up these jugs and get them turned in a way so they aren't pouring water everywhere and I am swearing profusely this whole time.

The wooden shelf is soaked, I'm treading water and Jack comes around the corner to see if I'm okay, sees me juggling water and starts laughing his ass off. We double team taking down all the water I just put up so I can mop the floor and the shelf. It takes the two of us over half an hour to dry everything and get the water back on the shelf.

Jack starts in on the 2 gallon bottles while I finish cleaning up. As I come back from throwing the broken containers in Claims, I see Manager has arrived with a fresh 5.5 foot high pallet of these 2 gallon waters (Its also vital to note that these come wrapped in plastic in packs of 6, which we are separating to sell individually), both are laughing, Jack is facing away from me doubled over with laughter.

"All I hear" He says "Is suddenly 'SHIT...SHIT SHIT! FUCK-SHIT FUCK!' and then just 'squeak squeak squeak'. His shoes sounded like Spongebobs boots!!" And at this point I realize my shoes are squeaking in the water but their shoes are not (I still do not know why...) As soon as Manager hears my squeaking shoes coming towards them, he also becomes consumed by giggles. Ha-ha, okay y'all shut up so we can carry on. I'm still trying to be impressive here! But I guess we are opening the water packs too slowly for Manager because he takes his special plastic cutting cutter and starts slicing open packs so we can just grab the jugs and throw them up.

EXCEPT HE'S NOT PAYING FUCKING ATTENTION! He cuts this one pack thats on the edge of the stack, three of the waters immediately start to fall over dragging the whole pack with it and now six, two gallon jugs come crashing onto my foot and also suddenly I'm wet again. Manager doesn't realize it hit my foot, but I shout and he says "Don't worry, its plastic they wont break." This phrase gets repeated ad nauseum the rest of the night to mock him.

"Well that would be great except they all fucking exploded!" he just looked at me stupid, then started swearing too. My foots fine, thanks for asking. Actually its not, my ankle is killing me as I'm writing this but whatever.

All six jugs broke open at the bottom seam and are now spewing fresh spring water onto my newly mopped floor, under the pallet and soaking into my shoes. Again. I'm running around trying to gather as much of these jugs as I can as fast as I can and get them to the sink. Again. Meanwhile my shoes are squeaking anew. Again. Jack cannot stay standing, what between laughing at Manager for busting open six gallons, repeating "It'S pLaStIc! iT wOnT bReAk!" and laughing at my squeaking footsteps running all around the two of them.

Manager has us leave the spilled water and stock, then when we are done he moves the pallet and sends the janitor over with the zamboni to clean up the water while sending us to fill up a display of cases of 24 bottled water other-where. Jack is now awake and still melting into fits of giggles every few minutes, and with his newfound energy he's tossing the cases up onto the display and then punching them into place instead of just putting them there. Toss a case, punch-punch-punch, flex, repeat. (Did I mention Jack is 18? What is it with teen boys constantly wanting to show off? Like bro who are you showing off to? Its literally just me and Manager here.) I keep telling him to knock it off but eventually, you guessed it, he pops a couple bottles.

Its already the four hour mark by the time we clean up all the water and get the rest of the packs all on the display. Smooth sailing from here on out, yeah? We're done with water, everything that needs to be on a shelf is on a shelf. It has to be easy from here. We think so anyway. It can't possibly get worse, we've still got shit to do! Innocently, we go to lunch and I chug down another energy drink. Okay so we are done stocking, its now time to face the shelves(AKA make them look nice). Manager sends me and Jack to the opposite ends of one isle, Jack arranging pickles and vinegar and I'm freshening up condiments. Suddenly I hear Jack yelling and cursing.

For several days, theres been a mystery bottle of vinegar by the Huntz that no one knows where it came from but also no one has bothered messing with. We've just been nudging it to look nice lined up with everything else and if someone buys it good if not, well it seems happy there. Its kinda shaped like this but plastic and not quite a gallon. It's filled full to the lid.

Jack decides to remove it today. He grabs it, lifts it about three inches, and the neck comes off. Just comes the fuck off. Its a perfectly clean separation at that seam where the neck connects to the body. The entire contents are now soaking into Jacks clothes from mid-chest to his shoes and puddled all over the floor. I rush over to see that he's okay and then go to get the mop for him. I can smell the vinegar from four isles away. It takes nearly another thirty minutes for him to get that properly cleaned up and then he has to take a break to change into his spare shirt because the smell is giving him a headache.

By the time he comes back, I've finished that isle and moved on to the cereal + juice isle and the store is now open. I tell him that he must have felt left out that Manager and I both made bigger messes than him with the water so he had to one-up us. This seems to make him feel better. Jack starts working juice while I'm tidying up the snacks and gummy candies. An older couple come up to me to ask about Rice Krispy Treats. I don't know where they are other than the ones I'm holding so I go to ask Jack. Poor Jack. I call out to him as he's kneeling in front of orange juice with both arms shoulder deep in the shelf and as he looks at me, for some fucking reason he squeezes his arms together in a hugging motion around maybe 8 jugs of juice.

Several fall into his lap and a customer must have gotten thirsty yesterday because someone took the cap off one jug and just left it there. Jack is now soaked chin to toes in orange juice. There is a looooot of swearing as I run over to check on him and then run off to get the mop and bucket from the back.

At some point the janitor had taken the mop from where we left it by vinegar and used it to mop up milk that the Dairy folks had spilled (so the bad luck wasn't just towards our crew, Time was taking her frustrations out on everyone). Anyway, the bucket is full of maybe four gallons of milk water and also the vinegar from earlier so it stinks but I don't have time to put fresh water in it because there are customers in the store now and the juice is a major slip hazard.

I'm pushing the bucket through the isles and I run over a drain like I do every day and thousands before me have done, except the drain cover decides TODAY IS THE DAY, NOW IS MY TIME. It kamikaze pops off and the bucket wheel goes straight in the hole, tipping the bucket over and spilling four gallons of stanky milk water every-fucking-where. Also, apparently this POS building wasn't built so that the floor sloped towards drains so the water is just flowing further and further out in every direction. Now I'm panicking trying to push as much of this water into the drain asap so I can get the bucket over to Jack so he can mop up the OJ. And I see the older couple are still waiting, toe tapping and pointing at their watches as soon as they see me. And then get all pissy that we didn't have any smaller packs of Rice Krispy Treats in yet.

Jack fucks off to the bathroom to dry as much as he can of himself while I do my best to hunt down the Janitor to send him and the Zamboni down juice, vinegar and the main pathway where the vinegar-milk-water spilled and is still stinking up the joint. Jack didn't come back for probably 40 minutes, I was honestly surprised he came back at all, I didn't think he was going to.

Manager has no idea any of this shit has happened because he's been darting off everywhere like a squirrel on coke doing his own thing. He's got the rest of those 2 gallon bottles from earlier on the fork lift and has us follow him to the frozen section. He wants us to add what's left to a display over there where we are selling the full 6-pack cases. He drops off the pallet and is gone before we can say anything. Jack, understandably, is beside himself pissed and starts literally throwing the water up onto the display and then punching them into position. Like, he's full force punching these things like gym equipment and chanting "It'S! pLaStIc! iT! wOnT! bReAk!". And of course, he pops two bottles. We still have 2 more hours of our shift left, plus 2 hours of mandatory overtime.

THANKFULLY, once we cleaned up that water the rest of the shift was uneventful, but it took forever because we were exhausted physically and mentally and pissed

[blahblahwritings]

Contracts and Captains. - IV

A/N: Remember how I posted something before one of my other fics saying that I had been consistently updating for weeks? Neither do I lmao who was she? Don’t know her anyway heres the fourth chapter of this black sails fic.

Words: 1823. Honestly I’ve been writing this since about 12pm I don’t know how its so short and its probably shit bc I haven’t written anything in months.

Warnings: Mentions of vomit as per the last chapter. Think thats it lmao. See you in three months.

As your eyes opened, there were a blissful couple of seconds where the previous night’s encounter didn’t exist in your memory. But, just like the sun flooding the room, unwanted flashes of vomit and slurred words rose like a tidal wave in your minds eye. You rolled over, burying your face and groaning into the pillow out of sheer embarrassment as a dull throbbing started in the depths of your skull. 

Why did you keep drinking? You could’ve simply had one or two before retiring for the night and you wouldn’t have met that boatswain or thrown up on your own boots. What was his name again? Ben? Boyd? No, they weren’t quite right. Either way you made a mental note to apologise again whenever you next saw him. 

Slowly, you tugged your still clothed limbs from the thin sheets, trying not to jostle your stomach too much for fear of whatever was left in there making an unwelcome appearance. Your pants were scuffed from where you took a tumble outside the tavern, your shirt was half undone, probably from a failed attempt to undress before not-so-gracefully falling into bed. A single boot was thrown on the floor alongside your coat, the other still stuck on your foot. What a mess. 

A hot bath, that's what you needed, and a hearty breakfast if your insides don’t bring it back up. Pulling on the other boot, you made your way to one of the girls working downstairs, trading her coin to fill the tub in your room. You must’ve looked rough as you passed her to get to the man at the bar because when he turned to look at you, his brows shot up, disappearing behind his hair. 

“You look like you could use a little hair of the dog, love.” He chuckled, eyes scanning your disheveled form. A grimace was your immediate response. “Some food then.” He offered, filling a bowl with something that you didn’t stop to look at as you practically inhaled it. The man watched you with a knowing smirk and had you not felt so terrible you’d have spat out a snarky comment. You chose to gulp down your water instead.

“Thank you.” You huffed with a small nod, tossing some money on the counter before you headed back upstairs. The state you were in just added to this morning's growing list of regrets but you weren’t quite sure if you cared how you looked to anyone else right now. All that was on your mind was a piercing headache and a good soak.

Stripping off, you stepped into the water, sinking down slowly as your body got used to the heat. Finally, with a heavy sigh, you rested your head on the back of the tub, your aching muscles beginning to relax. Scented oils and soaps were left on a stand by the bath. Working a generous amount between your palms, you massaged your limbs and torso getting rid of any tension and purging the memories of last night’s… festivities. In the quiet of your room, you took a moment to trace the small scars that littered your form, fingers landing at last on the freshly healed knife wound from only a few weeks ago. The soft pink flesh was still tender, and if you moved the wrong way it would ache. It was dangerous to be alone on this island, in this line of work. You needed friends, not just contacts. A crew, perhaps. 

Letting your mind wander, you thought about your new found place among Flint’s men. You had to keep bringing in leads to be of any value to him, lest you risk being tossed aside and left in the dirt. He and his crew were among the most revered on the island, therefore cementing your part in that would bring security. It would ensure that other crews would leave you alone, as you were important to someone they feared and the consequences of harming you could be severe. 

Then again, there was a little more than security on your list of perks as you thought more about the taller man from last night. He was kind to you, not that the others weren’t having bought your drinks and all, but, he made sure you were safe and fed. Billy Bones. You recalled. Replaying the meeting in your head, you winced at the slurred introduction and the puking soon after. Why did you care about how he saw you? Was it because he was the crew’s boatswain or because he was handsome and softer than most pirates you’d met. 

Catching that last thought, you shook it from your head, refusing to let it take root in your brain. Attachments like that are a weakness here and you cannot afford to have those. You’d only met the guy once and he probably didn’t want anything to do with you anyway, especially after that drunken show you gave him. Cupping a handful of water, you splashed your face, scrubbing any further thoughts of the man from your head, instead, choosing to focus on finding a new lead for Flint. 

They would be leaving to chase down the details you gave him yesterday in a couple of days, if not sooner, which meant you probably had around two weeks to find something of substance upon their return. You’d struggled last time but after sending out letters to old friends in neighbouring ports, you were hopeful something would turn up. 

Padding your way to the dresser, you pulled out some fresh clothes and got ready, feeling much better than you did even an hour before. The food had settled your stomach and the water you guzzled seemed to bring some life back into your face as when you left to go hunt down some work, the barman from earlier spouted something along the lines of ‘A whole other woman’ when you walked by.

---

An uneventful morning led to an uneventful afternoon. There were no new letters or leads and the streets were pleasantly calm compared to usual. You certainly weren’t complaining, you had been feeling better since this morning but your body was still recovering. The easy day was probably just what you needed. You were sat on the beach, sipping some water and watching passersby as you sketched in the journal you kept.

It was something you’d taken to keeping since arriving in Nassau just over two years ago. A small leather book to help keep track of potential jobs and record anything interesting that happened. Really, though, you just loved to draw. You’d already filled a couple just like it with sketches of people, ships and landscapes that caught your eye, often accompanied by your messy scrawl. You were just about satisfied with your latest addition when Mr Gates clapped you on the shoulder making you jump and slam the journal closed. You’d never shown anyone the contents before. 

“Sorry, Miss Devereux, didn’t mean to startle you.” He began, chuckling lightly at your reaction. “I heard you and the lads had quite the night..” He moved to stand by you as you got to your feet, dusting the sand from your pants. Tucking away the book, an amused smirk finds its way to your face as you look at him. 

“Depends on who you ask.” You replied. “How were they this morning? Feeling sorry for themselves?” Your brows raised in question as you both started aimlessly wandering along the shore. A snort met your ears as his head fell forwards, looking at the ground then back at you. “I didn’t see the majority of them until at least noon and they were still in a sorry state, although I wonder how you must’ve been. I heard that you hurled your guts up right after meeting our boatswain.” Gates mused, eyes crinkling as he watched your entire face turn a lovely shade of red. You tried to keep your cool but your expression faltered into one of sheer embarrassment. Apparently, this was hilarious as Mr Gates exploded into a fit of hearty laughter, and as much as you told him to stop you couldn’t help but have a good chuckle yourself as you covered your face with a half-sandy palm at the thought.

When you both regain your composure, he gives you a reassuring pat on the back.

“Don’t worry, the only people who know are Billy and myself, the men still think you can hold your drink.” He winked. You made a move to argue that you could in fact hold your drink but he began talking about the plan to set sail the day after tomorrow. You listened intently and explained that you were awaiting correspondence from friends in other ports to supply more promising leads upon their return. 

---

It had been four days since the crew left in search of another haul using your most recent information. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened, you’d made some money here and there through smaller jobs and pickpocketing but overall, there was nothing of real interest. You spent the days reading anything you could get your hands on or drawing and you’d even had your eye on some paints in one of the markets, but all you could do was wait. Checking for mail at the front desk of the inn you were staying at every morning had become a routine, desperate for any work or ships that you could relay to Flint. It was on the fifth day that you had gotten a response from someone in Port Royal.

As you read over the letter for the third time, you could feel your eyes widen in disbelief, your heart hammered in your chest and you released a breath you didn’t know you were holding. This was far too good to be true. Surely this was a myth. A prize of this magnitude was simply unheard of. Your eyes scanned over the paper again, barely able to focus on the words because your hands were trembling so violently. Calm down. You told yourself. It can’t be the truth. You thought as you stared at the other envelope that had arrived alongside it. At the bottom of the letter it read:

“P.S

Should you doubt my information, I sent you the correspondence shared between the dead man and the merchant with evidence pertaining to this gold. Best not ask how it came into my possession.

Your dear friend,

Josiah.”

You ran to shut the windows to your room and close the drapes. If anyone found out you had this information and the evidence to go with it, you would surely be killed for it. Tearing open the paper, you unfolded its contents. It was all here. The initials of the merchant, R.P., details alluding to the existence of this gold and the name of the dead man involved in plotting the course it would be on. 

Vasquez.

[bettersafethandicks]

oh gross this got out of hand i guess ill throw it in the tag im not editing it though sorry

oh to be a stupid little researcher on a team hired by the crimson raiders , oh to be attacked by the cov, to be trapped in a little outpost shack when you hear the commotion, to reach for the pistol kept in there only to have someone else grab it, leaving you to cram yourself in a equipment cabinet in a panic. 

 to hear the door be kicked open with a fanatic shout and hear your teammate get out a single gunshot through the roof of the shack before a horrid wet crunching noise and a heavy thump of a body hitting the floor, peeking through the cracked cabinet door to see enough of the prone body and handle of a thrown axe to know exactly what just happened.  staying curled up in that cabinet for what feels like hours, hand pressed over your mouth to quiet the breathing youre certain everyone can hear.

oh to hear a bandit stomp in after the gunfire has stopped, looting whatever they can.  to feel time slow to a crawl as the rummaging approaches you, adrenaline overloading your body so much its impossible to even move.  to have the door thrown open, the sudden light blinding you, a harsh laugh and a rough hand gripping your arm to wrench you free of your nest.  a screech that feels more animal than human flying from your mouth, twisting and flailing in the grip of the cultist; the sound of renewed struggles making the less coherent psychos perk up, and if you werent currently in the hands of a higher ranking bandit, youd be mauled on the spot.

insisting that youre ‘not a crimson raider- no- your team was just hired to collect data, you don’t have ties to them- ‘

until the bandit raises a gun and says ‘that’s a shame, they were looking for one of the firehawk’s little lackeys to take back, but if youre sure youre not a raider then they’ll just kill you here ‘

and suddenly youre 'a raider a raider i’m a raider please-’

to be tied up and thrown in the back of the technical with everything theyve looted and a couple bodies.  hearing someones half broken echo go off with a crimson raider at hq trying to get in contact with the research team, hearing the intercepted raider radio transmission sending out a patrol to check on you guys, the driver turning it up just for you.  by the time the radio buzzes with a “Site 859 compromised- those fucking cultists- looking for survivors- “  you’re already far into CoV territory.  

oh to be dragged in front of the twins and see them excitedly rock paper scissors over who gets you, tyreen pouting when troy wins and gloats about it as he steps down off the pedestal their thrones are on.  flinching away as he reaches for you and calls back to tyreen that you barely ever have any fun with them anyway 

being hauled off your feet like you weigh nothing, slung over his shoulder, taken to a livestreaming room as he flips on the ‘RECORDING’ sign outside the door.  sitting you half on his lap on a couch youd seen in these propaganda videos before

troy speaks with an almost playful tone  ‘Alright, now your job, little raider, is to beg and cry for help from your big bad firehawk so she crawls out from wherever she’s hiding.  Tell ‘em theyve got three days to come getcha- really sell it, y’know?’ his grip on you tightens, pressing you against him and leaning his face in so you can feel his breath on your throat, ‘maybe it’ll help to imagine that youre real scared and if she doesnt come to your rescue, youre going to be oh so slowly eaten alive...or something.’  he punctuates his instructions with a wet tongue dragging up the side of your throat, a tongue you can’t see from this angle, but it feels far too long.

cambots whirr into view, waiting for his cue-  ‘Oh! And one more thing.‘  Troy takes one of your hands into his, thumb pressing into your palm as he brings it up to his face.  “this isn’t live tv, babe, so you try and tip off the losers and we’re just gonna do another take. And every time you make me redo this-’  that tongue slides out of his mouth, twisting over your fingers as his jaw splits at the seams with an audible wet pop.  you stop breathing.  razor sharp teeth prick at your skin as he mouths at your suddenly incredibly fragile fingers, the hungry drool slicking over your skin telling you that he would like nothing more than for you to disobey.  just as fast as he revealed his monstrous features, his tongue slides back and he pulls your hand back to safety and resets his face  ‘you lose one of these.’

not having to act much at all for the camera, knowing that if lilith or a rescue team came for you theyd be heading into a trap but god you were so fucking scared and this was your only shot-  Troy smirking , speaking derisively to the future audience, arm slung so casually over your shoulders keeping you nice and close

it was over too soon, and you prayed you did a good job.  you were bait, at least, and you’d be alive long enough to have a sliver of a chance-

‘Cut!’ troy called, standing up to slide the long coat off and toss it over a nearby chair.  “right- get that out to the liarhawk and pals today.’ troy spoke to the cambot,, ‘now- im fuckin hungry, so we’re gonna do the letsflay for thursday right now, k?’  he turned to you, tongue peeking out to lick over his lips as he pushed you to your back, a spark of sheer panic making you try to jolt up, only to be held down by his prosthetic with a soft chuckle.  troy got onto the couch, straddling you and pinning your legs down, your head resting on a throw pillow that would have been comfortable if not for the current situation

his jaw started to shift as he looked down at you, his gaze almost affectionate

you stammer ‘W-wait no no you said- you said i had three days for the raiders to come and -’ 

Troy laughed, wheezing like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard, “oh my god you- you really- hhahahahaha sweetheart, I lied.”

midway through a laugh, his grin broke apart.  his face was an open, horrid display of teeth, too many- too many teeth- a blue tint to the drool starting to drip from that awful tongue, so eager- somehow you could tell he was still smiling as he pushed up your shirt to reveal your soft middle,

you thought you’d scream when his teeth sank in, but no- no your breath caught in your throat like youd been choked.  you didnt even feel the pain right away, just the wrong feeling of something being undone, broken apart- and then he pulled and you felt it and it was like you were being torn apart because thats exactly what was happening- your skin stretched until it met his teeth and was sliced with a jagged edge, muscle pulling and tearing to yield to his much stronger jaws and you couldnt help but watch . 

screaming, fighting, trying to kick and twist and shove him off of you, not succeeding in making him budge, your pushing hands only following his head back as he liberated the sizable chunk of meat that had been yours until very recently.  troy leaned back out of your reach, snapping his unnatural jaws to toss and catch the bloody shred, swallowing it like he was half-starved.  

A huff that mightve been a laugh came from him, gathering your flailing arms in his mechanical grip and pinning them up over your head, exposing your torso even more.  “they always wait ssso long to fight’  he slurred through blood streaked mandibles, tongue lapping over the red dripping down his jaw

your middle burned, hot and wet with pain, and when he moved in you though he’d simply take another bite but no- no he was moving to your face bringing that awful mouth to your face so close to you so close-

he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, in a way that you might call gentle if you weren’t writhing like a fish on land.  he nosed at your throat a bit, giving a low, pleased rumble as he went, moving down until you felt his fractured jaw close around the space between your shoulder and neck and bite with a soft hum , and you shrieked, bracing yourself for the tearing and ripping but he held there like that, not pulling, just-

a cold seeped into your muscles, a frigid alien wave that seemed to creep along with your heartbeat.  every pulse brought it further through you, until it ebbed away and left a sluggish heavy feeling in its wake.  down your shoulder through your arm, fingertips twitching a little before they felt too heavy to move.  slinking across your chest, up your neck, ears ringing for a moment as whatever venom he just administered hit.  against your wishes, your breathing slowed from its panicked hyperventilating.  your other arm followed shortly, struggling and grabbing at the couch’s fabric dying down to little shivers.  the chilling wave seeping down your torso, washing over the bleeding hole in your middle and pushing that agony far away, a dull, hot pressure remaining.  your legs were the last to give out, scuffling and and kicking getting slower and slower until all of you stopped. 

you let out a whine

troy, mouth still wrapped around your shoulder, let out a groan.  he swallowed the mouthful of blood that had accumulated while you were being sedated.

jaw loosening, he pulled back, saliva and blood and florescent blue venom coming away in strings from the deep bite.  the siren looked down at you, now pliant and truly helpless under him.  focusing your eyes was hard, but you could make out the red glow of his markings, seeming to pulse with your own slowing heartbeat.

he sighed happily, rolling his shoulder and letting it relax. you could distantly feel a hand running over the bleeding hole in your abdomen.  “mmh...there....now, where were we?”

[seokjinsdisciple]

Welcome to Worlds - three

jinyoung x reader

(nonfamous! got7, also very much based off of pitch perfect)

requested, and will be split into three parts

warnings: unedited, mentions of public exposure, language, sub jinyoung, inexperienced jinyoung, just the usual sex stuff, idk i think thats it

word count: 2.7k

previous 

You and Jinyoung had ditched your groups after the announcement had been made. Got7 and The Silhouettes were moving onto the finals of the competition, with a disgruntled WayV and angry Ten being eliminated. None of that was on your mind now as Jinyoung led you through the streets of LA, the two of you practically running to this “fancy” restaurant. 

You would have believed that he was taking you somewhere nice if you hadn’t stopped in front of a 7/11. 

“Jinyoung,” you groaned, “please tell me we aren’t eating at 7/11!”

“We aren’t eating at 7/11,” Jinyoung smiled, pulling the doors to the convenience store open and grabbing your wrist, giving you no choice but to follow him into the store, “We are feasting at 7/11!”

“But why?” you asked, groaning as he pulled you down the candy aisle. 

“Because there is nothing better than a personal 7/11 party. Now pick out whatever you want, it’s my treat.”

You gave up fighting with him, walking down the aisles and grabbing a few of your favorite snacks. Then you headed over to the hotdogs, grabbing one for yourself and adding condiments to it. You met Jinyoung at the counter, sheepishly putting your haul on the counter beside him. 

“What?” You asked defensively as he looked pointedly at you, “You can’t come to America and not experience what it's like to eat a twinkie!”

Jinyong just laughed at you then, the two of you sitting on the curb right outside, opening your snacks and digging in. 

“Are you nervous about the next round of the competition?” Jinyoung asked, mouth half full of Doritos, cheese dust covering his fingers as he looked at you. 

“I guess,” you sighed, taking a sip of your water before continuing, “I just don't want another incident like last time to happen again. Plus I really wanna win.”

Jinyoung licked one of his fingers, groaning at the taste of the cheese flavoring, “If you don't want anything to happen again, you should stop wearing clothes like that,” he chuckled pointing to the cropped v-neck hoodie you were wearing. It had been pulled down slightly, exposing your cleavage more than usual. 

“Stop staring at my boobs, Jinyoung,” you laughed, fixing your shirt and pushing him lightly.

You spent a few hours sitting there, and before you knew it the sky had grown dark. Jinyoung waked you back to the hotel room, insisting to escort you all the way to your room. When he left, the girls you were rooming with demanded details, screaming about the handsome man who had just dropped you off.

It was like that for the next week, you sneaking away as much as you could to spend time with Jinyoung, oftentimes at 7/11, until one of you had to practice. Both of you practiced hard, and you could tell that Jinyoung was starting to become more stressed about the competition. You were too. The time you spent with him at 7/11 felt like a whole different world, the worries and pressure the two of you felt melting away the more time you spent with him. But now there was no more time, it was the day of the final competition and Jinyoung would be heading back to Korea tomorrow morning. 

You were getting ready in your dressing room, pulling your hair up to match the rest of the groups when a knock rang out at the door. One of the girls opened it, your attention only flickering to the person at the door after your groupmates started oohing. Jinyoung stood, not coming into the room, but eyes searching for yours in the doorway. His hands tightly wrapped around two slushies. You couldn’t help but grin, hurrying over to him and pushing him away from the curious eyes of your groupmates. 

“Couldn’t stay away?” You laughed, grabbing your favorite flavor from him.

“I mean, this is just gonna be the last time we are able to share a slushie,” he smiled sadly, “I’m gonna miss you.”

“Ahh,” you hit him gently on the chest, “don’t go soft on me now, Jinyoung. That’s not like you.”

He just stuck out his tongue at you, handing you a straw, “Do you have time to sit and drink it with me?”

“I really don’t,” you sighed, “I have to finish my make up and then we have to do warmups. We perform before you.”

“Mm, that's right,” he nodded, a sad look crossing his eyes once again, “Well,  enjoy the slushie.”

“Wait- Jinyoung,” you stopped him, switching your favorite flavors for his, “that way we will be thinking of each other as we drink them.”

“I’ll always be thinking of you,” he mumbled, but you had already gone back into your dressing room, unable to hear him. 

You got ready quickly, the slushie tasted good and brought a smile to your lips every time you drank it. Before you knew it, you were walking on stage with your group, lights blaring at your forms as you waited for the audience to stop clapping. 

Your leader gave everyone their pitch, and the song began. The choreo this time was the most difficult it had been yet, a factor that you thought would help out your scores. Got7 had complex dances, so you needed to up yours in order to beat them. 

The song was almost done, your group performing the best they ever had, and when you finished, your chest heaved. It was over, all of this was over and there was nothing you could do about the results now. 

Got7 was next and when you made your way offstage Jinyoung and the rest of the boys shouted good jobs as your group replied with good lucks. You didn’t get a chance to watch their performance because you had to get ready for the results, your nerves growing as you sat in the audience. There were still 8 groups left in the competition, and they would be calling the top four groups to the stage. 

You waited anxiously as the MC walked across the stage, past the trophies, and to the podium. He began his beginning speech, but your ears were ringing, anxiety skyrocketing as you awaited the groups to be called. 

You smiled and cheered for the two groups who were called, jumping out of your seat as your group was called. As you were making your way to the stage, Got7 was also called, a smile growing on your face as you stood next to the other teams. 

If you thought you were nervous before, you were 10x more nervous as you awaited the MC to announce what place you had gotten, hoping and praying your group had pulled off a win. 

The first two groups got 3rd and 4th place, and you held your breath as the mc pulled the results from a sealed envelope. 

“And second place goes to,” The MC paused, your heart beating so loudly in your chest that you swore you wouldn’t be able to hear him announce the results, “GOT7!”

You felt the girls around you start screaming, incredulous looks thrown around the girls you considered your closest friends. You had won. The Silhouettes had won, you had beat Got7. 

You gripped your first place trophy, all of your members holding it above your heads as you chanted. The adrenaline of winning causing smiles, laughter, and tears to spread through the group of girls. 

You had missed Jinyoung, by the time your group stopped celebrating Got7 had already returned to the hotel. Although that caused a twinge of sadness, you were too ecstatic about winning to let it get you down. Your group decided to spend time at the hotel spa in celebration of the hard work you had put in the last couple of months to get here. To be the number one acapella group in the world. 

You had spent most of your time in the sauna, your groupmates long gone from the spa as you just sat and relaxed. The peace and quiet helping calm all of the wide range of emotions you were feeling. 

You opened your eyes as the door to the sauna opened. A broad-shouldered man had entered, his back to you as he closed the door firmly. When he turned, he gasped. You just smiled, Jinyoung staring at you, glancing down to the towel wrapped around your body and then back up to your eyes. 

“Wh-what are you doing here?” he stuttered, his grip on his towel so tight you could see the whitening of his knuckles. 

“It’s a public sauna, Jinyoung,” you laughed, patting the space beside you, “I’m allowed to be in here and so are you.”

He nodded at this, loosening his grip as he walked towards you. The noise of his towel hitting the ground drew your eyes down, and then once you realized where you were looking, back up again with a cough. 

“Well at least now we are even,” you said quietly, averting your eyes as he scrambled to wrap his towel around himself again. When he sat down, his face and ears were flushed so red there was no way it could be from the steam. 

“What happened to confident, cocky Jinyoung, hm?” You asked, chuckling as you tried to lighten the mood. Your own thoughts drifting to dirtier places. 

“I- uh,” he paused, covering his face with his hands, “A girl’s never- uh, I haven’t done anything like this,” he stuttered, his ears reddening. 

You grabbed a wrist, pulling his hand down so you could see his face clearly, “Jinyoung,” you paused, glancing down at the tent that had formed in the towel that sat loosely around his waist, “Are you a virgin?”

He let his other hand drop, still not making eye contact with you as he nodded his head. You took a deep breath, your dirty thoughts coming back in full form as you slid your hand across his thigh and grabbed his length. 

“No one has ever done this?” You asked, batting your eyelashes innocently as you pumped him once. His eyes shooting to your hand and then up to your eyes. He shook his head, his hands shooting up to cover his face. 

“Oh no, baby,” you tsked at him dropping your hand from his length, a whine leaving his throat at the lack of contact, “Don’t hide your pretty face, love.”

He dropped his hands then, lightly dragging your hand back to his cock with one finger. Your heart fluttered, he was so cute. You opened the towel, your hand wrapping around his bare cock now, a hiss leaving his pretty lips as you pumped once. You pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Is this ok with you?” you asked, “Wanna keep going?”

“Y-yes please,” he stuttered, squeezing his eyes shut when your lips wrapped around his length. You went slowly, not wanting to overwhelm him with pleasure. Knowing he’s never been touched, you had a fire in the pit of your belly. You were going to make him feel good, but you had to make sure he didn’t come too soon. 

You twirled your tongue around the head of his cock, holding his other hand in your own as he started to whine. You could tell he was getting close, his hips bucking up slightly as you sucked him. Tears filled his eyes as you pulled your mouth off of him. 

“Shh baby, it’s okay,” you whispered, kissing his cheeks and then his lips, “Take care of me first and then I promise you can come.”

Jinyoung nodded at you then, pouting his lips and demanding another kiss before he slid your towel off and you sat down. He pressed a tentative kiss to your nipple, and at your instruction, took it into his mouth and sucked. Jinyoung’s eyes flew to yours as you let out a low moan, his mouth doing the same thing it had just done on your other nipple. You smiled at him, his inexperienced mouth ready to explore and learn, something that made your heat pulse and your thighs sticky with something other than sweat. 

“Jinyoung,” you moaned, pushing his head from your boobs down to your heat. He sat back a moment, staring intently at your core before pressing a soft kiss to your clit. When he sucked it, you jolted, pleasure filling you up as he started to lick and suck and explore. It was messy, and not at all perfect, but it didn’t matter. When he slid his finger inside you, you bucked your hips, Jinyoung looking up at you with confused eyes before quickly removing his finger. 

“No- baby, it felt good,” you said, breath heaving, almost as if to test if you were lying, he inserted his finger again, a low moan erupting from your throat as he pumped it in and out of you. His long fingers hitting all of the right places. 

“Good boy,” you moaned, getting too into the way Jinyoung was listening to everything you said. When he stopped, you opened your eyes and looked at him. 

“M good?” he asked, eyes watery and nose running. 

“Yes of course, baby, you are doing such a good job,” you praised pulling him up to your face and cupping his cheeks with your hands. He pressed a kiss to your lips, one that you returned happily. 

“Wanna do more,” he whispered, burying his head into your shoulder in an attempt to hide. 

“We can do more baby, don’t be shy,” you smiled, guiding him to a sitting position on the sauna bench. You pressed a gentle kiss to his nose before taking his hardness in your hand and guiding it into your heat. You took a moment to let him adjust, and for you too as well. Jinyoung was a lot bigger than anyone else you had ever slept with. 

“Ready for me to start moving?” You asked, searching his face for any last reservations, seeing none and getting a little yes, you raised your hips, slamming them back to meet his own. Jinyoung absolutely lost it then, hands grabbing at your waist and ass as he whined, moaned and groaned. You kept a consistent speed, feeling his length hit places that hadn’t been hit in a long time. You moaned with him, pressing a hasty kiss to his lips as he dug his nails into your back. 

You felt a tightening coil building up in your core at the sensation. Jinyoung’s moans getting more and more desperate as his mouth started sucking on your breasts again. You felt him twitch inside you, a slight bite on your nipple causing your high to come closer. You slid your hand down your torso, finding your clit and rubbing it as you continued to ride him. Jinyoung, overstimulated and whiny as he tried to get you to stop, so you did. Your core tightening and cumming around his sensitive, softening length. 

He pouted, tears threatening to spill and his nose sniffling as you spasmed around him.

You pressed a soothing kiss on his temple, gently pulling yourself off of him and sitting on his lap. His arms wrapped tightly around you as he begged for more kisses. 

“M gonna miss you,” he whispered, his hand pulling your head onto his broad chest. 

“I’m gonna miss you too,” you whispered back, your own hand finding grip in his hair and massaging his scalp soothingly. 

“Sorry for beating you,” you added, a light chuckle leaving Jinyoung’s mouth.

“We all know it's because the judges saw your boobs.”

You both laughed at that, you landing a gentle slap onto his toned chest in protest. You sat like that for a while, kissing softly and talking to each other. Your heart sunk as Jinyoung bid you goodbye at your hotel room door. Leaving a passionate kiss on your lips.

“I’ll see you at the next World’s,” you said, playing with his hand that was interlocked with your own. 

“Mhm,” Jinyoung agreed easily, kissing your forehead and finally letting you go, “but just know you are getting that pretty little ass kicked.”

You smiled at that, “I guess we will have to wait and see, hm?”

[thebargainingchip]

Blood Colors - Chapter 17

Masterlist

Pairing: Roan x Reader

Warnings: None

Previous Chapter

Chapter 1

Roan glanced at the door impatiently, he couldn’t form a scenario in his mind where you wouldn’t show up but if he thought a little deeper he could, and none of those scenarios were good. He glanced back to Clarke, there was something uneasy about her that he couldn’t quite place. “Where’s Abby and Marcus?” He interrupted her. Clarke stiffened a little as she does when something is particularly painful. That’s why Clarke is so tense.

“Taken by Trikru.” Clarke admitted.

“Indra finally betrayed you, and now there holding your most important hostage.”

“That's why Trikru thinks we won’t try to take back Polis.” Clarke explained.

“What’s so valuable about Polis?”  Clarke pulled a little box out of her pocket, battered and beaten, she slides open the top lid and picks something out. She brandishes the flame between her thumb and forefinger holding it up for them to see.

“This. This is what’s important.” Roan watches Clarke, she almost looms teary-eyed for a moment but as soon as she pockets the box with the flame inside the look is gone. Lexa is still very fresh in Clarke’s memory.

“So you want Azgeda’s help to take back Polis, what’s in it for us.” Echo pipes up behind him.

“You can rule over Polis until a new Heda can be selected.”

There’s a pause as he considers it, he can almost hear Echo running the risks behind him.

“On one condition.” Roan says finally breaking the silence after a pregnant pause. “We get to keep the flame until another commander ascends. When do we attack?”

“The day after tomorrow at dawn.” Clarke, Roan considered the conversation over, he turned to leave.

“Y/n left.” Clark said, both Roan and Echo turned back. “A messenger came to call her to you escorting party, they were attacked.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Echo relax, but he wasn’t so convinced. “Is the messenger still around?” Clarke nodded.

                                           ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

It was set, they would ride hard and fast for the border where they left their escort party and they would send word to all the towns in the outskirts of Azgeda gather a small troop to be utilized on the day after tomorrow. Roan sat uneasy on the horse lent to him, a big fellow, able to take the weight of dense muscles and armour. He glanced at Echo who mounted up beside him on her own bay. “Chit’s sketchi. (Something is wrong.)” Echo whispered, Roan glanced back at the messenger who had deliver the message to you. Echo got the idea. Finally there was a load call the gates began to open. “If you betray me, Clarke, you will live to regret it.” Roan called loudly as he spurred his horse forward.

As if on cue, they stepped out from every nook, behind every tree. Roan gathered his reins and spurred his horse into a canter, he circled back, Echo followed and before the messenger could react, his head was on the ground. Echo halted, sword out, blood splatter everywhere on her. Roan was still on the move, he could hear the mass of Trikru now, gathering before the gates of arcadia. Before anyone could realise Roan stood in front of Clarke sword to her neck. He spotted, Bellamy then as she yelled for Roan and his black eye confirmed his suspicions further.

“Where’s y/n?” Roan questioned, Clarke’s throat bobbed, she couldn’t run, he would catch up in no time.

“She’s not yours to bargain and trade with.”

“She’s not yours either, she should be able to make her own decisions.”

“You’re marrying her, you’re placing a target on her back.”

“She’s had a target on her back since you sent her to Azgeda.” He would do it, he would kill her, she would feel her betrayal, dying slowly as she drowned in her own blood. He knew he could, y/n would be safe, they wouldn’t kill her for this.

Just when he thought all hope was last, a war drum sounded and Roan paused, he pulled back, spinning to face the sound as he watched his scarred white-faced warriors appearing.

“I told you, you would regret this.” Clarke stood uneasily, tensed.

                                           ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The room was in complete chaos when Roan entered, things were haphazardly strewn about and immediately as he sets his sites on you he understands why. You were tied to the cot riving and tugging at the bonds. Jackson was nursing a furiously bleeding arm, he could tell you were out of it, your head lulling to the side. “You sedated her?” He questioned furiously at Clarke, Bellamy stepped in quick enough. “She didn’t want to come willingly.”

“No shit.” Roan barked. Echo stayed with Clarke and Bellamy watching them carefully as Roan cut loose the bonds. “We’re leaving.” Roan said, as he scooped you up.

Roan sat you down on his bed, you were awake now, dizzy but somewhat conscious. “Roan,” you said again but this time your look was focused on him in a steady admiration. He hated that look, how could you still look at him like this when he had caused all this tension. It was almost unbearable but he held your gaze, steadying you as you swayed with a bout of dizziness. He watched your features grow pale and almost knew it before you said it.

“Bathroom.” Was all you could manage, Roan hauled you up, as you tried to keep the rising bile inside your body and rushed you into the on-suite. You collapsed in front of the toilet with as much grace as the situation would allow. And Roan was just in time to scoop your har out of your face before you wretched violently. You groaned, clearly feeling particularly awful. Whatever they gave was clearly short-acting as you slipped into your state of barely conscious again. He wasn’t about to call Clarke again, you'd just have to ride it out, he knew.

When you had clearly long finished your stomach emptying act, he moved you to the bed again. “You're so caring you know that.” You said with slurred speech and drowsy looks. “You would have made a good nurse. Ooh maybe a doctor, sexy doctor.” You informed him, voice lilting at the compliment, as your head lolled a little. He chuckled, if you had any recollection of the incident you were sure to be mortified and he wouldn’t neglect the opportunity to remind you when you were much less delirious.

“This isn’t my room.” You said, glancing around.

“No.” He confirmed.

You gasped, “Roan we’re not married yet.”

“Unfortunately, We’re not staying.” Roan said. He covered you with the blanket at the bottom of the bed, despite his words and before he was done you were gone.

You fight as much as you heavy limbs allow when they start dragging you down the cold stone hallway, you don’t know where you are but it feels wrong to even to your drugged mind. It’s like treading through water it leaves your muscles aching and you want to top fighting but you know you shouldn’t. A door is flung open and you can’t help but think ‘oh, no’. Every futile attempt at getting away makes you want to quit and you do when they chain you to the floor. Because there’s no use now, wide eyed, your steadying mind finally comprehends your situation. But you can’t believe it, you can’t think what they will do, why they’re cutting off your clothes. even as they start cutting at your pants. Your spirit is renewed  when the cold wraps around your bare legs and you fight against limbs and chains. “No! Stop!” They mock your cries and laugh at your feeble voice thats dry and raspy. But you can’t stop them you realise, you’ve lost all control, and totally at their mercy your throat tightens and you can’t breathe. It feels like you are going to die, as you struggle for air, you’re chest screaming for mercy as your heart races. Surely this is what one feels like before you die. And then it starts, the pain, the real pain and it doesn’t stop.

The feeling doesn’t leave you, even as you sit up with no shackles around your limbs and none of those men around. What grips you is the cool evening air that hits your face. It's so dark, you can barely see in front of you, you feel like you can’t breathe, you sin searching for something and in the dark, your hand slides over something fury and solid which makes you jump back until Roan rolls over. He sits up immediately upon seeing whatever he sees, his fingers wrap around your wrist as he pulls you closer, slipping your fingers into his palm, you glance down and you can feel him as he rubs his thumb over your knuckles, it helps. You’re breathing calms as you try to take deep breaths, eyes connecting with Roan's. “Sorry we didn’t mean to move you while you were out but things got complicated.” He whispers, his understanding of your problem so clear when you only realise it at his words. But now as the adrenalin fades, the effects of the drug hit you like a fright time, nausea with a feeling that makes you feel like a boulder, like you can’t bear to sit upright much longer.

“I feel like I’ve been hit by space station.” You say softly. “What the hell happened at Arkadia?”

“Clarke betrayed us.” He could see your face turn into a bitter expression.

“What's new?”

“But I believe it was because Indra kept Abby and Marcus hostage.” Roan explained.

“What?” You asked alarmed, he could see you had a soft spot for the man that raised you, despite the fact that, to his understanding, he wasn’t the best roll model at the time.

“We believe they are being kept in Polis but we’ll send them back to Skaikru when this over.” Roan promised. “This scheme has set us back with Trikru, we killed a lot of their warriors.”

“And Skaikru?” He knew that painful worry, to fear for the people that reject you, that abandon you, he’s been there once.

“Some got harmed but I think you handed out more injuries yourself, you bit your healer, hard enough to draw blood.” Roan was clearly amused. “And Bellamy was sporting a deep blue eye.”

It felt satisfying but you wanted more, I mean how could they think to betray your kru, even if you didn’t choose Azgeda, they chose you and you hated that Skaikru- that Clarke just couldn’t accept that. After all- you weren’t some possession to be owned and kept safe when it aligned with someone’s interest. “It would be unwise and unlikely that we would align with Skaikru again, but we are going to take back Polis, that's where we are headed. As soon as we have the seat at Polis we will force them to submit to an alliance, unfortunately, the traitors' conditions might not be favourable for them.”

“Don’t you think that would go against Azgeda’s values? Forcing peace.”

“They will see it differently, a King ruling Polis with Jus Gona, the Fayalida and Wanheda at my disposal.”

“Is that all I am a trophy?” You ask genuinely curious but dreading the answer.

Roan sighed, “You know to me it’s not like that but it doesn’t mean I would use whatever means necessary to try and protect you. Being an object to Azgeda ensures a purpose, power, which means you hold value and the eyes of our people.” It was true, but maybe that was what it was supposed to be, even if the world saw you only as the worst part within you, at least to the people that care it was an entirely different story. “We leave early in the morning, lets get some rest, Polis holds a lot of challenges.” Roan said, lying down on the furs he laid out for him, you laid down on the bed made for you, it was close enough that you could reach out and touch Roan if you turned around and somehow his presence made it easy to fall back asleep.

                                           ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“Jus Gona.” You were awake at the words, instantly recognizing Echo standing above you.

“Wow Echo this is such an improvement, are you going to wake me up with breakfast in bed next?” You smiled at her, even half asleep your wit as sharp as ever.

“I can’t be seeing kicking the future queen of Azgeda.” She replied bluntly. “We’re leaving, your horse is saddled and waiting.”

You pulled yourself from the relevant comfort of your furs, rolling the thick skins up as boots stepped up in front of you, you slowly rose dreading facing the person that you knew it was. “Aleksondria,” You acknowledged as curtly as possible, you hadn’t seen her since that night it was declared that you would be marrying Roan.

“Don’t think you can get away with this for much longer, Jus Gona. The wedding wil happen in Polis.” She declared before turning on her heal and striding away at a quick pace.

Your fingers dug into your palms, as you glanced at Roan mounting his horse, you were lucky in one sense- you couldn’t deny it. Roan was a good friend and maybe you even liked him more than you do most, it was the best-case scenario for the circumstance but despite this, you were dreading it.

You quickly saddled your horse, making sure the girth was tight enough before you mounted up.

                                            ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Polis was beautiful when the setting sun fell on the large tower, it glowed against the painted background but it was also very desolate and that’s what made the setting sun so strange. Everyone was tense and waiting for the ambush which they knew would soon come, since there was no way, Polis had been completely abandoned. How many people would be coming at you was the whole other problem.

You we’re in the mix a separate, secure party with Echo on the lead that needed to find a way into the tower, you were glad to be useful at last after Roan and his men having to haul your ass on the back of a wagon for half the journey here due to Skaikru and there decisions. Your objective was to locate, protect and take any important enemy persons into custody for later negotiations. And you knew who you were going to find, your spite overpowered your dread of looking Abby and Marcus in the eyes as they realized what had happened. Sure Indra had really forced Skaikru’s hand into acting against Azgeda, but what the fuck had Clarke thought she could do with you? You bristled at the thought, following Echo down into the dark passages of the holding cells.

You’re eyes adjusted to the low light conditions the further you made your wat down the steps and soon you were glancing in every cell, searching faces of criminals to find who exactly you were looking for.

When the moment finally arrived it was much different from how you picture it. Instead of surprise, it was a different sort of look that reflected on their faces. “(Y/n) please let us speak to Roan if we can just-“ Marcus started.

“No.” Echo snapped coldly. “Confine them to a room in the palace, place four guards on them, they are not to leave their quarters.” She ordered the guards who stepped forward to unlock the cell and pull out the two leaders of Skaikru, you were more stunned than you thought you would be. They looked ragged, Indra really hadn’t been their friend this time. At the chance, Abby lunged out the guard's grips and took up your hands, in her own. Still frozen you could barely react but stare at her.

“(Y/n) please-“ Echo was quick to place a sword at Abby’s neck that had her relishing the hold on your hands to step back and away from the pressure of the sword pressed against her jugular, her eyes wide with fear. You opened your mouth to convey an order-

“Calm down.” Echo stated at you, immediately angered by her words. These were the people you thought of as-

“Take them.” Echo removed the threatening weapon as the guards left with them.

“Stop feeling.” Echo said when they were gone.

“Echo-“

She wrapped a skilled arm around your chest smashed you into the wall behind her, the blow was hard but the knee she thrust into your stomach was worse. You collapsed to the ground a wheezing, gasping, pained mess. You couldn’t even form a coherent thought as you fought for oxygen.

“That is the only way, they can hurt you.” With that Echo left you in the hands of your escort as she continued to the exit.

A guard helped you stood when you were ready to stretch upright.

“Are you alright, Jus Gona?” You nodded still unable to form any words.

Sure Echo was right, but fuck would you get her back for the painful lesson.

Next Chapter

Tag List:

@sunshine-and-riverwater @jinx-is-fire @silver424@cherrysfandom @thebookandmoviefangirl @that-cute-stranger @waitingtobeimpressed @daringvixon

[null-whump]

Felix –– Part Two

Continuation of my first story here. I’ll probably come up with a better name, eventually. Part one was mostly set up, and now we’re getting into the real whumpy goodness :) 

Continued here.

Disclaimer: This is my first time writing actual ‘torture’ even though its pretty mild, so idk how I did. I also did barely any editing, so theres probably plenty of typos. Anyway that’s all, enjoy.

Warnings: Mild language, whipping, asphyxiation, dehumanization (kinda)

Word Count: 1,650

“What sort of magic can you do?” The man, who I had come to learn was named Varren, stood with his back to me, shuffling through stacks of paper on a wooden desk.

I clenched my fists and didn’t respond. I had followed him into what appeared to be a study without a word, but only because I was forced to. I wasn’t going to be cooperative, not by a long shot.

Varren let out a long suffering sigh and turned back to me. “This will really be easier for both of us if you stop being so stubborn,” he lectured, stepping forward to stand in front of me.

I tried not to think about how much taller than me he was and hardened my glare. “You kidnapped me, and now you expect me to work with you? Why would I ever –“ before I could finish my sentence Varren’s hand came up and struck me across the face. I barely had time to recover before he grabbed my collar and shoved me against the nearest wall, hard.

“Work with me?” Varren laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “I thought I made myself clear, boy. You work for me. You no longer have a say in what you choose to do. That is dictated by me and me only.” He pushed me harder against the wall, and I instinctively pushed at his hands, to no avail. “Perhaps I should show you just how little control you have.” Varren released his grip on me and I staggered, nearly falling over.

Varren’s lips pulled upward into a smirk. “Stop breathing.”

I didn’t register the command at first, still dazed from being slammed into the wall. It was when I tried to inhale that his words struck me. The shock of suddenly not being able to breath sent a wave of panic over me, and I struggled for breath, my panic increasing when my efforts proved fruitless. I fell to my knees, desperately grabbing at my chest where it felt as if my lungs had a cold fist around them. It seemed like an eternity had passed, and my vision way beginning to turn grey when a voice cut through the haze.

“Breathe.”

I gasped, and air rushed into my lungs. My chest heaved as my body frantically tried to take in the oxygen it had been deprived of. After several seconds of me gasping on the floor, Varren spoke again.

“I hope I have made myself clear, boy. I won’t hesitate to provide more…reminders, should you need them.” Varren paused, and I could feel his cold eyes on me. “Well? Do you understand, boy?”

For an instant, my resolve wavered. It would be so easy to just give him what he wanted. But the condescending way he looked at me, like I was less than human, the arrogant smirk he had as he brought me as close to death as he possibly could – no. I wasn’t going to make this easy for him.

I lifted my head to glare up at him from my position on the floor. “I’m not some pet you can order around,” I hissed.

Varren looked unamused. “Very well then. We’ll do this the hard way. Get up.”

I reluctantly stood to my feet, his command impossible to ignore. Varren walked back to the desk, this time choosing to sit at the chair in front of it. He pointed to the ground in front of him.

“Get on your knees.”

I clenched my jaw so hard I thought I might break it as my body unwillingly did as he commanded.

“Much better.” Varren smiled down at me and leaned back in his chair. “Now, lets try this again. I am going to ask you questions, and you are going to answer them truthfully. Understand?”

“Yes,” I forced out through gritted teeth.

“I’ll start simple. How old are you?”

“About 16 in human years.”

Varren hummed in response. “So you’re older than you look, but still remarkably young…of course, thats hundreds of years for you, so it shouldn’t really matter.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Tell me about your magic.”

“Telepathy, stealth, and shielding.” I purposefully kept my answer short and vague. I knew that Varren would ask for more details, but I wasn’t going to reveal anything I didn’t have to.

“You are extraordinarily difficult, you know,” Varren said. “I’m sure you’re quite happy with yourself. Tell me all the details.”

I responded unwillingly to his command. “I can read unguarded minds and be almost invisible in shadows. I can form a shield that absorbs magical attacks and use the energy for myself.”

“Well aren’t you extraordinarily pathetic,” Varren scoffed. “At your age I would expect advanced telepathy at the very least. I guess it’s not just your body that’s stunted.”

I clenched my fists at my sides and forced myself not to respond. I knew that my magic was weak, but the way he said it was harsh in a new sort of way.

“Not to worry,” Varren continued. “We’ll fix that soon enough. For now, there are a few rules that I’ll expect you to follow.”

“What?” I blurted out the question without thinking. I was still trying to adjust to the position I was in, and now he expected me to follow rules? A voice in the back of my head told me that he could easily force me to do whatever he wanted, but I ignored it.

“I could simply command you to follow these rules,” Varren said, as if reading my mind. “But I won’t. I want you to follow them on your own.” His cold blue eyes locked with mine. “And you will follow them. It’s simply a matter of how much pain you want to go through before you decide to do so.”

My breathing hitched slightly and I felt my determination waver. Looking into his eyes, I could see that he meant every word.

“For the sake of time, don’t interrupt me,” Varren said. “Rule one.” Varren held up one finger for emphasis. “You will not speak without permission. Rule two.” He lifted a second finger. “You will not use magic without permission. Rule three.” Another finger up. “You will not eat or drink without permission.”

I felt my anger and indignation rising with every ‘rule’ Varren spouted off, but he kept going regardless.

“Rule four.” Fourth finger, up. “You will not sit, stand, or sleep without permission. Unless I say otherwise, I expect you to be on your knees, just like this.” Varren’s eyes narrowed. “That one is to teach you some respect, boy. If you break any of these rules, then you will be punished as I see fit.”

“You honestly expect me to agree to all that?” I snarled, relieved to find that I could speak again. “No way in hell!”

“That’s one rule broken,” Varren said impassively. “Would you like to keep going?”

I hesitated, but quickly overcame it. “I’m not your damn pet,” I growled.

Varren rose to his feet. “Perhaps your punishment should leave a more…permanent reminder this time.”

I didn’t have time to think about what that meant before Varren seized my upper arm and hauled me to my feet. He marched out of the room, half-dragging me behind him as I struggled to match his long strides. He didn’t say a word as he opened another door and threw me to the ground inside. I hissed in pain as I hit the floor, and tried to push myself up but was stopped short as Varren’s boot collided with my chest.

“Stay there,” he ordered as I coughed, my chest throbbing with pain.

I heard something behind me, but as I turned to look Varren seized hold of my arm and forced me onto my knees. I felt his hand grasp my shirt an instant before he tore it away, exposing my back to the air. I gasped in surprise, suddenly acutely aware of how cold it was in the room. The floor was cold stone beneath my knees, and the chill seemed to seep into my whole body. Varren’s voice interrupted my thoughts.

“Since this is your first time breaking a rule, I’ll only do ten.”

‘Ten what?’ Was my only thought before I heard a swish, crack and pain exploded on my back. I cry tore from my throat, both from surprise and pain. ‘Ah,’ I thought dazedly. ‘Ten of that.’ The second lash hit my back and I managed to restrain my cry, but the pain almost seemed worse than the first time. I grit my teeth and braced myself for the third.

Crack. More pain. I gasped, trying to focus on anything but the fire across my back.

Crack. I cried out again, unable to prevent it.

Crack. I cried out for a third time, and I could feel tears gathering in my eyes.

By the tenth lash, I felt like I was going to pass out.

“That should suffice.” I barely register Varren’s voice through the haze of pain. A hand grabbed hold of my hair and my head was jerked up so that I met Varren’s eyes. “I trust that you will remember this the next time you think of stepping out of line, boy.” He released my hair and my head dropped down to my chest. I vaguely noted that Varren was walking around me and heard the sound of the door opening. “You’ll stay here tonight.” With that, the door slammed shut, and I was left alone.

Slowly I moved to hug my knees to my chest and buried my head in my arms. The pain on my back was worse than anything I had felt before. The cold air bit at my exposed skin. I had never felt so exposed, or so alone. Tears flowed from my eyes, and I let them come.

[oozmart]

Here’s another oneshot about Dahlia and the Sawyers!  Hope yall enjoy :)

_______________________________________________________________________

Dahlia plopped down on the couch, took a deep breath, and let out a long sigh.  She just danced like she’d never danced before to her favorite mix tape.  She might as well, she was home alone for once.   The house was her ballroom.

It wasn’t often Dahlia was home alone.  Although no one could ever really be home alone in the Sawyer house, Grandpa was always there.  Fortunately he didn’t say or do much.  He just sat in his chair and watched her go to town on the make-shift dance floor that was the Sawyer’s underground living room.  

Dahlia was grandpa-sitting while the boys went hunting.  Drayton went with them to help spot decent prey.  The pickings have been a bit slim lately, but thats just how it is this time of year.  Its slow season.  Drayton was always the crankiest around this time of year.  “WE’RE LOSING MONEY EVERY DAY,” he’d yell, “IT’S BAD ENOUGH YOU BOYS AREN’T BRINGING HOME ENOUGH GRUB!  NOW I’VE GOTTA DO THE WORK OF 3 MEN!”  It was nothing new to anyone who lived under the same roof as him.

Dahlia may not have been hunting, but she thought she worked hard enough taking care of the house.  She was the only person, besides Drayton, who had a real job and earned any income for this family.  Even on her day off she took the time to clean the house, do the dishes, do the laundry, sort the leftovers in the fridge, feed grandpa, AND bake 2 pies.  Those boys could barely do one chore on a good day, let alone all of them.

These acts weren’t simply out of kindness or obligation, however.  Dahlia was itching to get on Drayton’s good side, because she had some special plans for her and her favorite Sawyer brother, Chop Top.  The tense energy and busy schedule Drayton created left them little to no wiggle room for alone time as a couple, despite their many attempts.  She wouldn’t fail tonight though.  She was feeling extra frisky.  

The small lady wasn’t sure why, but her heart yearned for her lover’s arms more than ever.  She wanted him to hold her, pin her down, tie her up, bite her, cut her…  Nothing was off limits tonight.  Dahlia flustered herself over the nasty thoughts.  She fanned her face, still sweaty from all the dancing.  She thought about how Chop would beg for her when he wanted to have her.  He would do anything just to get in her pants.  She wondered how he would react when the tables were turned.  What would he do if he saw her beg for him?  Would he like it?  She placed her hand on her leg, and slowly slid it up to her pelvic bone, thinking about the night ahead of her.

In the midst of her fantasy, she heard a small moan.  She looked to grandpa, who was wiggling a bit in his chair.  Dahlia sniffed the air.  Smoke?  She gasped, “MY PIES!!!” She leapt from the couch and ran to the kitchen.  She frantically slipped on a pair of oven mitts and opened the oven door.  She sighed from relief, “A bit well-done, but still good!  Phew!  Thanks, grandpa!”  She pulled the tray out of the oven and set it on top of the stove to cool.  

“YOU TWO COON SHITS CAN’T DO ANYTHING RIGHT!!!” The sound of Drayton’s complaining echoed through the dirt walls.  Dahlia turned sharply, realizing they were finally back from a long day’s work.  She threw off her mitts and bolted for a mirror.  She bumped a skeleton sitting at a small vanity to the floor to fix her hair.  She took it down from her ponytail, and shook out all the sweat.  She smiled at her reflection, cute as usual.  A little wet, but it was kinda sexy.

“Aw, come on, bro!  I- It wasn’t that bad!  We got oooooonnnneeee!!!”  

Dahlia’s heart skipped a beat upon hearing her lover’s raspy voice.  

Drayton was the first to enter the living space, “I told you once, I told you a thousand and ten times!  ONE WON’T CUT IT!!!”  Dahlia skipped over to Drayton with a chipper attitude, much to his dismay, “Whatdya want, girly?” he spit out that nickname like it was a disease.

Dahlia gestured to the room, “Notice anything?”  Drayton looked around a moment, as she waited in anticipation for some gratification.  

“You, uh, you knocked over that there skeleton.” He pointed to the skeleton on the floor beside the vanity.  “You oughta pick it up.” he ordered, making his way to the kitchen.  Dahlia rolled her eyes and huffed.  She stomped over to the skeleton and sat it back up on the stool, its head rolling off in the process.  Ignoring the decapitated head, she proceeded to follow behind Drayton.  “I cleaned the house!  In fact, I did all the chores.” she boasted, hoping he might give her just a sliver of praise.  

“You did the dishes?” he asked.  She nodded proudly.  “Well,” he continued, “looks like you’re gonna have to do more once those pies get eaten.”  He continued to go about business as usual, as if she didn’t work her ass off all day for this very moment.  She sighed and shrugged it off, that was the closest to a thank you she would get out of him for today.  His mind was obviously in other places.

Bubba came into the kitchen lugging a chunk of meat he shaved off of some poor idiot who got caught.  Despite being covered in blood, he grabbed Dahlia and pulled her in for a hug.  She cried in disgust, “BUBBAAA!!!  You’re gonna get blood in my hair!!!”  She pushed herself off of him, and gave him a cold stare.  He looked down in shame, wiping his hands on his apron.  As if that did anything, the apron was blood-soaked too.  Dahlia gave another exasperated sigh, “You boys are going to be the death of me…” she muttered, and patted the big-little brother on the arm. 

“H-H-Hey, cook!  Whereya want this???” Chop Top shouted from the entrance holding up a bucket of gouged out eyeballs.  Drayton shouted back, “Where the fuck else would I want them?!?!?  Bring’em here to the kitchen, ya dumbass!!!”  

Dahlia’s eyes became hearts as her man hobbled across the room like a goblin.  She threw herself against a large pipe and struck a seductive pose, only for him to pass her right by.  This girl just about had enough of the Sawyer’s for one evening.  The boys hadn’t even been home for 10 minutes and they seemed to be going out of their way to make a fool out of her.

Chop Top set the bucket on the counter next to Drayton.  Once this small task was complete, he set his sights on Dahlia.  He creeped over to her, and stood over her unnoticed for a moment.  “H-H-Hey lil mama.” he said softly.

A chill went down Dahlia’s spine.  He called her by her pet name.  This set off all those feelings she had when she was sitting on the couch mere moments ago.  She quickly turned and jumped up into his arms, smacking a big kiss on his lips.  

Losing his balance, he fell to the ground with a thud.  “AH!” he shrieked, “You stupid bitch!!! Jumpin’ like a spider monkey all over me!”  Still on top of him, she continued to kiss him all over his face.  The average person may find him grotesque, but she thought he was a hunk.  Chop Top knew better though.  This behavior was weird, even for Dahlia.  “W-W-What’s wrong with you?” he couldn’t help but smile when he asked.  As odd as it was, he did enjoy the physical attention.

“Ooh, I just REALLY wanna listen to the radio tonight, big daddy!  Can we? Can we, please?!?!”  That was their little secret code term for “let’s get our groove on.”  While his pet name for her was Lil Mama, she called him Big Daddy.  She didn’t say it often, but when she did it meant she wanted it bad.

Chop Top’s pale white face turned red like a cherry.  He never saw her so eager before.  It was he who usually initiated everything.  It was very different throwing yourself at a girl than having a girl throw themselves at you.  It made him a bit nervous, he could feel a sweat start under his arms.  All he could mutter out was a small stutter, “Y-Y-Ya?”

Drayton stomped over, and grabbing Dahlia by the arm, yanked her off his lap.  “No one’s gonna listen to nothin if we don’t get any work done!!!”  Still having a grip on her, he tossed her towards the kitchen.  He then proceeded to grab Chop Top by the shirt and lift him onto his feet.  Chop Top didn’t say a word, which was very unlike him.  “Whats the matter with ya boy?” Drayton asked, mildly concerned but mostly annoyed.  Chop Top just stared blankly in Dahlia’s direction, his heart beating like he just ran a marathon.  The old man had no time to waste, so he just shook his head and left him there to stare.  “Well, i’ve got 2 other sets of hands that aren’t completely cuckoo shit yet.” the old man muttered under his breath, but still loud enough that everyone heard.

Bubba continued to haul meat back and forth from the cutting room to the kitchen.  He passed Chop Top with his blank stare and stopped.  He was worried about his big brother.  He was usually loud and obnoxious, but he suddenly seemed dumbfounded.  Bubba tapped his arm as gently as he could.  He continued to give little nudges until Chop Top finally shook out of the trance.  “BUBBA!” he shouted, “You ever feel like your hearts gonna explode and your body is shakin and your mind is goin CRAZY OUT OF THIS WORLD?!?!”  

Unsure how to properly respond, Bubba simply shrugged his shoulders.  He stayed by his side still, worried his brother was falling ill.  The middle Sawyer realized his little bro wouldn’t understand, and quickly brushed him away.  The big man sighed, hoping everything was going to be alright for his favorite brother.

Chop Top moseyed to the kitchen and stood next to his little woman as she began cutting up the pie.  He wanted to speak, but he found himself unable to open his mouth.  Once again frozen in time.  He watched her as she casually worked like a little housewife, enamored by each motion she made.  Her fingertips carefully graced the crust of the pie, as not to crush it inward.  Her eyes, so soft and yet so laser focused on the task at hand.  Her lips at a slight curve, not quite a smile, but still ever as content.  He watched on as she used the knife to scoop up a slice and plop it onto a plate, the berry filling spilling out of the sides.  Dahlia looked up at him, dead in the eyes.  She lifted the knife up to her mouth and licked off the red cherry goo.  

He just couldn’t look away from her, how could this small creature have this much power over him?  What did she have planned?  What was she going to do to him?  Licking that knife got his hopes up that she might slice his neck or stomach.  She usually refused to hurt him like that, despite him being an outspoken masochist.  What changed in her that made her so…… horny?

“Chop Top?  Hello?  Are all the lights on upstairs?” Dahlia tried to get his attention by waving her hands in his face.  “You’re starting to make me worried!”  The tall man blinked himself out of a trance once again, and stammered out a small response, “I-I-I’m ok.”  

She smiled into a sigh of relied, “Well thank goodness!” She picked up the plate of pie and a fork, “You gotta taste some of my delicious cherry pie!  I made it just for you!”  A small blush showed on her cheeks as her smile grew wider.  She scooped up the tip of the slice onto the fork and held it up to her lover’s mouth.  He opened his mouth and the fork slid in.  He took the bite and slowly chewed, enjoying the sweet taste of the berries.  Dahlia was still smiling like a lovestruck fool right up at him.  “If you’re not in the mood to eat right now we could always do something else.” she bobbed her head from side to side to help insinuate her sexual intentions, “If you’re in the mood?  I know I am.” She continued bobbing her head, waiting for a response.

Drayton butted between the two of them to grab two plates and the knife.  “You oughta stop that weird head shit you’re gonna snap your neck.” he shook his own head in frustration before going to the other side of her to cut up some pie for him and Bubba.  Dahlia gave a huff.  Drayton seemed to love getting between the two of them.  He didn’t exactly approve of what Chop Top and Dahlia did behind closed doors, so he pretended like he didn’t know.  Although Dahlia was sure everyone in the house knew based on how loud they’d turn the radio up certain nights.

Chop finally came to and spoke up, “Listen babes, did you- uh, do something different?  With your hair or your eyes or something?”  

“My eyes?”  She tilted her head in confusion.  How does one change their eyes, she wondered.

“I just feel like you’re different today.  Its makin me nervous!”  he admitted.   Dahlia turned on her bedroom eyes, and took a step closer to him, “I think you’re nervous because for once I want you, rather than you wanting me.”  She placed her hands on his chest, rubbing up and down sensually.

A chill went up his spine when she touched him.  Despite the shift in their usual dynamic, he was extremely turned on.  “Oh, I want you!  Don’t make no mistake about that, lil mama!”  He took her hands and wrapped them around his waist.  He rested his arms on her shoulders and began to sway from side to side.  The nerves melted away into his typical horny energy.  She giggled as she followed his rhythm.  He lowered his face down to hers and placed his forehead against hers, with a wild, toothy grin plastered on his face.  

Dahlia was still smiling like an idiot too, as she whispered, “I love you, Bobby.”   

Chop Top chuckled.  He was once again nervous, but he had a better handle on himself now for some reason. “I love you too, lil mama.”  He took a step back and grabbed her by the wrists, letting out a laugh like a deranged hyena, he started to dance to music only he could hear playing in his head.  Dahlia joined in, whipping her head around and letting her hair fly everywhere.  

Drayton and Bubba watched on from the kitchen table.  The eldest Sawyer shook his head disapprovingly, “Buncha idiots….” He turned to his littlest brother, “Bubba, don’t you ever get yourself mixed up in that bullshit.”   Bubba stayed quiet as he watched the couple dance.  All he saw was a happy couple.  He wanted to have something like that.  He wasn’t sure how or why, but it was a nice thing to want.

[enigmasalad]

Falling Apart

(Inspired by @sugarglider9603 ‘s and @galaxy-lilies-main spiderverse au and an ask on it saying if virgil died what if roman became a villain. WARNINGS: Mentions of explosions, graphic things, murder, loss and mind control. )

Have you ever seen anyone fall apart? Roman has, and what a tragic, gruesome event it was. Roman remembers the day clearly. Spidergale and Royal Slinger were called to an emergency revolving around the subways. No one knew what it was, just that they had to get there quick. So here Roman was, swinging from building to building with the love of his life to save civilians once again and please their fan base. “Whoever rescues the most people or stops the situation first will get to choose where we go for date night. How about that Gale?” Roman proposed as he swung forward. Virgil chuckled and swung in time with Roman. God Roman could never get over that laugh. “You’re on Slinger. Prepare to eat at Petrov’s.” Virgil remarked with his signature sass. “But we always go there!” Roman whined. “I like Russian food okay? Don’t judge!” Before Roman could remark again, they heard people screaming. In an instant, both stuck to the side of a building to observe what they were up against. People were pouring out of the subway entrance. That’s when they heard someone scream “It’s a bomb!” Great. Roman fucking hated bombs. The two heroes rushed into the subway station. Following the path where people were running from, they easily found the subway stop that they needed to go to. “Fuck.” There was a whole subway filled with people, screaming and banging on the windows to escape. As they could see, the doors had a strange bomb stuck on it, sealing the poor passengers inside. “Alright Slinger we need to break the windows and start getting people out! Why don’t you start on that while I defuse this son of a bitch?” “Copy that Gale.” Roman hurried to a window farther away from the bomb. With a punch the glass shattered into a million pieces. “Never fear, Royal Slinger is here! And Gale.” “Fuck you.” Virgil grumbled, examining a wire. Roman smirked for a millisecond before addressing the passengers. “I need you to be as calm and orderly as you can while Spidergale stops that bad boy. No pushing, shoving or sudden movements okay?” Once he was sure everyone was on the same page he started helping them out. Once they were out he instructed them to run like hell, which they of course did. Roman was in the muddle of helping an elderly woman out when he heard Virgil make an ‘aha!’ noise. “The bomb’s defused but I don’t know for how long. There’s a possibility its remote controlled.” He said. “Meaning?” Roman asked just to make sure. “Meaning we should try to haul ass.” Roman put a business man onto the platform while Virgil began to help people out as well. Roman helped a pizza guy onto the platform as Virgil went to the last people, a woman and her baby. “C’mon Miss. I’ll help you guys out.” “Oh thank you Gale!” Roman was about to turn back to the platform when his Spidey sense started tingling. Uh oh, it was behind him. Roman seemed to turn around in slow motion. The child the woman was carrying started beeping. “FU-“ “VIRGIL!!!” Roman suddenly couldn’t hear. He didn’t need sound to understand what was going on. That child was a bomb in disguise. Even though Roman couldn’t hear, he could feel a blood curdling scream escape his throat. Days passed and Roman could still see the haunting image in his mind. They were burying Virgil today. Or, what they could find of him. Roman fucking laughed. They couldn’t find all the pieces of his dearest and yet they were fucking burying him today? That’s absurd! He couldn’t give his love a farewell kiss or a flower because Virgil wasn’t fucking together. Roman couldn’t hear Grandma Storm or Patton sobbing. He couldn’t hear the speech that Logan had made. He could see Logan physically struggle, but Roman didn’t care. His eyes were focused on the coffin. Virgil would probably complain that his coffin wasn’t “edgy” enough because it was white. He could hear his love’s voice. God this was awful. Roman blinked and suddenly the coffin wasn’t there, just a headstone. He felt a hand on his shoulder and somebody hugging him. He looked down to see Patton hugging him tightly. He turned to the side to see Logan, trying to keep his stoic persona, look at him with sorrow no human should ever have. Wait, was he crying? Fuck. Roman had been crying and he didn’t even know. He could hear Thomas say something but the words were muted by..his own sobs. Roman finally fell to his knees, carrying Pat with him and wailed. Have you seen anyone fallen apart? Logan has, and it was unexpected. Nothing was the same after the loss of Virgil. Grandma Storm quickly passed three months later because her body couldn’t handle the stress and grief. Victory dinners at restaurants felt dull when they’d be painfully reminded about the one empty chair. The headquarters just felt off. Logan would often wake up at night and hear Thomas crying. What was the worst thing of all was how Roman handled all of it. For the first year Roman was in between lethargic, depressed and angry. Some days he wouldn’t get out of bed. Others, he started taking on challenges way bigger than himself. The worst days was when he’d spend a whole day sobbing. His wails would echo through the headquarters. It was so haunting Patton would cover his ears and quietly cry, begging silently for it to stop. Logan would cover Patton’s ears with his hands or turn cartoon music all the way up until you couldn’t even hear your breath. The second year is when the switched flipped. Roman, instead of moving on with his grief in a healthier way as suggested by Picani and Logan, turned aggressive. He’d get into screaming matches, took on suicidal missions, and had even beaten a villain so hard he died in the hospital. Thomas organized an intervention and of course everyone was there. Patton was sobbing and begging for Roman to get some help. What happened next was terrifying, and Logan’s own fault. “Virgil wouldn’t want you to be like this Roman. He’d want you to sing and laugh and be ridiculous.” Logan expected Roman to give in at this, but that’s not what happened. Something flickered in Roman’s eyes. Suddenly Logan felt himself be slammed into a wall. He couldn’t breathe because Roman was strangling him. Roman screamed with a rage almost inhuman. “Don’t you dare fucking say that name! Don’t you fucking dare tell me what he’d want! You putas didn’t even help!” Logan suddenly gasped for air as he felt himself fall to the floor. Thomas, Emile and Remy were holding Roman back, shouting at him to calm down. Logan coughed as he felt Patton rush in and hug him tightly, sobbing at the top of his lungs. That’s when Roman broke free. Through Logan’s blurry vision he could see him quickly run off. Remy and Thomas went to chase him, but Emile rushed over to see if he needed help.

And that’s the last they saw of Roman or Royal Slinger. And that’s when Venganza de Rosas emerged. The first encounter with Venganza de Rosas would haunt Logan forever. A disturbance had been reported so naturally the Spider Gang rushed in to save the day. They were horribly wrong. What, or who they found was Spider Bite. He was impaled by multiple black and red metal roses and limp, blood in a pool below him. Logan rushed to check for a pulse. “Oh god, Oh god please! No more!” Patton sobbed. Logan felt bile rush up but forced it down. There was no pulse. Logan backed up to tell Patton the grim news but something caught his eye. Above Spider Bite was something written in blood.

Venganza de Rosas More and more crimes belonging to this “Venganza de Rosas” person sprung up. Bank robberies, heists, heck even murders besides Dolion’s erupted in their faces. What was the most frustrating is that every time the gang resolved a situation, five more popped up. They had no clue it was the beginning of a bloodier battle. It was realized when a figure attacked Thomas. They attacked the man while he was on patrol. The villain must have left Thomas to die with his spinal injury in an alley alone, but luckily Dream Weaver was patrolling over there that day. Thomas would live, but his spinal injury could take years to heal. He was bound to a wheel chair and hearing MJ sob was enough to make Logan storm out of the hospital room in a flurry of mixed emotions. Everything suddenly became a massive shit storm. Cotton Candy Spider went missing for three whole months before they found his body in the sewers. Dream Weaver, overcome with grief of both of his loved ones killed himself. It’s been five years since Virgil died, two years since Roman stormed out, three years after Dolion’s death, eight months since Emile was found and three months since Remy committed suicide. The Spider Gang was crippled. Logan never let Patton go on patrols anymore. Ever. Patton fought every chance he had but one sharp order made him give in. Patton helped Thomas and MJ anyway he could, but he wanted to go save people. Finally In the first time in years, they had a stroke of luck. Logan was ambushed by the figure. The person was probably male, was slightly above average height and had some muscle on them. They wore a black and red mask with bloody roses on it. What was most odd was the suit. They wore a red and black floral tuxedo, but instead of a tie they wore a scarf. Logan dodged an attack and quickly scanned the suit cause no way in hell would a villain just wear a freaking cloth tux by himself. Logan was shocked at the results. It was made from Vibranium. What was the most shocking was the advanced analysis of the DNA Logan had installed just for Venganza de Rosas. Roman. It was fucking Roman. “Roman?!” Venganza de Rosas laughed, heck cackled with malice. This was Roman, holy hell. “Took you long enough Specs. What, it took two murders, a spinal injury and an ambush? Very slow of you!” Roman snarked. “What the fuck Roman?!” Logan growled out. His hands shook and his insides were cold. All this sorrow and rage built up over the years was ready to erupt. “You killed our friends, your friends, for what?! Fun?! Revenge?! All because we all wanted you to get better?!” Logan spat. Roman scoffed and turned around. “You all were never my friends.” With that a loud cloud of smoke floated into the air. Even though Roman was a murderous mastermind he could still be idioti-. Patton hadn’t seen Logan in hours and grew worried. He repeatedly sent messages, checked Logan’s helmet cam, everything. Patton refused to cry. There was no way Logan could be in trouble! He was smart, quick and strong! He was safe right? Right? Suddenly the supercomputer dinged. Patton hurriedly pulled up Logan’s helmet cam. The camera showed nothing but black, but Patton heard a voice. A rough, gravely and wheezing voice. “Subway..platform…seven…help.” “Logan! Logan are you okay?!” Nothing. Patton wasted no time. No way in hell was he going to lose another family member. No way in hell was he going to lose Logan. He suited up and rushed out of the headquarters. Patton barely remembered the trip to subway platform seven. Unfortunately, he knew the way very well. Because that’s where the platform Virgil was blown up at. Patton hadn’t been there in a very long time but he knew it was abandoned due to the danger to the structures the explosion caused. And of course when Patton entered, it was empty. Or so he thought. Weird noises could be heard. Machinery and music floated through the air. Patton gulped and quietly crawled onto the ceiling towards the noise. Along the way he saw..odd objects. A familiar hoodie. Framed ballet shoes. An MCR T-shirt. Patton’s eyes widened as he remembered these items. They were Virgil’s, so why were they here? The music was growing louder and louder as Patton got closer to what he knew was a chamber. What he didn’t expect was to see so much odd technology. There was strange machines with wires and computers. Tables were covered in advanced, almost government level science equipment and strange things in vials. A vinyl player was on another, more empty table. The biggest thing in the center was covered with a large sheet. Patton quietly made it to the ground and out of curiosity walked to the machine in the center. He pulled the sheet and covered his mouth at the thing in the tank. “Patton?” Patton whipped his head around. A cry erupted from his lungs. “Logan! You’re oka-“

SLAM!

Patton cried out as Logan slammed him onto the ground. Patton looked up into his lover’s eyes and gasped in shock. They were blood red. Logan’s eyes weren’t blood red.

“It’s all okay now Patton. Roman is going to fix everything! Our bad luck will be gone and a new world will emerge! We’ll be a family again!” Logan deliriously said with a grin that was way too wide.

“Logan stop it! Stop!” Patton cried, pushing, punching and squirming under the weight of his love.

“Its going to hurt like hell at first but it’s worth it! I promise! Ill be here for you my love!”

“STOP!”

Patton had little time to notice the smoke creeping in through the vents. The smoke seemed to seep into his bones and mind, burning everything that told him to resist into a crisp.

Patton screamed in pain, as his eyes changed blood red. Logan’s kiss was the only thing to mute him.

Blurry eyes blinked. What.was going on? Memory seemed useless, for everything was blurry visions of glass. But now..legs worked. That had never happened before.

The glass door opened and shaky legs stepped into the world for the first time. The lights were bright, but a quick eye rub cleared everything up.

“Ah! It worked! How are you feeling?”

A man. There was..a man.

“…G-Good?”

A gasp could be heard. Voice! The throat had a voice! There was never voice! The man grinned and took hands into his own.

“Good, good! Do you know who you are?”

“N-No.”

The man smiled kindly and kissed the hands.Blood rushed to cheeks, making them warm.

“Your name is Virgil, and you’re my heart. My love. My beloved king.”

Virgil blinked. Love? The word seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place it.It was..nice.

“Come my love. Let us get you dressed and we can talk more. Im certain Patton has clothes laid out for you. Of course everything will make more sense when Logan inputs your memories.”

Virgil nodded, all tension gone. However he still had one question.

“Who are you?” he asked, voice raspy from lack of use.

“I’m Roman, my love. And we will rule this world together with an iron fist.”

[darling-dontforgetme]

Cordelia Goode x Reader

- I’m really, really, really not sure how I feel about this one, but basically it’s about the reader passing out and scaring Cordelia.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Cordelia’s lips meet yours for the first time, you forget how to breathe. Quite honestly, you forget how to do everything. You smile against her mouth, tangle your hands in her hair and pull her body closer. As Cordelia's fingers cup your cheeks, you’re hit with a rush of dizziness and your knees buckle, but she grips you around the waist and hauls you up between her body and the bedroom wall. You keep kissing, uncoordinated, trembling hands roving down her sides, and it doesn’t occur to you that something might be wrong until it’s too late. Your body sways and your feet start tingling, and then you are falling.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A cool hand strokes your cheek and you groan at the pain in the back of your head. In an attempt to get more comfortable, you arch your spine off of the hard surface beneath you, but you’re so unsteady that you just end up falling onto your right hip. You cry out as the sudden motion jostles your head, but gentle hands secure you back into your original position and rub at your temples.

“Shh, shh, love, it’s okay. You’re alright,” Cordelia reassures. You don’t know where you are or why your head hurts, why you’re so confused. Your stomach churns and you whimper, reaching clumsily for Cordelia. Your limbs are uncoordinated and uncooperative, but a strong hand grasps yours and kisses it, the other moving to brush tenderly through your hair. “I’m right here, baby, but please open your eyes for me. You’re safe.”

Cordelia could ask you to run naked through the grocery store or buy her a pet penguin, and you would do it in a heartbeat. You would do literally anything for this woman. You hate to deny her of something she wants, but your eyelids feel so heavy.

“Darling?” Cordelia asks, and now you can hear the fear in her voice, the hesitance, uncertainty. “Can you open your eyes for me? Please?”

“Mmmm,” you mumble, smacking your lips because your mouth feels dry. Her tone makes you feel scared. You know Cordelia is here with you, keeping you protected from whatever horror is on the other side of your eyelids, but her voice has betrayed her own anxiety, and if Cordelia is afraid that means something is very, very wrong. 

Removing your hand from hers, you rub at your eyes, hoping to awaken them. Cordelia has asked you twice now, and you’ll figure out a way to get them open even if you have to pry their lids apart with your fingers. It takes a lot of effort and makes the pain in your head throb in time with your heartbeat, but you manage to pop open the right one and then the left, squinting.

Cordelia’s brown eyes are wide and worried, and seeing her leaning over you disorients you even more. “Oh, sweet love, you scared me. What happened? Are you hurt?”

“I- I,” you stutter as guilty tears come to your eyes. “I’m sorry." You don’t know what you’ve done, you don’t even know what’s happening right now, but you want to take away all of the stress you have caused her.

“We were kissing, and then you just started falling,” Cordelia chokes, crying now, and her warm tears fall down onto your face to streak across your own cheeks. “I- I don’t- you passed out. We were kissing, and then you just fainted.”

You realize for the first time that you are laying on the floor of your bedroom, head resting in Cordelia’s lap. You don’t remember ever passing out before, and for a moment that uncertainty scares you even more, but then you remember your petrified girlfriend. 

“Cordelia,” you say softly, willing your body upward to comfort her despite the still present vertigo, the nausea. Her fear is your fault. Those tears on her face are because of something you have done.

Firm hands press down on your shoulders, and she shakes her head. “No, sweetheart, not yet. You need to lie here for a little while longer. I don’t want you falling again.”

Your hand reaches up to cup her cheek, and it’s awkward because of your current position, but she leans into your palm. “I’m sorry, Delia. I’m alright,” you reassure with a watery smile. “I promise, tiny love. I’m okay.”

Cordelia only shakes her head and cries harder. “You’re not, though. You lost consciousness, baby, and I don’t know why. Are you hurt?”

“The back of my head is a bit sore,” you downplay, sucking on your lower lip. You are definitely not going to scare her more by telling her it really feels like there are millions of tiny hammers pecking at your brain.

Cordelia nods. “I couldn’t catch you in time so you hit it on the way down. Roll on your side and let me look.”

Cordelia helps you turn over in her lap, and you work hard to maintain a neutral face until she’s occupied with searching for your bruise. Tender hands stroke the back of your head, but you hiss as she brushes over the sore skin.

“I’m sorry,” she soothes, fingers jerking back before cautiously beginning to separate your hair. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You grip onto her knee and squeeze. “S’okay, Delia. I trust you.”

You gasp when Cordelia delicately brushes a finger over the spot, and you wish you could see her face, see how much this is hurting her, too. “I think it’s okay, but we’ll get you some ice, aright? Do you feel like we need to go to the emergency room? What happened?”

You know your girlfriend, so you are aware that she is undervaluing how bad things really are to help calm your own anxiety. Cordelia helps you reposition onto your back, and you look up into her eyes. Preparing to argue your case against the ER, you take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Cordelia is worrying, terrified actually, but she wouldn’t have mentioned medical attention if she hadn’t already planned on taking you in to get checked out. She wants you to feel like you have a choice, but you know it is the Supreme who will have the final decision. Who knows how long you were unconscious for, giving her brain the time to come up with many different scary scenarios and think about what your next logical step should be from here.

“No-no hospital,” you say. “And I don’t… I don’t know. I felt dizzy. That’s when you caught me and pinned me against the wall, but it got worse and my feet started feeling funny.”

Cordelia’s eyes widen and she bites her lip, stifling a smile before she tilts her head back and bursts out laughing. “My word, we kiss for the first time and you’re so starstruck you forget to come up for air.”

Groaning, you cover you face with your hands, hiding in embarrassment. Did you really forget to breathe?

“Thats quite the compliment, baby,” Cordelia teases.

Refusing to look at her, you grunt in response and try to turn on your side so you can curl up and hide, but she holds you in place. 

“But let’s not do it again, okay? I’m worried you may have a concussion.” Cordelia’s voice turns serious, and she tugs your hands away from your face to peer into your eyes. “I think we should go to the hospital.”

“Corrrrdelllliaaa,” you moan, dragging out her name. “No, that’s stupid.” It’s mortifying to pass out from kissing your girlfriend, but it’s even more humiliating for other people to know about it.

“Not stupid,” she states matter of factly, leaving no room for argument. “You have an injury that needs to be checked out by a medical professional. A head injury, at that. We are going, so let’s get you up.”

You groan again, but Cordelia is already moving to help you sit. She urges you upward with strong hands on your shoulders, then wraps her arms around your middle and nuzzles into your neck. You sway a bit, but Cordelia’s grip is firm, holding you steady while you wait for your dizzy spell to pass. You can feel her hot breath against the side of your face when she kisses your ear and mumbles that she loves you, then she stands and reaches for you.

As soon as you make it to your feet, you stumble backward, black dots intermingling with your vision. Cordelia catches you and cradles your body against hers, biting her lip. “You’re very unsteady, baby. Are you sure you can walk?”

You nod, but it makes the room wiggle like those heat waves you see above the hot pavement in the summer. It’s bad enough she’s making you get checked out, and you refuse to give up your last shred of dignity by admitting that you can’t get there on your own power. Your stomach lurches again.

“Okay, we’ll go slow.” As you begin the trek to the front door, Cordelia’s eyes dart rapidly between the path ahead of you and your face. You don’t want to upset her anymore than you already have, but your head feels like you just got off the scrambler at the state fair. You keep tumbling to the side, dragging Cordelia with you.

She stops you at the top of the stairs, and you hate how concerned and afraid she looks because of you. “Let me know if you need to take a break.”

“Cordelia,” you say slowly, turning to her and cupping her cheek. “It’s okay. I’m okay. I love you.” You kiss her, short and sweet, and when you pull back she looks like she’s both in love with what you have just done and horrified because of your last lip locking experience. You hope tonight doesn’t taint your kisses forever.

It takes her a minute to recover, and then you’re making your way down the coven’s long staircase. The more steps you take, the dizzier you get and your limbs feel weak and tingly again. You try to tighten your hold around Cordelia’s waist, but your body isn’t cooperating. The feeling that you might vomit intensifies, and your vision begins to go dark.

Cordelia gasps when you suddenly pitch forward, scrambling to tug you back and lower you so that you’re sitting. The almost possibility of tumbling headfirst down the few remaining stairs has caused you to panic, and the black spots multiply with your now rapidly running heart rate. You feel hot, and you drop your head between your knees as one of Cordelia’s cool hands reaches under your shirt to stroke your lower back, the other snaking around your stomach so you don’t tip over.

“M’okay,” you mumble, still wanting to protect her, calm her. “Promise.”

You can't see it, but you know she’s shaking her head at your stubbornness.

Cordelia kisses your forehead, lips lingering like she’s checking for fever. She waits patiently as your gather yourself, and when you finally look up, you have to smile at her. Everything about this entire situation is a mess. A small smile graces Cordelia’s lips in response to your own, but her eyes stay wide and fearful. “There are only three more. Scoot down to the last one on your bottom.”

You do as she asks, feeling like a little kid, then you stretch out your arms so she can pull you up. Cordelia takes both of your hands in her own, but she hesitates and doesn’t tug. “Maybe I should call an ambulance.”

“Hell, no,” you state, taking your hands from hers to grip onto the banister so you can pull yourself up. Everything spins again, but Cordelia reattaches herself to your side. All of this movement is only worsening the pain in your head.

“Hurts, Delia,” you breathe once you start towards the car again. “Feel like I’m gonna throw up, too.” You immediately want to take it back when her face tightens.

“I know, baby. I’m sorry. We’re almost there.”

The cool night air helps a little, and Cordelia delicately eases you into the front seat of the van, strapping you in. You are so tired, but Cordelia refuses to allow you to sleep. She squeezes your hand and taps your cheek when your head starts slipping or your eyes begin to droop.

At the hospital, you fumble to unbuckle your seatbelt, but your fingers still feel funny. Better, probably because you’ve been sitting for a while and it’s given your blood flow a chance to even out, but still useless.

“Stay here,” Cordelia instructs, punctuating every word. “I will be right back. Do not get out of this car.”

You blink at her, wondering how the hell you’re going to escape the car on your own when you can’t even remove your own seatbelt. You nod anyway, assuaging her fears, and watch as struts quickly through the emergency room doors.

Cordelia returns with a wheelchair, urging you to sit, and you can’t find the strength in yourself to care about walking anymore. She pushes you slowly, but like everything else, the motion of the chair makes your head spin, so you close your eyes. Cordelia stops at the check in counter. “My girlfriend forgot to breathe while we were kissing, so she passed out and hit her head on the wall. I’m afraid she might have a concussion.”

“CORDELIA GOODE,” you scold, eyes popping open widely. Cordelia only smiles teasingly, trapping her tongue between her teeth and intertwining one of her hands with your own. “Why don’t you just word vomit all of the intimate details of our relationship? They do not need to know ALL of that information.”

The elderly nurse chuckles as she leads you to a room down the hall, and you roll your eyes. Cordelia helps you onto the bed, climbing in beside you, and the nurse brings you an ice pack for your head. Once the two of you are alone, you cuddle into your girlfriend and close your eyes.

“You can’t fall asleep, baby,” she reminds you, tilting your head up and forcing you to open your eyes.

“Wouldn’t dare,” you mumble and then yawn, eyes already drooping closed. You don’t think much about it when you feel Cordelia remove the ice pack from the back of your head, but she quickly raises your shirt and presses it onto your stomach, causing you to yelp and push away. “Shit, Delia.”

“You can’t sleep,” Cordelia reiterates, moving the cold pack back to your head.

“I don’t think that will be a problem anymore,” you scowl, and she smiles, but fear still lingers in her eyes.

“I’ll do it again if I have to.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Exhausted, irritated, and diagnosed with a concussion,- Cordelia made sure to rub in the fact that she was right- you return to the house a few hours later. You are still in pain, lightheaded, and nauseous, but nowhere near as severely as you were earlier.

Cordelia assists you up the stairs and sets you up against the pillows on the bed, making sure you scoot in a safe distance from the edge before she goes about collecting your pajamas. You watch as she changes, back to you, but your eyes admire her body as she slips her dress over her head.

“Delia?” You whisper, and she hums as she turns around, pulling her pajama shirt down over her stomach and then tugging up her pants. You wait as she crosses the room and tucks her hands into yours, then you meet her eyes and smile softly. “I hope you know how beautiful you are, tiny love.”

Cordelia blushes and ducks her head down, then she nuzzles into you and kisses the side of your neck. “Let’s get you changed, darling.”

She removes your clothes for you, replacing them with one of her oversized t-shirts and a pair of boxer shorts. You sink lower in the bed, and Cordelia’s arms wrap tightly around your middle as her body presses into your back. You turn your head to face her, and she moves in to kiss you, but then pulls back and bites her lip hesitantly. “Promise me you won’t forget to breathe this time?”

You roll your eyes for what must be the hundredth time that night, but she continues. “I’m serious, sweet girl. You really scared me.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, rolling over and stroking her cheek. You really do feel bad for turning such a wonderful thing into a crazy situation. “I won’t forget.”

Cordelia leans down and connects your lips, and it feels just as wonderful as the first time. “Delia, love, who needs oxygen when I have you?”

“You do, goofball,” she chides, smacking your arm playfully. “Though, this is a first kiss I will never forget."