#and did they see speaking as beneath them?

[yandere-sins]

The Orcas' Tale - Krill's Story I

a/n: I have... not much to say, although you should read the warnings. But I need you guys to know that this is 7.666 words long. I didn't make it this way intentionally, but if that isn't devilish, I don't know what is :')

Fandom: Original Content   Pairings: Yandere!Orca Merman x GN!AFAB!Reader Warnings: Yandere, Sexual Content (Nothing explicit yet just drug-induced neediness and description of a cock doing what a cock does, Size... adoration, Begging), Violence (Thrashing, Breaking of bones, fighting machines, Verbal threats, mention of medical tools, syringes), Getting drugged non-consensually, Description of being drugged up, Animalistic behavior, Mention of blood/claws/sharp teeth, Mention of Slavery, Mention of Abuse, Depiction of spoiled Food and Seal Meat, Very long post

"It truly is an impressive recovery of such a valuable resource! Being able to compare the exact date from years ago with now makes for a great opportunity in our research, and now we have two of them! This is your chance to recover from your mistakes all those years ago!"

With pep in his step, your supervisor led you through the long, cagey hallway of the facility, making it almost hard to follow him with all the enthusiasm he was displaying. You, on the other hand, felt nothing but dread as you held onto the notes you had been giving about your new project, almost feeling scared to glance at the papers.

You already knew what they'd say. The mistakes they'd speak of.

Because you were already familiar with the mermen, who had recently been caught by the facility. You freed them all those years ago out of shame and sympathy. And you paid the price, your unpaid labor bordering on slavery. Your choice had been death or continuing their research, and after looking down a gun barrel once, you decided to invest in your studies instead, the company willing to further your education and allow you to continue testing and working with the poor creatures they kept here—albeit with supervision.

"Talent like yours shouldn't be wasted," your supervisor recited the words of the facility owner, but they sounded like a warning coming from him rather than encouragement. 

When he finally stopped at the door farthest down the corridor, you were appalled to see the number on it, finding it less than funny that they'd assigned the same room from years ago as your new laboratory again. All these little digs they made at you never let you forget that they were still angry about what you did to sabotage the facility—as if you could ever. These digs were just there to make you miserable and establish who your life belonged to. You were replaceable, but you wouldn't get out of this alive. If you wanted to survive and have even the slightest chance of escaping this place of horrors one day, you'd have to obey. 

"So do better this time," your supervisor said, smiling down at you smugly as he pushed the door open, the heavy metals screeching with cold, metal bitterness. Bastard, you thought, walking inside the laboratory. The grate floor spread above the large pool beneath your feet throughout the whole room, making your steps audible as you entered. The water was calm, undisturbed—suspicious.

"Oh, also, this one's been really angry ever since we brought him in. Better not let your head get bitten off! Would be a waste. You're too pretty to be a corpse just yet."

You whipped around with a glare, but all you saw was the smug grin on your supervisor's face before he shut the door with a loud bang. A mechanical lock slid into place with a whirring sound before everything became quiet around you. It was strange that they'd leave you here alone after what you did, but then again, there was no way you'd be able to recreate the mistakes you made. Even though you'd never receive any respect or sympathy from anyone in this cursed place, you couldn't help but stare at the metal door, plastered with warnings and reminders to leave equipment in the laboratory before leaving, wishing it would open again and let you out of here.

But that wouldn't happen.

It was ironic that they'd leave you alone with the merman you helped escape before, but the only way out was that door, and it needed a passcode to leave. One you didn't have. You'd eat, sleep, and work as they intended; there was no escaping this, even if the hope never left you. They didn't think you'd make it out alive unless they let you. Much less would you be able to help anyone escape again. Slowly, you turned forward, raising your head to look at the workstation on the opposite side of the room. You couldn't help from glancing downwards every few steps; caution was the only thing that kept you alive in this place.

But even as you made your way over to the station, your shadow undoubtedly making your presence known to the water, everything remained calm. The sound of machines running, keeping the pool intact, and the water bubbling from the pump were all that matched the sounds of your steps and breaths. For a "really angry" merman, this was suspicious. He must have known you were here, yet neither came to watch nor to attack you? You sighed inwardly, thinking about how much of a hassle it would be to actually get him to your examination area if you couldn't fish him out of the pool.

Once you reached the counters with the equipment, you set down the papers you had been given, spreading them out to scan over them. Even if you didn't want to interact again with these pitiful yet obscenely fascinating creatures, you knew that without any results from experimenting on them, you'd be stuck here for all eternity. The expectations were high that you'd find what everyone was looking for, even though the experiments were nothing short of cruel and disgusting. Drugs, surgery while awake, mutilations—those were just a few things you had watched the researchers do to these creatures. And for what? 

Eternal life. 

A fantasy.

How did you know? You were the one finding out that even if their life expectancy was closer to that of turtles, even the merfolks would die one day from old age. There was no such thing as living forever with the help of a mermaid's flesh, tears, or blood, and researching them brought forth interesting facts but not the results that this facility had been constructed for.

And yet, here you were, doing as you were told, trying to find anything that would be deemed interesting enough. 

You heard a splash behind you, making you whip around, trying to make out a sign of life. Even though the floor was raised a few meters above the surface and the partition was closed so nothing could fall in or jump out of the water, it was still unsettling to hear but never see the creature you were locked up with. You knew better than to show fear openly to apex predators like the mermaids, but it had been so long since they let you near one that you could feel its presence—or the lack thereof—frightening you to the bone.

But you had to keep going, no matter what. Turning back to your papers, you spread them out with shaky hands, scanning over the information the first-contact team had collected. A large species, presumably orca-related, male, mature, and chipped. The last fact had been underlined twice, emphasizing the importance of it. This merman had already been in the facility, and they tracked it back to when you had been foolish enough to think you could save them. It had been years. Yet he and another one, as you heard through the grapevine, had come back against any better judgment, making you wonder about the intelligence you knew these creatures possessed.

However, no matter how much information you could absorb through the notes, you knew you were only stalling time. The next step would be getting this creature out of the pool and proceeding with your experiments, but the fear made you hesitate. This merman had been starving for a week in preparation for his exams, and although hunger wasn't a good state for anyone to be in, it was thought it might help to be the one feeding them when you needed their cooperation. Like you'd do with an animal. Unfortunately, they were too clever to fall for these ruses most of the time.

You still had to try. 

Picking up some gloves, you went to the extensive double-doored fridge, pulling out the trays with seal meat on them. However, someone placed dead fish-heads between the pieces in varying states of decay. You took a deep breath, unwilling to give spoiled meat to the creature, even though you'd have to rely on it if you wanted to get anywhere. Picking out a slab of seal meat on the furthest corner of the tray, you just hoped it was mostly uncontaminated as you carried it over to the buttons that would part the floor into an opening from which the merman could be caught. 

You hated pushing these buttons, everything reminding you of the biggest mistake of your life. Sure, you saved three mermen from this cruelty, but look what your efforts got you. 2 of them came back, and you were nothing more than a slave. Nothing turned out to be as heroic as in the books you read.

The metal grated against itself as it parted wide enough to allow feeding. Smaller species could have stuck an arm through the gap, but you knew from the past that it didn't work for any of the large specimens. At least that meant you were safe from an attack for now, though it was debatable how long. The meat sunk further and further down into the blue, but nothing happened. You leaned forward over the gap in anticipation, waiting for any kind of appearance in the wet. However, when the water finally stirred, causing slight waves to appear, it wasn't a shadow that moved through it, and neither did it give any mind to the food. 

You jumped back in surprise, your body hitting the wall next to the buttons, when fingers lurched out of the water, gripping the ends of the partition and pushing them apart. Water splashed everywhere as the merman tried to widen the gap. The metal resisted initially, but even such a strong material bound to an even stronger machine relented under constant pressure. 

As the cool water hit your face, you finally snapped out from the shock, slamming your hand down on the buttons that would close the floor and set the machines into motion to work against the abnormal strength of a merman. The two forces rung with each other for a few seconds before the machine finally did its thing and closed the gap, but it felt like minutes of struggling, of holding your breath in anticipation. 

The merman held onto the metal for as long as possible, and you listened to the gut-wrenching sound of something breaking before he finally let go, the splashing of water dying down. The floor never fully closed, leaving a small gap not even your hand would fit through. Still, you were unsure if the merman succeeded in the end by breaking the mechanical device or if it had been his fingers that broke from the pressure. You wished you didn't have to find out. 

Sinking to your bottom, you took deep breaths, calming yourself. Heart racing and head spinning from the lack of a constant airflow, you watched the water, terror, and anticipation mingling. If the floor broke, it would at least delay your second encounter with this creature for a while. But if not, you'd have given it one more reason to be angry. You watched as his dark shadow—no, body moved through the water, his movements agitated, restless. All you felt was misery, knowing you were causing this distress to him again.

You still had no clue which one of the three it was, although the body was too large to be the smallest of the three "Lyr". Due to the experiments, he had lost a significant amount of body weight and muscles, as well as his mental stability. They would have put him down had you not freed them, as he became a risk quickly. You thought you were doing them a favor by saving them, but you had no idea if Lyr ever made it out in the wild. Judging by the quick thinking and the strength of the orca roaming below you, it was more likely to be either "Nerrocan" or "Krill". Their names were burned into your mind like silent reminders of your biggest mistake and greatest accomplishment alike. 

But the secret was quickly revealed when the merman finally seemed to calm down, swimming out into the back of the room for a moment and giving you time to collect yourself, too. You were still sitting on your ass, none the wiser, when you noticed black and white hairs emerging from further down the pool, slowly, cautiously drifting back towards you. As if on the prowl.

Surely he was waiting for another chance to wreck the floor open and try to escape. There was no reason for this creature not to be out to harm you, and you were such an easy prey, caught in this room with him. Your death wouldn't be mourned, but you also couldn't help pitying this merman, not knowing that your death would probably be his, too. Soldiers wouldn't hesitate to shoot something that was stronger, more deadly, and had too much freedom if they had to, even if it was a valuable species to study. You wondered which merman it was, and feeling a little safer with the floor closed, you leaned forward, trying to make it out.

The most brilliant of red spied out of the water the moment you looked down at it. Unmistakably, like polished rubies, these eyes followed your every move. You watched your own muscles tense and the horror in your expression as you realized which of the three mermen it was before you saw your own gaze fill with sadness in his eyes.

Krill.

The reason you risked everything.

His brows furrowed, then lifted as if surprised, too, although his body stayed submerged, tense and ready to act. There was no way he'd remember you, was there? Despite your doubts, you raised a hand, giving him a silly little wave before addressing him directly. 

"Hello… again."

He said nothing, and you realized he must have forgotten you. It was better that way for now… even if it stung after all you did to help him. 

Holding onto the wall, you got back on your feet, not wanting to be such an easy target and so close to him. He could try something again, and you'd be at a disadvantage if you couldn't even walk. "I'm sure it's uncomfortable, but I need you out of the water for a while. You remember it, right?"

You held your palm above the button that would activate The Fisher, a machine that could detect and catch unwilling mermaids by itself. But you were still close to the opening, so any reassurance from the merman would have been nice to have.

"Go ahead, open that gate again. See where that gets you," Krill threatened, and you believed him. His brows furrowed, teeth gnashing as his anger returned, and you had to realize that he was no longer like the sweet merman you once cared for. Sure, he had been drugged and broken into submission back then, but he had still treated you somewhat kindly, gifting you rocks and following you around the enclosure like a lost puppy. If you didn't know it better, you two had been somewhat close back then, having come to an understanding despite your differences. That was not the case anymore, you could see it.

"You'll see, I'll get out of here, and you'll regret capturing me again."

That hurt. It hadn't been your choice. If it had been your choice, you'd have helped all those poor souls confined inside this facility, making sure that neither merfolk nor humans suffered the consequences of the greed of some rich people. But you had no choice in this matter. You never had. 

Pressing the button, you stepped aside so The Fisher could do its wonder. You didn't want to, but you had to. Didn't want to put him through the same torture again at your hands. But Krill had been foolish enough to get captured again, and you were foolish enough to still hold on to the hope that you could make a change in your life if you obeyed. This time, the machine parting the floor stuttered, and although The Fisher descended from the ceiling, it couldn't open. 

"You are a fool if you think you can capture me with that. Force me to play your little games again, Human!"

Even though you tried to ignore him, it was hard when Krill paced around the opening, taunting you. You had to watch the machines work and fail as the floor was stuck. The Fisher was unable to move as it detected the closed floor, and you wondered how you would proceed if the location became unsuitable to work with. 

With a loud crash, Krill threw himself against the floor, and you gasped as a wave of cold water splashed over you. As you sputtered, you heard the floor grating, the sound painful to both of you, evident by Krill trying to escape it by dropping below the water. But with the sudden opening appearing, the metal claws of The Fisher snapped forward, scanning and detecting where they had to go. 

Until you saw it with your own eyes, you could have never believed such a flimsy-looking machine could restrain the apex predator of the sea, effortlessly capturing him by his wrist, neck, and the space between his fin and tail. Sure, he could throw his weight around despite being restricted, but there was little he could do to hurt you unless he broke free. However, no mermaid ever broke free from The Fisher in your years of working here. It was that effective.

You watched as The Fischer pulled Krill out of the water, shiny droplets of wet falling off of him, elevating every muscle, every toned ab on his belly. He was glistening in the unnatural lightening of the laboratory like a precious gem, and your heart clenched with sadness, knowing there was nothing you could do for this beautiful creature. You had to cover your ears as he began shrieking and cursing, most of it in a language that you never bothered to learn as you'd be incapable of ever speaking it. Siren was more of a singing rather than talking in the first place, and though you liked to sing to yourself, you'd never learn it on a level that could match the skill that his language required.

As you watched him, the first thing you noticed was his size. He had grown, although the rough weight and measurements would be taken by the machine holding him in place. The time in the ocean seemed to have done wonders for him. His fins were intact, and the tag on his tail was blinking despite being such an old model. Since then, there must have been at least seven upgrades over the years, and you'd be responsible for changing it eventually.

Once he was dragged onto the research area, he finally seemed to calm down a little, although he glared at you, fury revealing in his eyes. The Fischer restricted his head movement, but his willpower remained. "You are truly the worst," he sneered. "First, you let us go, then you capture us again. What do you think we are? Your little playthings? Is it fun to mangle us? You enjoy this?"

Testing his strength against the shackles, Krill twisted and turned in the hold, but you tried not to give his words too much attention. He was different from how he was years ago, and you had to say goodbye to the semi-good relationship you two had before, the precious image you had held onto of him. Both of you were fighting for survival, as pitiful as it was, and you had a crapload of tests to run before they'd let you get away from him and pity his fate and yourself. 

With new-found confidence as you watched him rendered immobilized, you returned to the fridge, luckily not encountering any more poor attempts at making life hard for you as you opened the drawers full of tranquilizers. There was yet one to be found that could entirely knock out these creatures, but they had a significant calming effect. And—as you hoped—pain-relieving. Because there were a lot of things you had to do to him that wouldn't be easy for both of you. 

Gathering the tranquilizer shots, various test tubes, tools, and your to-do list on a tray, you carried it over to a table closer to him, taking deep breaths to brace yourself. You were tense, your fingers growing numb from anxiety. You had been assigned to the labs for most of the years, rarely encountering a merman again after what you did. And although you trained for this, the thoughts of hurting him were twisting your stomach. 

"You might think it's fun for us humans, but I wonder what you were thinking coming back here. Maybe you enjoyed the treatment more than you let on, hm?"

Your voice was feeble, even when you tried to act superior. Bantering wouldn't magically develop a relationship between you two, but you couldn't endure the silence when no one spoke. It felt wrong—like he was going to attack you again any second. You needed to keep yourself anchored to reality, or you might have fainted. After everything you went through, you couldn't remember the confidence you had to allow yourself to do something as drastic as release three orcas from a highly secured facility like this. A shame, really. You deserved confidence as you were one of the best, after all. 

Even if you couldn't let him know, you still felt anxious about something happening. You returned to the original counters, providing you with everything you needed, put on new gloves after wiping your still-wet face from being splashed with a towel, and proceeded with a mask and apron to achieve even the smallest amount of cleanliness. You'd be unable not to hurt him at the end of this session, but you at least wanted to avoid him dying from sepsis as well as getting his blood all over yourself. 

"I do not," he snapped, watching as you prepared everything, seemingly having given up fighting the machine but not you. "I came back for Nerrocan."

"Huh…" you mumbled, intrigued by this information. So it was Nerrocan who came back here, not Lyr. Interesting. "Risking it all for your cousin?" you asked, and his eyes narrowed.

"I see you still remember us," he snarled, his lips parting in a cocky grin, but it didn't reach his eyes. Krill looked… uncomfortable almost. You couldn't blame him. This all must have been beyond uncomfortable for the merman. 

"And you, me."

Silence befell you two again as you picked up the tranquilizer, wrapping your hand around the container, surprised when you realized what you were doing. It had been so long that you thought you wouldn't remember your old habits. You used to always warm the drugs so they wouldn't be so bitterly cold when applied on the mermaids. 

Krill flapped his fin despite being restricted, and you looked up at him, catching a glimpse of worry as he looked at the syringe in your hand. "Ran out of the good stuff, eh? I remember it being purple, not that icky color," he mocked, but he didn't sound as confident anymore as he was before. 

"Should have come earlier if you wanted that. I heard this one has interesting side-effects when applied."

Rounding the table, you noticed his fin flap again pitifully, almost making you hesitate. He seemed nervous, muscles spasming in the tension of his restrictions. Stepping up to his hips, you felt his eyes follow your every step, almost making you feel reminiscent of the past. You took the integrated step upwards at the side of the research station, effectively standing above him now to see better. Everything was perfectly laid out so that your work could be done effectively. That's how you had to see it, too. This was work, nothing personal.

"You don't have to do this," Krill suddenly said, unusually calm but determined. "You're not a bad person, you saved us before."

This time, you did look directly at him, giving him your full attention for a few seconds of silence. His gaze didn't waver, didn't move away. He meant what he said. At least, that's what you were supposed to believe. Sirens were prone to lying to get what they wanted, and Krill did not want the drug in your hands, warmed up by your palm wrapped around it. But it wouldn't stop you. You gulped, inhaling deeply. It couldn't stop you.

"And now I have to save myself. Please hold still so I don't hurt you."

Diverting your attention back to his hips, you drove your hands along the slick surface of his body, trying to find any space capable of being squeezed. He jerked once when you touched him, trying to get away but ultimately pressing his hips up into your palm. Eventually, you found a soft spot, pinching the skin between your fingers. Krill shuddered, his body twisting, but The Fischer kept it in place. You'd be safe, even if you hated yourself for doing what you had to. 

The syringe punctured his flesh with only a bit of resistance, and you injected the liquid tranquilizer quickly, stepping away when you were done to watch what would happen. The medication used to be a fickle thing, sometimes agitating, sometimes drugging the mermaids out of their minds. But it usually took a while before it worked. Not this version, though. So many things changed since the last time you worked with the mermaids. But it was cruel all the same.

You listened to Krill groan in pain and relief at the same time. Pressure built, his body twisting and arching, with his spine bending uncomfortably for you as the drug spread throughout him before every muscle seemed to suddenly give out, relaxing him completely and making his body sack in his holds almost lifelessly. Worried, you stepped closer, searching for a pulse. It wasn't for another half a minute before you noticed the even rise and fall of his chest, his gills flaring even though he wasn't using them. The seemingly calm state of the merman made you bolder, although the fear of him faking something never subsided. You walked up to his face, staring into the clouded rubies of his eyes, surprised to find them moving around still, searching for something or someone, despite being slower, less alert than before. 

"I'm sorry," you whispered, unsure if he could even hear you, but you felt terrible seeing what you did to him. Even if he was a creature that wouldn't hesitate to kill you, he didn't deserve to go through what the facility wanted him to. Reaching up, you brushed the hair out of his face, the strands gently gliding through your fingers without any resistance, almost as if they were a liquid defying all the physics you knew. 

Even after all this time, you remembered he used to have longer hair. It used to float above the water, coating it in strings of glossy silk. But now he sported a wolf cut that fitted him just as well. Part of his hair had turned white, with only the top remaining in the same black you were used to. You wondered if it was because of the experiments or just a natural change of color over the years when his head suddenly turned, his cheek feeling heavy as he rested it in your palm. Krill seemed as unaware of his actions as he should be after being forced into surrender by the drug, but it seemed to make the forgotten part of him that felt safe with you submerge again, the feeling almost the same as from the past. You quickly caught yourself falling back into thoughts of things long gone and got to work, cutting off both black and white strands with small scissors, hoping it wouldn't suddenly agitate him. But Krill remained unresponsive, and you pushed away your guilt to quickly store your samples.

Focusing your mind on your work, as there was so much to do, and you didn't want him to recover his strength before you had completed most of the preparations you had to make. You measured and cut down his claws, trying your best not to cause any harm to him and quickly storing the talons for further research. The size of his hands was massive, and you marveled at their humanness for a moment, driving your finger gently over the ridges and joints. Unfortunately, as expected, some of his fingertips were broken, smashed by the struggle with the floor grates. You wanted to clean and wrap them securely. But when Krill let out a long sigh, sounding almost pained just by your touching his hands, you immediately stopped, fearing his wrath upon regaining mobility.

You did further measurements on smaller areas like his hands and fins, everything that could be deducted more thoroughly by hand than by machine. Every time you came around to his head, you looked into his eyes, the guilt threatening to wash over you when they locked with yours, steadfast despite him being out of it, so you quickly moved on. 

While you were at it, you connected his chip to a reader, interested in the data that could be found on it, and removed the jewelry that hung from his body. It would only be a hindrance to your experiments, and perhaps remnants on the metal could determine where the merman was originally from. However, the weight of some of the decorations he had prided himself with—like his necklace of teeth—weighed so much that you needed to drag them over the floor, wondering how this could be efficient for a predator.

"So far, so good," you mumbled as you let the program run its course, wiping off some sweat from your forehead with your sleeve and looking at the situation for a moment. It had been too long, you couldn't really remember the exact procedure to which you should have stuck, but instead of giving your to-do list the attention to find out, your eyes fixated on something else—scars. Albeit not uncommon, there were a lot more now than you remembered, and you raised a hand to his tail, sliding your fingers over the scarred tissue, putting slight pressure on it.

Krill's body jerked immediately, and you jumped back from him, observing the merman. His head rolled forward in the restraints, tired eyes searching for you but unable to focus. 

"Not there… touch..." His speech was slurred, another effect of the new drug, but you couldn't help but smile faintly at him, seeing how he still resisted. 

"I need to count them," you explained, hoping it would soothe his mind. If he could understand it. You couldn't be sure it had any effect, but if you were in his position, you would have wanted to be told what was going on, you thought. "It won't hurt, I promise."

Measuring tape in hand, you placed your clipboard with an empty page on top of his body, moving from his fin slowly upwards and jotting down your findings. There were a lot of prominent scars standing out from his body markings, but even more smaller ones barely visible. It felt quite intimate to search his body so thoroughly, but it had to be done. Krill moved pitifully against and into your touch as if unsure where to go and unable to understand what was happening. Even if it made you lose your balance a few times, you let him, feeling bad for all you were doing. It was the slightest bit of freedom you could give him without risking your own head.

By the time you reached his chest, some clarity had returned to his eyes, and he couldn't control the sounds coming from him. You tried not to agitate him with pressure and touch, but you had to do your work. An arrangement of chirps and sighs, some grunts, and nervous jittering rang out, echoing through the rooms. Deep breaths pushed his chest out, and sighs bordering on moans shivered through his whole body. But you were content as long as he didn't throw his weight around and push you off the step and into your medical equipment. 

"Must you be so thorough," he slurred as you examined his chest, following the curve of his pectoral muscles with your fingers. You looked up at him, his head crooked to the side, still too heavy to hold up on his own despite the metal neck brace, but his eyes were clearer now, following you more intensely. 

"I have to, I'm sorry. I don't want it to be uncomfortable, but I have to document them."

Writing down your finds on your clipboard, you must have pressed it down a bit too hard on his chest because Krill's head fell back, a long groan escaping him, back arching again. "Sorry…" you repeated, the guilt beginning to eat you up, but he only rolled his head in the restraint. 

"No…" he muttered. "Not uncomfortable... I feel weird. It's hot. Make it stop."

You were unsure what to do, but there were only a few more scars before you'd have to move on to his arms and, eventually, his backside. You wanted to at least get the chest ones down before you would have to give him another shot of tranquilizer, as Krill was growing more restless every time you touched him. You wished the examination could have stopped there. That you could have released him and put him back into the cold wet, but you needed to finish this. Even when he started gnashing his teeth and twisting in his restraints again.

"What are you doing?!" he suddenly snapped, much more coherent than before, his head jerking forward, ruby-red eyes glowering at you. You tried not to let it get to you, tried to make it quick so he wouldn't have to suffer, but Krill wouldn't let it go. 

"Stop it!" he demanded as you inspected another small scar around his nipple. It was barely visible against the lighter-toned skin there, but you found it, grazing over the nub a few times while working out the details of the scar you needed. Krill was getting more aggressive with his protests, lashing out at you while many different kinds of sounds escaped him, and it was almost amusing to think that it was because of your touch. You couldn't help spreading your palm over his nipple once, letting the elastic of your gloves weigh down and rub over it, causing every muscle in his body to harden instantly. You shouldn't have abused this situation like this, but seeing him react so sharply, his breath coming out in a drawn-out hiss, was somewhat a relief. Knowing it wasn't all terrible, all cruel and painful. But you caught a grip on yourself quickly, working efficiently until you could finally step away once you had found every last scar on his chest.

"All done," you assured him, unable to keep yourself from grinning a little as he let out a strained but haughty hmpf. He was almost back to his new normal, which made you glad. The drug was awful, but it was good to know he wouldn't be broken down this easily. Your back was turned for only a second when you heard him rattling in his restraints, more clear in his mind again as it seemed. It caused you to want to tease him a little.

"I liked it better when you were quiet, Krill. You didn't react to every one of my touches as if I was trying to seduce you."

"How dare you! I can't believe I am back here with you as if you are…" The word seemed to elude him as he bit his tongue, and you turned to look at his face, so much tension in his expression that you thought he was going to burst. Krill wasn't looking at you for once, focusing on his own body. Walking up to him again, his gaze shifted from straight down back to you, a spark of something you couldn't pinpoint washing over him. Insecurity? Fear? No way. 

"Don't come closer again!" he hissed, tossing a bit more in his restraints, and you stopped in your tracks, subconsciously listening to him like an idiot. But Krill wasn't being malicious; something was wrong. Even though you two weren't on friendly terms, you could tell something was off. His gills were flared, pupils blown wide open. He looked mostly like the monster you had to believe he was, but there was a sense of panic that an apex predator shouldn't ever display unless something terrible was happening to them. And you couldn't ignore it, or him for that matter.

"Hey!" you called out, hoping your voice could ground him from whatever he was going through. Stepping closer despite his body thrashing wasn't easy. You had to be careful, but you weren't heartless enough to leave him to his own demons after you caused them. The drug could have had hallucinogenics, which would not only have put you in danger but Krill too. You needed him if you ever wanted to regain some recognition or freedom in this place, and he needed you since you were probably the only person in the whole facility who would do anything to make the experiments at least a bit more humane. You couldn't abandon him like this after all he's been through.

Instead of putting yourself at risk of being thrown across the room by Krill accidentally slamming his body into you, you stepped up to his head instead, waiting for the moment that you could grab onto him and hold on with all your strength. You expected a struggle that would leave both of you wounded, but the moment your hands clasped around his face, Krill went rigid, suspiciously still. Another wave of fear overcame you, your instincts telling you this was wrong, but you tried your best to stay strong for both of you. "Shh, shh," you mumbled, calming him, and finally, the strength in his neck gave way, and his head fell back. 

You two stared at each other for some silent seconds, and you rubbed your thumb over his cheek comfortingly. "It's all your fault," he uttered, exhaustion washing over his expression. You couldn't blame him for feeling this way, and you made sure his hair wouldn't sting his eyes by swiping it out of his face gently, still shushing him like a parent would to their child. He looked like he was in severe pain, as if he felt fear for the first time in his life. You couldn't believe it was true, but you felt heartbroken for him all the same. Even if he was called a monster, even if he was a killer and a creature or an animal. Even if he wasn't like you, he didn't deserve any of this. 

"Why are you doing this to me again?" he asked, his voice cracking as a wave of sadness washed over his expression. You had never seen a mermaid actively being sad. Angry, panicked, drugged, yes. But sad? You didn't even think that was possible. What could you do to soothe this whale of a man to the point that you weren't suffering the consequences of other people's decisions? Nothing came to mind, and it was awful.

"I haven't done anything yet, just precautions," you assured him. "You're okay, you're safe. I can't change what I have to do, but I promise I'll try to make it as painless as possible. I–"

"No," Krill interrupted you. "Not that. Not the experiments. This." 

You heard the restraints rattle, causing you to look up at his hand, his cut-down, broken claw pointing downward at his body. You halted your comforting, leaving your palms on his cheeks while looking at Krill with a confused look before you stepped away, fully aware that he looked after you, even forcing his head forward again to watch what you were doing as you stepped around him. 

A loud gasp escaped you as you watched the tip of his cock exit from its slit. The moment your attention was on it, it shot out inch by inch until its massive size stood proudly, pulsing and jerking above his hips, having emerged fully within seconds of horror and amazement. A glistening drop of pre-cum collected at the tip as you stared at the massive erection, the bubble popping and spilling onto his chest as you watched it, unable to look away.

"I tried to forget," Krill lamented from behind you, his body sacking in the machine holding him up before tensing and straining again, a pained groan escaping him while his cock flopping in the air, unbothered by its owner's distress. It only produced more pre-cum and jerked ever so often, the shaft pulsing with need. 

"I wanted to forget you so badly."

You forced yourself to look away from his cock, and Krill let out a brief trill in response, sounding almost disappointed. But he didn't shy away from your eyes, gazing at you, defeated and a little… desperate. 

"Help. Me," he breathed, and you let out your own shuddering breath at his request. You only ever wanted to tease him. You didn't want to cause any pain or suffering, especially not the sexual kind. It was unheard of that the drug caused the mermaids to act this way. But you were about to learn what caused this.

"Why me?" you whispered, knowing now he could hear you. 

"Because I remember every touch of you. Every moment we spent together. Every little piece of memory we made in this godsforsaken place, and I need you. I already feel like I'm losing my mind, and I can't take it anymore. At least take responsibility for what you're doing, this is your fault."

"Krill…"

"It's useful for you, isn't it?" he suddenly changed his tune. He looked angry, but the twisted desperation was unconcealable. "My seed. You can have it. Take it all if you must as long as you do something." 

His words were followed by a groan, sounding in so much pain, and you watched his cock jerk, hips lifting, trying to reach an unavailable source of comfort, a connection to something that wasn't there. "Fuck, I held it back for so long. You and your shitty drugs! I had it under control! I didn't need you at all—didn't even think of you!"

Another long howl escaped him, head rolling from one side to another. He looked completely out of his mind when his gaze fixed on you again, needy and desperate. You had no way to find out if it was because of the drugs, and that worried you. 

"I lied," he confessed, his breath leaving him ominously. His admission was completely out of character for a creature like him, which took you aback, but when Krill looked back at you, there was a different kind of determination in his eyes. A savage one—mad even. You wanted to run away, far, far away from him, but his eyes, full of drugged madness and terrifying adoration, didn't let you act on your whims. As if he hypnotized you.

"I thought about you constantly. You were always on my mind. I thought about coming back so many times, but I couldn't leave the others. But now they don't need me anymore, and I have you back. You're the only one left for me, please. Please help me. Help me, my mate."

His voice was sugary sweet as he pleaded with you, your heart skipping a beat when you watched this destructive, dangerous creature reduced to a begging mess. It wasn't what you wanted for him, and you didn't want the kind of control he was hovering over your head. But you felt the heat spreading throughout your whole body as he called you his.

"We're not mates," you tried to deny it, shaking your head, the implications too severe. "That's the drugs speaking."

"Gods," he groaned loudly, licking his lips as his eyes scanned over your body. "I wish they were."

His hips jerked again, impatient and in desperate need of release. If you were truly mates, that would be bad. It would be an instant invitation to be locked in this facility forever until you passed away. If anyone happened to check on you, seeing the state Krill was in, they'd assume the worst, delighted by these new possibilities. You had to find a solution before that. 

"Fuck," you muttered, and Krill groaned in agreement. "We're not mates!" you insisted, moving towards his side again. This was absolutely bonkers, but every touch seemed to send him further down the spiral—and so were you, even though you refused to admit it.

"This is strictly professional."

"It's whatever," he rejoiced when he felt your hands back on his chest, a little too happy about this smithereens of body contact for it to be just because of the drugs. "Help me, mate."

"Do me a favor," you asked, rolling your shoulders and readying yourself for what you had to do. You couldn't believe you were going to do it; jerking off a merman was definitely not in your job description. But if it would help with not being confined for all eternity as a pathetic mating buddy, then you had no choice. You just needed the push to actually do it.

"Say 'please' again."

Krill's lips parted in a disturbingly wide grin, red rubies sparkling as he looked at you, filled with a sickening hope and adoration that made you shudder.

"Please."

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

What I Want... Pt. 2 | William Killick x fem!reader

summary: Getting caught by your father was not exactly how you thought your night would end... you can think of a better way but fate has its way of interfering whenever it wants.

warnings: smut, age gap, taboo, war, death, losing one's virginity, body image, insecurity, dub con, penetration, unprotected, semi-public.

*I rewrote this fan fiction to be in the 2nd person because I've been so inspired by @queenshelby's style of writing. Let me know if you like this way better or if you prefer the old narration style ("I" or "she").

word count: 3740k

Just Wait Till Next Year- John Maus 🎵

Moon River- Frank Ocean 🎶

A light in your father’s bedroom switched on, illuminating the lace curtains in the window. Officer Killick looked up and cursed beneath his breath, loudly enough to alert you as you rested beside him. 

“Oh no,” you gasped and grabbed your romper from the ground. 

“It’s ok. Put on your clothes and do as I say,” William told you softly and buckled his pants. He found his dinner jacket and draped it over his arm, first removing a cigarette from the breast pocket and lighting up. You scrambled into your romper and combed through your hair with your fingers, trying to settle the messy bird’s nest that your hair had become. William puffed on his cigarette briefly and once satisfied that it looked as if it had been smoked for longer than it actually had, gestured to the fountain behind them. 

“Sit on the edge and put your feet in the water.” You did as you were told, swinging your legs over the side of the fountain and letting them sit in the deep water. The wetness between your legs became cold as you arranged herself on the cool stone.

“You came out here to apologize, we’ve been talking, I’ve been smoking. You’be been in the water this whole time, far away from me. Understand?” William spoke calmly and leaned against one of the trees near the fountain. Not so much as a second later, your father stepped through the screen door. 

“Officer Killick, I hope-” your father stopped, having seen his daughter beside the fountain, “Y/N? I was expecting to find Officer Killick out here, not you. What are you doing in the fountain? Come out of there at once!” 

You could almost see the movement of your father’s mustache flick from side to side as he reprimanded you. 

“Yes, sir.” You swung your legs out of the fountain and stood, trying to hide how shaky they were when you stood still. The cover of darkness hid the muscle spasms that rippled across your body just beneath your skin. 

“What were you doing out here?” Your father questioned you, beckoning with his large, doctorly hands. 

“I was apologizing to Officer Killick. I was… rude at the dinner table and I wanted him to know that I was sorry for speaking to him in that way.” You glanced over your shoulder at the young officer, now standing alert, pretending as if the doctor’s presence had surprised him. William’s blue eyes penetrated the darkness, finding yours in the light and smiled. Everything was going to be ok, they said.

“It’s alright,” he looked at your father and nodded curtly, “no hard feelings. I apologize that I haven’t been the most polite to your daughter, sir. I’m afraid the air force has made me impartial to formalities.” His voice sounded easy and dignified, strong against the anxiety you both felt at their predicament. 

“Not at all, Killick. I’m glad my daughter got an opportunity to speak with you. God knows the war’s been hard on all of us. At least you’ve made up.” 

You were too unnerved to snort or laugh at all. All you could manage to do was smile and nod at your father, validating his oblivious perspective. 

“I’ll go to bed now, goodnight Officer Killick, goodnight Papa.” You kissed your father briskly on the cheek and walked as normally as you could to the screen door. Only when you were inside did your legs give out their strength and you had to sit on the bench beside the door. When you were out of sight, your father spoke to the young man. 

“I apologize for my daughter, Killick. She can get over-excited from time to time. Moving out of London seemed to change her in that regard. I hope she didn’t bother you too much out here.”

“Not at all, sir. I just needed a moment alone and the garden was irresistible. I had just finished a cigarette when she found me out here. No harm done.”  

“Good, good.” You heard your father respond and imagined him nodding as William held his second cigarette between two fingers. 

“I came to speak to you about something important,” your father started to break an uncomfortable silence. 

“Yes, sir?” William cleared his throat and stubbed out his cigarette. More silence fell between the two men, you tried to steady your hands on your knees as you listened. 

“After our discussion at dinner, it is hard to approach this topic again but I received a letter this afternoon. I was going to tell you at dinner but the moment seemed inappropriate. I decided I was going to tell you tomorrow or perhaps the day after, but I found that I could not sleep without informing you.” 

You strained your neck towards the door to hear more clearly. Your father cleared his throat and aligned his weight between his feet. William furrowed his stoic brow and braced himself for bad news. All he could think about was the lingering smell of your skin in his nose as he watched the doctor struggle to convey his news. 

“It is my duty to inform you that you have been awarded the George Cross for your bravery and courage in combat.” 

William was silent as he processed what the doctor was saying. He fought against his instinct to spit and reject the award, a phony piece of medal to distract him from what he had done and witnessed in the war. You stopped yourself from gasping as you heard the news through the door. 

“What about my men who died during those days on the Greek islands? Will they be rewarded for their sacrifice?” William tried not to sneer as he asked. He wished he had a cigarette again. 

“The British men who were with you after you crash landed and gave their lives to the crown will receive this award as well, posthumously. You are the only survivor, as you know, so you are the only one who will receive this award in your lifetime. Will you accept it?” Your father sighed as he finished. William looked down at his feet and bit his lip. What kind of Officer would he be if he accepted an award that celebrated his life, his survival when he couldn’t keep his own men alive? 

“I need to think about it,” William responded, suddenly tired and sore, as he remembered the brunt weight of his survivor’s guilt. 

You took your opportunity to climb the stairs and find your bedroom in the dark hallway. Once inside, you stared at yourself in the mirror of your boudoir. Your right hand traced invisible lines around your body as you looked to see if anything had changed. You’d just lost your virginity to a war hero, the thought sounded preposterous, unreal. You looked the same in all ways physically, but you felt like a heavy weight had been taken off your shoulders, as if your own virginity was a chore of its own. What about you had turned him on? Why had he given into your seduction? If one could even call it seduction… You unzipped the romper for a second time that evening and held it between your forefingers and thumbs. 

A part of you never wanted to wash it, just like a part of you never wanted to see the Officer again. How did adults do this? How were you supposed to act like nothing had happened between you? It would be easier if you never had to see him again in your father’s house. His eyes held every memory and image of your body, something no one had ever seen but him. Even you hadn’t seen the entirety of your own naked body, only he had. However, there was an overwhelming part of you that wanted to run to him and feel as close to him as you had minutes before. Not just to be taken once again by him but to be had and held by him. You wanted to be his. 

Don’t be stupid, you scolded yourself. Tearing your eyes from the mirror, you dressed for bed and felt discomforted by the normalcy of the activity. You’d just experienced something incredible, how could you just put on your pajamas and crawl into bed as if nothing had happened. You felt totally different, mature and ready to be a person with confidence and power like any man. Officer Killick had made you feel powerful, he’d shown you that you weren't a child, limited to discussions of table manners and tea sets. You were on your way to university to be your own person, even a sexual person if you so liked. 

Footsteps on the stairs quieted your thoughts. You tried to sit still beneath your obnoxiously large pink comforter but as the minutes dragged on, you found it harder and harder to ignore your proximity to the man you’d just lost your virginity to. Officer Killick climbed the stairs behind the doctor and nodded his head goodnight as he turned into his room down the hallway. The doctor’s door clicked closed and William could hear the lock slip into place before he closed his own door. William leaned his forehead against his bedroom door and sighed hallowly into the grain. The doctor’s news had overshadowed the preceding events of the night, events that had triggered feelings he thought he was no longer capable of. He knew it was wrong of him to have done what he did. He was nearly seven years older than you and he was your first sexual experience. It was only fair that he was met with memories of war, memories of his failure, a failure everyone else refused to acknowledge. He’d led his men into death, he was the reason they were all dead. He was a bad man. He didn’t deserve the award nor that sweet, spoiled brat of a girl who’d come to him in the garden to apologize. He should be apologizing. He should apologize. 

A soft knock on the other side of his bathroom door startled him. William made no rush to open it, already knowing that you would be in the doorway with your bright, beautiful eyes, ready to seduce him for a second time that night. When he opened the door, however, you were on the other side dressed for bed in your red and white striped pajamas. Your hair was brushed and bore no resemblance to the state it had been in before. 

“Y/N,” William whispered your name like an exhale, relieved in some strange way, to see you standing before him. It was an image of normalcy that he craved, a distraction from the memories that clouded his head to the point that he felt he was trapped in a glass prism, seeing everything through a pane of glass. One look at the young Officer was all you needed to know that he was negatively affected by the news your father had told him. What you thought was great news wasn’t so for William. You balanced on the balls of your feet and swung your arms around William’s neck, nestling your face between his neck and collarbone. At first he was stunned. He leaned back in surprise, taking you with him as he did. Your stomach crushed against his as he regained his balance and realized what you were doing. 

You were hugging him. 

Slowly he returned your embrace, running his hands over your back to hug around your waist. His eyes closed as he ducked his head into the shelf of your shoulder and inhaled deeply. William smelled like the backyard and the sultry musk of English cigarettes. 

“What’s this for?” He whispered against your neck, making the hair there prickle as if you had been struck by lightning. 

“Thank you, Killick,” you mumbled without adding any further explanations. William blinked and furrowed his eyebrows, taking a second to understand what you meant. When he did, he pulled away and set you back down gently. You looked up at the Officer, confused and hurt that he’d broken the embrace so soon. William pinched the bridge of his nose and put one hand on his hip, shifting his dinner jacket to the side. 

“Y/N, what we did was a mistake,” he started, his hand still covering his eyes, “that shouldn’t have been how it happened for you.” 

“What do you mean?” You crossed your arms across your chest, hiding the bareness of your breasts beneath the thin cotton shirt. 

William opened his eyes and shook his head. When he finally met your eyes, his voice sounded distracted and unorganized as if we didn’t know what he was saying himself. 

“I’m not a good man, Y/N.” William cut you off as you started to negate his claim. “No, no you need to listen to me. You only know who I am now. You didn’t see who I was in the war. I- I’ve done things, Y/N. Things you should never know about even if you wanted to know. Your first time shouldn’t have been with me because you deserve better. You deserve a good man. A man that, well, a man that killed others with the hands he touches you with now…” William’s blue eyes looked as if they were glowing as a cat’s does in the dark. You shivered despite the heat and bit your lip. When you could tell that he was done, you pressed a hand against his chest. He looked down dumbly at it as you slid it up his lapel to his cheek, no stubble and scars. As you cupped his cheek he closed his eyes and leaned into it, defenseless. 

“I don’t want to say,” you started, “but would it be enough to tell you that I am truly grateful to have met you and done what we did together?” Your voice was soft and childish as you comforted the man who’d grown to mean so much more to you in so little time. William kept his eyes closed, hiding the swell of tears that pooled behind his eyelids. When he didn’t say anything, you continued. 

“A good man cannot be blamed for what he did when the unspeakable was asked and required of him. Would a bad man have taken me so gently and so tenderly as you did? Would a bad man still be recognized for his bravery after losing his entire squadron in a catastrophe?” You asked genuinely and slowly he opened his eyes, and looked deep into your eyes. 

“You don’t know what a bad man can be,” he responded quietly and your heart broke for the man. You two stared at each other in silence for what felt like forever until you wrapped your arms around his neck again and William instinctively picked you up. Still without saying anything, William set you down on his bed, a uniquely shaped bed that was slightly wider than a twin-sized bed. He sat down beside you and you watched calmly as he removed his jacket and folded it over the arm of the chair near the bed. Next he removed his cufflinks and put them inside a small dish on his nightstand. William caught you staring at them and showed one to you. 

“They were from my father. He gave them to me before I shipped out to the continent,” he twirled the small golden knot between his fingers. “There’s a tiny compass in the middle of the knot, do you see?” He gave it to you so you could look closer at the intricate design. 

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered honestly and he nodded thoughtfully.

“They were my father’s in the Great War. He served in the Royal Air Force. I followed in his footsteps and as far as he was concerned, I lived up to his expectations.” 

“Why didn’t you go back home after the war?” You returned the cufflink and William studied it distractedly. 

“He died,” that was all he offered and you resisted the urge to hold him once again. 

“I’m sorry,” you said instead and looked down at your hands. William reached for one of your hands and intertwined his fingers with yours. He stared out the window, directly opposite of him and breathed deeply. You studied his profile in the light, noticing the freckles that dotted his cheekbones. You fought a primal urge to kiss him again, to devour him completely. Finally, he turned his face to meet your gaze and looked down briefly at your lips. To took that as an invitation and kissed him with a short but slow kiss. When you pulled back, William slid his hand into your hair at the back of your head and curled his fingers towards your scalp. You raised up on your knees and moved him further back against the headboard. Then straddling his stomach as he propped himself up against the headboard, you kissed him again. You took your time and you could feel the Officer relax beneath you as you savored the taste of his mouth, the size and softness of his lips, and the intimacy of his tongue as it slipped into your mouth every once in a while. 

His hands settled on your waist beneath your pajama shirt. Your hands sought out the muscles in his arms beneath his dress shirt, tracing the taught ridges with the pads of your fingers. William leaned you back where you rested on his legs as he unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it to the side. His white undershirt further exposed his muscles and you hid a gasp of admiration when you saw them. William saw your reaction and raised a playful eyebrow. 

“My muscles? That’s what you like? Really? Women.” He rolled his eyes in a jovial manner and pulled you back to his chest. Smiling, you stood on his bed, your feet planted on either side of his legs. He looked up at you with a smirk and leaned back against the headboard. Looking down at him, you slowly unbuttoned your top, starting from the bottom. As your shirt opened, William’s pupils grew in size. The soft flesh of your stomach in the light turned him on, the way your hands handled the pearly white buttons…

“What are you doing?” William whispered with a disbelieving smirk. You didn’t answer as you opened the shirt, exposing your breasts to him in the light. The soft pink buds puckered above him and William ran a hand over his mouth, his eyes fixed on your chest. Seeing his reaction, you ran a hand down your chest to the waistband of your bottoms. William gasped softly when your hands disappeared beneath the striped fabric and played with the soft mound of your cunt. 

“Y/N…” William’s voice was harsh and broken as he watched, unable to look away. You slipped a finger into your own cunt, seeing if you could replicate the feeling that he had made you experience before. Adding a second finger, you started to feel it, and moaned softly. Your head fell back and in your moment of weakness, William caught your other wrist and pulled you back down. Removing your fingers quickly, you held him so you wouldn’t fall off the bed as he laid you down beneath him. He’d abandoned any and all reason as he pulled your hands harshly and fumbled with the latch of his trousers. 

You squirmed beneath him as he clamped a hand over your mouth and withdrew his erection with his other hand. Barely spreading your legs for him, he thrusted his cock inside your cunt without any prep. His pants weren’t even off as he started fucking you deeply with the feverish passion of a teenage boy. His face was inches from yours as he panted, glancing down every so often to see how his cock slid inside you. 

“Get a good look, sweetheart. This is what a bad man looks like,” he whispered darkly against your ear and bashed his hips harshly against your pelvis. You moaned behind his large hand. Your own hands gripped the material of his undershirt, your nails penetrating the fabric and pinching his skin. The pain made him fuck you harder and tousling his hair. The hand that wasn’t clamped on your mouth grabbed the top of the headboard. You stared at each other, your eyes connected with some invisible bond, pulling you closer and closer together. 

“Fuck…” William whispered under his unstable breath. When you moaned loudly, he hushed you with a small smirk, “inside voice, sweetheart.” 

You could feel him inside you, hitting the back of something, but you didn’t know what. Each time he did, you wanted to cry out in pleasure. You moaned his name behind his hand but he could still hear you and smiled in response. 

“I’m almost there,” he whispered, holding his mouth open in a silent moan. The bed creaked quietly around you and you wondered if your father would hear it from his room down the hall. You finished twice before he even finished once, your eyes rolling back into your head. You whimpered from the raw and newfound pleasure, more powerful than any sensation you’d ever felt before, even when you finished earlier in the backyard. His ragged breaths grew slightly louder and somehow his cock felt larger as it felt like you were both about to explode. 

“Fuck, I can’t cum inside you,” he realized suddenly and grunted in frustration. Before he could pull out, you wrapped your arms around his back and shifted his hand from your mouth. 

“Do it,’ you pleased as quietly as you could as you panted. William looked into your eyes. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” you nodded what felt like seconds later, he came inside you. It felt warm and sticky inside, satisfying. When he was done, William wiped your hair from your sweaty forehead and kissed you. You had single-handedly saved him, fixed him, recreated him. He felt like a man again. He felt like a human again. 

Keeping himself inside you, William kissed your neck admired your face with visible pleasure etched into the glimmer of his pale blue eyes. 

“Maybe you’re not such a spoiled brat after all,” William smiled down at you. 

“We’ll see about that…” you whispered breathlessly and pulled him in for a kiss.

[shirefantasies]

Hiii!!! I love your works so so much, you're truly amazing!! I would like to make a request if that's fine with you. I would like to request Thorin's company with a reader that is afraid of heights. You don't have to do it if you don't want to, it was just a stupid idea that crossed my mind. If you do decide to do it, take as much time as you want and thank you so so much!! Again love your works, your way of writing and the way you portray the characters!!

Thanks pal 🥰 for your kind words and for being one of the longest-standing members of this blog's taglist! It's funny because someone else sent this in for LoTR a while back so it is not at all stupid, quite a common ask~

Warnings: canon typical peril, suggestive jokes in one

Thorin's Company + Your Fear of Heights

Balin

“Look at the river,” Balin encourages, taking your arm, “a fair chance we are not to see it like this again, after all!” You hesitantly hum at his side, and that is when he looks over to see your tightly shut eyes and stiff posture, your hands firm and flat against the great eagle’s soft, downy feathers. “We’re safe now,” he tells you quietly, scooting into your side. The warmth of his coat brings some comfort, but not enough for you to open your eyes, even if they shine red beneath your crushing lids. “This does not feel safe,” you reply, your voice barely exceeding a whisper. Balin does not fight, does not argue, presumably continues enjoying whatever view you did not doubt was beautiful. You simply cannot appreciate it. “I understand,” he replies, running a soothing hand up and down your back, “and I’m here. I’ll hold you down.”

Dwalin

“I bet you’ve never been afraid a day in your life.” Those were the words that set the conversation- or challenge, more like- flying between you and Dwalin, both of you huddled near the smoldering remains of your earlier fire on watch of camp. Hazes of fatigue descended upon both of your heads as you spoke, your musing bringing quite a surprise to Dwalin, who immediately sat up straighter and fixed you with surprise. “Are you mocking me?” “No,” you shrugged, shaking your head, “I simply could not imagine what that would be. It is quite difficult to picture you afraid.” It was your turn to be surprised as Dwalin’s expression softened far beyond what you were used to. “Even the greatest of warriors have them. I, then, am far from an exception.” “What is it, then?” “Pardon.” “Your fear,” you lit up, “is it the ocean? Dogs? Speaking to a crowd?” “Why are you selecting such ridiculous-” “You’re dodging,” you teased, “Thought you might be embarrassed.” “I’m not,” he crossed his arms, “Tell me yours and I shall share mine.” “Fine,” you replied with a shrug, “I am terrified of heights. Fell off a roof as a little one. …long story.” “That… makes a lot of sense.” “Hey, now what is that supposed to mean?”

Thorin

In all honesty, you’d expected the king to have no patience for such matters. You had avoided mentioning your phobia to any of the company for that exact reason, in fact. No more reason given for Thorin to see you as a liability, an outsider. At least until the booms of thunder, the slick of rain and your cold sweat alike as you slid along cliffs, eyes closed and then squeezed so shut your skin warmed and almost burned. Great stone giants you stood upon, legs rising and sending you swinging out wildly, unable to stifle your scream. As the giant slowed, having been struck by a massive rock, you were righted again, and feeling a hand tighten about your shoulder you turned around, expecting to see fatherly Gloin or Balin and instead almost starting at the sight of Thorin there behind you. “I can tell you fear the precipice. Stay here and no harm will come to you.” Your lips parted wordlessly, unable to form a sound beneath the thrum of blood in your ears, the heat creeping to your face, the echo of shattering stone still reverberating through your whole body. As if he heard you regardless, Thorin added, “I promise.”

Oin

“You’re sweating. Do you have a fever?” “No, Oin, I’m fine,” you replied, shaking your head. “Are you certain? For I’ve got quite the concoction- two in fact! One you put on and one you put in. Yourself, that is. You drink it, you see.” “I gathered.” You mustered a smile, but it was halfhearted and, judging by Oin’s expression, obviously so. “No need to be proud. Come on. I’m the one who can help you. And trust me, I’ve seen it all!” Oin was right. A fear of heights was far less embarrassing than all the accidents you imagined dwarves got into. Bofur alone had plenty such stories. “To be honest, it simply is this climb,” you nodded to the foot of the mountain, the great steps you’d heard so much about- and stars, they were nothing like the steps in your old home! “Afraid of heights?” You nodded in reply and the healer’s bearded face burst open in sympathy. “Well, that’s more than understandable! Seen plenty of- Ahem,” he cleared his throat, “Well, that is to say you’re not alone. I’ll let you in on a little secret- from what I hear, it took Kili years before he’d even get on a ladder! ‘N he’s a prince! You’ve nothing to worry about. I can give you something to calm you down as we speak, and beside that I can stay by you every step of the way. How’s that?” “That’ll be great,” you smile, “Thank you, Oin.”

Gloin

“What d’you think you’re doing? …Rotation my arse, send someone else if you’d like to avoid discussing this with the business end of my axe!” What was going on? Emerging from the brush, you followed the sound of Gloin’s voice, the volume of which had steadily been increasing, to see him glaring with all intents of intimidation at Dwalin of all people. As much as you knew you should step in and resolve any tension, you couldn’t deny your amusement. Kindling in arm, you shook your head fondly at the scene before you. Ever since he found out you were afraid of heights, rather than mock you as you’d half expected the dwarves to Gloin had made it his personal mission to swoop in and lobby for you whenever the opportunity availed itself. Such as climbing trees for watch. Muttering, Dwalin walked away with a shrug and a roll of his eyes, and you took your own opportunity to set the kindling down and sneak up behind Gloin to pull him into a hug.

Bifur

Snapping jaws narrowly missed the edges of your legs. Wargs ran to the feet of the trees, standing against the trunks and trying in vain to pull you down. They were coming closer than they should have, though, one even catching a dangling strap from your boot and tearing the buckle on it clean off. Jumping at a tap on your shoulder, you swiveled your head and peered up, admittedly a bit relieved to forget you were above ground, even if it was not by much. Bifur had gotten your attention and was urgently circling his hand, encouraging you to go further up to his branch. You shook your head. “I am fi-” SNAP! The moment you attempted to defend yourself was the moment the branch at your side was ripped off, scrabbling claws following its descent. Another tap to your shoulder, this time with the hand groping down to find yours and pry its fingers from their death grip on your branch. “What are you doing?” You hissed, panicking at your loosening grip, but your complaint was quieted when Bifur yanked you up against his chest and held you there fast. He muttered something in Khuzdul and while you weren’t certain what, his tone alone soothed you a bit more, keeping you in place there with your rapid heartbeat against his.

Bofur

“What’s the matter, no foothold? These hills can be a bit slippery, can’t they? Pesky when it’s so far to fall, pesky indeed.” “Bofur,” you breathe, voice wavering as you near tears. The sheer desperation in your voice shakes the hatted dwarf to his senses, his eyes and smile softening and falling as if seeing you for the first time. “Hey now, you’ll be all right. Thorin put you in the middle on purpose. So many hands here to catch you. ‘Sides that, I’m right here next to you, and you know I’ll always protect you, right?” Smiling faintly, you nod, eyes still blurred faintly with the sheen of tears. Strength renewed slightly, your hands dig even tighter into the rough stone and with all your might, you pull up to the next ledge. “See, there you are! Before we know it you’ll be outclimbing us all,” Bofur teases, leaning over and gently bumping your shoulder with his. “Bofur!” You squeal. “Oh, yes, right, sorry! Say, why don’t we just talk about the weather instead?”

Bombur

“I can’t.” “You must,” Bombur insisted, always-gentle voice even quieter than usual. Groaning beneath the weight of your bodies, the great pine you’d been forced to climb bent further. “If we don’t, who knows what’ll happen to us. I’m scared, too.” The shocks running through your heart calmed slightly at the sight of his soft eyes. “Who wouldn’t be scared of jumping off a cliff?” “Fili ‘n Kili, probably.” “You’re right,” you giggled, delaying the inevitable that much further.” “Why don’t we go together. See, just because we’re both ‘fraidy cats, you know?” Bombur sounded so… shy? He truly meant it, not that you doubted his sincerity much- a more sincere dwarf could scarcely be found. “Of course,” you replied, and beaming, he took your hand. “Just close your eyes. Trust the wizard. You’ll be alright if I have anything to say about it.”

Dori

“Is this truly necessary?” “Unfortunately that is the best way to keep things away from bears. Awful creatures trying to spoil our picnic!” “This is no picnic, Dori,” you giggled, “on account of we’re on a perilous journey? If you remember.” “Yes, yes,” he waved the hand that was free of the bundle, “but I will suffer much before I go this whole mess without doing something for you. Now Bilbo was kind enough to lend this food…” “You lot stole it, didn’t you?” Dori pointedly ignored you. “Be a dear and climb up to that branch with the rope,” he requested, pointing up into the tree and sending a wave of apprehension straight through you. “Can I hold it?” You asked, shuffling your feet. “Please?” Dori inhaled. He frowned slightly. His frown softened almost immediately at your slight pout. His shoulders deflated, hand loosening about the bundle. “Very well. You certainly are lucky to be so adorable.”

Nori

“Come on, let’s have a look at the stars, huh?” Something about Nori’s tone, a sort of provocation you hope to be deciphering correctly, has you shying your eyes away from the smooth-talking dwarf, hands behind your back as you nod. “That’s a good’n,” he smiles proudly, grabbing your hand tightly, a bit harshly even as he tugs you outside. Your gaze drifts up, but Nori tilts it back down to face him. “Not out here!” You are puzzled, tilting your head back at him. Rivendell’s garden is the most beautiful you’ve seen, a perfect little gazebo to sit under surrounded by pure white flowers and vines that reach up to the very stars upon which you wish to gaze. “Elrond can’t mind too much if we get a bit closer, after all, can he? Those elves love the stars as much as anything, after all.” You see now that he is motioning up to the roof of the enclave set aside for you all to stay, a conveniently flat expanse granted access to only by a risky-looking trellis. Nori wants to climb that with you. All the blood drains from your face at the very sight, the mental image of your shoes slipping from the hole, tumbling you back into the… “What’s the matter, hm? Scared? Afraid of getting trapped up there with me? I promise I won’t bite…unless you ask me to, of course.” His joke brings you back to your senses, out of the unexpected tenderness and back to your usual joking. “What’s the matter with you?” You shoot back. “Can’t get excited without being imperiled?” Cackling, Nori lets you slide, instead winding an arm about your waist and sweeping an arm, letting you lead him to the gazebo bench. “Got me there.”

Ori

“What’s the matter?” Ori ponders your name so sweetly it almost cuts through your fear. “Isn’t it wonderful?” ‘It’ being the view from, at least in your mind, the most precarious parapet in the whole kingdom of Erebor. “I see even more now why we were fighting for this,” he adds, smile growing and wonder positively glowing in his big brown eyes. In almost hilarious contrast, you struggle to feign a smile, fingers tightening around the wall’s edge like a lifeline. Which it quite literally is. It isn’t that high. You can simply take one step, no, two, and go tumbling off the whole of the mountain- The sound of your name cuts off your dread-laced internal ramblings, shaking you back to Ori, to feeling him take hold of your upper arm. “Are you alright? I can see your face, you look so-” Cutting off his desperation, the way he clearly is searching for a kind way to say it, you just sigh and answer him. “You were so excited to show me, I didn’t have the heart to tell you that, well, I have quite the fear of heights.” Ori’s jaw positively drops as he surges back, taking you away from the railing like it’ll burn you. “I’m so sorry, you never told me! How was I to know? Why, here you’ve been just-” You forget your fear entirely in favor of giggling at Ori’s kind reaction. You should have known better than to fear what he would say! “How about we go to the library instead?” Ori offers, hand still on your arm. “I’d like that,” you answer with a smile.

Fili

“Don’t let him catch me telling you this, but do you realize Kili used to have such a bad fear of heights he wouldn’t even set foot on a ladder?” Fili snickered to you, leaning with his arm along the back of your chair. “And that is supposed to be funny?” You replied, eyes wide and one brow raised. All attempts not to show your true thoughts- would Fili think you a fool? “Of course it was! I couldn’t even persuade him into the attic for all the deal it was,” the elder prince answered with a smile of great amusement. Pulling away from his warm proximity, you wrapped an arm around yourself instead. “And why was he wrong to fear harm? To- to avoid doing something he didn’t even need to do? Have you never felt the creeping of dread, of crushing danger?” Sitting back himself, Fili raised his hands defensively. “I’m sorry. I just thought it was funny the way he’d only put a toe up on it. You feel the same, do you not?” You nodded and he shifted back forward to put a hand on your shoulder. “Nothing wrong with that. I swear I won’t laugh about it again.”

Kili

For so-called ‘steps’, this climb certainly was involving your entire body, all of you company members heaving yourselves over each one and you suppressing a whimper at each slip and grind of your boot against smoothened stone. Why did the dwarves have to build their kingdoms so again? Sliding back, you winced, cringing back even harder when Fili playfully nudged you with his elbow. “Careful you don’t- oops!” He seemed to stumble back and fall, bringing you to cry out his name until he popped back up with a grin and laughter. “Quit that!” Kili stepped back down, making his way in between you two. “You’re really scared, aren’t you?” Nodding, you shied away at the way he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “Don’t worry,” he spoke your name softly, “mean old Fili’s going to apologize, isn’t that right?” “I’m not a child,” you teased, “I just…hate the thought of falling. Of my feet wavering and giving out.” “Understandable,” Fili added, lowering his head, “I promise I won’t actually lay a hand upon you. No more jokes. For once, Kili’s right.” Smiling again, you allowed Kili to guide you up, one hand protectively over the small of your back. “You just wanted to play the hero.” You heard Fili hiss to his brother behind your back, shakily grinning at his words.

Bilbo

“We need to get out of here. Come on.” The hobbit whispers your name urgently, extending and waving his hand at you. How you have managed to avoid losing your mind completely is what you can only imagine to be a testament to your luck. But Bilbo? You had completely lost track of him and now he’s here before you, gripping a tree branch and pleading with those shining grey eyes. This forest has your head spinning, but those eyes are an anchor, something you can focus on for once. Your heart moves, but your body remains in place, blood rushing to your face and slamming chest. “I- I-” What can you say? “Please,” Bilbo adds, “I don’t want to lose you, too. We need air. You must come with me to clear our heads.” Blinking, you look back and forth. Did you need to? Wait, need to what? “Please,” Bilbo begs again, “I’m afraid too. But it won’t be so bad if we’re together, right? I would never let you fall.” The way he begs, says your name so carefully yet so intently, has you nodding and taking his hand, smiling faintly at the warm grip. “Let’s go.”

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[couldyouimagine-that]

Held

Genre; Just fluff

Word Count; 0.67k (just a short one)

Warnings; Absolutely none. Cuddles with Vox who realizes the reader will feel better with him laying on top of them (and teases them just a little bit for it). Could be platonic or romantic depending on how much physical touch you have with friends.

Pairings; Vox x Reader

Leave a comment if you liked this story :)

Masterlist

-

“What’re you doing, sweetheart?”

Vox’s voice was low and rounded, a soft look in his eyes as he gazed down at you. He was laid out comfortably on his back, you curled into his chest. The blankets had slipped down around your waist and the soft material brushed against your arms. You had spent the last several minutes tucking your face closer against him, holding yourself tighter against his chest. He had an arm around your waist and the other up by your shoulders, his hand brushing along your shoulder blades idly. You already had a leg crossed over one of his, all but wound around him in an attempt to get as close as you could. You pressed your face harder against him rather than answering, eyes closed. A moment passed before you squeezed your arms around him again. His chest shifted beneath you as he chuckled, then you felt him slowly shake his head.

“You just need a little help feeling safe, hm?”

It was gently mocking, so your squeezed him yet again without speaking.

“Yeah, I know. Don’t worry darling. I’ll make you feel safe.”

His grip suddenly tightened and he flipped the two of you over. He laid you out flat beneath him, leaving his arms snugly around your waist. Vox moved his head back from you to watch your reaction as squeezed you to him, his weight pinning you down completely but not uncomfortably. You let out a breath of content. He was probably holding you too hard by most people’s standards, so hard that it was close to hurting you, but you couldn’t imagine telling him to stop.

“There you go. That feels better, hm? Yeah, I’ll bet it does.”

Your eyes had closed against your will, your head tilted slightly to the side where it rested back against Vox’s plush pillow. You forced your eyes to crack open just a little, watching him.

“You talk too much,” you told him outright. He laughed, because of course he did. He was right and you both knew it, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of hearing it from your lips.

You wound your arms around his shoulders to pull him back down to you and you couldn’t help the little thrill you felt in your stomach when he went willingly. For you, only for you, he laid down on top of you and allowed his screen to press flat into the pillow above your head. He was making you feel too relaxed for you to come up with a comment on how he had to angle his head for this position to work, though you felt sure it looked silly. He stroked the tips of his claws along your sides, again constricting his grip and enjoying how your body fell slack at the pressure. You started running your hands along his back as much as you could from how he held you, tilting your chin up to press your face into his shoulder.

“Thanks Vox,” you murmured in the end, glancing to the side when he angled his screen so that you could see his raised eyebrow.

“Oh? Thought I talked too much. Didn’t think I could possibly know what you needed.” You could just make out the angle of his sharp grin.

You let out a huff and shook your head, turning away and closing your eyes once again.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t let it get to your head.” The words were muttered, quiet, because you were enjoying sinking into a completely relaxed state too much to hit back with anything substantial.

“Too much for you to just admit I know how to look after you, yeah?” You hit his shoulder lightly, at a loss for what to say. “Yeah, I know. You’ll say it one day.”

He didn’t have any more smug comments to make after you failed to come up with something witty in return, and you began slowly dozing off. You were warm and comfortable and felt exactly as Vox had said – safe, being held by him.

[digital-domain]

Change

Mahito x Reader // word count 2k

In which Mahito offers to make your insecurities disappear. Quite literally.

Tags/warnings: dark content, yandere, implied noncon, body horror, kidnapped reader, biting, blood, non-consensual kissing, discussion of death, gender neutral reader, reader has body image issues and is implied to have dealt with them in unhealthy ways 

A/N: Not as painstakingly edited as usual because I'm trying to get out of the write-something-and-then-pick-at-it-until-I-hate-it time loop

You are sitting with your knees pulled up to your chest, facing the wall of the sewer. It is not the first time you have sat like this, nor the first time you have spent so long in this position. In the early days, Mahito would tell you to turn around and watch him experiment, and you’d feel your stomach writhe in time with the contorted things on the floor. But he lets you look away now. You’re not sure why, but you don’t bother wondering. It’s easier not to look, to pretend that you are alone, to tell yourself that the almost-human sounds echoing in the tunnel are merely figments of your imagination. That his laughter is only a memory from your nightmares, and not a constant reminder of what your life has become.

There isn’t much laughing this time. It’s mostly noises of surprise and keen interest, the kind a normal person might make upon viewing something mundane under a microscope, and seeing its hidden world beneath. You do not know what worlds Mahito is discovering, and you hope he doesn’t force you to find out. 

The worst part, of course, comes after his mouth finally closes. When you hear nothing but his footsteps upon the ground. Coming closer. You don’t run from it, or lash out, like you used to. Your stomach churns, and your pulse quickens, but you still let him spread his legs on either side of you, press his chest to your back, and wrap his arms around your waist. His hands cross beneath your ribcage, and you try not to think about what they were touching before. What you might see if you turn around. What he might be feeling, now that he has you so close.

“You would’ve liked it this time,” he says, as if he actually believes it. “It was interesting. And less…hm. Less dramatic than usual, I guess. For a while.” A high-pitched little spurt of laughter ruptures in your ear. “I got really carried away at the end. But I did try.”

“Why does that matter?” Even hearing him talk about it makes you nauseous, but not so much that you can’t speak. Not anymore. “It ends the same no matter how it starts.”

“Maybe! But you’ve got a saying about that. It’s…ah. What is it…?” He presses his face into the side of your neck and inhales deeply. Kisses your skin with cold lips before breaking away with a sudden start. “Oh! I remember. ‘The journey’s more important than the destination.’ It’s a very nice saying. I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

You don’t like the way his mind drifts when he touches you. He makes you go rigid, takes away your ability to blink and breathe, but you seem to do the opposite to him. He kisses you again, in the same place, and then bares his grin, scrapes at you with his teeth and tongue, pulls and sucks and bites at your skin -

It is a long time before he says anything again. Long enough for you to be grateful that you have no way to see your reflection, to assess the damage he’s left behind, the growing collection of reminders on your body.

“I could take you on a journey, too.” He tightens his arms around you, presses in until you can barely tell where he ends and you begin. “I could change you, like I changed them…well.” He giggles. “Not quite like that. You’d still be alive at the end.” 

You go stiff. Breath catches in your throat. “No.” Your voice creaks out, so quiet that he might not even notice how terrified you are. “No.” Louder. There’s more, there, if only you could find the strength to say it. Don’t touch me, let go of me, stay far, far away, let me go -

“Don’t worry. I’d let you decide what you wanted me to do. Although I’m pretty sure I already know.” You squirm desperately against his hold, and he sighs, and presses his lips to your ear. “I’m not trying to scare you, you know. I don’t want to change anything about you. You’re so so cute already. But…”

There is a trickle of blood dripping down your neck. Slow, already drying. How long has it been there? How long have you tuned it out? 

“I know there are parts of your body that you don’t like.” His voice is uncharacteristically gentle, and you search it for any hint of amusement. “You really don’t like them. I was watching you for a while before I brought you here, so I saw the things you did to hide them. To change them. It’s not so different from what I do.” He lifts his hand from your waist, wiggles his fingers in the air. “I’m just way, way better at it.”

“No.” You don’t even know what you look like anymore. Even if you did -

Maybe you’d still hate it. But it doesn’t matter here.

“I know I could do it.” He lets go of you for a moment, repositions his hands, and spins you around, the force of the sudden movement knocking your own hands from the places where they dug into your shins. You splay them flat against the floor, and keep your eyes down. “Here.” He crouches in front of you, and points. “And here. And here. I could make all of it look just how you want it to.” 

You close your eyes, scared to get a glimpse of what lies behind him. (That’s not the only reason, is it?) It’s better not to look at him, either. (And…)

“It’s really a very tiny difference between what you have and what you want, so it won’t be easy to do perfectly,” he admits. “But it also means that you probably wouldn’t die. And if I mess up, I can always just try again!”

He’s so close to you. Breathing on your face, even though you’re pretty sure he doesn’t have to breathe at all. If you open your eyes, you won’t be able to see what’s behind him - his stare will take up your entire field of view.

“I don’t want to mess up, though. You wouldn’t be very happy if I did that. And I want you to be happy.” He touches the side of your jaw, and then tugs carefully at the corner of your mouth, like he thinks it might rip open if he pulls too hard. “You smiled a lot before I brought you here. It was cute.”

Your eyes are still closed. His hand is just as cold as his lips. You could even feel it through your clothes, moments before. Here, and here, and here…you wish he didn’t understand the way you think about yourself. He’d be so much easier to tune out if he was wrong.

“I want you to smile because of me.” His hand crawls up the side of your face, and pulls at your eyelids, his touch a bit less gentle than it was a moment before. “If that means making you look a tiny bit different, I don’t mind. As long as I don’t have to change your mouth”-

You look at him, because you truly believe your eyelids might rip off if you don’t.

“Oh. Or those eyes. Not those, either.” He’s leaning so far forward that his nose brushes yours. So that you can see him, and only him - and you. Just a bit of you, in his eyes, the tiniest glimpse of your own reflection that you wish you could erase. “I’ve been practicing a lot,” he says, “but I never change those.”

Practicing. 

“What do you mean?” You’re not sure if you actually say it, or if it’s only in your head. Either way, he doesn’t answer you with words. Instead it’s with a kiss, which is worse, because his tongue is in your mouth now, and his hands are on all the places that he just pointed out on your body, and they don’t change. You’re exactly who you are, far too grounded inside yourself as this thing makes you wish you had no body to touch at all.

And yet, you don’t want it to end. Because when it ends -

He sits down at your side.

And with that, there is nothing between you and the rest of the mess he’s created.

And you cannot tear your eyes away.

“I told you it was interesting.” He folds his hand over yours. “You really should have watched. I almost got it right this time.”

There is the usual mess. Fleshy and fluid things, undulating slightly, with holes that open up as if to scream but make no sound. The vague suggestions of limbs, on some, nothing but huddled slimy masses remaining of others. Eye sockets, empty, migrated into strange places. Colors and textures stolen from the insides and outsides of human bodies, so that you can’t for a moment forget what you’re looking at. That’s usually all that there is. And it’s enough to send your guts crawling up the walls of your throat, all on its own. 

But the one there -

It is not moving at all. And it has eyes. Glazed. And it has limbs, twisted off at the ends, but clearly four, clearly only half-heartedly destroyed. And it has lips. And teeth. And they are stretched out in a grimace, pasted-on even after its heart stopped pumping blood to the muscles of its face, even after its chest caved in and its lungs burst out from under the wreckage and the rest of its head fell away -

“I’m getting very good at making copies.” He leans his head against your shoulder. “Your body is easy…it’s just your face that’s hard. But that one had a face kind of like yours to begin with, so I did okay.” His grip on your hand tightens. “Not perfect, though. So I had to get rid of it.”

The mouth does not look familiar. Not anymore. But the eyes, lifeless as they are -

“I’ll show you once I get it right,” he sighs. “Once I make one look exactly like you. And then you can tell me how you want me to fix it, and once we’ve got it all figured out”-

You retch. But everything stays inside. You wrap your free arm around your waist for a moment, and then snatch it away, repulsed for reasons you don’t entirely understand.

“Don’t worry, cutie. It won’t take too many more.” Mahito lifts his hand from yours and turns towards you. “I wouldn’t mind if it did, though.” You look at him, if only to avoid looking at the other things in the room, and watch as he smiles back at you. His head is tilted, eyes shining, mouth closed. He stares at you for far too long, and slowly, slowly, his lips curl back, revealing the bleach-white grin underneath. “For you…I wouldn’t mind doing anything.”

You don’t see him move, not through the spots of black in your eyes and the haze of blood that’s rushed to your head. But you feel yourself falling, feel your back hit the ground, and feel him flattening himself on top of you. You feel every inch of your body where it presses back against his. And you feel radiating, all-consuming disgust at every place where you connect.

“If you want to stay like this,” he murmurs, “forever, that’s okay too. I’ll change you, or I’ll keep you the same…you’ll be my favorite human no matter what.”

You do not want to stay like this, trapped in your skin as he worms his way over and beneath it. But that isn’t the question, and the answer - that it doesn’t matter what body you panic inside of, or what, exactly, he touches, that nothing will make it better -

Even if you tried to say it, he’d swallow it up before a single word made it off your tongue.

[stheresya]

The Darkling had taken up residence [at the Lantsov quarters]. […] Now workmen were pulling down the black silks and replacing them with Ravkan blue and gold. An awning had been set up to catch plaster as a soldier took a massive hammer to the stone symbol above the door, shattering it to dust. A cheer went up from the crowd. I couldn’t share in their excitement. For all his crimes, the Darkling had loved Ravka, and he’d wanted its love in return. … Beside Ruby, the Darkling lay in his black kefta. Who had tended him? I wondered, feeling an ache rise in my throat. Who had combed his dark hair back so neatly from his forehead? Who had folded his graceful hands on his chest? … No one knew his name to curse or extol, so I spoke it softly, beneath my breath. “Aleksander,” I whispered. A boy’s name, given up. Almost forgotten. (Ch. 18, Ruin & Rising)

“You know what we did in the mountains.” “Yes,” said Alina. “You saved the world and doomed Ravka’s most deadly enemy to an eternity of torture.” (Ch. 49. Zoya, Rule of Wolves)

I find it odd that Alina from TGT, fresh out of a war with the Darkling, still manages to think of him with some affection and afford nuance and understanding to his person. While Alina from the KoS duology, who has the benefit of hindsight, speaks of him as just some monster who deserves nothing but the worst.

On one hand this could mean something interesting. We can see that all the sympathy that she has for Aleksander in R&R are kept solely in her thoughts. But in RoW she seems to revel in his suffering out loud in a way that is reassuring to Zoya, who's probably the one who hates the Darkling the most. So this could mean that Alina continues to play the role of the saint who takes a hard stance against everything the Darkling represents, it's a performance for others as well as herself because she feels the need to distance herself from him since he embodied her own potential for corruption. But on the inside she still keeps the memory of him as some sort of dirty secret, just the way it's always been in the past because no one was ever fully aware of the depth of her bond with Aleksander, nor will they ever be.

On the other hand this could be just another retcon...

[popjunkie42]

Blossoming in Winter - Chapter Five || Read on AO3

For the amazing @witchlingsandwyverns - hopefully instead of late it is just the gift that keeps on giving! ❤️ I have had an amazing time writing this for you and getting to know you in the process. I hope that you like it as it was written with love!

Thanks to @witch-and-her-witcher @temperedink and @rosanna-writer for the beta reads and encouragement!

Summary:

“I do not think the Mother would have made us together only to tear us apart so soon after meeting. I do not think we two were sent here to wait at the end of things for nothing.”

Everything is on the line - there is nothing Rhysand wouldn't risk now, nothing he wouldn't lie freely at her feet. After all, what was the point of all that power, if he couldn't save his mate?

Read on AO3 and find a snippet under the cut!

Prince Rhysand had never been good at waiting.

Azriel could perch like a gargoyle on his missions, and even Cassian knew how to dig into a long camp with the soldiers, but Rhysand had always been restless.

A spoiled prince, some might say.

So to wait and do nothing but sit in bed and lurk at the edges of Feyre’s mind was slowly driving him insane.

She wouldn’t speak with him. He found her no more wandering the balconies or climbing to the gardens. The nurses that would speak with him told him she stuck to her room.

He told himself he listened to the hum of her mind, and nothing more, to simply make sure she was all right.

The Son of Night may wander the halls in a cloak of darkness, but Death enveloped Feyre like a heavy shroud. Sometimes he swore he could see it, a pale and misty face over her shoulder.

Feyre’s presence now felt as fluttery as her distant heartbeat. As her future. As his own. For he could no longer look to the days ahead without picturing her in them. All he did now was watch and hold his breath.

And hope.

Rhysand sat upon his bed, wings tied to that infernal brace along the headboard. Hair rumpled and a letter torn to pieces beneath his fingers. Words like amnesty and renewed peace he wanted to mist into fine dust.

Words he couldn’t concentrate on when he thought about Feyre Archeron.

He was young. He was being brash and impulsive. Those words echoed in his mind in his father’s voice. The High Lord would rage.

A strategic and advantageous marriage was one of the few ways he could be of use to his father, as he was often reminded. The words he had thrown at Feyre about the Prince of Spring were well-known to him as well.

Not that his own old male had ever done so himself. Eight hundred years of a cruel and lonely reign, until he had swept his mate away, covered in blood-mist, and decided her future in that final and self-possessive way of his, never asking, never doubting his choices for an instant.

Certainly not worried about politics or alliances or the lives of his own people.

Rhysand was sure it would never even occur to Emrys to consult his son on the matter of his own future and happiness.

The male sighed, shoving against his brooding thoughts, brushing pieces of torn paper to the ground. There was nothing in this room but his dark ruminations, his worry, his hopes and dreams, so wild as to be frightening. Pain when he pulled against his wing’s harness, fear when he pictured Feyre’s pale, papery skin and an empty place beside him on Dawn’s balconies.

His thoughts had raced ahead of him without caution or sanity. A furious and panicked fever dream of a future.

Feyre would live, somehow. He had all this power, all this magic - surely it was meant for something. Meant for this.

And they would take a place in Velaris. He would show her the forests in the steppes and the gardens in the city. They could go to the cabin for a few months, or maybe the countryside outside of Velaris, to allow her to heal. In his dreams she was healing but strong, always in his arms whenever he could help her, a new brightness in her eyes.

He would protect her from his father. He worried she didn’t want to be a princess. But he would teach her, with Mor, and she would be fierce but just. And when he pictured her in a crown, jewels and gems weaving through her braid…no longer a sad and wilting maiden fading from the world, but a Queen, with bravery and stubbornness and ferocity to help reshape their new world.

He hoped his mother would love her. He prayed to the Mother he would have a chance to see them meet.

He wanted to take her flying.

[bookishdaze]

I don't think we'll get mutants anytime soon, BUT if we do get them eventually....

The mutants worshipped the atomic bomb. And correct me if I'm wrong, it has been a fat minute, but the mutants venerated and respected the atomic bomb because its radiation from nuclear fallout made them what they are, right?

What if this time around, we get a weird cult or group of people whose religion is based on the worship of the simian flu? Because the virus mutated them and made them what they are?

I know there have been other scifi stories that did something like this, particularly in zombie apocalypse stories. I just can't think of some examples right now....

[sophiethewitch1]

You mentioned that all the Wayne's post thirst traps. And that Damian's are like Victorian women showing some racy ankle. What does he consider a thirst trap then.

Have you ever seen a man in a dark turtle neck sweater.

[andthebeanstalk]

Uh-oh! You are like, SOOO awkward!!

You're so awkward that it is occasionally mildly uncomfortable for people!

You're so awkward that sometimes people are confused by you and then there are awkward silences!

You're so awkward ...... that ultimately no one is harmed!!

Oh damn!!! What a vile crime you have committed! What an unforgivable thing it is to make a fellow human briefly confused!

Why, if *I* were ever briefly confused and kind of uncomfortable as a result, I'd be devastated.... by the absolute net zero change in my happiness and health! - From which I might never recover!! Yes indeed! No punishment can ever be enough for you!!

So you better absolutely hate yourself for it.

Better be SO MEAN to yourself about every single missed social cue so you don't forget your horrible crime! Meaner than you'd ever dream of being to someone else for the same thing! This is YOUR responsibility!

Better accept that idea that bullies carry like guns in holsters - the idea that people who have trouble with social cues should suffer. Better carry on the burden they placed on you. Aid the cause of the callous by enforcing shame and suffering upon yourself extra hard; try your best to do their work for them. They're very busy.

Better not recognize that you need patience and kindness to heal from your trauma. Better not find out that it was trauma rather than personal weakness filling your head with self-hating thoughts. Better not find out it wasn't your fault.

Better not find out that awkwardness is not inherently harmful or unkind, and, in fact, the people who act like it is *are the ones enacting harm and being cruel.*

Better not get righteously angry when you realize just how much unnecessary damage this has done to you. After all, if you get mad, you might realize you deserve better. You might even feel brave enough to DEMAND better! You might build boundaries that keep you safe! You might make other people think they deserve to feel safe too! And we obviously can't be having that, so...

Better not show yourself even a little kindness a little bit at a time.

Better not make a habit out of it after all that practice.

Better not get confident.

Especially if you can't first wipe out every trace of awkward. (And you probably never will. Because people who experience absolute social certainty at all times tend to be insufferable assholes that enforce the status quo. And you just don't have the stock portfolio for that.)

Better not be confident and awkward because then you might confuse and delight people

- you might accidentally end up making other people feel less shame for their social difficulties

- you might make isolated, traumatized, and shy people feel like they deserve to be included in social situations

- you might even make them feel they can be themselves around you

- you might start loving the effect you have on a room

- you might enjoy conversations more

- you might forgive yourself and bounce back from shame more easily and frequently

- you might come to enjoy some of those moments of harmless confusion you cause because NOBODY expects the Confident Awkward, and that can genuinely be an advantage in social situations

- you might stop apologizing so much.

- you might find that socializing is like a video game: it requires practice but also a safe space for it to be fun and positive.

Or if you can't become assertive and confident, better not remain awkward and shy and quiet, and then love and forgive yourself anyway!

Why, it would be carnage!!

In either scenario, you run the risk of finding out that it's not your fault that safe spaces full of kind people can be really hard to find, create, and nurture. You could end up building a skillset that helps you do those things!

- You might realize that it was never your fault that it took so long to like yourself.

- You might realize that you were always worth talking to, even when you didn't like yourself and communication felt impossibly difficult.

- You might realize that you'll still be worth talking to even if communication becomes harder as you age and/or experience disability.

- You might know that you deserve to be heard even on bad days when words come slow and blurry.

You might discover that you were always deserving of kindness, first and foremost from yourself.

So. As you can see, it's FAR too much of a risk to take to cut your awkward self some slack for your many heinous and harmless crimes. Better to just leave it there.

[ashennightingale]

some refs for my specialest pinkest boy, love 💘 he’s an npc of mine that i got Very attached to, so i fleshed him out & gave him a few redesigns before landing on this!

love is a paladin of ilmater, & while he is intentionally very mild he’s also involved in a couple mysteries :-) some of my players follow me tho so i cant say more lol

(im posting old art! — jan 2021)

[deadsetobsessions]

Sea Cryptic! Danny AU- Pt.1

[Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4] [Pt.5][Pt.6][Pt.7]

As someone who lived in the middle of nowhere, Amity, the ocean both terrified and enthralled Danny Fenton.

The first time his parents took him to the beach, it was the middle of the day and he’d been stuck in the prototype GAV for hours upon hours on their “quick, ghost rumor hunting field trip.”

It wasn’t quick, and they caught exactly zero ghosts. When Danny saw the expanse of sand underneath the summer sun, he and Jazz both bounded out of the van like feral little monkeys. Danny and Jazz sprinted down the sand, their parents ambling behind them with their arms loaded up with towels, a first aid kit, and an ungodly amount of mildly ecto contaminated food that they already fought before getting onto the beach.

Danny had splashed into the water, yelped at the freezing temperature, and then promptly found a shell to keep. His mom taught him how to swim with the waves, having come from Surf City herself, and his dad taught Jazz how to dive.

It was a day full of fond memories, especially the memory of the Great War of Sand-Castle Crushing he and Jazz waged against each other.

They stuck around for the sunset, the ripples of colors and peacefulness that swept across the vast waters caught Danny in its hold.

He hadn’t forgotten that moment. Not even when he died.

After a particularly hard day as Phantom, Danny would fly to the coast and loose hours just sitting on the sand and watching the waves lap against the shore. And when those nights were clear? It felt like a slice of his own personal heaven, with the stars shining on his shoulders and the encompassing crash of the waves sheltering his heart.

And on some days, when being Danny left him frustrated, Danny would fly out to the coast and use his intangibility to walk beneath the waves. Near the coast, it’s cloudy with swirls of moving sand and disturbed waters. He walked, and walked, and floated and floated beneath the waters, taking contentment from the way the moonlight of his stars filtered through the water. He admired the way light would glint on the scales of fish and crustaceans alike as he floated beneath the surface. On those days, Danny would pick up trash and polluted things and bring them to shore, to place in the trash cans and all of the recycling cans. He picked up shells and decorated the beaches he frequented, because if it were decorated, perhaps people would refrain from chucking their waste into the sea.

Well, usually, it’d be trash.

Danny watched speechlessly, jaw cracked open just a smidge, as an explosion happened right over his head. The distortion of the water did not hide the fact that there were large chunks of plane pelting down at him, a different figure flying away from the explosion. Danny went invisible and intangible as large metal pieces plunged into his current water space.

“Gosh, people these days,” he huffed. “This is gonna take forever to…”

Danny trailed off, seeing a humanoid shape crash into the water, clearly unconscious. Danny didn’t hesitate before shooting towards the drowning person, glowing green and fully visible again. The stranger’s eyes- holy shit, that’s Batman- turned towards him before closing behind cracked open lenses. Batman slumped falling unconscious. That’s not good.

Danny rocketed out of the water with the vigilante in his arms. If it weren’t for his supernatural strength, there’s no way lanky teenage Danny would have been able to carry Batman’s grown ass built like a tank self to the shore. Likewise, if it weren’t for his strength, Danny wouldn’t have been able to start chest compressions through the layers of armor.

Danny leaned back with a sigh as Batman coughed out only a bit of water, because Danny hadn’t taken all that long to get to him, and held up his hands in a “I don’t have weapons” way as Batman whirled to him.

“Hi. Are you alright?” Danny asked, ectoplasm and instinctive ghost speak fuzzing his words a bit. Damn, Batman must have nearly died a lot. He’ll freak out about meeting Batman later.

“You saved me,” an awkward pause. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. The other guy went that way.”

Danny waved vaguely.

“…What are you?”

“Oh my god, Batman, you can’t just ask someone what they are!” He immediately replied, inwardly smacking himself for the joke. He watched Batman’s face, watching for any sign of discrimination against ghosts, or any sign the man had a sense of humor.

“…”

Neither, apparently, was the answer.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m just here to clean up the beaches. You humans really like to pollute the beaches. It’s quite rude, you know. That plane of yours, well, it’s not your fault,” he amended. “But it’s gonna damage sea life. And I don’t know if you’re in the habit, but please don’t litter on the beach or in the water, especially with your unconscious body. It’s tedious to clean.”

“…I see.”

“Stay. I’ll take out your plane. Make sure it doesn’t stay on the sand, alright?”

With that, Danny stood. Unaware of the way the moonlight lit up his hair like white flames and accentuated the sharp points of his ears, Danny turned away and flew back to the plane site, dragging the pieces up with ease.

Batman sat on the sand, likely exhausted from his fight, and watched him carry the pieces of the aircraft up.

“Here. All done. I gotta get going,” because Danny has school and this just lost him two hours. “Will you be alright?”

Batman nodded once, sharply.

“Good.” Danny went invisible, watching Batman sat up straighter, glancing around in a suddenly visible awareness. Oh, well. Tucker’s gonna freak out.

——

Three years later, Danny’s moved to Gotham for university.

And after midterm season, Danny went for a ghostly walk, but this time, in the waters surrounding Gotham.

When he surfaced, Batman was crouching on a lamp post, waiting for him.

“Oh, it’s you,” Danny said. “Hello. Did you know that people are polluting these waters with bodies too?”

“Yes,” Batman said, graveled voice resounding on the shipping containers around them.

“You should do something about that. Do you like places that are polluted?”

Batman sighed. “What are you?”

Danny hears a small, tinny voice by Batman’s ear, coming from a comm.

“Oh my god, B, you can’t just ask someone what they are!”

Mind flashing back to the night Danny drug a waterlogged Batman out of the ocean, Danny cracked a smile.

“Phantom,” he said, decisively. And, because this isn’t Amity anymore, “the Beach Clean Up crew from the flip side.”

——

Bruce, waking up on the sand: wtf

Bruce, seeing a child next to him who probably saved him: wtf (in “adoption”)

Bruce, seeing Danny’s skin glitter like stars, hair aflame, and pointy ears: wtf (in “I can adopt fae folk, right?”)

Bruce, seeing that Danny doesn’t leave any footprints: wtffff (detective mind goes brrrr)

——

Bruce, after Danny leaves: *donates 20 mil towards beach clean up efforts and anti-pollution causes*

——

Bruce’s Goggle Search History, documented by Oracle:

Sea spirits

Sea vampires

How to parent supernatural kids

How to thank your sea child

Are shells a good gift?

Ocean conservation efforts

Sea spirits that glitters under moonlight

Sea spirits that cleans up beaches

Wayne corporation waste disposal

Companies that dump trash into the sea

*outgoing call to Lucius Fox*

What is “mean girls”

——

Bruce, learning “current pop culture” from his kids:

Bruce, remembering the kid who saved him and realizing he’s probably as old as his own kids are: *adoption tendencies intensifies*

[koenigami]

not sure if you allow it, but how does wriothesly react when the reader uses their safe word during an intense session?

tags : fem!reader, smut, crying, use of safeword, aftercare, comfort, +18

It's hot in the room, the constant gurgling of the pipes reminding you that WRIOTHESLEY must have turned up the heating higher than usual. Then why is your body shivering, with goosebumps all over your skin? You can't see him, can't hear him because he has barely talked to you ever since he's returned from his office. Yet you feel his large, intimidating form loom over your body from behind. You can't speak, can barely breathe with his constricting hand around your throat that somehow seems to get tighter by every passing second.

He's immune to your whimpers, to the tears rolling down your cheeks. With each forceful thrust of his, you hear the bed creak and feel your knees get weaker, your body loosing strength until you're nothing but a limp toy for him. You want to get up, push him away, but the grip his other hand has on your wrists while holding them behind your back- He's just too strong.

That's when even the last ounce of pleasure leaves your body and you're left with nothing but dread and panic. "Red, p-please." you barely recognise your own voice, hoarse and frightened. "No more, please, red."

The pressure on your windpipes is gone instantly. You realise it, not by the oxygen that is easier entering your airways, no, because you still feel like you're suffocating. You realise it because his warmth is as well gone in an instant. W-Where did he go?

Rough hands are all over your body, yet they treat you with so much care, helping you turn and lie on your back, soothing down your thighs. One of them at last settles on your cheek, the pad of his thumb caressing it and wiping the tears away. "Y/n? Sweetheart, you with me?"

You sniffle and press the heels of your palms against your eyes, your chest shaking with more sobs that won't stop racking your body. "I'm sorry, 'm so sorry. I-I don't even know-"

"No, no, don't apologise. There's nothing to be sorry for." Your brain still feels foggy as you finally look over at Wriothesley who's crouching beside the bed, giving you enough space to breathe yet still having his hands all over you, not wanting to let you go. Nonetheless, you're able to notice the tension in his posture, in his facial expressions. "Just try to relax, alright? You're okay now." his hand shifts to your hair, fingers combing through the messy strands until they settle on your scalp, soothingly massaging you there. "You did good. It was too much, wasn't it?"

"Couldn't breathe." you whisper and realise that you feel so small in his presence, but not in an inferior way. Wriothesley may look all brutish and intimidating with a strength that could crush any allegedly impenetrable door in the fortress, but you're well aware that he would never use that strength against people that he cares about. "And, uhm-"

Piercing blue eyes watch as you nervously fiddle with the blanket that he has covered you with. But the little peck he gives you on your shoulder tells you that he wants to let you have a breather and take as much time as you need to sort your thoughts. "You seemed a-angry. You were so quiet and, I don't know. It was..."

"Scary?" he finishes for you, a gentle and reassuring smile plastered on his face that alleviates the pressure on your chest.

"Yeah."

Silence invades the bedroom for a short moment, making you forget that you're miles beneath the water surface, that the room which you share with him belongs to a prison, that a few moments prior your body has been in a fight-or-flight mode. The silence reminds you that you're safe and that all of this, all of him, is home. "Will you come back to bed? And hold me?"

Wriothesley's eyes soften at your request and the timid sound of your voice. "Of course, my love." His knees pop when he eventually gets up, pressing a fleeting kiss on your temple before he picks his pants up from the floor and puts them on. Despite the previous events, you can't help but feel a light heat creep up your neck when you get a sight of his naked buttocks.

"Careful with those wandering eyes. I might think you want to continue where we left off." Wriothesley chuckles when you pull the blanket over your head, a futile attempt to hide your embarrassed expression.

"Come here." the mattress dips beside you and you let him tug the blanket off your head. The warmth and smell of his make you sigh in contentment once he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. "I'm the one who should apologise. I was not aware of how much I was hurting you."

The teasing smirk and brief leisurely attitude are gone, replaced by a seriousness that you usually only get to see when he's handling work related matters. He kisses your face again and again, further silent apologies that he hopes will lessen the pain inside your chest. And his. "I was a little irritated, yes, but that had nothing to do with you. Some inmates got their hands on a few bottles of wine." he explains. "Those drunkards started spewing lots of nonsense when I confronted them about it."

What did they say?" you inquire quietly, your eyes slowly but surely feeling heavier. With a palm against his naked chest, you notice the rapid heartbeat but decide to not give it any mind, since Wriothesley's tender strokes along your back are truly not making it easy for you to stay awake and think straight.

He stops his movements for a short moment, clenching and unclenching his fist as his eyes trail over the red, irritated skin of his knuckles.

"Your grace has turned quite soft." "Your little mouse must be doing a great job in bed, huh?" "Why don't you lend her to us? I'm sure we could teach her a thing or two?"

"Nothing you should worry your head about." his voice is merely a whisper as his lips move against your forehead before he buries his nose in your hair and resumes to trace more soothing shapes on your lower back.

a/n : thank you for your patience, dear anon! hope you'll see this since your request has been sitting for a while in my inbox-

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Zombie! König NSFW Headcanons

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Dub-Con/Non-Con, Mentions of Breeding, Implied Forced Pregnancy/Eggnancy, Stomach Bulging, Restraining, Unprotected Sex, Monster Fucking, Zombie Fucking, Implied Yandere König, Possessive König, Jealous König, Zombie! König, Human! Reader, Zombie Anatomy, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except You.

Your current condition, that being thoroughly incapacitated, used and spent, had been the result of König’s jealousy, his possession of you.

All it took was for him to see you speaking with another survivor – one which had materialised out of nowhere – a little too enthusiastically.

Not that anyone could blame you; he was the first living person you’d seen in months, and you to him, too.

Until König showed up. Lumbering and mammoth and disease-ridden, he rocked up to you on creaking bones and stiffened joints, his deathly condition apparent in every facet of his being, from his gait to the stale blood staining his tactical gear.

The other survivor took one look at him and didn’t even hesitate before he all but took flight, bolting in the opposite direction.

You weren’t a fool. You knew König had done it on purpose.

He may be undead, but he was smart. Too smart.

Later that evening, you didn’t even look at König, instead bundling up in your room within the decrepit confines of your hideout while König ruminated.

If he could, he was sure his heart would squeeze, his throat would constrict at the prospect of upsetting you.

But, either because of his decaying state or something more carnal clouding his remorse.

The thought of that man, just some guy, touching you…

König’s eye twitched. His teeth gritted together, grinding.

The longer he stewed in the what-ifs – what if he hadn’t been there to frighten off his competition, what if that survivor had had his way with you – the less human he felt. The stronger the parasite’s instincts became, a chanting, goading, incipient voice that urged him to succumb to his feral ways.

Despite his stature, König was deceptively quiet. As much was apparent when you turned, your anger making it impossible to get comfortable, only to see König stood over you, watching you, your bedroom door swung open.

König gave you little time to process his arrival, to process that his appearance was not the extension of an olive branch – an apology – but a siege on your defences.

It wasn’t hard for König to pin you down, both with his weight and his strength as his hands kept your wrists welded to the mattress.

He snarled, his veil doing nothing to muffle the carnality in his tone, the voice of the parasite urging him to act. Now.

You tried to fight him off. Tried to call his name – the one you’d both settled on when you first met — tried to reason with the small part of him that was still human.

Little did you know that he, the last remaining thread which tethered König to the Living, was responsible for this.

You see, König is not the sharing type. A lesson you learned too late, it would seem.

The reason why König was bearing down on you now, trying not to rock his hips against yours as he collared your wrists together beneath his palm and fumbled with stiffened fingers for the zipper of his trousers was rooted solely in envy.

And now, freed of his pants, König’s cock stood stiff against his stomach. His hand, free now, gripped your jeans by the hem. Tore them off. A button pinged into a corner. You yelped.

Despite having dreamt of this moment for almost the entirety of your travels together, nothing in König’s dying mind could have prepared him for the rush he felt as you writhed, tried not to enable him with your whines when his drooling tip caught you.

König stuffed you full of him, and a sword of ice penetrated you, filled you.

You gasped, your back arching and your mouth dropping open as you struggled to take both his size and his piercing, freezing, bulbous cock.

You felt it twitch inside you. Pulse. And the only thought that crossed your mind was that something of a parasitic nature must be crawling through his veins, trying to get to you. Get into you.

Of course, that was not the case. König ever would have acted on his instincts if he’d known you were at risk of leading an almost-eternity of rot like him. He cared that much for you, at least.

Even if he had perceived your talking to that other lone survivor earlier as an act of disloyalty.

Deep down, he knows it wasn’t. You and König weren’t even dating, so how could it be?

Zombie instincts. And König’s naturally domineering, possessive nature. That’s how it could be.

König had to hold back the feeling, the need, to pump you full of his cum right then and there as he saw a long, thick bump form in your middle.

Him.

König growled. You whimpered. Something cold, viscous, tricked into you.

The avantmath of König’s excitement.

König’s eyes, though mulled over with a haze that suggested vacancy, were still an ice blue. Watching and heavy.

As was his cock halfway mounted inside you. It almost pinned you to the mattress itself with just how much of it there was, no doubt enlarged some by the parasite, the disease. Which, if the rest of König was to go by, wasn’t the only thing it engorged.

König’s frame possessed muscularity you didn’t even think possible on a man, his arms bulging, larger than your head, his thighs almost bursting from his pants as he bent over your figure, his trousers pulled taut over his muscles, just below his hips.

You stifled a sob, the air knocked out of you, as König began to move. Slowly, at first, the notion of intimacy having become a lost skill to him.

As he grew used to the motion of withdrawing and plunging back in, he grew faster. Harsher.

He could see from the furrow in your brow, the gritting of your teeth, the clenching of your jaw, that taking him was painful. Un-customary for your…relationship.

And though his chest would have panged with the knowledge that he, of everyone in the wasteland, was the one hurting you, his body was no longer privy to such reactions.

Instead, he pressed his hips to yours, tried manoeuvring you so that he could take you from a deeper angle, and slid further.

He bit back a grunt, his grip about your wrists tightening. You let out a yelp, these new inches of not only length but girth almost splitting you open. At least, that’s how it felt.

König built to and kept his feral pace, fucking you like an animal, giving you little time to breathe and him little time to think about what he was doing.

All he thought about was making you his. About making sure everything, living and otherwise, who came upon you in the wasteland would know you belonged to him.

Though, with what he was planning on doing to you, he knew you wouldn’t be going outside again.

Against your mind’s judgement, your body wanted König. That much was clear in the way you ceased fighting him off, instead trying to push into him, trying to take him deeper.

Your actions were not lost on König. But, given how his face was clouded not only with his veil, but with his lust, you wouldn’t have been surprised if they were.

Eventually, König’s weight and speed proved to be too much.

You cried out, as if for the only other survivor in the city to hear you, to save you.

König released a growl, a howl, as his cold, congealed, thickened cum pumped into you.

You could feel it, like water through a hose. Could feel König’s veins twitching, feel yourself getting full from his load.

Against your better judgement, you wrapped your legs about König’s torso, as if to stop even an ounce of his semen from escaping.

You didn’t have to look down to know that your stomach was filling up like a balloon – that König had completely and utterly made you his from the inside out.

You couldn’t see the way König’s jaw hung open, couldn’t feel the way his fantasy made his body lock up with electric anticipation.

Not that you knew this, but König knew the infection — the parasite — was evolving.

Once it fully matured, it would give König an opportunity he wouldn’t perceive as golden — gold dust — until he met you.

The ability to lay eggs in a host.

Granted, the idea was not to spread the infection in the living host but to enable the birth of more parasites. But for König, it worked all the same.

And, as he looked down at you, taking his load so easily now, he knew this was not just a possibility, but a reality.

You would start a new life. Together. Him as your protector, your sword and your shield, and you his perfect little incubator, swollen with your shared offspring.

It wouldn’t be long until you’d be begging to bear his offspring. And it wouldn’t be long until he could grant your wish.

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Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

[bi-writes]

what you want you cannot find. so you let someone else find it for you. (18+, dark!simon x curvy!fem!reader, arranged marriage)

you don't really know what you were thinking when you answered the ad. it is many things, maybe, why you chose to apply. why you were grateful to be chosen.

the loneliness, it aches. you cannot find yourself in anyone else, you cannot find the thing that should move you and hold you. you cannot find what it is that should ignite what is asleep, the thing nestled between your ribs that feels like it beats to a rhythm that you cannot hear.

the bitterness, too. there is something sour that you taste. there is acid under your tongue, something rotten between your teeth, and you wish for anything that you would stop tasting it because it reminds you of how alone you are, how alone you'll remain, the inevitable thing that you wish you weren't but that you unfortunately are.

it is the thing you cannot die for because there isn't anything to die for. you live, and you breathe, and you exist, but there isn't anything there. this is nothing that makes you want to gnaw on your own flesh, there is no life you would take in sake of another, there is no purpose to your existence except the hope that perhaps there is still time to have what you want more than anything.

but you don't know what you want. you don't know because everything that you thought you wanted, you do not want any longer. you never feel anything with other men. they are beneath you. they maim what they shouldn't. they complain about things that they can fix. they stare at a problem head-on, with the solution at their back, and they chase their tails. they do not know their right from their left. you hate them. but you want it. you want something. you want one of them, but you don't know which, so maybe if you don't choose, you will find what it is that you don't know you're looking for.

you're alone in the room. they gave you a bouquet of white roses. you hold them nervously between clammy palms. you wear a silk white dress that skims the floor, fabric falling soft over the curve of your waist and gentle along the swell of your cleavage. your hair is loose, and there is a short veil over your head, covering your face.

you stare at your handler. he's dressed in his military fatigues, tactical vest still strapped with the Union Jack across his chest. he has introduced himself as captain john price, and he is the one who arranged for your arrival. he is the one who told you to wear white, and he is the one who gave you the roses.

captain john price is rugged. captain john price is kind. and captain john price is not what you want. you are grateful that you are not yet disappointed with your match.

the door opens behind you. you straighten your posture that extra inch when you hear his heavy gait. there is a pause as the door shuts behind him, and you see his captain nod to a figure that you cannot see. his boots hit the floor low, and you swallow when the sunlight that comes through the window is blocked entirely by the size of him as he stands at your side.

the vows are short. you say your i do first, soft voice that hits his ears in a way that makes him nearly purr. when it is his turn to say i do, your eyes sparkle. he speaks in such a low voice, a Manchester accent that makes your toes curl in the white kitten heels that you wear. a drawl that you can feel in your chest, an accent that ticks a corner of your brain you did not know was there.

"you may kiss your bride."

you turn away from the captain. you tilt your head to look up at him, and you let out a soft breath when you realize the sheer breadth of this man.

he is barely a man. he must be something else. he is dressed all in black, and he wears all of his gear. his tactical vest is stocked well, magazines tucked into their pockets, a grenade dangling from one strap, a handgun tucked into its holster on his chest and around his thick thigh. his belt is heavy with more, knives in sheathes, devices in their places. even without all of the weight, you know the size of him won't shrink.

you cannot see his face. he covers it with a mask, one that resembles the front face of a skull. it is dirty. you aren't certain if it is blood or soot or dirt. maybe it is all of that and more. you cannot see his eyes through the veil either, but they are dark, and they are intense.

you keep your eyes fixed on his as he lifts your veil. the delicate fabric settles over your head, and you see him without obstruction.

there he is.

it is like seeing a man for the first time. it is like being in the presence of the dream you've always had and could never remember.

he tilts his head to the side, curious. he is seeing your face for the first time, too. soft eyes. glossy lips. the curve of your mouth. the untouched skin of your cheeks, the unmarred flesh that you wear. he follows the line of your throat to the peek of your tits dressed in silk. you are a present wrapped in luxury. hand delivered goods, of the finest quality.

his bride. his wife. something he will have forever. he does not know if he has ever been able to say that about anything else. he's never had anything except for his life. nothing except for himself has ever belonged to him, but even now, not even his life is his own, it belongs to someone far away, someone in an office somewhere, who moves the chess pieces of his world around, where he cannot do anything but follow.

you stand on your toes to get closer to him. he thinks for just a second you will ask him to remove his mask, but you don't. you cant your head, and you kiss him over the mask, sticky gloss leaving a light imprint on the fabric. you settle back onto your heels, and your breath hitches when one of his gloved hands comes to settle at the dip of your waist.

"she's all mine now, eh, cap'n?"

you blink, your eyes still on his. you don't move, and you don't say anything. you wonder, if you could see his face, if he would smile.

"all yours, simon."

you let him drag you closer, shuffling on your feet until your hips press against his. your back arches gently as he uses both hands, gripping you around the middle and feeling the soft flesh underneath your silk dress. he is a rabid dog, his next meal at his fingertips. she is his, and he wants to take her home. if his captain was not standing at his back, he knows he would take you on this very floor.

she is mine. she is mine. she is mine.

he has studied your picture. he has memorized your name. he has been waiting for you. he is too awkward to leave base. he is too quiet to attract birds, birds that matter, birds that sing. he is too ravenous to be anything but permanent, he isn't capable of the mundane, of casual. it is everything or nothing at all, and at the sound of permanence, he foamed at the mouth.

at the thought of something to keep, he was blinded. when beasts lose control, they call their keeper, and he had none. this change could be good. this change would do him well. when he ignores the order of a commanding officer, he will bend to yours, because he is bound, wrapped, tied to you with something invisible that weaves between his bones.

you do not know what you were before, but you know what you are now.

you follow after him. he turns to leave, and you let him lead. your heels click as you walk, and when it is hard for you to keep up, you reach for his hand. he grunts when you do, but he doesn't push you away. you hold wilting roses in one hand, and you clutch him in the other. recruits and privates stop to salute or step out of your way, and they stare when they see a trailing angel behind their lieutenant, a pretty girl in a pretty white dress with a veil fluttering against the breeze as you try and keep up with your husband's long strides.

the door he stops in front of is plain and unmarked. he fits a key into the lock, turning it and opening it, and he invites you over a threshold that no one else has ever stepped over. you stand on the other side, holding the roses to your chest. he turns when you don't follow him inside. you get a glimpse of him as a whole, the man that he is, big and menacing and taken. you wonder if he will wear his ring under his glove or if he will put it on the chain that holds his dog tags.

"is this where you live?" you ask. you stay on the other side, looking in, a little timid as you stand there.

he nods, silent. he crosses his arms over his chest, and you admire the bulge of them, the paint of skeleton bones along the fingers of his gloves. you look him up and down before smiling a little.

"is this where i will live, too?"

he shakes his head, a no.

"can't have a thing like y'here," he murmurs. "boys'll eat y'up."

you tilt your head to the side.

"i find that hard to believe," you quip. "do people often eat what's yours, lieutenant?"

he snarls, narrowing his eyes. "no one takes wot's mine."

"then what are you so afraid of?"

"that 'f y'r 'ere, i won't get any fuckin' work done."

you break out into a big smile, pearly white teeth flashing, and he clicks his tongue at your reaction. he reaches up and lifts his mask, pushing it up until it rests over his nose. his nose is crooked from being broken so many times. his face is scarred, as if someone took a blade and carved out the skin and muscle. a deep one stretches from somewhere under the mask to his lip, where it looks as if the skin was haphazardly stitched back together. another long jagged grey streak comes over the line of his cheek down his jaw, as if someone tried to peel his face off.

he grins. it's ugly and unsettling, as if he sees prey that he knows he will catch. your own smile does not fade. his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and you want to taste him. beast, bear, killing machine, the boogeyman, a ghost that haunts, you do not know exactly what he is, but you know, immediately, that he is what you have been searching for.

you do not know him. you do not love him yet, but you will. you are sure of this. you are sure that he is missing piece. he will fill the spaces that you have always felt hollow. he will scratch a place in your head that has always itched. there is something in his eyes, you're not exactly sure what it is, but you can't wait to discover it. you can't wait to explore, to indulge, to lick the salt of his skin and know that everything he is has been waiting for something like you.

you did not choose him, but he chose you, and now you see it clearly. you see this thing, and you know the truth of what's been hiding from you all your life. the curtain has been taken down. the veil is off. the walls are invisible.

"come 'ere," he says lowly. "won't ask so nicely next time."

you drop the flowers onto the floor, crossing the doorway. you kick the door shut, hearing it click, and he comes closer, until you can feel his breath fanning your nose.

"will you love me?" you ask, wringing your hands together nervously. "do you think maybe...do you think maybe that's possible?"

he licks over his teeth, humming. he leans down, knocking your chin up, and your breath hitches when he licks up the side of your jaw, taking in a whiff of your perfume and the sweetness of his bride.

"what a stupid word," he mutters, biting at the curve of your bottom lip. "meaningless. love. bloody hell."

"w-what...what?"

"a meaningless fuckin' word for the things i would do for ya," he continues. "the things i would kill. the heads i would step on. the sorry fucks i would get rid of...just to see y'smile."

your eyes flutter. yes, yes, yes--the unconditional devotion. the terrifyingly beautiful reality of through sickness and in health, until death do us part.

"is it really that easy, simon?" you ask. his gloved hands slip over your throat, sliding low and skimming the silk of your dress before he cups both sides of your ass and squeezes, drawing you closer until you are uncomfortably pressed up against him. his gear digs into your softness, sharp edges cutting into you, but you ignore it as he begins to draw up the skirt of your dress. "is it really that easy to say you'll do all of that for me? isn't it...it's wrong, isn't it? to do those things for me?"

he laughs. humorless, condescending. as if that is the stupidest thing you could have ever said.

"'s olright, swee'eart. gonna take all those ideas outta y'r pretty lil' head."

you relax when you feel his gloved hand under the hem of your white lace panties. your eyes shut, and you reach forward and grip his vest for stability.

"christ..." he hisses. "y'r soaked..."

you are. you have been since you first laid eyes on him, on everything he is. you know why you are here, and he knows why he is here, and that is because there were two people so desperate to find one another, that they let someone else choose. the gods, fate, whatever they want to be called.

matched by design, together by choice.

you lean forward and kiss beside his lips, and you whine when his big fingers slide between your folds, soft on your clit before he fits two fingers inside of you. his gloves are warm, and you wet them easily.

"wot a good girl," he breathes. "knew y'were the right one."

"y-you did?"

"could see it in y'r eyes, dove. could see wot y'needed. could see it plain as fuckin' day. dyin' inside, just like me, aye?"

you shake your head.

"n-not anymore...not anymore..." you gasp, and he tsks as he steps backward, the weight of him heavy as he takes a seat on his perfectly made bed, bringing you with him. you fall into his lap, unafraid to because you know someone of his size can carry you easily, and he hums as you spread your thighs apart. you straddle him, pressed up against the gun holstered to his chest, and you moan softly against his scarred face as he fucks you open with three unforgiving fingers.

"not anymore," he echos, baring his teeth as he pumps his hand. the squelch of it is filthy, but it isn't enough. he wants you to soak his arm, his thighs, his bed, let the slick of you stain him from the outside in. "not anymore. not as my wife."

you scramble. you rip the veil out of your hair, untie the corset of your dress. there's a naked angel in his lap, perky tits and soft figure, giving way to the gorgeous place you keep hidden by white, wet lace. the place that is his, the place that belongs to him, a pretty pussy that will keep him satiated until he breathes no longer.

after he tears apart his enemy, he will have you. after he tastes the blood he desires to see run, he will have you. the adrenaline, the fire, the shout of every order and the sound of their cries, it won't exist anymore in this place, he knows it.

"y'll never want for anythin'," he mutters. "y'll never be lonely. always get wot y'want...wot y'need...wot y'deserve..."

you reach up and cup his cheeks gently, pressing your mouth to his as you ride his fingers eagerly. you want him, you want this, you want all of it, even if it isn't what's right. but something brought you here, right into his arms, and this is what you deserve.

he's not even human, you don't think. he must be something else. with how good he makes you feel, with the sheer precision that he rocks his fingers into you, the way he smiles, he must be made of only something synthetic, something not organic.

you feel so small underneath him. he tosses you onto the bed, your head hitting the pillow gently. you giggle, and his grin widens. he has a warm pink tongue, and it's between his teeth, and you giggle again when he moves his head from side to side, staring down at you. he's studying you. you assume he has seen photos of you, but this is his first time seeing his bride for all that she is. soft, pretty, unscathed by war. at least on the outside--but on the inside, you are not as you seem.

there's a parasite in you. something that slithers behind your eyes and settles in that corner of your brain that only he can touch. he knows that feeling well. he feels it every time he is in the field, and he feels it now, with you. he chases this tick when he works. it knocks his senses just right, makes him feel good and big, like the reaper that he really is. he can be this with a rifle in his hand, and he can be this without it, with the weight of his wife in his hands.

you smile, biting your lip, and you spread your legs for him. his eyes fall between your thighs, and he chuckles. he brings his gloved hand up to his mouth, the one that smells like you, and you watch as he slips it inside, sucking on it for a moment before he uses his teeth to take both gloves off.

he bends, still in all his military glory, and he sticks his tongue out, licking a fat stripe up the seam of your cunt, using one thumb to pull the puffy lip apart and suckle on your clit for just a moment.

you gasp, arching your back, and he stands to his full height again, laughing.

"oh, y'taste sweet," he purrs. "y'taste good. hard t'believe i'll have this cunny for m'whole fuckin' life."

"believe it, baby," you coo, and he sighs. he nods his head, reaching low, gripping himself through his cargo pants and squeezing his cock. you follow his movements, watching him pay special attention to the tip of him, running his finger over where you guess the slit is as he watches you squirm. "why are you so far away, simon? don't you want me?"

he laughs again, smiling wide, and he nods.

"course i want ya, swee'eart. who wouldn't want ya, huh? who wouldn't want this?"

you meet his eyes. the question is a sound one, but it never mattered that you were wanted, what mattered is that you never wanted. not really. not until now.

you watch him as he reaches for his zipper. he undoes it easily, unbuttoning his pants and shoving them low. they won't go very low, thanks to the holsters around his thighs, but it's enough that you watch his cock stand at attention, the red tip of him leaking down the sides, making the bulging vein on the underside of him shine.

you whine a little, and he growls happily, watching as you cup the swell of your tits and squeeze them in anticipation. perfect, perfect, perfect girl, practically a mail-order bride that checks every single fucking box.

he grips you by the thighs, yanking you to the edge of the bed. you whimper when he slides the tip through your folds, letting it catch at the entrance before smirking down at you.

"'s big," you hiccup, and he tsks, shaking his head.

"y'can take it, swee'eart," he murmurs. "y'r a riley now, luvvie. y'know what tha' means?" you shake your head, your eyes a little watery, and he smooths a hand up your sternum, gripping you around the throat gently. "gonna find out...gonna find out how well a riley takes wot they're given."

"simon--"

"'s alright, luv, we'll start nice, yeah?" he breathes. you grip onto his forearms when he feeds you his cock, slowly, and your back bows at a sharp angle as you squeeze him for everything he is. "fuckin' hell...yeah, just the tip, yeah? oh, good girl..."

good girl, yeah...i'm a good girl--

you cry out, digging your nails into him when he mutters fuck it and bottoms out. his palm flattens just under your belly button, a choked groan leaving him as he presses down, a rush of something fucking glorious running down his spine. it's a high--he's so fucking high, as if he is popping fucking pills.

"feel me here, yeah?" he drags his hips back, smoothing a hand further up your stomach until he paws one of your tits, squeezing it firmly. you nod, sliding your hands up his arms, fisting the fabric of his mask at the base of his neck. you feel him everywhere, you feel him in your chest, running down your spine, you feel him in your mouth and in your head, and it feels so good, it feels so so so so good.

"yes--yes!" you gasp. fuck, he's huge, he's putting a shadow over you. you're naked, bare underneath him, and his gear rocks with every thrust, and it's filthy because you wonder if he worked, you wonder if he didn't even change before he went to marry his perfectly-picked bride, you wonder if he got off the tarmac not even an hour after killing his target to go and take what is his.

how long ago was it that he last fired his weapon? the gun on his chest, did he use it before he saw you?

i bet he did. i bet he used it. i bet he smoked the cigarette that i smell on him, and i bet he came here, and then he married me, and now he's all mine, and he's fucking me six ways to fucking sunday--

you think you're drooling. your lips are wet, and with every smack of his hips against yours, you feel a little more trickle down the side of your face. you're moaning, gripping his neck, pulling him further down on top of you. you want him all around you, you want him inside, you want him to come every day wearing this terrifying fucking uniform and to fuck you so stupid, you forget everything except for the name he has given you.

you want to know nothing except for his name. simon. riley. simon. riley.

you want to know nothing except for what you are. his wife. his wife. his wife.

it's so hard to remember to breathe. his hands grip you tight around the hips, and he's losing momentum, hissing, letting out choked groans as he brands the shape of his cock into you. he never wants you to forget what he feels like--he never wants you to know anything except for him, for the rest of your life.

"simon--" you whine, and he smirks, reaching up to hold your face in one big hand, keeping you still as you chase the grind of his pelvis against your puffy clit. "simon--!"

"tha'sit, luvvie...yeah..." he nods, "look at me--look at me," he leans down, a big weight over you, suffocating you, "good girl, yeah..." he clicks his tongue, "cum f'me, swee'eart. cum f'y'r husband, yeah?"

you lean up, chasing after him, gripping onto the sides of his face as you kiss him hard. it is the first time you really kiss him. slotting your mouth over his, slipping your tongue into his mouth, the sting of your wedding ring cooling his warm face as you taste him for the very first time.

it is gone. the bitterness that you always taste, the acid and the sourness and everything that always is so unpleasant under your tongue, it is gone when you have him. he takes it out of your mouth completely, and you chase after this just as you chase after the harsh grind of your clit against his pelvis.

he is carrying you. you're lifting, coming over some kind of sweet, exhilarating euphoria, and you're blinded by it, by the feeling, by him. you want more, more, you want it all, and he said you could have anything you want, that you'll never need anything ever again, he said, he said, he said--!

he laughs when you come. he swallows your moans, hisses when you soak his pants. you are the prettiest thing he could ever hope for, the personification of the things he does not deserve and could never have, and it is selfish that he has taken you this way, but he does not fucking care.

the things we cannot have are the sweetest, the most desirable. and simon is nothing if he isn't a thief.

he is nothing if he doesn't just take what he wants. he likes to think that perhaps he adopts the "ask for forgiveness, and not for permission" philosophy, but he does not ask for forgiveness. and he has never asked for permission.

"please--simon--" you gasp, looking up at him. your eyes are wet, and a few tears wet his hand around your face. "please--inside me, please..."

"'s olright, luv--" he grunts, pumping faster, his pretty little wife just begging for him, for more, and how could he say no to that? "easy, baby...i'll give it t'ya, don't worry, fuck--" he hisses, "lieutenant's wife gets woteva she wants..."

"please--inside--" you choke. "simon, inside, i-i want it inside--"

fuck, that is all he needed. he nestles deep, pressing his hips to yours, and you kiss him once more when you go blind again. a second high, when he stuffs you full. just as you should be. just as you always should be.

"yeah, fuck--" he breathes. "tha' wot y'wanted, yeah? nice and full, good girl..." he licks his lips, standing up straight, and just when you think he is pulling out, he yanks you back towards him, cum leaking down your thighs as you cry out from being so sensitive.

"simon!" you gasp, giggling, and he grins, patting your ass gently before pulling out. you let your knees fall onto the cot, swallowing hard as you watch him tuck himself back into his pants and zip them up. he brings the mask back down, and you watch as he slips his gloves back on. "hmm..."

he tilts his head to the side, sighing as he watches you settle there. something warm settles in his stomach, something satisfied.

"like havin' y'in my bed," he says lowly. "look nice there."

you smile, and he holds out one hand, beckoning you to sit up. you do, slowly, a little shaky as you try and compose yourself, and he leans down and kisses you through the mask. you close your eyes, humming, leaning into his touch.

"so i can stay?" you ask, and he chuckles.

"mmm...y'r so cute, luvvie..." he rumbles. "a doll, yeah? can't say no to ya."

you look down at the ring on your finger, a solid gold band complete with a precious diamond. you will have to get used to this--you are his wife, you can ask things of him, and you don't think he'll say no.

you look up at him when he tosses something at you. an army green shirt of his, and you slip it on, letting the fabric fall, and you lay back down in his cot as he moves around his room. you lay in comfortable silence, watching as the thing that calls himself your husband looks for files on his desk, adjusts the gun strapped to his thigh, shuffles his boots across the linoleum. you are mesmerized by what he is, and you haven't known him even a day.

you don't believe this is your vision askew. the honeymoon phase. the sugary sweet moments in time at the beginning where nothing is wrong, where all is well. simon riley is a practical man. he does not lie. he does not do things he does not want to do, and he does not say things he does not want to say. he is not in the business of comfort and ease, that much is clear to you.

simon riley is practical and resourceful. you think maybe he counts his words. that he doesn't say more than he has to. waste his energy on things that don't require it.

his wife. i'm his wife. his wife.

"why..." you swallow. "why...why did you pick me?"

he pauses as he stands in front of a locker. when he opens it, you see shelves of personal weapons stashed away, handguns of different sizes and shapes, knives of differing steel, toys that with a small push of a finger could destroy whatever building they went off inside. you don't flinch, don't blink, don't feel fear. you don't know why, but you just don't. you don't think it's possible.

he doesn't look at you as he surveys what lines the walls of it.

"just knew y'were the one f'me, swee'eart," he mutters. he shuts the locker, and the lock clicks. he comes closer, twirling a small blade between his fingers, and you don't cower away when he flicks it towards you, holding your chin up with the sharp tip of it. he hums appreciatively at this. "in all honesty, had no idea really until i saw ya, 'f you'd be mine."

he bends down, leans close, and you follow the curve of the blade with your head, keeping your eyes on his. there is no timidness in your gaze, and for that, he beams under the mask. perfection in one woman.

"and what would you have done if i wasn't the one?"

he shrugs.

"would've killed ya, luv."

"just like that?"

"just like tha'."

the tip of his blade drags, sliding up the length of your throat, along the line of your jaw. your lips part as he traces your mouth with it, and you tilt your head to the side as you trace the edge of it with your tongue. he leans forward more, pressing his forehead to yours, and you can see where the eye-black around his eyes fades into his pale skin under the balaclava. you see yourself in those eyes. the you that you have been waiting for. the you that you have missed for your entire life. the you that has been hiding, too scared to come out, too afraid of what might be said if someone saw the real you.

she had not been hiding. just lying dormant, in someone else, waiting for you to come home.

you smile, big, and simon presses his mouth to yours again through the mask, kissing you there, growling from deep in his chest, a purr that only emanates the contentment and the relief he feels because he has found that thing to live for. it is so easy to die. it is so easy to give oneself for what they believe. it is not hard to give the best of yourself away, he knows that.

what he has never been able to do is find something that will keep him alive. he has only ever lived because he found dying pathetic. he found it cowardly. but the alternative had been just as unforgiving, just as unfulfilling. but not this. not you.

you will make it difficult to die. you will make death a challenge. and when he eyes that smile, this one that you give only to him, he is happy to be given this new objective.

"but don't worry y'r pretty head about all tha', luv."

you give him those eyes, and he drinks it all in, all that you are. finally, finally, finally--

"until death do we part, yeah?"

[shadow4-1]

I'm just imagining getting bent over Price's knee and spanked with his belt in front of the boys. Not even because YOU did anything wrong, but because THEY got into trouble. Price wants to teach them a lesson through your humiliation.

"See what happens when you disobey orders?" Price growls, tightening his grip on the back of your neck. His breath is hot against your shoulders.

"Y-yessir..." You hiccup out, tears spilling down your cheeks. You blink them away, only able to see your boys' silhouettes standing feet away behind the desk.

He lashes your bare backside again and again. The feel of the canvas belt welting your skin starts to become unbearable. You can't help but sob as you take more and more.

"Captain-" Gaz tries.

"Did I tell you to speak, Sergeant?" Price huffs. He drops the belt. The metal clink of the buckle hitting the floor makes you sob in relief. You don't have to look up to see the pained expressions on your boys' faces.

"Your recklessness has endangered our entire operation, including Miss Care here." Price continued, his voice hard and cold in a way you hoped to never hear it again. "Do you think this is the worst that would happen if Makarov got his hands on her?"

Silence.

You refused to look up at them, certain to see their immense discomfort.

"Or Valeria? Or Shepherd?"

"Shepherd's dead!" Soap hissed. Judging by the silence that followed he knew he'd fucked up by speaking again. You bit your bottom lip.

Then you were flipped around.

You were still over Price's lap, pants and panties pulled down beneath your ass, but now faced away. Before they couldn't see your naked back end, and now they could. Hot shame washed over you as Price rubbed a hand over your burning skin. He gently spread your legs apart, showing them everything, down to your swollen core.

"Just because Shepherd's dead you think it's over?" Price hums. He let two of his fingers trace your lips before spreading them apart. You couldn't help but whimper at the feeling of the cool air hitting the entrance of your sex.

"There's still Graves, his shadows, and all of Shepherd's friends in high places." Price huffs. He gently rubs around your clit with one of his fingers. It's not enough pleasure to make your head swim, but it is enough to make you squirm.

A full palm cracks against your ass and you squeak.

"Stop moving." Price warns.

"Y-yessir..."