#and just generally. lunge and snarl

[eqan]

.

[retiredteabag]

soft Toji dog-sitting for a generous!reader

pt. 1 - pt. 2 - pt. 3 - next

synopsis: Toji takes up dog-sitting for you and learns to appreciate his new job, in more ways than one.

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It did not take long for you to go back to work in person, however, it did take a while for Toji to see you again. Despite the oddity that was your first meeting, he couldn't help but wonder what you were doing while he stayed at your house.

In his time there the man had created a routine with your dog.

First thing in the morning, he let the dog into the backyard while he prepared the pampered beast's breakfast, then, he refilled the water bowls with Britta water from the jug in the fridge. After that, the dog comes back in, eats, and after a little digestion, they go for a 10-minute walk.

Toji found that he enjoyed being outside so frequently. He liked being around another life form that appreciated his presence so much.

After three hours he would take the dog on a longer walk, around two miles, come back, play a little, eat dinner, and then Toji would let the dog out in the yard again before giving the dog a treat on his way out.

The routine they had developed was so consistent that when it inevitably went amiss, Toji was unsure what to do.

It all went down on a Tuesday.

It had been about three months since Toji had started watching the dog, the house seemed to have a new light now that he knew who the owner was. He found himself meticulously cleaning the dishes he used, ensuring that he never left any garbage out, and washing the towels that he occasionally used.

He was only making sure he didn't leave the place a mess, he was happy to have so much money was all.

On this particular Tuesday, the sun seemed determined to hide behind a sheet of clouds. It was dark when Toji let the dog out while he prepared breakfast. He had just finished refilling the Britta, his hand on the fridge door when he heard an unfamiliar snarling noise.

Looking around the backyard, he called the dog back in, but for once, the dog did not come. The growls persisted, sounding unlike the dog he had come to know, and eventually, Toji stepped out and firmly called the dog's name. Returning, the dog circled Toji and seemed uninterested in his food.

By noon his breakfast was gone however, and Toji had the beast leashed up for their walk. Everything had been so normal. After about a mile in the humid air, they began their trek home. Looking back, he and the dog must be more similar than Toji thought. The pooch's senses must be on par with his own because the moment Toji halted at the feeling of another, the dog did as well, his ears perked quickly and twitched in different directions, a low growl in his throat.

Later, Toji would wonder where the beast emerged from, how long it had been following them, and who it belonged to but in the moment Toji had little time to think as he whipped around just as a Tosa lunged for them both.

Toji had seen this type of dog before. Commonly bread with aggressive temperaments, Tosa Inu's were common in the underground dog fight scene. And they could be deadly. Toji made quick to stomp the thing right in the face as it bounded toward his dog. Now that he has the chance to look back at the situation, he hopes your pet will forgive him for how aggressively he had yanked the collar behind him.

"BACK! GET BACK!" Toji's voice broke through the dark and cloudy air, the aggressor began to circle himself and the dog, in an effort to contain the Tosa, Toji released his grasp on the leash, fully expecting his pampered boy to run in fear, what he didn't see coming was the dog to leap from his grasp and make to attack the Tosa.

Then there was the blood.

Toji had to claw the beast from the dog he had let go of just a moment before. He can't even remember when the pain in his hands surfaced. Adrenaline was pumping, he should've had his gun. The pain took a backseat to his focus on lifting the (easily 100 lb) dog into his grasp.

He can't remember how he let the Tosa get away, one moment he was tightly grasping its head between his fingernails and then he heard the whimper at his chest and the mastiff mix pulled to scamper away.

Toji zeroed in on what was important, he carried the dog the mile home. Eventually, he couldn't tell who's blood was who's. There was a muted drip, drip, drip, as he jogged. Eventually, they made it into his beat-up car and he watched painfully as the dog bled into his passenger seat, huffing in pain.

Toji knew the vet and animal hospital you used, months back, you had made a very detailed list of information when Toji visited the first time.

The mans heart pumped as he sped past cars and traffic signs.

"Damn it" Toji stoked the dog's face at the red light. "Don't look so pitiful" he tried for a smile, "You fought well... guess you're tougher than you seem." Toji tried to be stoic but in all honesty, he had to keep from shouting at the cars in front of him when the light turned green. He sped all the way to the hospital, flinching when he lifted the dog in his arms.

As it turns out, you need the owner's consent before operating on a dog. That was when Toji made the move to call you. His hands bled across the screen of his phone. The first time it didn't go through, sent to voicemail, he hung up and tried again. He tapped his foot in frustration.

"Mr. Fushiguro-" He immediately cut you off.

"He got bit. We're at the animal hospital. They need to speak to you." Your frantic "What?" fills his ears and he has to squeeze his eyes shut at the anger he feels that this occurred in his care. Your voice was still gentle when you gave your consent for the dog's surgery. You arrived at the hospital in record time and it was here in this moment that Toji believes he's ever really "seen" you.

You stood before the vet tech in your suit pants and tight sleeveless top, your blazer was tossed over your arm as you discussed options with the man at the desk. Toji's head was in his bloody hands when he heard you raise your voice for the first time.

"No. You listen to me. You will do whatever it takes. I. Don't. Care. If the surgery is ten grand, look at me!" Toji lifted his head, the young man at the counter has turned to speak with an assistant, "Ma'am, we understand, he is undergoing care as we speak, we just wanted to ensure this was a financially plausible option before we carry through with the-"

"Stop wasting my time! I'll pay whatever the cost! Do you hear me? I' 'll pay it!" Your hands smacked the counter, "Do you need the money now? What are we doing just standing around?"

"N-no ma'am, no, it will be billed to your resid-" Toji watches as you scoff and turn away from the pair of technicians.

"Oh good. Then send the bill now and help him!" You were making your way to Toji, his eyes widened as you collapsed into the chair beside him. Your breathing was erratic, and you were making these uneven whimpers.

"Is it... gonna be alright?" Toji questioned in a dull tone.

"Yes." Your answer was immediate. "Yes. Yes, they're sewing him up now. He's-he's gonna be alright." You were shaking and sucking in air in quick huffs.

"I'm sorry. That I let this happen." Toji was looking only at you before your head shot to meet his.

"What? No. Don't be. This wasn't- it's not your fault- thank you, really, I don't think- I would've- I could... get him here the way you did." You held his gaze before his discomfit forced him to pull back.

He just shook his head and you both sat there in silence.

"I'm sorry... about all that. I wish you hadn't seen me behave in that way."

It took Toji a moment to realize you meant about the yelling. He scoffed and shook his head again, he wasn't sure how to confess that he had found it impressive on your part. And oddly...charming.

Eventually, a vet came out in scubs and kneeled to tell you that the dog was stable and sedated but would need to spend the night at the hospital. You made no complaints, saying you did not mind staying the night.

Of course, despite your determination to sleep in the waiting room, you were sent home.

You both hadn't made it out the doors before you spotted Toji swiping his hands along his bloody pants and only then did you notice just how hurt he really was.

"Mr. Fushiguro!" You call for him as he makes his way across the parking lot to his vehicle. "Oh my gosh, your hands! Why-why didn't you say?! Oh my, please come here!"

"It's nothing" His voice sounded odd in his ears as he called to you from a distance in the 8 PM animal hospital parking lot. "It looks worse than it is." He finishes when you don't respond.

You were silent in your insistance on driving him back to your house. You looked so determined when you told him to leave his car and allow you to bandage him up. He was so uncomfortable in your lovely BMW convertible's heated leather seats.

You made no move to speak as you sat him down on the edge of your bathtub. Avoiding his presence, you scampered to find antiseptic and a first aid kit.

Internally you had refused to look the man the eyes when you arrived with what you needed. Not meeting his stare until you warned him before pouring the alcohol over his palms, he hissed in annoyance but regretted it the second your eyes wilted,

"I'm sorry, I know, it's awful." You stroked at his hand with your little fingers, dabbing a cold washcloth over the deep animal bites. He felt the sudden need to pull his hand back at the intimacy of the moment but in your naivete of the situation you made a apologetic noise,

"I'm sorry, was it too much?"

"Yeah." He breathes in. Breaths out.

Toji was mesmerized by how gentle your touch was, how soft you felt. When he touched people in the past, it had always been hard and firm, fast and aggressive. Now he wasn't sure what to do with your display of physical kindness.

You held his hands, wrapped in a thick, cool towel, "Mr. Fushiguro, I cannot thank you enough, and I'm so sorry this happened, I fully understand if you are uninterested in watching the dog in the future, I wish I could have prevented all of this from-"

"Woah." He pulled back, "I don't want to quit. It's not so bad."

He didn't expect your response, you eyes on his hands as you murmured, "Please let me buy you lunch. Of course, I'll pay you double for tonight, this is the absolute least I can do."

Toji's brows raise. Ah. So this was it. For some reason, on your bathtub and in your gentle grasp, he can't seem to mind so much.

Toji's eyes become intentionally lidded as he leans down to your level. He pulls a hand from the towel that you had meticulously wrapped and he reaches for you. Stroking at the back of your hand.

"You ain't gotta do all that. You've got me here now." His lips curve and he leans in just a bit more before your head turns to the wall. Your brows furrow when you see the clock.

"But... it's 10 pm... of course, can eat anything here now if you like. I'm not sure what I have. But please, I insist, let me send you a gift card. I owe you so much!"

Toji swears he feels his eye twitch as you pull away from his grasp and rewrap his hand in the towel, tighter this time.

He's so dazed that he says nothing as you ask if he's in pain. With furrowed brows, he simply shakes his head. You gave him some medicine anyway and ordered him an Uber. He can't focus after your reaction, your rejection, he hardly recognizes his own disappointment at the wholly pure intentions you have this evening. At the lack of invite to stay over. He had been so sure how this night would have ended when you decided to bring him home.

He can't recollect a time he hasn't been pestered to stay the night and now he's being sent away in a prepaid taxi, with a cool washcloth in his hands and a nauseating feeling in his stomach.

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pt. 4

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Tags @sweetpo1son @scorpiosugar @starmapz @toruswrld @your-mum3000 @meow-satoru @animeblr @utarts @roxyyyyy1xx @lilming36 @scandibabeuh @atanasiaaaa @chouzuko @voronii @transsfish @h3llf4iry @lucrea @straewberrysoda @s4m4nth4wrld @storiesbyparadise @pokiona @neiostrike @breenatalle @uwolivia

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[the-modern-typewriter]

Hi! Would you be able to do a hero x villain scene with a villain that's used to trapping their opponents socially but the hero would rather just ignore that and punch them in the face, and the villain is kind of in love and kind of murderous?

The villain staggered back at the force of the punch with a groan of pain. They cupped a hand to their bloody nose.

The villain's various soldiers and lackeys immediately moved to restrain the hero.

"No." The villain held out their other hand. "No."

The lackeys froze, uncertain.

The hero, well-prepared for the possibility of fight, paused too. They shook out their fist, shoulders squared.

"Nice left hook," the villain said, straightening slowly. When they dropped their hand, the break had already healed, leaving only the blood.

"Fuck you."

"Yes, that might help your anger issues."

The hero scoffed. "I don't have anger issues, I just don't like being backed into a corner. I told you what would happen."

"Mm. That you did." The villain's head tilted. "Bold move."

"Clear communication. Do I need to do it some more?"

The villain grinned, letting their blood drip grotesque and feral across their teeth. They took a swaggering step forward, even as they neatly adjusted their outfit and rumpled hair back to the veneer of polite society. It didn't reach their eyes. Their eyes had that wild quality too, burning bright and fierce with something that the hero couldn't quite read.

"People generally prefer me when I keep things civil," the villain said. "It's neater. Safer for everyone involved."

"You mean, people normally cave because they're scared of you?"

"And you're not."

"If there's going to blood, let there be blood. I won't be bullied. Certainly not by the likes of you."

The villain laughed, a soft and rumbling danger. They swiped their tongue across their teeth, cleaning the blood away, and closed the distance with another step.

Apparently, they hadn't learned the dangers of getting too close.

The hero swung.

That time, the villain dodged, driving their knee deep into the hero's gut.

The hero doubled over, wheezing.

The villain caught a fistful of their hair, using the grip to smash the hero's face in one startlingly deft movement, before tipping the hero's head back before the blood splattered across the floor.

The whole room had gone quiet; focused in on the two of them. Someone had cut the music.

The villain grinned again. "So pretty."

The hero spat blood at them, but the villain didn't seem to mind. In the next instant, the hero had wrenched themselves free with an expert move.

The two of them circled.

The villain did not have a reputation for violence, or at least not for getting their hands dirty. They were a sleek monster, crafted of fine clothes and the clink of glasses and clever words in the shadowy backrooms that ruled the world.

"You're right," the villain said. "I do prefer less...crude games, than this. We're a civilized species. We should know better. Do not mistake my distaste for incapability, though."

The hero snarled. "Silvered words doesn't make what you do less ugly."

"A moral high ground doesn't make you less of a brute, gorgeous."

"I'm not a brute, you condescending-"

"-temper, temper." The villain's voice was a purr. "Have I struck a nerve?"

The hero lunged.

The villain dodged.

They circled again, more evenly matched than the hero had expected. They'd thought a hard hit, the possibility of real danger, would reveal the villain's sniveling heart. The cowardice at the core of so many powerful, evil people.

"You owe me an apology," the villain said. "I was having a perfectly lovely time. If you give me one now, like a good little hero, this doesn't have to get...unpleasant."

"Your face is unpleasant. Everything about you and what you do is unpleasant. I'd rather not lie."

The villain's eyes flashed, a mix of rage and desire. Then, their power lashed out. The windows shattered. People screamed. People fell.

The hero stared around the room, horrified.

"Far be it from me to deny a guest," the villain said, drawing their power back to themselves. "Let there be blood."

The fight escalated from there.

[mandowifey]

i just read your miguel o’hara fic and it’s beautiful.

so i found out that when he bites his prey, his fangs have paralyzing venom and i was thinking about him being obsessed with reader who tries to ignore him, but eventually he becomes impatient and uses his venom on them and all they can do is moan and take him (with a sprinkle of breeding kink🤭).

sorry if this is too much and makes you uncomfy

WAH, thank you so much! ❤️

(Breeding kink is my fave kink, Id never be uncomfy) I've wanted to write this for him since learning about it, it's so...hot, HAHA.

P.s: this turned into arguably the longest Miguel x reader fic I have ever done 💀

× × ×

Dominion

Miguel O'hara x Fem!Reader

This is part of a nonlinear storyline.

Warnings; NSFW, extreme noncon/dubcon (reader is paralyzed from Miguel's bite), dark!Miguel, stalker!Miguel, PiV sex, unsafe sex, oral (f receiving), breeding kink, praise, taunting, general bad themes. Reader is a virgin in this.

× × ×

When Spider-man saved a bus full of children on a collapsing bridge, the world cheered. What the news outlets and fanatics fail to see are the people who are not rescued. Your family had been on the bi-monthly trip down state when the bridge had been attacked. They were one of the cars that went down with the initial rubble. There was no big heroic moment, no surprise rescue, or hero swooping in the last minute to save them all. On that day, you lost everyone you ever cared about and came to hate Spider-man.

Miguel O'hara understood a lot of things about this world. In fact, he understood a lot of things about a lot of worlds. There was synchronicity between the universes, such as Spider-man being the hero and getting the girl. What he failed to understand was how he couldn't get you.

It was a Thursday evening, and he was fighting Rhino in the open street. As the leader of the Spider-Society, Miguel didn't often get to run around and handle crime. Seeing an opportunity to release some frustration and get some air, he'd left Jess in charge to patrol the city. Cue, the bad guy showing up and their all-out, property destroying brawl. During the back and forth with his opponent, Rhino had picked up a small car above his head and chucked it. When Miguel dodged, the car hit the road, rolled, then skidded into a light pole as the engine burst into flames.

As he turned to lunge, he heard you.

Screaming, inside that car.

Duty to civilians was more important than apprehending a criminal. Still, he hesitated before, inevitably snarling and prowling towards the car. With his strength, Miguel lifted and shoved the pole to the side before he walked around to the front. Inside the glass was you. Small compared to him, bloodied from the glass and impact but still shouting. What confused him was the way your fearful expression twisted into a look of pure disdain once you two spotted each other. Regardless, he'd broken the windshield and pulled you out.

"You alright?"

Nothing.

Not a word.

As you wipe glass from your clothes, the masked crusader lingered in your presence, perturbed. Miguel did not do this for 'thank yous' and pats on the back for a job well done. He did it because, as a hero, it was the right thing to do. Certainly enough, people in the world hated him, and he could accept that. When you looked up at him finally, blood had run trails down your forehead and cheeks, painting you like some warrior of the macabre. The man wonders if the head injury had affected your brain.

"Go sit down, an ambulance is sure to be here."

Silence.

Miguel catches your eyes as they glint beneath flickering street lamps. There is something about the way you look at him that unsettles him. You stare at him as though you are judging his soul, like you could possibly know the wrongs he's done and lives he's lost. Anger blossoms within his chest, and he feels his muscles tense. This was not something he experienced around most citizens. After what feels like a decade passes between you, your eyes lower, and you turn away. Standing and watching, Miguel observes your limp as you hobble towards the sidewalk and sit.

Left to stand amidst the ruins of his run-in with Rhino, O'hara draws in a steady breath. Lyla pings, showing him the location of the villain, and he sets off to track him down. He found himself distracted by thoughts of you that night. Those burning, scornful eyes and those lips that pressed so tightly together.

The thoughts of you did not stop there.

Days of obsessing turned into weeks. Miguel had pulled your information from the local PD database and had started stalking you shortly after. He had learned your routines, your job, and where you liked to go out to eat with friends. You weren't busy during the work week and usually spent the weekends catching up on chores or TV shows. His favorite was perching in your fire escape and watching you do laundry. You were beautiful, oblivious too, and he liked that.

You two had a close call when he decided to get brave.

It was a late Saturday, and you had run out to the store last minute for some missing ingredients. Miguel had been watching your evening unfold and followed not far behind, even going as far as to track you inside the grocery. Mask-less, he loitered around shelves just in view and watched as you hurried around to grab eggs and flour. An older woman had pulled his attention, asking him if he could retrieve something from a high shelf for her. Though reluctant, he'd obliged, which had cost him his line of sight on you.

Urgently rounding a corner to attempt to locate you, Miguel hadn't been paying attention. Fate made you turn the same isle, and if not for his inhuman reflexes, you two would have collided. He stops himself just before impact and steps back while you gasp and touch your chest from being startled. "Sorry," you mutter, not bringing your eyes up to look at him. Miguel doesn't say anything as you skirt around him in a rush. He was frozen, having been so close to you and nearly caught in the act. You hadn't realized who he was and what he was doing, and that thrilled him.

After that day, Miguel decided he could wait no longer.

The next Friday, you were returning home from a late night at work. Clothes disheveled and eyes heavy, you fumbled to get your door unlocked and stepped into the dark. Before your fingers could brush the light switch, something hit you from the side and clapped over your mouth. You're aware of being attacked, and while your screams are muffled, you flail and kick and thrash, throwing your weight around to try and make it difficult for your assailant. His grip is like iron, and you hear him laugh, his breath fanning your neck. A drag of something warm and wet along your throat made you tense, and you scream suddenly as your flesh is punctured by teeth.

Miguel moans at the burst of blood across his tongue. You taste sweeter than he could have imagined, and he relishes your flavor. Closing his eyes, he releases his venom into your body while holding you into him. Your thrashing continued, even while the paralyzing agent pumped through your veins. He knew it wouldn't take long and indulged himself by withdrawing his teeth and sucking at the puncture holes they left. Blood smears across his lips, and he groans again, lapping at you like a starving animal. Miguel had imagined what you'd taste like, and this exceeded all expectations.

As you fell limp, Miguel licked his lips clean and scooped you into his strong arms. He'd been inside your home before, while you were asleep or away with work. Carrying you to the bedroom, he nudged the door open with his foot and placed you on top of your bed. Your eyes were closed, having fallen unconscious not long after he injected you. The man takes his time, propping your head up and removing your clothes until you are left in nothing but a tank top and underwear. Admiring his work, Miguel smiles to himself and steps away to give you time to wake up. He wanted you conscious for this.

When you woke, you were aware immediately that something was wrong. Your eyes stared across your room, darting around in your skull as the memory of being attacked came back to you. As you tried to sit up, you found that you couldn't. You utter a soft whimper, trying once again to raise your arms, but they only twitched and remained flat on the bed. Heart starting to pound, you look around and try to rationalize. This had to have been a bad dream, and you were stuck in some sort of sleep paralysis. Your eyes closed, and you drew in a shaking breath, telling yourself that if you fell asleep, it would be okay.

Everything was dark, save for the stripes of moonlight that stretched across your bedroom. Your door, wide open like a gaping, black mouth, and your closet door sealed shut. You felt unease build as you forced your eyes to the bedroom door again, then gasped. Red dots hovered six feet off the ground in the hallway. Transfixed, you didn't dare blink as the dots grew in size, coming towards you.

This had to be a dream.

This could not be real.

Slowly, a man emerges from the doorway and stops at the edge of your bed. His eyes red like coals, shoulders broad, and hips tapered. He was tall, brooding, and looked very real. The two of you stare at one another, unblinking. After a moment, his eyes lose their color, and his stoic demeanor breaks. Miguel was giddy. He couldn't deny it. A perfectly healthy young woman with a scent that told him you two were a perfect match genetically. He couldn't have been luckier.

A sound builds in your chest. You would be screaming if your mouth could move. The man before you raises his brows and smiles. "I wouldn't try it," He hums, "You're going to be like this for another couple hours. There is no need to panic. It will wear off and you'll be just fine." Lifting his large hands, he brings them to his chest. "I must say I'm a little offended. I knew certain folks didn't like me, but it appears you might even hate me." Miguel smirks into his words, giving you a glimpse of his fangs.

"I went through your phone." He tacked on. "I know it's rude, but I wanted to know you a little better. Y/N, works downtown, lost your family in a tragic incident where I couldn't save the day." His clothes rippled with light and slowly peeled away until he stood only in boxer shorts.

Horror seeps into your bones, and you cry. Tears dribble down your temples as you lay there at his mercy. Lips quivering, you try again to speak, but no words come. It slowly dawned on you that he had told you indirectly who he was. What happened to Spider-Man being the good guy? Nausea creeps inside your guts, a cold rush of dread rising under your skin. It shouldn't be possible, it shouldn't be real, but there he was.

Miguel wore a smile. He could observe the gears churning in your brain while you fought your own body. The smell of your feel was palpable to him, causing his other instincts to shudder. It had taken every ounce of strength not to feed on you, and now, with you limp and pliant, he could feel that familiar itch prickling up his spine. Luckily for you, he'd taken his injection not long before arriving in your home. With the other half tempered, Miguel had all the time in the world.

“Of all the people to be in their car that night, it just had to be you.”

Your fingers twitch as your brain screams. No matter how hard you tried or how loud your voice was in your head, your body was not listening. Helplessly watching him climb onto the bed above you, you close your eyes. Miguel sits back on his legs and places a large, warm hand on your shin.

“I guess fate always has a way of working out.” he prompted, pushing his fingers over your knee and gradually along your thigh. Your skin crawls, itching under his touch. You wanted nothing more than to break away and kick him for touching you. Miguel can sense it, his lips twitching in an impish smile. He could tell from your scent alone how afraid you were.

“I’m sure this isn’t how every girl imagines their first time going,” He continues, and your eyes fly open. Staring up at him, the color drains from your face and your heart begins to quicken. “Yeah, I figured.” Miguel hums impassively as his other hand touches your opposite leg and pushes it open. His dark eyes focused on the apex of your thighs. “But don’t worry, above all else I am still a gentleman.” Flashing his teeth, Miguel curls his fingers under your knees and folds you in half. The sudden movement makes you grunt and whine. “I’m going to take good care of you, princess.” You catch him as he winks before dropping his head down.

Miguel draws a slow breath above your cunt, savoring the heady aroma of your sex. As his mouth watered, he places a soft kiss at the tip of your crease over your panties. He hums and licks a slow stripe over you, drooling into the fabric as he caught the faintest taste of your pussy. “Just as I’d hoped,” he purrs.

You were revulsed, your eyes blurry with tears as you lay helplessly below him. Your body was betraying you now, and you could feel your clit engorging with blood from arousal and knew you were beginning to leak. Miguel knew too, and he places a series of firm kisses over your covered folds before turning his head and nipping at the fat of your inner thigh.

“Just relax and enjoy yourself. Most guys I know don’t even bother with this part.”

You can feel the fabric being pulled, then torn. It was an effortless motion on his behalf, using his claws to assist in shredding the unnecessary material. With your soft cunt now exposed, Miguel sighs, his breath fanning over you. He mumbles praise in Spanish, something you don’t recognize, before he delves in. Pushing the thick tip of his tongue forward, he prods your opening before shoving inside.

A cry smothered in your chest, feeling heat rising in your face. You hated him. You hated this, but your body wasn’t cooperating with you. Miguel moans, fucking the appendage inside your heat before suddenly lapping up your cunt in quick, successive motions. The flat of his tongue drags over your swollen clit and makes you squeak.

As you crumble, he latches his mouth around the sensitive bud at the peak of your folds and begins to suck gently. His attention to detail and willingness to make you feel good had you rising against your will. Your chest heaves again, another pitiful mewl trickling from your lips as he assaults your virgin cunt. Miguel was grinding against your blankets now, the bulge in his boxers painful.

Your scent had his blood pumping and desire growing. The fact that he would be laying claim to you first thrilled him enough to bring him to leak. As eager as he was, he kept his patience with working your body, wanting to see you fall apart under him knowing the man you spent years hating had made you cum.

Soft puling cries wept from your parted lips, your eyes closed in denial. You were being pushed closer towards the edge. The suction from his lips around your clit was perfect and he pulsed gentle sucks against it. Occasionally, you’d feel the press of his tongue on the underside of it, applying light pressure while his mouth continued to suckle you. Your clit was fully engorged now, and while you couldn’t move your thighs trembled as you grew closer. It was sick, degrading even, that you would ever cum from something like this. Miguel hears you gasp quietly, and he withdraws his lips to instead lap firmly at you with the flat of his tongue. Fast, firm licks that slipped over the sensitive bud that sent jolts through your abdomen and up your spine.

The venom rendered your mind in a haze, forcing you to live consciously aware of every grueling moment. Each lash of his tongue or rumble from his throat sending you hurtling towards your peak. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, yet your body paid your mind no heed. When his tongue rolled over your engorged clit, and was followed by a gentle suck, you fell. Even with the intensity of your orgasm, the most your body could do was tense its muscles. A cry squeaks out, along with a series of sharp, mewling gasps as you tremble and seize under him. Miguel laps you lazily now, vermillion eyes staring up at you between your legs. He had done it.

Now certain he had done his part in satisfying you, Miguel lifts and crawls up your body, peppering swift kisses to your skin as he goes. He hesitated, tugging your bra down your ribs to expose you to him. The words ‘please stop’ built in your throat, yet died on your tongue. You can only watch as his eyes grow heavy and his head drops to your breast. His tongue rolls over your nipples, causing them to pebble. Miguel’s spit goes from warm, to cold, shocking your skin and making you whine again. The worst part of it all was how good he managed to make you feel. You were aghast at the fact you had just cum for this lunatic, and hated the fact he acted like he knew your body, able to apply licks and kisses in places you weren’t aware that you liked.

After he satisfied his desire for your breasts, he kisses your collar and up your throat. Miguel is going slow on purpose; you know that now. He was relishing in the control he had over you, knowing that you wanted nothing more than to tell him to go to hell. Now hovering over your own, Miguel ghosts his lips against yours. “You’ve been such a good girl for me.” He purrs. “You sound so pretty when you cum, princess.” The smile that follows his filth tugs your stomach and fills you with embarrassment. Noticing your tears, Miguel tuts and kisses your forehead. “No need to cry, this part is easy. I’ll make sure to start slow.” The way you whimpered made the devil in him purr.

Miguel takes your legs and parts them as he sits back against his own. He enjoys the view of your spread form while he removes his boxers and tosses them on the floor. From the angle, you can see the spring of his cock. Fear makes you go cold at the sight. He was long, thick, bigger than anything you’d seen before. For a moment, you wonder if it were going to fit at all. Miguel closes a fist around his base and strokes himself twice as he lines up against you. “Big breath, kiddo.”

You realized too late that his venom that left you paralyzed had also weakened your muscles. When you tried to clench and fight his insertion, your body did nothing more than twitch. Smiling, Miguel nudges the fat, weeping tip of his cock into you and he grunts. “Dios-“he sighs, biting his lip while he trained his eyes in the spot you two connected.

“Look at you, taking me so well.” There is a flash of teeth as he edges himself inside. The stretch is excruciating, especially for your first time. Miguel’s cock was relentlessly thick, filling you to a capacity you didn’t know you had. Hearing the curling whimpers in your chest, he stops and looks down at you thoughtfully. “Almost there, you’re doing great.” You feel revulsed when he winks at you.

The venom kept your body relaxed, making it easier for him to violate you. As he eases inside, you see stars as he presses somewhere deep within you. Miguel’s pubic bone pushes against your swollen clit as he bottoms out, groaning salaciously at the squeeze of your cunt around him. His large hands find their way onto the back of your knees, and he guides one of your legs over his broad shoulder.

“I bet you thought it wouldn’t fit,” he taunts, smiling and biting his lip as he begins to slowly draw back. Miguel’s cock grinds every nerve in your canal, setting fireworks off beneath your skin and making you shriek and grunt in the back of your throat. You hated how full he made you feel.

With a firm jut of his hips, Miguel sinks inside of you and groans as your pelvises collide. He curses again, repeating the motion before lowering himself to cage your body under his own. “Take it,” He gasps, his head dropping to your neck. His breath pants across your skin, warming you further as he drives his cock home. The man begins to rabbit himself inside of you, using your pussy as he saw fit and throwing any concern for your lack of experience to the wind. It didn’t matter that you hadn’t had time to properly stretch, you were his now and meant to be taken. “G-good girl,” he pants, licking over the bruising bite mark he left on the nape of your neck. “S-so s-shocking good.” He laughs dryly, biting you once more without penetrating your skin. Pain blooms in your shoulder and you whine, your eyes closing as you see spots.

Miguel’s pace is relentless. He pounds into you with reckless abandon, bouncing your smaller body repeatedly up the bed and making your shitty mattress creak noisily. It felt as though the air was being forcefully shoved from your lungs, his cock spearing inside with such strength you think he may break your pelvis. The worst was the way he praised you, rumbling as you took him, calling you his good girl over and over. You were rising again, once more against your will as your attacker defiled you.

“That’s it, t-that’s it.” He gasps. Miguel was coming closer to the edge with each thrust, knowing he’d never be the same after this night; after finding you. He whimpers against your throat, the sound pathetic for a man with his strength. You see stars as he ruts sloppily, his thrusts uneven as he came apart above you. Ramming his cock to the root, the man shudders and growls, his muscle rippling as his cock throbbed and began to empty. The hot, heavy spurts of cum impacting and oozing against your cervix, coating your insides. While he slowed, his stomach pressed and ground just right against your clit, making you whimper much quieter this time. You throb, your eyes rolling back in your skull as you flutter and squeeze weakly around him. Miguel grunts again, then smiles impishly against your throat.

“Not so bad for a first time, huh?”

Sitting up, Miguel pecks a kiss to your lips before sitting back on his legs and casting his attention downwards. He watched as he began to withdraw from you, his cock coated in your joined fluids. There was a deeply sickening tremor of satisfaction as he watched his cum begin to dribble out. A part of him hoped his seed would take; he was certain you’d be just as beautiful with your belly swollen. You keep your eyes closed, not wanting to see his face. At least, you reason, it was over, and he would leave, and you could try to pick the pieces of yourself back up.

Miguel hummed, slipping off the bed and pulling on his boxers as he steals a look around your room. Once dressed, his suit reformed around his body in a glimmer of hard light. All but his mask. “Alright, let’s get you dressed and ready for the trip home.” Ice floods your veins and the nausea returned. Your eyes open and try to focus on him as the room begins to spin. “What? You thought this was just some random encounter?” His lips stretch into a smile as he holds his hands out. “First of all, I’m hurt, secondly, I’m going to try really hard to pack you some of your favorite stuff, I’ll supplement anything else you need.” Miguel hums as he walks to your closet in search of luggage containers.

Tears streak from your eyes and obscure your vision again. Your chest was so tight you felt certain you were going to break. He packs things for you while you panic, wanting to sob and beg him to leave, to apologize and tell him you were wrong about Spiderman. A sob escapes you as your chest shakes, your eyes closing again as you weep. Your body was sore, filled to the brim with this man’s fluids, and you knew you’d never be clean or safe again. Miguel glances at you from over his shoulder and smiles anyways.

You would learn to love him.

He just knew it.

[twst-darling]

˗ˏˋSomewhere in the Sands of Timeˎˊ˗

Pairing: (General) Lilia Vanrouge x Fem!Reader [or Fem!OC]

Summary: The spell to send you home backfires, and you land the past where you encounter one General Vanrouge.

CW: Smut [porn with very little plot, vaginal fingering, blow jobs/skull fucking, facials, degradation, snowballing, hate fucking?, spit, rough sex, use of words like whore, slight dub-con (but the reader is into it)], Language, Violence [threats of violence, threats of murder], 1st Person Point of View, Fem!Reader, AFAB!Reader, Tall!Lilia

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: I initially wrote this with my OC in mind. However, it is vague enough that it can be read as a reader insert. Song title is taken from Kryptonite by 3 Doors Down

Having a sword held against my throat wasn’t on my bingo card for ‘Strange Happenings in Twisted Wonderland.’ Then again, neither was a very tall, very angry Lilia Vanrouge. His hair cascaded down his back like an inky black waterfall. Rage simmered beneath his vermilion irises—a bizarre sight, given how friendly they usually were—and I knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would behead me, given the opportunity.

This Lilia is not my Lilia. Not yet, anyway.

This Lilia has fire in his blood and brimstone for bones. I can feel his heat radiating through the tough leather armor that covers his body. He bares his fangs, crimson eyes sharp and unyielding. Long gone is the cute upperclassman I’d come to know. 

The whole thing is rather fuzzy. One second, I was walking through a portal that was supposed to take me home. The next? I’m sprawled on the ground with a gleaming blade made of gemstones and magic thrust against my jugular. 

I can barely breathe with how Lilia’s knees dig into my ribs. It’s intentional. And though I know I shouldn’t waste my breath, I can’t help but whimper. My hands lay unbound by my head, but I dare not move them. Not even an inch.

“Your boldness is admirable, yet foolish, mortal scum. Sneaking into fae territory shall wreak nothing but the most exquisite suffering.”

“I-I didn't—”

Lilia presses forward, practically crushing my lungs. “I didn’t say you could speak.”

The edge of his sword—cleaver?—cuts into my neck, and I yelp. “Lilia, please don’t do this, we’re friends!” 

“Lies!” he hisses. “You cannot sway my mind, mortal, with your feeble magic. I hold no familiarity for you, nor shall I ever.” His lip curls, nose wrinkling as if smelling something foul. “I will take great pleasure in crushing the bones in your body until they are dust to be scattered by the wind. It seems only fitting for a human spy who has made it so far behind our barricade.” 

Oh, Sevens, he was serious. 

“Wait, wait, wait, please—!”

“Begging won’t save your life, worm.”

“Let me explain—”

“You tiresome, incompetent creature, I demand you cease this incessant—”

“—I’m from the future!”

It shouldn’t have worked, but my frantic cry made him hesitate. Maybe it was my clothes—the uniform skirt I had sewn looked out of place compared to Lilia’s armor—or my hair. Or maybe, just maybe, Lilia sensed something was off about my arrival the whole time. 

My knowledge of Lilia's time as General in Meleanor's army was limited, a vague impression left from a magic induced coma. But it was nearly impossible to deny the facts as they were shoved right in my face. (Err, against my neck?)

Somehow, Crowley's spell had backfired and not taken me back home to my dimension, but into the past.

Lilia braced his arm next to my head, his long hair forming a curtain around our faces. His nose is inches from mine, but I feel no comfort in the proximity. “Talk. Before I grow tired and find something else to occupy that mouth.”

Lilia’s thick cock rams down my throat mercilessly. I grip his thighs, allowing the fae to use my mouth as he pleases. From above, he grunted, baring his sharp teeth like a predator snarling. Globs of spit and drool dribbled past my lips and down my chin, splashing to the dirt below. The thick leather straps of his armor gave away to my nails as I dug them deep, allowing Lilia to use me as he pleased. My throat burned from the harsh, stuttering movements of his hips. He fucked my face so hard it was murderous as if he were trying to make up for not beheading me before.

Yet another stamp on that infernal bingo card—but I can’t say I hate this one.

I would have been incredibly embarrassed at my gagging noises if the burning between my legs had not taken precedence. My eyes roll back, briefly catching a glimpse of the General’s ecstasy-clouded expression. His pink lips parted in a silent gasp, gaze raised to the heavens. 

Abruptly, Lilia pulls out and begins fisting his cock. His movements are furious as he hunches over. “I’m going to smear that filthy human expression with my seed—paint you white, since I can't paint you red. Maybe I'll leave you like that, so your brethren can see your betrayal written across that pretty little face. Mmm, just like this.” 

I close my eyes just in time for thick, hot spurts of Lilia’s cum sprayed over my face. My knees trembled, and I stifled a moan between my teeth and tongue.

Lilia wasn’t done.

He pushes me, and I fall into the mossy underbrush. Lilia takes my knees and peels them apart, staring at the feeble scrap of cloth, preserving what little dignity I have left. I’m trembling again, fixated on the sheer size of Lilia’s hand as it practically swallows my thigh in his massive grip. 

“How pathetic,” he coos. Lilia drags one finger down my thigh, ghosting the hemline of my panties. “You’re drenched.” He touches the mound of my pelvis before hooking his index finger around the gusset and prying it aside. “Never have I seen a human so eager. The rest of your race would be dumbfounded to know their kinsmen loved choking on faerie cock.”

I bite my lip, a blush burning my cheeks. The cold forest air kissed my exposed skin, but I felt none of it. Only the intense searing sensation of General Vanrouge’s stare, his slitted pupils sharp like knives. His digits danced across my lips, collecting slick, teasing my poor throbbing core. 

“Ah, but you said we would be friends in this future. Pupils.” Lilia snickers, brushing against my clit. “Perhaps it’s not so strange after all. Perhaps you let me have my way with you as much as I’d like—like the sweet, foolish girl you are.”

Lilia crawled up my body, reminiscent of the one he’d had me at not so long ago. Only, this time, I didn’t need a sword to my neck to keep me in place. Lilia sunk two fingers knuckle-deep inside my pussy, abating that hollow feeling inside. 

“General,” I moan.

He chuckles again and licks a broad stripe across my cheek. He surges forward, curling his fingers at the same instant our lips meet. My mouth opens, but Lilia swallows the cry. He snaked his tongue into my mouth, pushing a copious amount of his cum for me to taste. It passes between us until I swallow it, painfully aware of every second it seeps down my insides. He pulls away too soon, but not before spitting on me for good measure. It lands in my mouth, still agape and from panting. 

“Such a cute, little faerie whore. It’s almost endearing.” Lilia spreads the fingers he’s buried inside my cunt, and it’s magnificent. He’s so deep, his slender digits pressing into spots I could never dream of touching. “I ought to fuck you open, now. That’s what you want, isn’t it, pretty one? I can only imagine how this hot little hole of yours will squeeze me.” Lilia slips his fingers from my cunt, only to deliver a sharp smack to my clit. “If there’s one thing that comes from your hellish future, I’m glad to know I shall have a tight cunt to warm me, even if it is a human’s.”

I could correct him. I probably should. But the instant his swollen cockhead breaches my pussy, all coherent thought dissipates into a lusty puff of smoke.

I'll never be able to look Lilia in the eye again if I ever get back.

[rubysunnday]

without you on my mind

summary: it takes a heart stopping and eyes closing for Kaz to realise his feelings can no longer be ignored

a/n: medically inaccurate shizzle for the sake of fanfic, ok

"Kaz, we can't hide dow here forever," Y/N said, shedding the heavy woollen overcoat she'd been wearing. Underneath it she was wearing her usual clothes - the clothes she'd survived Ketterdam in. They were a comfort to her - the familiar feeling of the material against her skin helped calm her nerves just enough.

"We wait," Kaz insisted.

"For what?" Y/N asked, pulling a knife out from her pockets. "This is happening now, Kaz, whether you like it or not."

Y/N turned and walked over to the ladder that led up to the main floor of the skiff. She climbed up it, pushing open the hatch and slowly peeking out from under it. Having deemed it clear, Y/N pushed it open fully and stepped out onto the deck of the skiff, keeping to the shadows.

Which was easy given that Kirigan was currently making more of them.

Both Jesper and Inej had spread out across the skiff. Y/N could hear Inej up above on the mast, her knives thudding against the wood. Jesper was up there too, firing his revolvers at the Volcra flapping around them.

On the main deck of the skiff was Alina. She was still chained to the floor and was struggling to avoid being attacked by the Volcra as they swooped down around her.

Y/N ran across the deck and to her side. "Hello again," she said, flashing her a quick smile before turning her focus to the chains.

"Hi," Alina replied, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. "Mal, is he -"

"I won't say fine because he's fighting General Kirigan," Y/N replied, pulling a pin from her hair and slotting it into the locks of the chains, "but he's alive."

"Thank the Saints," Alina muttered.

The chains clattered to the floor as Y/N unlocked them. She held a hand out to Alina and helped her up to her feet.

"Now what -"

"You."

Y/N whirled round, subconsciously pushing Alina behind her. One of the heartrender's from earlier had climbed back onto the skiff, looking worse for wear. Y/N wasn't sure what his name was but she didn't care - he was with Kirigan and that meant danger.

Alina and Y/N began to slowly walk backwards, trying to put distance between themsleves and the heartrender without alerting the Volcra, who were currently pre-occupied by Inej and Jesper.

Something shined in the heartrender's hand. Y/N hadn't realise she'd pushed Alina aside until the knife whizzed past her, hitting the wood behind where Alina had been standing.

"Go find Mal!" Y/N exclaimed, pushing Alina over to the edge of the skiff. "Go!"

Alina hesitated for a second. Y/N swore and pushed the girl over the edge, not giving her a chance to try and be heroic.

"You're going to regret that," the heartrender snarled.

Y/N shrugged, trying not to show her fear. But she knew the heartrender could hear how fast her heart was beating. "Maybe. But I'm not that attached to this life, so."

The second the heartrender's hands came together, Y/N felt her chest burning. Her heart was slowing down, she could feel it. The ability to simply breathe was becoming impossible.

"I'm going to enjoy feeling your heart stop," the heartrender said, getting closer, step by step, "and watching the life drain from your eyes. To see your last breath leave your body will be a joy."

Y/N fell to her knees, trying desperately to get air into her lungs. She wanted to claw at her chest but she knew, deep down, that it would do nothing. It would only delight the heartrender more.

She couldn't tell if her vision was fading or if the shadows were growing. Darkness was creeping in and its embrace was so welcoming and warm, Y/N wanted to give in.

Then the pain on her chest eased a little. Something whizzed through the air. A thud came from in front of her.

But the darkness was hugging her tightly. Even as her body fell backwards, it landed on something soft and warm - the darkness fully embracing her, even as her lungs screamed.

Kaz had left Y/N for two minutes. Two minutes.

Apparently that was all it took for her to get into trouble.

He'd stepped out onto the deck, seen Y/N on her knees, a heartrender in front of her, delighting in her pain, and he'd seen red. A knife glinted in Y/N's hand and Kaz marched forward, picked it up and launched it at the heartrender, landing it directly in his head.

Y/N fell backwards and Kaz dropped his cane, lurching forward to try and catch her before she hit the ground. Everything in him repulsed at the contact as she landed in his arms, her entire body heavy and limp.

Kaz swallowed the nausea, the taste of salt water in his mouth and held her tightly. He clung to her as he had Jordie.

"Y/N," Kaz said, shaking her as hard as he dared. "Y/N. Y/N, look at me. Don't slip away. Stay with me. Just... stay."

Y/N's head lolled to the side. There was a brief flash of light and in the precious few seconds, Kaz could see her lips had turned blue, her skin pale.

She wasn't breathing.

Panic began to set in. There was no one else around. He was alone. Kaz wasn't an idiot, he knew what limited options he had. He knew what limited time he had.

He couldn't let Y/N die. He couldn't save Jordie. Maybe he could still save her.

As carefully as he could, Kaz lay Y/N on her back on the deck. His hands were shaking; even with the gloves on, he could feel the cold, wet bodies under his touch. He shook his head, forcing himself to focus on what was in front of him.

Y/N wasn't breathing, he knew that much. His fingers pressed into the inside of her wrist, searching for a pulse. Under his fingers, he could just feel a slight thump. But it wasn't strong.

Kaz closed his eyes again, forcing himself to calm down and focus. Now was not the time to let his fears and trauma win. This he had to do. He had no choice - no say. And for once, the ghost of his brother was not going to haunt him. He took a deep breath in.

With one hand, he pinched Y/N's nose shut and with the other, pushed her mouth open. Kaz felt the nausea swirl around him as he pressed his lips to Y/N's and breathed air into her lungs. His face was damp and his lips prickled. Every memory of that night came flooding back. The way Jordie's skin had been sodden and wrinkled under his touch. How his eyes had stared blankly at him, glassed over and cold.

Kaz lifted his head and took three deep, shaking breaths in himself. His face was wet, his hands were shaking and Y/N was still not breathing.

Please. He pressed his lips to hers once more, blowing a deep breath into her lungs. I can't do this without you. Kaz took another breath in, pressing his lips to Y/N's pale blue ones. He blew. He blew until his own lungs screamed at him to stop.

As Kaz ran out of air, Y/N gasped sharply and harshly, her hands flailing around, snatching the front of Kaz's coat.

"You're ok," Kaz said, trying to calm Y/N as he tried not to flinch away from her touch. "It's ok."

Kaz looked up as he heard the sound of people coming down the stairs and tried not to look to relieved as Jesper and Inej rounded the corner, both stopping abruptly as they took in Y/N lying on the floor, Kaz kneeling over her.

"Saints, Kaz, what did you do?" Jesper asked, holstering his revolvers and moving to kneel behind Y/N, gently rubbing her back as she wheezed and coughed.

"Nothing," Kaz grumbled, stumbling to his feet. Inej held his cane out to him and he snatched it from her. "Heartrender."

"Shit," Jesper muttered. He brushed Y/N's hair away from her forehead, letting her lean against his chest as she tried to get her breath back. "Did she?"

Kaz didn't give him a response. He looked at him and Jesper nodded once, seemingly understanding what had happened without Kaz having to explain. Kaz took another step back, away from Y/N, and roughly wiped his face, smearing the tears over his skin.

Inej walked out onto the main deck of the skiff and looked over the edge that Mal and Alina had both disappeared off. She whirled around, her eyes wide.

"Everyone, shield your eyes!"

Kaz turned his back and covered his eyes with his arm. As he did so, he saw Jesper shield Y/N's with his coat and then he was blinded by a bright white light.

The skiff somehow managed to glide out the other side of the Fold, eventually coming to an abrupt stop in a sandbank.

It'd taken Inej, Mal and Zoya to unlock the ramp and drop it down and even then, it didn't reach the floor. There was no platform to climb down from - just a large gap between the end of the ramp and the start of the sandy floor.

Inej had jumped down with ease and, when no one had been looking, Kaz had awkwardly jumped down to, swearing quietly as his leg buckled and bent at the impact. Inej waited to check he was ok before calling up to the rest of them.

"Right, come on, love," Jesper said, helping Y/N up to her unsteady feet.

Y/N sagged into Jesper's side and let him manveour her down ot the ramp. Mal had already jumped down with Alina and was waiting under the ramp for Y/N.

"Mal's gonna catch you," Jesper said as he sat Y/N on the edge of the ramp. "And if he doesn't, you can stab him."

"Very funny," Y/N muttered.

Y/N pushed herself off the edge of the ramp and, true to his word, Mal caught her, his arms wrapping around her waist as he gently lowered her to the ground. Alina's arm came around her other side and between them, they held Y/N up and walked her up the sandbank.

Alina guided Y/N down to the sand and then sat down beside her, taking her hand in hers. "I'm sorry."

"Whatever for?" Y/N asked, staring at her, bewildered.

"You almost died because of - "

"Alina, I don't care if you're a saint or not, if you finish that sentence, I will hit you," Y/N warned.

Alina smiled, putting a hand on Y/N's cheek. "Ok. I won't."

"We need to move," Kaz said, coming up the sandbank, Inej beside him. "We're too close to the Fold and if there are any survivors, they'll be lurking around here."

Mal nodded. "We'll walk for a bit then sit and start a fire to warm ourselves up before we decide what to do next."

They were a right sight, walking across the undergrowth, twigs crunching under their feet. As soon as they'd found a clearing, Y/N had sat down on the grass, not caring that it was wet.

It was bitterly cold - a layer of frost lay over the grass and the wind was freezing. Y/N rubbed her hands together, shivering. Even the fire Mal had started was doing little to keep her warm. Kaz had gone back to the skiff, leaving the rest of them alone for a moment.

"Hey, Jes," Y/N called, lifting her head up. "Come here."

Jesper stood up and came over to her, siting down beside her and crossing his legs. He put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side.

"What's up, buttercup?"

"What happened to me?"

Jesper's hand, which had been rubbing up and down her arm, stilled. "How much do you remember?"

"The heartrender..." She trailed off. "I remember falling backwards into something..."

Jesper exhaled, puffing his cheeks out. "Ok. Since he's not here... Kaz killed the heartrender and caught you. But you weren't breathing."

Y/N nodded, reaching out to take Jesper's hand in hers when she noticed it shaking slightly. "Go on."

"I don't know what exactly happened but when I came down, you were breathing again, lying in Kaz's arms. And he looked like he'd just been through hell and back so..."

Jesper trailed off, the sound of the fire crackling filling the silence. Y/N squeezed his hand, partly to reassure herself but also to reassure him that she was still there.

"We presuming -"

"Yeah," Jesper said, wiping his eyes quickly. "Yeah, Inej and I are presuming that he saved your life."

Y/N looked up, spotting a familar black shape climbing over the hill to them. "He would've done that for anyone of us, though."

"Yeah, possibly." Jesper pressed a kiss to her cheek and leant his head on her shoulder. "But there's not many people he'd have kept going for."

Y/N reached up and put her hand against Jesper's head, rubbing her thumb up and down reassuringly. "We're all still here, Jesper. And soon enough, we'll be home."

Jesper smiled. "Always an optimist, my darling."

Ten minutes later and they were beginning the long walk back to Os Kervo. Y/N was still unsteady on her feet but had waved Jesper on ahead, wanting to talk to Kaz.

"Kaz," Y/N began, falling in to step alongside him. "This might sound silly -"

"Then don't ask it."

Y/N sighed, used to his blunt attitude. "Good to know you haven't changed. Look, doesn't matter, I'll just -"

Kaz stopped suddenly, his gloved hand reaching out to snatch Y/N's wrist. "Wait."

Y/N paused, wobbling slightly. She could feel Kaz's fingers readjusting their grip on her wrist, the leather rough against her skin.

"What happened back there," Kaz said, his voice hoarse. "I...I don't want to talk about. I don't have time to..."

Y/N turned, taking his hand in both of hers and cradling it. "Kaz," Y/N said softly. "I don't need to know why. I don't... I don't need to know what happened to you." She gently squeezed his hand. "I just..."

She trailed off, her eyes looking into Kaz's. For a moment, it was just them, in the cold, clinging to one another as eveything moved around them.

"Thank you," Y/N whispered.

Y/N lowered her head and pressed a quick, chaste kiss to the back of Kaz's hand and then let go, stepping back and turning around. Jesper had paused and held out a hand to her. As she caught up to him, Y/N took it and smiled, giggling at whatever he'd just said.

Kaz was frozen for a moment. His hand hung by his side, still, even as the skin prickled and burnt. Except it wasn't because of the past, this time.

[lovlidollie]

ik you're in a kenji zone but I still can't get over Feyd soooooooooo

Feyd always expects you to come and paint him before he goes to arena. What would he do if you forgot to show up to paint him one day?

savage

pairing ; feyd x gn!reader

wc ; 1.2k

cw ; slightly gore-y description at the end

rating ; general audiences, perhaps slightly suggestive at the end ?

author’s note ; oh no don’t you worry !! feyd is still on my mind 24/7 :3 him and kenji are both my husbands ehehe also wtf this is such a good prompt i love the way your mind thinks ! i don’t particularly think this is very good but i hope you like it anyway 😞 not proof read ^^

feyd is uncharacteristically loud. usually he’s quiet, like a viper, sneaking up on you when you least expect it. he’s calculating and cold, likes to observe before making an important decision. before his fights he’s more often than not calm and collected (well as much as he can be anyway). he’s confident, he knows he’s going to win so what’s the point in worrying? this time however, he’s murderous. he’s yelling and breaking things. he’s barking orders at the maids, veins on his neck protruding dangerously. feyd’s eyes are narrowed in contempt, mere slits as they flit about the room almost in panic. he isn’t able to stay still, can’t look at the same place for more than a second.

the battle’s already been postponed by fifteen minutes and while the general public is too scared to push him, his uncle is not. it wouldn’t be long before the baron is floating down into the staging area, hissing orders and forcing him to get on with the show.

his heavy leather boots stomp against the ground, and he grunts. he’s given you the absolute honour of painting him before his fight and you simply decide to not show up? are you not aware of the hundreds that would die to be in your place? did you not know about the dozens he had to feed his harpies in order to keep them appeased?

“where is she.” feyd growls, low and furious. not a question, more so a threat. the maids tremble in a corner, trying not to look at him or at the three bloody bodies piled on the ground. they’d pushed him too far, tried to paint him when he’s made it clear that only you have his permission to do so. his blades were through their hearts before they even noticed what they did wrong.

like a petulant child throwing a tantrum, he doesn’t just walk into arena. no, the pre-battle painting is tradition. it’s important. and you not being here to do it for him is disrespectful. feyd is seething, teeth grinding together so hard it makes the maids flinch. the sparring knife he has in his hand cracks as the wood splinters. he grunts and throws it against the wall, shards of metal and hard wood ricocheting.

where. the fuck. were you. you never not showed up. feyd’s made sure of it, cleared out your schedule and ensured that you’d have the best guards on the harkonnen battalion to escort you. you always came.

the cries and screams of “feyd-rautha!” get louder and he feels his head pound. a headache begins to build at the base of his neck as the his adoring fans stomp harder. an animalistic noise is ripped from his throat and his eyes shutter close, neck rolling in an attempt to calm down. oh he was going to kill you. he was going to rip you apart. he was going to ruin you. he was going to-

the doors to the chamber fly open and there you are. there you fucking are. panting and struggling to catch your breath, your wide eyes zero in on him and you gulp, forcing stuffy air into your lungs. the hair on your arms stand up with static when you see the ferocious expression plastered on feyd’s face.

“i-” you try open your mouth to explain your absence but you can’t speak. he’s enraged, anger pulsing through his blood. feyd’s mouth presses into a tight line and he snarls at you. his teeth are blackened and he looks like a monster.

“quiet.” it’s harsh and a jarring difference from how he normally speaks to you. the room seems to buzz in silence. you shrink back. you have a reason for being late, you really do!

feyd stalks backwards, never taking his eyes off you and snatches the small carafe of thick, viscous liquid from a table. his gaze trails your figure slowly, checking you inconspicuously for injuries, trying to figure out what the fuck took you so long. he strides towards you and you fight the urge to spring back and runaway. you didn’t like him when he was like this. he was scary and vicious, a savage beast.

he glares at you as he thrusts the carafe into your chest, a silent order. you’re smart and say nothing, shaky fingers reaching out and taking it. feyd’s chest ripples when he turns around. he can’t look at you right now, doesn’t think he can stomach it before he’s roughing you up. you see the way his biceps flex with barely restrained rage.

you work quickly, already deeply aware of how far the fight’s been delayed. it isn’t your best. the lines are messy and crooked, splatters spread over the expanse of his wide back because of your trembling. he’s silent the whole time, taking in great heaving breaths. adrenaline is running through him, he’s itching for a fight. needs to feel blood against his skin and the roar of applause in his ears.

when you’re finished with his back you move in front of him. you’re shorter, barely reaching his shoulders. feyd grunts and you sense him roll his eyes. you work faster, dragging inky oil over his obliques and down his nipples. you barely restrain a shiver.

the second you mutter a soft “done,” and your fingers leave his chest, feyd rips himself away from you, shaking his head. he feels his heartbeat thundering and it’s making him restless. you think he’s a lot like a cornered animal right now.

he dresses quickly, throwing his armour on haphazardly. his chest plate is crooked but you don’t have the courage to say something. feyd marches down to the entrance to the arena, not even sparing you a second glance. he doesn’t bother with his dual blades. he’s after gore tonight, blood and guts and agony. you’re shaking, tears welling up in your eyes as you think of what he’ll do to you.

you sniffle just as he pauses at the door. a low, demeaning laugh leaves his lips, guttural and raspy. you shrink into yourself, feeling humiliated.

“chambers.” he mutters after silence takes over. the implications are clear. you are to meet in his chambers the second the fight is over, when no one else will be around to hear what he does to you. you start growing anxious, sweat beading on your forehead.

feyd doesn’t wait for a response before he’s walking through the doors, cheers overpoweringly loud. you don’t make your way to the stands, too afraid of what you’ll see.

(the fight is one of feyd’s longest. instead of playing around with them for a bit and then killing them almost instantaneously, he lets one of his opponents scamper to the edges of the arena while he deals with the other. feyd prances around him, like a leopard, toying with his prey. when he pounces, it’s with his mouth, teeth tearing into his carotid and ripping it out. he’s fuelled by pure anger and adrenaline, nails clawing at his rivals’ chest and face. feyd turns the first body into a mutilated, bloody mess, so destroyed that he’s barely recognisable. he makes the other opponent watch before stalking after him and doing the same. when he finally, after hours of battle, shows up at his chambers, he’s covered in blood and intestines. and there you are. pretty, innocent you, perched in his bed for him. oh, you were in for it.)

[phonydiaries]

In the Heat of Battle - P x Reader

Requested by @amethyst-huntress

Notes: The premise of this fic was requested by Amethyst-Huntress and I started absolutely foaming at the mouth at the idea, so huge thank-you’s are in order for that nugget of inspiration. Unfortunately, same as last time, I have still barely progressed through the game thanks to my lack of patience and skill, so please forgive that both of my fics take place extremely early in playthrough. Other than that, thank you all for reading and I hope you enjoy!

— 

Where is that damn puppet? You think to yourself, teeth gritted at the deadly inconvenience standing in front of you. 

In the dark and the rain and the constant buzzing noise of Krat, you admit it's easy to get turned around. Even traveling with a companion -in your case, with Gepetto’s puppet- it’s easy to lose track of which gloomy alleys you’d already traversed. Even standing back to back, nudging each other with your elbows, even checking in every so often,“You still with me?” It was easy to get lost. But now, standing face to face with a candelabra wielding automaton and a rabid mechanical dog, you’re  not feeling very generous towards your puppet companion. He’s probably searching for you in a frenzy at this very moment. 

Ha.

Fat load of good it does you. 

The automaton winds up and its eyes flash red across your face. Target locked. The candelabra comes crashing towards your head, but it's met instantly with the clanging cold steel of your sword. The automaton stumbles backwards. Its head cocks unnaturally to the side and you hear something whir, as if in frustration, beneath its face. It winds up again to strike you, but you’re quick and clever; you land a blow in the dead center of the loathsome thing's torso. A sick crunch of metal echoes as you draw the sword out of the brand new gaping cavity in its chest. The automaton sinks to its knees. You look down your nose at it, satisfied at your own skill. The enemy looks to be shutting down, but in a quick, almost desperate motion, its hand shoots towards your foot, grasping wildly. It's cold fingers close around your ankle, but you quickly stamp it out with your free foot. The automaton lets out a weak mechanical wheeze as its hand is crushed beneath your boot. For good measure, you take the hilt of your sword in both hands and slam the base through the miserable things forehead. It crackles, then collapses finally on the ground. You smile darkly at its now lifeless shell. Perhaps a little early. 

A sharp bark cuts through the air and your head snaps to attention. Shit. You forgot about the damn dog. Before you have the chance to raise your sword again, the dog lunges at you. Razor sharp teeth clang dissonantly together and the sound ripples against the glistening walls of the alley. In an instant, you’re knocked to the wet, muddy ground; the iron paws of the mutt are already upon your chest. The mongrel snarls mere centimeters from your face, black oily fluid spilling from its mouth as if salivating. You groan and struggle beneath its weight but regain your grip on your sword just in time to catch its rabid jaw. The dog bites down on your blade, thrashing its head to either side. You strain against its unnatural strength, attempting to pull your weapon free. In one fell swoop you’ll rip it free and decapitate this fucking thing. Your fingers curl tighter around your hilt, you ready a strike, suck in one sharp breath and then-

You freeze.

A second blade appears, glinting in the gaslight, right between your eyes. Thick black fluid goes splattering across your face. The mutt goes limp, its full weight crushing your lower torso. A gasp is pushed from your lungs and you roll to the side, quickly shoving the robotic corpse away from your body. You kneel, palms pushing into the slick ground. Your heart is thundering beneath your shirt as you swallow frigid air hard and fast. When you finally catch a breath, you turn your head towards the owner of the blade; Pinocchio, your companion. He wipes the rapier against his trousers, cleaning the sludge from its razor sharp surface. You huff, blowing matted wet bangs out of your face. 

“I had that under control.” You say sharply. P cocks an eyebrow at you, unconvinced. You feel your face burn in annoyance. “I did!” You insist, “Had you given me just one more minute I would’ve been fine. And probably less covered in this.” You jab your weapon in his direction, flecking dark oil across his shirt. He shoots you a slightly apologetic smile. 

He knows you can handle yourself, he does. He just worries. You can’t blame him; you do the same thing. You’ve gotten quite close on these arduous journeys, saving each other's skins more times than either of you can count. As you wipe the sludge from your face, P extends his hand to you and begrudgingly you take it. Swiftly, he helps you to your feet. His eyes flicker up and down your face, narrowing on your cheek. He licks the thumb of his legion hand and streaks it across your cheek, lifting the remnants of black. You scrunch your nose up at him.

“Eugh- enough-” You whine, swatting the hand away. “Where did you run off to anyways?” 

Pinocchio’s legion arm gestures behind his head. You squint through the darkness at the distant yellow lights of Hotel Krat up ahead. You grimace. It’s further still than you thought. “I don’t suppose you found some kind of underground shortcut?” P shakes his head apologetically. You both sigh, knowing you’ve got plenty of dangers yet to face before you’re given any time to rest. These days spent traveling have taken their toll on your bodies, but you’re at least grateful to have a friend in the gloom of Cerasani Alley. Your sword slides neatly into your belt as you walk ahead of Pinocchio. “Back to it then.” 

As the two of you push forward, you notice a concerted effort on your companions' part to stick close to your side. At any strange noise or eerie shadow, P reaches for your hand. You squeeze back in reassurance that all is well. A bit unnecessary? Sure. But you don’t fight it. It’s much preferred to losing the poor boy again. 

Drawing closer to your destination with only a few minor scuffles to slow you down, you reach a dilapidated fairgrounds. Sickly yellow light bulbs buzz overhead and cast an ominous glow across the entire scene. A ghostly music box melody plinks and permeates the air. You look to P quizzically. 

“You’re sure this is the right way?”

P takes in his surroundings and gives you a curt nod. You grimace in reply. This decrepit place gives you the creeps.

Together you silently weave through wooden cutouts of circus performers, checking carefully for hidden enemies. It's suspiciously quiet, save for the phantasmal carnival music that grows louder as you approach an iron gate. Another barrier. Excellent. 

“P?” You step aside and gesture to the locked gate. Pinocchio smiles slyly at you, boyishly pleased that there’s still a few things you can’t do without him. You want to roll your eyes, but you watch reluctantly impressed, as deep violet energy crackles around his fist. In one swift swing, he punches through the gate and leaves a smoking crater where the lock once sat. He shoots you a sharp smile, satisfied with himself. 

And then you feel something. A great mechanical thud rippling beneath your feet. Your heads snap in unison towards the source and your eyes go wide at the sight of the staggering monster in front of you. At least 3 times your size looms the Parade Master, constructed of decaying parts and craquelured paint. Its massive fist alone is as wide as your body, and sways heavily at its side. 

You unsheathe your blade, and its weight sinks your shoulders. It's not ideal for speed you admit, but the vindication after landing those obliterating killing blows to your enemies is unbeatable. Keeping your eyes locked on target, you whistle to catch Pinocchio’s attention. You started doing this early on. Whistles were a good line of nonverbal communication when you couldn’t afford a glance in each other's direction. 

“Flank him?” You suggest. Pinocchio whistles quick and sharp in agreement. Your fingers tighten around the great sword and your chest thrums with anticipation. You jut your chin in the direction of your common enemy. “After you.” 

Without looking, you know his brows are furrowed together in deep focus. You can perfectly visualize the way he lures the puppet away, his steps meticulously timed and graceful. As you wind your way behind the thing, you hear the clang of P’s rapier against tarnished metal. Your enemy rears its arm back, and you follow suit striking its vulnerable back with a satisfying SHUK! You yank the blade out of its now damaged shell and catch the briefest glance at your companion and oh. Oh. The way he looks at you. 

With fascination?

Admiration?

It’s something greater, deeper than that. Your heart skips. But you shake yourself out of distraction, startled at the sound of your own voice calling out. Your lips move before your mind has time to catch up. 

“MOVE!” 

Exactly as you shout it, P dodges a strike from the Parade Master. The brute’s fist lands in the brick pavement, blowing a hole through it instantaneously. You gulp at the thought of your companion lying there instead, crushed. Your skin goes cold. 

No. Never.

Knowing neither of you can afford another lapse in attention, you suck in one long loud whistle between your teeth. The Parade Master whips itself around to face you. Two huge lamp-like eyes glow sickly in your direction. This was intentional. You can distract for now and give your ally a moment to catch his breath. You ready both hands on your weapon and take a step back. The monster lurches forward, its steps accompanied by a horrid clanking sound. 

“Get over here you fucking rust bucket…” You mutter grimly under your breath as the space between you and the looming threat of death shrinks. You breathe deeply and steel yourself, heels digging into stone. You watch carefully as the puppet rushes towards you, arms swinging wildly. Just when the behemoth is about to crush you beneath its huge frame, you duck between its legs and emerge from behind. There’s just enough time to land a solid blow. P’s rapier crosses with your greatsword, both your weapons plunging into the deteriorated creatures back. 

“This one’s mine, P.” You snap, pulling your blade from its fresh wound. 

“Mine.” P parrots with a smirk, retrieving his rapier as well. Being a man of so few words, you can't help feeling amused even given the circumstances. This is good. The beast is growing weaker. If you can both keep level heads this will all be over soon, you think to yourself. 

At least until your enemy decapitates itself. 

Your jaw drops as the Parade Master rips its own head from its massive shoulders. It wields its shiny new weapon like an enormous mace and swings it your way. It makes contact with the ground, and the impact alone is enough to shake your balance. You dive to the side, narrowly avoiding collision with the wall. You struggle to recalibrate, to size up the situation while keeping yourself out of the range of attack. You hear P whistle pointedly across the arena, waiting on your instruction. Your mind races for a plan and comes up blank. 

“Hold on!” You shout, “Just- Just hold on, I’ll think of something.” You’ll have to if you want to leave this place in one piece. There’s nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. All you can think to do is attack. And you do; your blade leaves white hot gash marks on the enemy, but it hardly seems to be enough against such a terrible and towering foe. You’ve angered it now, and it’s in a total frenzy. The Parade Master swings its massive head in your direction again and you raise your sword to block it. Half a second too late. 

As your weapons collide, the impact sends you to the ground. You gasp at the sharp pain that shoots through your skull. There’s a ringing in your ears and a soft dark edge to your vision. You struggle against unconsciousness and fight to keep yourself upright. Things are moving slow; trails of light obscure the events unfolding in front of you. 

You comprehend something catching the Parade Masters' attention, you watch the goliath wind up, you hear something cry out, and then hear nothing at all. A sick feeling churns in the pit of your stomach and bile rises in your throat. Something’s wrong. You search the scene frantically for your ally. Your line of sight flickers from the Parade Masters head to the ground slick with rain. Your throat tightens. With his face turned to the ground, his eyes fighting to stay open, lies Pinocchio. His rapier skitters across the stone, coming to a sudden halt beneath the foot of the Parade Master. 

Something flashes through you, anger, grief, adrenaline; whatever it is, it propels you forward. Your weapon is suddenly weightless as you skid between the monstrous puppet and your companion. The head of the Parade Master collides with your sword and the sound echoes through the arena with an arresting ring. You breathe hard in disbelief of your own courage. Your teeth are bared and your furrowed brow is sticky with sweat. 

“Don’t. Touch him.” You command, and you swear even your mindless enemy hears it. A deep guttural sound is forced from the very bottom of your lungs as you thrust your weapon through the center of the automaton's body. It doesn’t die, but you hear something inside it break, and the creature slows significantly as if becoming too heavy for its own armature. 

You risk a glance over your shoulder. P looks like absolute hell, covered in grime, barely staggering to his feet. Your chest tightens at his condition, but he’s alive. 

Alive. It’s enough. 

The enemy screams in frustration, rippling orange flames and black smoke billow from the place its head once sat. You stare at the hilt of your great sword, still lodged in its heart. 

“P, your sword-” You start, but your ally is already on it, your strategic minds miraculously attuned. He sends the rapier sailing -now free of the parade masters foot- towards your open hand. It whips past your head and slides perfectly into your grasp. With what's left of the enemy in your sights, you take a running start. 

Time seems to slow; the taste of victory teases you. Your head is about to collide with the hulking hunk of metal just as you raise your boot and dig its heel into the hilt of your great sword. Its placement serves as a stepping stone, and you scale the furious beast. You clamber up its torso towards its shoulders and feel heat radiating from the inside. It burns your hands, which grip the edge of the cavernous socket of its missing head. The monster thrashes beneath you like a wild bull, desperate to throw you off. You tighten your grip, the white hot metal searing your palm. You force yourself to ignore the pain as you raise the rapier and plunge one final devastating blow into the blazing cavity. You feel the rapier obliterate whatever mechanism kept the Parade Master alive, and it crumbles finally beneath you. 

Atop the shoulders of your freshly slaughtered enemy, you fall forward with a deafening CRASH. Your body tumbles to the ground. Your grip on the rapier goes slack. Exhaustion ripples through you, and you surrender to its sweet embrace. 

You hadn’t even realized you’d lost consciousness until your eyes flutter open, met by the stunning blue gaze of your companion mere inches from your face. For a moment you forget yourself, the urge to sink into his arms is so tempting. But your pride wins out and you scramble into an upright position, barely awake. Pinocchio lets out a sigh of relief and you see his shoulders relax. Had he been just as terrified as you were at the prospect of losing him? Did that same dread sit in the pit of his stomach? 

Your head swims with what-ifs, but you have no energy to find their answers. With strength that you’re shocked to still possess, you throw your arms around the puppet. Your fingers clutch the wet fabric of his shirt as if he might disappear the moment you let go. His body tenses at first, then melts under your touch. You feel his head settle between your neck and shoulder, solid and secure. Silently breathing in the smell of him feels like waves of relief crashing over your head. 

You wish the journey could end here in the peace and quiet of this embrace, but you feel him begin to pull away and your heart sinks. Face to face with you, his eyes search for signs of damage, for something to mend. His hands find yours and you hiss involuntarily. His eyebrows knit together in concern. You try not to grimace. 

“It’s nothing.” you promise, “Burned my hand, that's all.”

P looks down at your hand and cradles it gently in his own. With painstaking care, he lifts it to his mouth and places a feather-light kiss in your palm, then on each of your scraped and bleeding knuckles. He looks up at you through those thick raven-wing lashes and you notice a trace of your blood left on his lips. The sight makes your head swim and it takes the entirety of your willpower not to catch his mouth with yours. Your posture stiffens as you try to regain your composure. 

“Well it’s not far now, is it?” You ask, deflecting back to the mission at hand. “There will be plenty of time to patch each other up at the hotel. Right?” You offer, already stupidly aching for the return of Pinocchio’s delicate touch. He blinks a few times, as if he were struggling to focus himself. But he nods enthusiastically. You feel a smile creep across your lips. 

As you leave the destroyed fairgrounds behind, you let your good hand slip into that of your companion. The two of you venture forth, certain to never lose track of the other again. 

— 

If you read this and enjoy it please let me know! Seeing your positive comments and tags absolutely warms my heart and motivates me to keep writing. Thank you so much to those of you who took the time to leave me some kind words on my last fic <3

[macabr3-barbi3]

Alastor/sheep!Reader- Red Riding Hood (Ao3 Request)

I had so much fun with this! And I'm thinking about doing a little mini-series of retellings of fairy tales because of this so 👀

Tags: chase; outside sex; rough sex; predator/prey for like 3 paragraphs; reader is kind of a little shit

2.6k words

<3<3<3<3<3

The woods are dark and dense, and you curse yourself again for agreeing to undertake this journey for your new manager.

“It gets cold!” She had whined, gesturing to the hairless skin of her Sphynx cat form. “ I could freeze, and its really important that this delivery gets picked up tonight! You’re such a great friend,” she had gushed when you caved and agreed to make the trip for her, to the outermost edges of the Pride ring. Why couldn’t she have just air-shipped the package? “The customer doesn’t like modern technology.”  Why not have him come get it? “He isn’t really a people person, I don’t want to scare anyone off.”

An idiot is what you were- an idiot that was new to Hell and didn’t have many other options for jobs. You were sweltering under the stupid red cloak that she had given you, swearing up and down that the forest you’d be going through got chilly at night and insisting that you take it with you; the only plus to the damned thing was that it had a pocket into which you could slip the delivery parcel. Even though you weren’t technically properly trained for deliveries yet, the thick wool that coated the lush curves of your sheep-like body apparently made you the perfect candidate for the trip through the ‘cold’ woods. 

“Bullshit,” you mutter, throwing the hood of the damned thing back and letting the soft breeze whip past your ears. The trees seem to whistle their displeasure at your presence, your hair swirling around your face as you head in the general direction that the app on your phone directed you. 

There’s a sudden growl in the air, and you freeze where you stand. It almost rumbles the ground beneath your feet, and glancing over your shoulder you see a hint of crimson eyes staring from the darkness.

Fuck that. You take off without any further inspection of the glowing gaze, tossing your phone into the cloak pocket as you run- you don’t need to know what it is if it's going to try to hurt you somehow, and you don’t give a damn about the delivery being on time if it means risking your life. Why wouldn’t your manager have told you there was dangerous shit out here? You get that it’s Hell but for fuck’s sake.

Your lungs are aching as you continue on, not willing to slow or stop while you can still hear the crashing of tree branches and snarling behind you, right at your heels. There’s a hand on the hood of your cloak then, pulling you backwards, and without thinking you slam your head back, horns miraculously hitting home right in the creature’s face. It releases you with a pained groan and you don’t look back, booking it as fast as you can in a different direction, stitch in your side growing more and more painful with every step.

The woods are silent as you finally slow and stop, bracing your back against a tree and trying to catch your heaving breath. Your whole body is on fire, physical exertion having never been your strong suit, but you’re still alive and that’s what matters- body aches will heal, but you heard that regeneration was a bitch.

“Are you chilly, darling?”

The unexpected voice makes you whip around, cloak whirling as you turn. “Fuck!” Your heart is still beating like a drum, hard hammering against your chest from the run before you had stopped to rest. 

The demon casually leaning against a nearby tree watches you with a wide grin, a trickle of blood from his lips where your horns had slammed into him. His eyes, red and lidded, flick up and down your body. “It’s quite rude to leave a question unanswered.”

“It’s also quite rude to sneak up on people. Was that you chasing me?”

“Why, I’m just making sure that you are heading in the right direction! The number of people that have gotten lost on their way to me is truly a nuisance.” He eyes the shape of the package in your cloak pocket. “I’m pleased to see that this one hasn’t been lost to the forest yet.” He steps closer, holds a hand out to you. “Come along now, dear.”

“R-right. Can you confirm the name on the package?”

A wide grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Alastor.”

It matches the name on the package which is good enough for you. “Okay, great. Here you go.” You pull the box from your pocket and hold it out to him. “That’s all this needed to be.”

He cocks his head to one side. “Surely you won’t be leaving so soon.”

“I’m just here to make the delivery, sir.” Your hands are trembling with leftover adrenaline as he takes the parcel, inspects it for a moment, then unceremoniously tosses it over his shoulder into the darkness.

“Your work ethic is to be admired!” He exclaims, ignoring your outraged expression. “But there seems to be confusion- you are the delivery, darling.” When you stiffen at his words he chuckles and creeps closer, circling you like a predator. “Let me guess- you’re new to the shop, you aren’t trained for deliveries, and the manager had compelling reasons for why you should come instead of herself?”

“I-”

“We have an understanding, you see.” He trails a finger down the cloak hanging over your arm. “Retail is a hard business in Hell- no one wants to stick around, people are hard to train, they never last long anyway. Your manager has had to run several of my packages herself and the last one was, sadly, lost to the elements by her own fault.” He looks off into the distance, seemingly irritated at the memory. “What could have possessed her to attempt to cross a river with a priceless antique electronic is beyond me but here we are. I would have simply killed her but she has connections I can use to my advantage so we made a deal instead.” He looks back to you, head cocked to one side as he smiles. “An easy meal as compensation for her transgression. Delivered right to me.” His eyes darken, raking over your form, the curves of your body. “I hadn’t expected her to act so quickly but it’s been some time since I last had mutton.”

“I won’t taste good,” you tell him calmly despite the lingering fear from the chase, and an eyebrow raises in amusement. “When I was alive my mom always said I was rotten, I’m sure that doesn’t translate well to my demon form. And then you’ll have wasted your deal on bad meat.” You keep your voice steady while you address him.

“Oh?” He circles you and you can feel his gaze running over your body again. “I’m not so sure about that, dear- I’ve never found any complaints with meat of any kind. I’m sure you’ll be quite tasty.” He smiles when he comes around the front again, the sharp teeth glinting in the light that filters through the trees.

And fuck, the way he said that shouldn’t have been kind of hot. This was a serious situation, definitely not the time to be thinking vaguely inappropriate thoughts about the demon who was quite blatantly threatening to eat you. “Do you want to risk it?” You ask, and his smile turns curious. “I mean, I’d hate to have to tell you ‘I told you so’ but I would do it. The shop has new people like me coming in every week for training that you could have your pick of instead of taking the first thing to come along; what if you missed out on something really delicious?” 

Alastor watches you carefully. “I suppose you have a point, darling,” he concedes, his slim shoulders shrugging. “A meal that talks back so much would surely be a poor one. Though I can’t say I’m not disappointed that I won’t get a chance to sample you.” His voice seems to drop, a rolling purr in the strange radio cadence he has that makes your hair stand on end and your heart thump in your chest.

“Maybe I could let you have a taste?” The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, the air between the two of you suddenly charged with tension. “Just, you know. Show you what I mean, that I won’t be any good. Rotten and all that, like my mom says.”

“On the contrary, I think you’ll be very good.” He steps closer to you, towers over your frame with hooded eyes that track the movement of your throat as you swallow. “But I’ll behave myself since you’ve shown me the error of my ways- a mere sampling of your flavor, nothing more. I suppose there is more that I could get out of your manager if I don’t ‘cash in’ right away, as it were.” He brings a claw tipped hand to cup your face, tilting your head one way then the other. “We’ll start here,” he murmurs, and you close your eyes, wait for the brush of his lips against yours.

It doesn’t come- instead you feel him lick along the column of your neck, the muscle hot and wet where it drags against your skin, a shuddering exhale leaving you at the feeling. One hand comes up to rest on your waist, the other unclipping the clasp of the red cloak you wear and letting it fall to the ground. You shiver without it, not from the cold but from the sensations raging through your body at such a simple touch, and Alastor pulls back, licking his lips at the taste of you.

“My disappointment at agreeing to let you go is immeasurable,” he whispers, pupils blown when he meets your eyes. “It’s just as I suspected- delicious.” The hand that released the cloak winds itself into your hair, brushing against the base of your horns. “Would you indulge me in another taste?”

You nod, not trusting your voice to come out clearly, and he swipes along your neck again, allowing his teeth to press gently against your pulse point before he continues down, snaking the hot appendage between the valley of your breasts and holding you tighter to his body. There’s still adrenaline coursing through your body making each touch feel like an electric pulse to your core, and when he growls into your chest you let out a quiet moan that echoes in the quiet woods.

One hand still tangled in your hair, thumb gently brushing against your horns, he slips his free hand under the waistband of your skirt and into your panties, inhaling sharply at the wetness he finds. Claws absent, he slides a finger inside of you, the press of it slow and steady, making you rock your hips into his hand.

“Someone’s eager, hm?” He presses another digit into the slickness of your cunt, bends his fingers in a way that his you seeing stars as he thrusts them in and out of your heat. You let out a soft cry against him and cling to his shirt, up on your tiptoes to let his fingers reach wherever he wants.

“More,” you whimper, letting one of your hands reach up to his face, a move that surprises him. “Please, Alastor.”

He brings his face up from your skin and devours your mouth, his tongue showing just as much attention to your mouth as he had your neck, licking into it with fervor and enthusiasm you wouldn’t have expected from him. “Would you let me have you, darling? This is hardly an appropriate place, but-”

“Yes,” you tell him, not even letting him finish his sentence, and he gently lowers you to the ground to lay across the expanse of the red cloak. He makes short work of his trousers, shoving your skirt up around your waist and slicing your panties off with a quick swipe of his fingers before he fists his cock and slots himself against you. “Oh fuck-” He impales you with a hard thrust, sinking in to the base with a harsh grip on your hips.

“Lovely,” he groans into your ear, and then he seems to lose the capability for language, his words devolving into harsh grunts and growls as he fills you over and over, snapping his hips against yours in a quick rhythm that leaves you gasping and trying to pull him closer. 

A hand leaves your hips to tangle in your hair; you arch up, thinking that he means to kiss you again until his palm wraps around the length of one horn, using it like a handle to pull your head back, throat exposed to him while he rails into you. “Delicious little thing,” he says, and drags his tongue down the column of your throat again, sucking a pattern of bruises along it that you know you’ll spend the next week pressing into with your fingertips. His sharp teeth pinch a bit of skin lightly and you jerk in his hold.

It should have terrified you, instead dousing your body in a liquid flame. “J-Just tasting, remember,” you jokingly reprimand, and his laugh reverberates through your chest.

“How could I forget?” He lets go of your horn, slips the hand between your bodies as he leans back so he can watch you rocking with the force of his thrusts into you. His thumb swipes forcefully at your clit, the ecstasy near overwhelming as he loses some of his rhythm, your cunt clamping down on him. “It's quite selfish to deny me, darling, but I’ll take of you what I can- your pleasure, your body, all of it mine-”

Your eyes roll back in your head as the tension in your lower body snaps, dragging Alastor down with a hand in his hair to meet your lips, desperate and sloppy while you quake and shatter to pieces below him. He spends himself with a snarl in the tightness of your body, slick with your arousal and release as you cry out, the sound swallowed by his mouth.

He remains still for a moment, crouched over you, before he pulls back and rests you gently on the cloak. “This thing is hideous,” he says with distaste. “It made it quite easy to track you- which was the intention- but you must have been sweltering.”

You watch what you can see if the sky through the canopy of the trees. “She said it could get cold,” you laugh, “and I’m a fool. What a terrible job.”

“Not a fool,” he corrects, spreading the fabric out to lay on it beside you for a moment. “Nearly a victim of a deal that didn’t concern you- and perhaps I will still pay your manager a visit- but never a fool. You convinced me not to eat you for now, at least.”

You shoot him a smile. “Well, you weren’t that scary once you stopped chasing me,” you giggle, “besides those sharp teeth.”

His nose wrinkles with his amusement. “Keep teasing me, dear, and I’ll acquaint you with these sharp teeth for real.” He leans close enough to nip at your shoulder, the motion more teasing than painful. “There’s always tomorrow, after all- who knows what my appetite will be once I’ve dealt with that manager of yours? Mutton could still be on the menu.”

“Well,” you say, “if I’ll be out of a job soon so I might go apply at the coffee shop around the corner from our place. I heard their manager is a real ass- how would you feel about duck instead?” He laughs into your shoulder, the sound deep and clear, and you think maybe it wasn’t such a bad job after all if this was where it lead for now.

[r0-boat]

Dan Heng Imbibitor Lunae brainrot

Nsfw

( this takes place before he boarded the astral Express)

( also quick side note I have yet to play the new chapter adgds rf h please us be horny in peace)

Imbibitor Lunae... A high title worthy of respect, but normally Dan Heng would brush off the formalities, but you, his precious mate, when this title rolls off your tongue, he can't help but be drawn to those lips. He tries not to be a slave to his instincts, but Dan Heng can only hold it back for so long, and you certainly don't help when you tease him. It will be your fault when he ultimately feels all your holes with his fingers in your mouth and his dicks stuffed in your holes.

When Dan Heng goes into heat, he becomes highly territorial, hoarding anything he deems valuable in a room, along with soft blankets and pillows and you as well. Once he gently lays you in the sheets of his nest, he will keep you there till he comes to his senses and his heat is over. Once, General Jing Yuan asked a guard to fetch you for something. When that guard opened the door to see Imbibitor Lunae on top of you with his tail wrapped around your leg, you saw your mate's pupils—waning as he bared his teeth and snarled at the poor guard holding you to his chest as if he forbade anyone from seeing you. If that guard didn't close that door, you were afraid that he might have lunged at him. After that, you had to calm your now aggravated mate down because he was under the impression that you were in danger and someone would take you from him.

Oddly clingy but not in the way that you might think Dan Heng isn't one for overly physical attention; however, he'd rather just to be with you, basking in your presence. Occasionally holding your hand or brushing his fingers against you if you are in the room, he's not too far behind though he swears it's not that he'd move literal Mountains for you. It's because you're dumb and stupid(affectionate) and will hurt yourself if not without supervision. If he doesn't know where you are for more than an hour, he will start to worry. Please don't give him a heart attack, and tell him where you're going before you go somewhere.

However during his heat he wants all of your attention he doesn't want you to even think about other men while he's on top of you if he thinks you're distracted yourself is long serpentine tongue in your mouth and kiss you too you're drunk.

"Keep looking at me. Don't take your eyes off me."

There's only one way for cold dragon young to lose his temper. If he sees a drop of Bloodshed from your skin he will use his enemy like a new chew toy.

Addicted to your touch, he may not give physical affection himself, but oh boy does he love yours sometimes; he wants to ask for more but can't bring himself to bless you. Pull your hand away from brushing into his hair with your fingers. Gently caressing his face, Dan Heng will melt in your touch. You'll be rewarded with a low rumble coming from his throat. Watch those hands slip lower past his pants, and he will fall apart in your hands, begging and whimpering as he paws at your clothing. He doesn't want to see him desperate for you, but he can't bring himself to tell you to stop letting out a frustrated growl when you pull away before you can palm his growing bulge. That's when he practically pounces on you. You won't get away with teasing him so easily

[naffeclipse]

What would SJ eclipse be like as a Naga? 👀 absolutely terrifying, I'm sure lmao!! Also, what would SJ! Eclipse think of the photographer? Mashing aus so hard right now I'm frothing at the mouth 😭😭

Oh no. Naga SJ Eclipse is just as terrible as a four-arm Eclipse! He shouldn't be given any more means to grab and bruise you than he already has smh

That being said—

He has black and burgundy scales with red markings like diamonds full of warning up and down his tail. The frills adorning his head are dark and terrifying, like a poisonous black-blue flower. He's powerful, swift, and precise with his kills.

He doesn't think much of the photographer; an easy meal. That is until he realizes you are more respectful of the jungle and the creatures than most humans, and he watches how you stare in quiet reverence at the forces at work around you. You intrigue him. Mostly, he wants to see how quickly he can break you. Which, to his chagrin, isn't as easy as he suspects it to be.

With you, he's obsessed. He hates that you're not bending under his will despite your fear. Your every encounter with him involves you being tugged and twisted around like a little doll made to dance. His strength is terrifying. His size is overwhelming. He'll trap you in his coils until you stop squirming—until you learn that you can't keep fighting because if you do, he'll crush you.

That's the threat he likes to snarl. The promise chills your very marrow.

He leaves you bruised when you try to talk back to him and keep attempting to escape his claws. His loops twist around you just enough to give you a half-second of panic, unable to fill your lungs enough to breathe, but he loosens his grip before you choke. This, however, leaves the skin over your ribs colored in deep violets and indigo splatters. You're afraid he wants to see what he's done—his claws trace the bottom of your shirt, searching.

If he's feeling generous enough, he'll grab you by the wrists and drag you closer, close enough to hiss in your ear that he wouldn't have to be so rough if you behaved. He has a particularly nasty habit of grabbing your chin when you refuse to look at him. His hellish orange eyes flash when you whimper or gasp, but it's not enough—he wants you under his thumb. You'll give in. You'll see that the only way is his way.

[yoitsjay]

Cat got your tongue?

Pairings: Crosshair x Fem! Reader

Summary: you and crosshair get into another one of your daily bickers, which becomes a fistfight, which becomes something a little... more.

Warnings: cannon typical violence, smut, cunnalingus, pussy eating, cum eating, crosshair eats good- use of pet names.

Word count: 1,627

A/n: inspired by the wrecker headcannons I just wrote- and the fanart I rebloged 🤭

The dimly lit engine room of the Marauder hums with the low rumble of machinery. Tools and spare parts are scattered around, and the air is thick with dust. Crosshair stands hunched over a malfunctioning power conduit, his expression a mix of frustration and concentration. He wouldn't have to be fixing this if Tech wasn't asked to make the supply run with Wrecker, though this piece of junk should have been replaced months ago.

Crosshair let out a grunt of frustration as he hit the power conduit with a wrench, sending some sparks flying from the impact. “Stubborn fucking thing- Should have been replaced.” He muttered

Across the room by the boiler, you are rummaging through a crate of supplies. You are a mercenary, employed temporarily by the Republic, and have been assigned to The Bad Batch for a few dangerous missions, which was being prepared for.

You glanced over at the man, a smirk falling across your lips as you pulled out the part you were looking for, kneeling down by the hyperdrive to fix it. “Maybe if you actually took a break once in a while and properly fixed the ship, you wouldn’t have to deal with these messes.” you replied snarkily.

Crosshair just snarled in return, narrowing his eyes at you as he leaned back slightly. “And maybe if you stopped getting into trouble, we wouldn't need to fix things every time we turn around.” He hissed, and you spun your head around. If looks could kill, he would have a giant hole in his head that would have done the job.

“Oh, so it’s my fault now? Last I checked, you were the one who blew up the last generator.” You replied, turning back to the hyperdrive as you started to replace its main panel with a new functioning one.

Crosshair straightens up, glaring daggers at you. The day had already been frustrating with Wrecker being unhelpful. “I didn’t see you volunteering to help, did I?”

your eyes narrow again. and you throw your wrench down onto the nearby workbench, its clatter echoing in the confined space as you stand and turn to face him, now bristling with annoyance. “Maybe because I’m not the one who causes the problems. I’m just here to clean up your mess.” She hissed, knowing she was only assigned here because they needed her help.

“You need me.” She added, voicing what she had been thinking. Crosshair scoffed, now rising to his feet as he set down his own tools, much gentler than you had moments ago. “Right, and I’m sure you’re perfect at everything you do.” He snarled.

Your face reddens with irritation, and without thinking twice you stride toward Crosshair, fists clenched. “You know what, Crosshair? If you think you’re so much better, why don’t you back up your talk?” She asked, though before Crosshair could respond, you shoved him roughly. He stumbles back but quickly regains his balance. His eyes flash with anger as he pushes her back with equal force.

Without another word you and Crosshair lunge at each other. You throw a punch, which Crosshair ducks, countering with a swift jab. You engage in a fast-paced, physical tussle amidst the clutter of the engine room. Tools and parts are knocked over, creating a chaotic backdrop to your fight. Each move is precise and aggressive, which really showed off the fact that you truly despise each other.

You then attempt a kick, which Crosshair grabs and twists, sending you sprawling onto a pile of metal parts. You let out a grunt of pain, but scramble up to your feet once more, determination in your eyes as you charge again. Crosshair, breathing heavily, manages to catch you off guard with a deft move, pinning your arms above your head against the wall.

Panting, you and Crosshair stare each other down, before finally he speaks up.

“Satisfied now?” He asks with a smirk. You just glare at him, breathing ragged as you rolled your eyes and look away. “Not quite. But I guess this will do for now.” you muttered. Crosshair raises an eyebrow, bringing his free hand up to your face as he cups your chin with his fingers, turning your head so you are looking at him again.

“How else can I satisfy you then, princess?” He asked, his own eyes widening as if he hadn’t meant to say what he had said. Your eyes also go wide, and you glance downwards before looking away again, muttering something under your breath.

“What was that, sweetheart?” Crosshair asked, overcoming that brief shock, taking back his confidence as he pressed into you a bit more, unable to ignore the soft whimper that fell from your lips. You looked over at him again, your pupils dilated as you stared at him with something other than hate.

“I said, you could get on your knees and eat me, but it probably wouldn’t feel good.” you snarked, a surge of your own confidence swelling inside of you

And it caught Crosshair off guard.

“What?” He asked, lips parted slightly as he pulled back from you. But you wouldn’t let him escape, not this time…

You wiggled your arms out of his grasp, and instead grabbed him by the top of his armor plating, pulling him closer to you as you grinned almost wickedly, leaning in to whisper by his ear.

“You heard me.” You whispered, feeling him shiver slightly as your breath fanned down his neck. Crosshair closed his eyes for a moment, then slid his hands to your waist, pulling it against him as he squeezed lightly. “I just wanted to make sure you really said that… because it sounds like a challenge to me.” He whispered, staring into your eyes as his nose brushed against yours.

“Oh it's a challenge, Crosshair. You couldn’t make me feel good if you tried.” You whispered, feeling his grip tighten against your hips. Then he slid his hands down, and he dropped to his knees in front of you.

You gasped slightly, not expecting him to actually take up that challenge. You let out a squeak as he unclasped the armor on your thighs, then tugged down your trousers. “Crosshair what are you-”

“You said I couldn't please you, princess. I’m gonna prove you wrong.” He started, grabbing your thigh as he lifted your leg over his shoulder, using his other hand to hold your abdomen against the wall so you wouldn’t fall.

“Crosshair, what if they come back?” You asked frantically, sliding your left hand into his silvery short hair, pushing his head back slightly. He just grinned, sliding his hand down as he pulled your underwear down.

“Oh Princess…” He trailed off, pushing his face into the plush softness of your thigh, listening to you gasp or inhale every time he nipped at the skin, or lick closer and closer to where you were aching for him to be.

Then he leans in, tentatively licking a stripe up your folds before he groans, and flattens his tongue against you, his nose nudging against your clit which makes you jolt.

“Cross-” You whined, looking down into his eyes momentarily before you let your head fall back against the engine room wall as he brought his tongue up to your clit, and circled it before flicking his tongue upwards.

Crosshair ate you out like it wasn’t even an issue, the way he drove his tongue into your sopping wet cunt, drinking in your juices as he groaned, it made your heart flutter.

You gripped his head, pushing him against you as you bucked your hips slightly, letting out soft pants, or little whimpers, trying to stay quiet, though the way he was making you feel- it was getting hard too.

“Crosshair i’m-”

You could feel that coil winding up tight in your gut, though the man below you didn;t relent, keeping his mouth on you as he drank you up and made you feel like you were on cloud nine.

You pressed the heel of your boot into his back, pushing him closer as you desperately grinded against his face, letting out a high pitched and loud whine as your vision clouded and you saw stars, coming undone on his tongue.

You expected him to pull away, leave you dripping and dirty from your orgasm. But he kept his tongue at your entrance, drinking up the slick that seeped out, until you were shaking from the overstimulation. Only then did he pull away, reaching for a clean cloth which he used to clean up the mess he made between your thighs.

“See Princess? I can clean up my messes.” He teased, lowering your leg off his shoulder as he rose to his feet. You could only huff in response, pulling up your pants and underwear before you clipped your armor back on, face red as you avoided looking at him.

“Cat caught your tongue sweetheart?” Crosshair asked mockingly. You glared at him, turning to walk away, only to turn back around as you delivered a swift punch to his torso, making him double over, only for you to pull him close as you pressed your lips to his, swallowing up his gasp as you invaded your tongue into his mouth, tasting yourself before you pulled away, chuckling.

“Cat caught your tongue, Crosshair?” You repeated, patting his chest before you turned and walked out of the engine room.

Crosshair watched you leave, then grunted as he was suddenly all too aware of the raging hard on that was straining against his codpiece. He grunted, looking back up to the exit you walked out of before he groaned, and quickly ran after you.

You were going to be the death of him.

➺

Crosshair tag:

@nyctophobiart

Tbb:

@only-my-unexistent-fiances

All:

@moomoog017

[the-modern-typewriter]

Encouragement: your prose has such a physical, tangible element that is so rare and immersive and incredible! Your descriptions don’t just feel real, they make me feel like I am real inside the story (if that makes any sense haha). Thanks for sharing your talent so generously!

Prompt request: a sword fight between the protagonist and antagonist, including all the witty banter and sexual tension, that ends with the protagonist on their knees, sword under their chin, pretending not to be terrified - and whatever you think should come next :)

"It's been a while since we've done this," the antagonist murmured. Their intent gaze tracked every step, every breath, that the protagonist made around them on the arena sand. "I was starting to think I wouldn't get the pleasure again."

"You like being cut to ribbons and knocked on your arse, sire?"

"Well, you do it beautifully." The cruel monarch's eyes gleamed in the sun. "What can I say? It's inspiring."

It wasn't what the protagonist had expected. The last time the protagonist had challenged them and won - bargaining for the safety of their entire village - the antagonist had been livid. They'd never lost before.

There was no lie in the antagonist's eyes though. Only a strange admiration that made something in the protagonist's stomach bottom out.

The antagonist lunged in the brief distraction that comment caused.

The protagonist parried just in time - then they were off. The air rang with the clash of their swords, with the sound of their panting breaths and pounding hearts.

The crowd roared hungry behind it all. It was a long-awaited rematch after all. A talented tyrant and the only upstart to ever beat them on the field. A nobody.

The protagonist was swiftly made aware of the fact that the antagonist had vastly improved since their last match. Everything about them was sharpened to a deadly purpose. The protagonist's heartbeat quickened.

It struck them, for the first time, that they might not win again.

They paused many minutes later with both of their blades locked in place, their faces inches apart. Sweat stung the protagonist's eyes.

The antagonist grinned. "As I said, inspiring. I'm so glad you came back."

"You made it hard not to."

"You made it hard not to spend the last three years thinking about you."

The protagonist swallowed.

The improvement was impressive. The antagonist was as gorgeous to watch in action as they were horrifying to fight against.

"You're still not winning," the protagonist said. "Go back and train for another three years. Then, maybe."

"Your arms are trembling."

The protagonist wrenched back, at that, and lunged anew. The problem was that their arms were shaky with the effort of blocking and evading the antagonist's blows.

The two of them had always had different styles. The protagonist was fast, light on their feet. They'd mostly trained for multiple opponents. The antagonist had trained for this. They were far stronger than the protagonist was in the force of their blows. Before, they'd been much slower. Now, they were still slower - but only just. There was no respite.

The longer it dragged on, the more the fight tipped into the antagonist's favour. The protagonist had always won by dispatching their opponents as swiftly as possible, but the antagonist was a siege weapon. They didn't even seem tired.

"Would you like to get on your knees for me now," the antagonist asked, "or would you like me to knock you to them? I don't mind either way, when it's you."

The protagonist snarled, too breathless for words.

They'd managed to draw first blood, just like last time, but since then...

The antagonist tipped their head, a mocking incline of acknowledgement. Then they were bearing on the protagonist again.

The protagonist didn't remember hitting their knees, some time later. They were too concerned with their sword wrenching out of their hand, landing out of reach, for the dull pain of it to register.

Cold, unyielding metal pressed cold against the flushed skin at their throat.

The protagonist finally went still. They had one hand planted on the sand to catch themselves, head bowed where they'd frozen. Beneath the cover of their hair, their gaze flicked around desperately for an angle they could use.

Could they tackle the antagonist's legs? Make a dash for their blade again? A grab for the antagonist's sword instead?

Not with that blade held so firmly, so confident, against their jugular.

The antagonist nudged the sword up against the protagonist's chin. The protagonist tipped their head back up, careful not to make any sudden moves.

"Hands behind your head," the antagonist said.

The protagonist met their eyes, then slowly did as they were told. Their chest heaved.

The crowd, for all of their baying racket, felt distant. Inconsequential.

Nobody would challenge the antagonist if they slit the protagonist's neck. They probably wouldn't even be surprised. Fear licked up the protagonist's spine.

"Tell me you surrender," the antagonist said, softly.

"I don't."

"You don't want to do this nicely?"

The protagonist said nothing.

"Tell me I'm a better fighter," the antagonist said. "Tell me I'm the best you've ever fought."

They absolutely were the best the protagonist had fought in a very long time, but that was also absolutely besides the point.

"We've both won one." The protagonist's jaw clenched. "We'd have to go a third round to decide that."

"Mm." Something shifted on the antagonist's face, there and gone in an instant. "By all means. Can you get up?" They tapped the protagonist's chin with the sword again, that time breaking skin. The protagonist felt blood trickle down their neck.

The protagonist started to rise. They crumpled just as quickly, with a startled hitch of breath. Their tired legs abruptly felt like jelly. They'd no idea how they'd got so exhausted. They-

"Your blade," the protagonist said, in accusing disbelief. "What did you-?" The antagonist's talent was by no means fake, but they'd also clearly had no intention of leaving a rematch and their reputation to chance. Their blade, and the thin cut on the protagonist's neck, was tainted by something.

"Oh dear oh dear," the antagonist said. "It seems you've pushed yourself too far. You should have yielded with dignity."

"Bastard."

"Surrender."

"Or what?"

"Or I'll give you enough of a dose that you can never pick up a sword with those impressive hands again. I respect you greatly. You will give me the respect I deserve in return."

The protagonist stared at them. They shouldn't have been stunned. They knew the antagonist's reputation.

The smirk had vanished from the antagonist's face. So had the flirting, if it could be called that.

"I surrender," the protagonist said. Their vision hazed.

The antagonist dropped the blade from the protagonist's throat, sheafed their sword, and offered a hand.

With everyone watching, the protagonist took it.

The antagonist hauled them up. The protagonist's vision tunneled.

"Good match," the antagonist said, sounding sincere. "You really are incredible." They yanked the protagonist in close, to press their lips to the protagonist's ear. "If you can walk out of this arena without collapsing, I'll even let you go. I just had to prove I could win, you see. People talk. They get ideas."

The protagonist made a small, involuntarily strangled sound.

The antagonist's thumb caressed their racing pulse. "My god, though." Their voice dropped. "You look even more enticing than I imagined beaten. You really shouldn't have been interesting. I thought you'd cave like everyone does."

The antagonist clapped their shoulder and stepped back, beaming.

The protagonist made it all of three, stubborn steps before they hit the dust.

[sunshine-and-moonshine]

Eve and the Snake

Requested: No

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Nudist!Reader, Patient!Reader, ✨spice✨, choking (not in the sexy way), being restrained to a bed (also not in the sexy way), general thoughts of violence

Summary: Eddie Gluskin would always take care of you, despite your strange habit of never wearing clothes.

Eddie could remember the day he met you like it was yesterday.

It was a spring day, perhaps a tad nippier than he would have liked but what he liked never mattered to the attendants that were watching him and the others in the common room.

And then, you were there. Somehow having managed to escape from your keepers in the female ward and then wandering into the male wing. But what had caught his, and everyone else’s, attention was your nakedness. Not a single cloth in sight to conceal your rounded breasts or the thatch of curls between your legs.

Eddie was immediately captivated. To him, you looked like something from the myths that held his fancy as a young boy. A mountain nymph bathing in the scarce sunlight streaming in from the windows. Or perhaps you were more like Eve in her garden. No shame or sense of modesty, completely unaware of what the sight of your nude body did to the sons of Adam. Oblivious to how they wanted to bury themselves in those curls and plant seed deep inside of your womb.

Eddie clenched his fists, already starting to stand from his seat when a guard approached you, yelling at you for both your lack of clothing and for escaping your keepers. Eddie felt himself grow hot with rage, lips curling over his teeth in a snarl as you grew teary eyed and started whimpering. He didn’t want to see you upset. Couldn’t the guards see that you were a lady? To be treated gently and kindly. Meant for soft words and touches, not his harsh grip on your wrists, sure to bruise. How dare they make you feel fear?

Red took over his vision, his hands wrapping around the guard’s neck before he even realized he had lunged forward. He heard something soft, a gasp, your gasp but he didn’t register it as you. Nor did he see the way your hands came up to cover your mouth, eyes wide as he choked the man. Shaking his head back and forth, his eyes bulging out of his head, face turning purple before something struck the back of his head and his vision went dark.

Eddie woke up in the middle of the night the very next day, cuffed onto one of the nurse’s station beds, growling with frustration when he couldn’t escape, no matter how hard he tried. He couldn’t quite remember how he’d gotten here. He remembered being angry, something about a guard-

You.

Yes, he remembered you. He’d never be able to forget you, for as long as he lived. Your beautiful skin and how it shone under the hospital lights, your lack of shame in your own body, your beautiful eyes. Eyes he could stare into for eternity, til his body withered away and turned to dust.

Of course there were….other parts of you he’d never be able to forget as well. But he was trying not to be crass. Trying to turn his mind away from the thought of those curls between your legs, how nice it would be to bury his face in them….

He shook his head, taking a deep breath, face flushed a soft pink. It wouldn’t do to be thinking such things right now. He was getting too ahead of himself. He didn’t even know your name yet. But he wanted to. Did you even remember it? Most people here didn’t. That was okay though. If you didn’t then he was perfectly happy to just call you his perfect Eve for as long as you both lived. He wasn’t an Adam but….but he wanted to cherish you all the same. Love you and hold you and kiss you. And if you’d let him, pleasure you.

The curtain to his left shifted, bare feet padding on the floor, shifting into his makeshift ‘room’. He didn’t look, figuring it was just a nurse or perhaps an orderly come to take him back to his room.

“Um…” You started quietly, tapping your feet against the floor. “I uh-I wanted to thank you. For helping me.” You said quietly and Eddie immediately whipped his head around, his eyes wide as he looked at you. You were dressed now but you looked so uncomfortable, one hand scratching at your opposite wrist. The other holding….a cup of pudding? “So I-I brought you this. I saved it from lunch time. I can’t really give you anything else and everyone likes these so I figured maybe you would too…..” Your voice trailed off, uncomfortable with his silence as he just continued to lok. at you.

“…….Thank you.” He finally said, feeling his chest light up with warmth when your eyes locked with his. “But I’m afraid I can’t eat it. I’m a little tied up at the moment.” He told you, shaking his binds for emphasis.

“I’ll feed it to you!” You said immediately, a big smile counting onto your face and he felt like his heart might burst from how full it was in this moment.

“I’d like that.” He tells you, knowing that he was well and truly in love with you now.

Things between you and Eddie only grew from there. Guards always tried to separate you both but he would always fight them off, hissing and scratching and biting like some sort of feral alley cat. Eventually everyone just started letting it happen. It kept you both placated and quiet, too busy with each other to kick up any kind of fuss when it came time for medicine or showers. They even let you both share a room just because they didn’t want to hear either of you whining for the other.

And oh did Eddie love it. Especially when you would fling off your clothing the second the door closed behind you, finally seeming to be fully yourself for the first time all day. You’d tried to describe it to him once, why you couldn’t stand them. You told him how they felt wrong. How it made you feel like there were bugs crawling under your skin when the fabric would touch you. He cooed in sympathy and tucked you close to his chest, running his hands down your back soothingly. He told you how you never had to wear them with him if you didn’t want to. So you didn’t!

Which was beneficial for him too. Getting to see all of you, every inch of you bared to his eyes. The first time you bent over the bed in front of him he’d almost passed out because he could see everything. The sight of your pretty cunt on display for him made his cock twitch every time he so much as glimpsed at the curls between your legs. He wanted to look closer but he couldn’t. Not yet. Things were sweeter when you had to wait for them, or so he told himself. He needed to make an honest woman of you first, put a ring on your finger before he could take you.

Or do he would like to do, if only the priest would actually allow it. But alas, he denied Eddie at every turn. He had to grit his teeth and walk away at the end of every confrontation, afraid that he would kill the father and be put in solitary. Perhaps the priest wanted you for himself? Yes, yes that had to be it. That filthy old man wanted to run his hands down your curves, open up your lower lips and peek at your wetness. A place more holy and beautiful than Heaven. Eddie wouldn’t allow it.

Unfortunately, he didn’t get to plan much before he was dragged from you kicking and screaming, watching you cry as one of the guards locked you into the room. He didn’t know where he was going but he could guess. That place. The place where no one ever returned from. They were taking you from him. Killing him so they could have you for themselves.

He wouldn’t allow it he wouldn’t allow it he wouldn’t allow it he wouldn’t allow it

You where his

Even if he was only the snake in his Eve’s garden

[awkward-tension-art]

Darkess on Umbara Chp.13 (Rex x Reader)

Chapter 12. Epilogue

Carnage Of Krell

cw: Rex x Reader, Reader is a medic, incorrect military procedure, graphic descriptions of injuries, blood, swearing, death and battle, Canon character death, Spoilers for the Umbara Arc, Pong Krell is an asshole, reader insert, names of non-canon dead clones, Grief, betrayal, reader is gender neutral, no use of (Y/N), if i miss a tag LMK

Minors DNI

You abandoned the title of healer in order to pursue vengeance. It went against your oath. You were supposed to save lives, not end them.

But monsters shouldn’t be saved.

Which is why you joined the squad. Standing shoulder to shoulder with Kix, Tup, and other troopers of both the 501st and the 212th. Everyone around you wanted justice. 

“What I'm proposing is highly treasonous,” Captain Rex stood in front of you, speaking with authority, “If any man chooses to opt out do it now,”

Everyone remained silent but stepped forward, heads held high. 

“From this point forward we are entering uncharted territory,” The captain emphasized, “my orders are to arrest General Krell for treason against the Republic!”

You followed his lead. Pistol in hand, senses sharp, and focus hardened. Your gaze met the man you love, and you hoped he understood. 

I’d follow you into Hell, Rex.

Every step to the airbase had a purpose. Every soldier was geared-up and ready to take down the ruthless Jedi. Jesse and Fives were freed and given their own rifles. 

The ARC trooper looked especially determined to arrest Krell. It would only be fair that he was the one to toss the former General into a cell. You were just happy to be helping him achieve such a thing.

With your pistol loaded and ready, you kept your eyes forward as the doors opened to the top floor of the tower. Soldiers filled in, surrounding the Jedi. He didn;t seem bothered, simply staring out the window over the dark landscape. 

You followed Fives, deciding to keep out of Rex’s way as he walked forward, “General Krell, you're being relieved of duty.” 

The besalisk turned slowly, keeping his hands behind his back, “It's treason then,” He growled.

Rex aimed his pistols, keeping his voice steady but commanding, “Surrender General.” The other soldiers shifted with their leaders' movements. Everyone was primed, ready to strike. 

Krell’s steps were slow and deliberate as he walked forward before stopping, “You're committing mutiny, captain.” He sounded so…uninterested in the situation at hand.

Tup and Kix moved from their spots to keep their rifles pointed at the devious generals back. They remained firm and determined, fingers on the triggers of their guns. 

“Explain your actions,” the captain of the 501st snarled. They deserved an explanation for everything.

“My actions?”

“For ordering your troops against one another!” Rex snapped. 

Krell seemed smug, “Oh…That,” His tone was clearly that of someone who was bored with the topic, “I’m surprised you were able to figure it out. For a clone.” He spat the last word.

Fives motioned to the squad and they moved, taking two steps closer to the former general. Yet, he still seemed unbothered. 

“Surrender, General.” Captain Rex commanded, You’re out number-”

Krell stomped forward with one foot and shot all four arms out. He used the Force to shove everyone back. 

You slammed into the wall, knocking the wind right out of your lungs. The other soldiers were in a similar state, but everyone recovered quickly. You began firing your pistol, aiming towards the corrupt Jedi. The other soldiers did the same, hoping to overwhelm him with the sheer number of blaster bolts.

“You dare to attack a jedi!” the besalisk shouted, twirling his now activated lightsabers. He moved with practiced skill, deflecting every shot.

Damnit! Not good!

He leapt forward, slashing down two soldiers. They collapsed, dying almost instantly from the power of the strike. 

A 212th trooper rushed forward attempting to charge the bastard, but was swiftly cut down as well. His body was kicked forward, slamming into the wall, narrowly missing Rex. 

“I will not be undermined,” Krell twirled his sabers, pausing his movements to glare at the 501st captain, “By creatures bred in some laboratory!” He turned swiftly, breaking the window of the tower and leaping down to the airbase below. 

“Follow him!” Rex commanded. 

He, and the other soldiers began to rush down to the ground floor, but you stopped. Most lightsaber strikes were instantly fatal, but you checked for a pulse from the troopers Krell cut down anyway. 

Even if you craved vengeance, you were still a doctor. 

No pulse. Nothing. For all of them.

Confirmed to be dead, you left them and followed the soldiers down. Your steps caught up, and you kept next to Fives as the clones gave chase. However, the small group had been stalled by Dogma stepping out from behind a starship.

“Hold it right there!” He demanded.

Rex pulled his pistols and aimed on the younger trooper, “Lower your weapon, Dogma.” His voice was steady and calm, hoping to talk down the clearly conflicted clone.

He shook his head, “I can’t do that, sir!”

“That's an order!”

“It's my duty!” Dogma aimed his rifle at Jesse, then you, then Fives, “You’re all traitors!”

Your lover lowered one of his pistols and removed his helmet to speak, “I used to believe that being a good soldier meant doing everything they told you, that's how they engineered us,” He looked over at you before staring right at Dogma, “But we're not droids. we're not programmed, you have to learn to make your own decisions, Dogma.” 

Tup approached his batchmate before raising his own rifle on the panicked trooper. He kept calm, even when Dogma shifted and pointed his weapon directly at him, “Dogma, don’t do it.”

Thankfully, that's as far as Dogma went. He dropped his rifle and looked down. His turmoil was clear, even as he was tackled by other soldiers. 

“Take him to the brig.” Rex commanded, putting his helmet back on, “Troopers, don’t let General Krell escape!”

The chase was on. 

You remained out of the captain's way, pretty much attaching yourself to Fives. You’d defer to him if you weren’t able to stay close to your lover. Afterall, under your thirst for justice, you were still a doctor. A healer intended to protect and save, not fight and kill.

Krell broke something inside of you. You’ve abandoned your purpose, becoming a vengeful, angry shell of your former self. At least for now.

“I got you,” the ARC trooper spoke next to you as you both navigated the dense, black and red Umbaran jungle, “That's what you say when you take care of one of us,” His stepped over a glowing root, and you followed, “Since you’ve had all of us, let me have you this time. Follow my lead.” 

“Thanks, Fives.” You responded, keeping your eyes forward. The land was covered in a gray fog, making it difficult to watch exactly where you were going.

“Anyone got anything?” Rex spoke lowly into his communicator. 

“Negative, Captain. We lost him.” The soldier on the other end responded. However, after a second, the familiar sound of whirling lightsabers pierced through the communicator, “Wait! He’s too powerful!” Blaster shots echoed in the distance and the trooper cried in his com. You could also make out the distinct cruel laugh of the Jedi.

Fives knelt, focusing his scope, “He’s coming!” The ARC trooper warned. 

There was a thick silence that fell over every soldier around you. It was only broken by more gleeful laughter from Krell, “You should have listened to the ARC trooper from the beginning, Captain.”

You got back-to-back with Fives, pistol raised and ready. That damn Jedi’s voice seemed to come from every direction.

“He was right, I was using you.” More laughter from that bastard. Krell leapt from the branches above you and landed on top of a group of clones. His large foot crushed one of them, and his green lightsaber stabbed through another. He activated his blue saber and twirled the lethal weapons, “You’ve all been my pawns!”

“Get him!”

The corrupt General began laughing again as he was shot at. Unbothered by the blaster bolts, he dashed forward, cutting down the closest clone. He turned, slashing two others, sending them to their graves. 

You and the other soldiers continued to fire, hoping to find a way to get past the defense of his double-ended blades. He stepped forward, spinning his weapons, blocking every shot aimed towards him. Without even looking he managed to kill three more clones. 

This was a game to him. You realized with horror. He was having fun.

Something, the Force, wrapped around your body, restraining you. Krell had an open hand raised, laughing cruelly. You tried to aim your pistol only to fail, “You’ve fascinated me, Doctor.” He taunted before throwing you. Your back slammed into a tree, ripping a groan from your throat, “What do you see in these…inferior creatures?”

One of his large feet slammed next to you, the tip of his green lightsaber was level with your throat. Your pistol had fallen out of your reach when he threw you, leaving you unable to defend yourself. 

“Bastard!” You spat. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Fives trembling in rage and Rex damn near frozen in terror.

No pistol, but you had an idea. Your hand reached into one of your packs and wrapped around one of your surgical tools.

Krell didn’t seem very interested. He continued to use his blue lightsaber to deflect the blaster bolts as he stood over you, “That didn’t answer my question, Doctor.”

Your eyes glared up at him, “These soldiers are better men than you ever were!” In a surprisingly quick movement, you brandished your laser scalpel and stabbed his foot with it. You took a sick sense of satisfaction hearing him yelp in pain. 

“Ingrate!” He shouted, leaping back to defend himself from the barrage of blaster shots. The Force restrained you again, and the Jedi threw you. Your body hit the hard plastoid of a soldier's chest plate as someone caught you. However, they remained standing, wrapping one arm around you and keeping you up as well. Once you got your bearings, you looked up to Rex holding you with one arm as he fired his pistol with the other. 

“Hi.” You greeted him sweetly, “Thank you, for catching me.”

Now wasn’t the time, but…Damn, you really loved this man.

You felt his grip on you become tighter. He was shaking, ever so slightly, but remained focused. 

Krell Jumped forward, grabbing another soldier. The 501st trooper cried out in panic before being raised in the air and brought down on the general’s knee. The snap was audible and loud. To add insult to injury, he threw the trooper to the side like trash. 

Dead? Most likely. I need to check.

You broke away from your lover and ran to the trooper. Feeling for a pulse, you found nothing. 

His name was Faux.

Fyre. Vim. Oz. Ringo. North. Gabe. Tro. Tess. Zeb. Sante. Reign. Pheon. Dawn. Nim. Jamie. Hek. Recon. Mav. Zeo. Fisher. Hinge. Trident. Iron. Mesh. Steele. Bruno. Zeke. Jumper. Aura. Dia. Silk. Forty. Thrall. Hardcase. Uno. Barr. Filter. Faux. 

You looked up just in time to watch Krell throw Tup deeper into the dense, dark jungle. Without thinking, you sprinted in that direction, hoping and praying your friend would be alright. Your steps slowed when you saw him get up and raise a hand to stop you. 

Behind him, the tendrils of a fanged beast underground waved around. The bioluminescence of its mouth was rather distinct. Tup saved Dogma from one of these earlier.

“Are you ok?” You asked him, taking slow and deliberate steps towards him. That beast scared you.

“I have an idea.” was his response to you. Tup got to his feet and activated his comm, “Captain Rex, this is Tup. if you can, force the General towards me.”

Rex’s confusion was apparent over the comm, “What? Why?”

“Trust me, Sir!”

With Tup’s certainty, you stepped a wide circle around the Umbaran creature, getting to his side. You had no idea what he was thinking, but you hoped it worked.

You really couldn’t handle losing another friend.

After a moment, Rex commanded through the communicator, “Troopers, listen up. Circle around, lure him towards Tup!”

“Tup…” You followed him, making sure to watch where you placed your feet. Your laser scalpel was warm in your hand, prepared to use it to fight that damn beast under the ground if need be, “Can I at least get a heads up before you get yourself killed?”

His rifle was tight in his hands as he watched the battle in the distance. Through the fog and darkness, you could make out the bodies of soldiers running past Krell, towards your location. Tup fired his blaster once he spotted the corrupt jedi. 

The former General skidded to a stop and whirled to face him. The trooper shouted, ticking him off even more, “Hey ugly! Come and get us!”

“Tup!” You stepped back, raising your small weapon. Mentally, you calculated how fast you’d have to get the fuck away from the deraged besalisk. 

Krell sprinted at the both of you. His sick smile became more and more clear as he approached. His lightsabers were activated at his side, prepared to kill the both of you. 

Tup didn’t move. He lowered his blaster and tensed, lowering his head. 

Was he trying to get himself killed!?

You took a step forward, hoping maybe you could tackle him out of the way before Krell got to him. However, it turned out that you didn’t need to worry. 

The Umbaran beast lashed its tendrils out, grabbing the Jedi and swinging him in the air. He cried out and grunted, waving his lightsabers around, trying to get the creature to drop him. His blades managed to sever the creature's tongue, sending the damn thing into a frenzy.

Tup you absolute genius!

Krell was thrown to the ground before getting picked up again. His green lightsaber slipped from his large hands and you dove down to grab it. Sadly, he still had his blue saber, which he used to kill two other troopers. 

Despite the disorientation, the Jedi proved to be a great warrior, managing to keep an eye on his surroundings. The soldiers had regrouped, firing their blasters at him, only to have their shots continuously deflected. The beast waved the besalisk around, giving him the chance to slice off the calf of a 212th trooper. 

Instantly cauterized. Pain management will be key. Calm him before he goes into shock.

Your instincts kicked in. You were a doctor, damnit! Abandoning your drive for vengeance, you skidded to the troopers side, immediately tending to him. The painkillers were in his system before he could fully process what happened. 

The sound of a lightsaber slicing followed by a thump and a groan filled your ears. You looked up fast enough to watch Tup fire a stun bolt on the besalisk. Krell let out a choked growl before collapsing on the ground. 

“I stunned him, sir.” Tup sounded triumphant. 

Rex kicked the Jedi rolling him on his back, “Nice work, Tup.” He nodded to the younger trooper.

Fives and Jesse got cuffs on the bastard, ending the fight then and there. 

“Get the fucker in the brig.” Your lover spat, “Drag him if you have to.”

It didn’t take long to return to the air base. Krell hadn’t managed to run far, so even with his unconscious body and the injured, you all managed to return before he even woke up. 

You wanted to be there when he did, though. So you asked Jesse to inform you when the Jedi opened his eyes. It gave you enough time to help any injured that survived the lightsaber wounds. 

Not many. You noticed bitterly. Krell killed too many good soldiers. 

You were putting one more trooper to his permanent rest when you got the com. You left the injured with Kix and left the medical bay. Rex, Fives and Jesse were at the tower by the time you and Tup both arrived. Wordlessly, all of you went down to the air base prisons. 

Dogma scrambled to his feet, seeing the captain again. Regret and shame was clear on the trooper, as he kept his gaze downward.

The Jedi was seated on the floor as if meditating. As soon as he heard you come down the lift, he raised his head and snarled. 

“Why, General?” Rex spoke first, approaching the cell, “Why kill your own men?”

Krell chuckled darkly as he stood, “Because I can.” His voice was smug, and full of ego, “Because you fell for it. Because you're inferior.”

“But you’re a Jedi! How could you?”

“A Jedi?” The former general laughed again, “I am no longer naive enough to be a Jedi,” His words dripped with hate and venom as he spoke, “A new power is rising, I’ve foreseen it. The Jedi are going to lose this war and the Republic will be ripped apart from the inside,” Even from a distance, the darkness inside of him was clear in every word, “In its place is going to rise a new order and I will rule as part of it!”

You turned, sharing a look with Jesse before staring back at the former Jedi. 

Rex growled, “You’re a Separatist.” 

Krell shook his head and stood tall, looking down at everyone in the room, “I serve no one's side. Only my own, and soon, my new master.”

Master?

“You’re an agent of Dooku.” Your lover stepped forward, keeping his hate filled gaze on the disgraced general.

“Not yet, but when I get out of here, I will be.” The fallen Jedi sounded certain in his words, “after I've succeeded in driving the Republic from Umbara the Count will reward my actions and make me his new apprentice.”

Dogma cried out from his cell, “How could you do this? You had my trust! My loyalty!” Even through the barrier keeping him in, you could see his eyes, glossy with tears, “I followed all of your orders, and you made me kill my brothers!”

You honestly felt bad for the poor trooper. He really thought he was doing the right thing.

“That’s because you were the biggest fool of them all, Dogma!” Krell cruelly laughed at the distressed soldier, “I counted on blind loyalty like yours to make my plan succeed!”

“Fucking bastard!” You spat, “That will never happen!” 

“You’re a traitor, General, and you will be dealt with as one.” Rex seethed, keeping eye contact with Krell. 

“You never learn, Captain.” He sounded smug as he turned and sat back down, “The Umbarans are going to retake this base, and when they do, I will be free.” The besalisk lowered his head and closed his eyes, as if meditating again. 

The conversation was over. 

“Sick, twisted fucking…” Fives crossed his arms and grumbled as you all got on the lift and raised out of the brig, “General Skywalker will want to punish Krell himself.” 

“Agreed.” Jesse mumbled. 

You stepped forward, taking a hold of Rex’s hand, “Cyare.” Your voice was soft, “It’ll be alright.” 

He looked back at you, giving you a ghost of a smile. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Jesse nudge Tup before whispering, “Don’t say a word to anyone about the captain and doctor.” 

“Understood.” 

“Good man.”

Once the doors to the outside opened, you were immediately greeted by Hana, “Captain,” She saluted Rex, “We’ve repaired the transmitter. It looks like it was sabotaged,” The trooper explained, “Despite that, we’ve received a message from General Kenobi. His forces have captured the capital, but the remaining Umbarans are heading here.”

Another battle…

“Get everyone on the perimeter! We need to prepare for a full scale attack!” The clone captain barked his orders. 

“Yes sir!” Hana saluted before putting her helmet on and turning to rush off to do as he commanded. 

Rex turned back, facing you and the others, “Krell sabotaged the transmitter. He's been against us from the beginning!” Everyone has been played for fools, and the clone captain was taking it especially hard.

Without pause, Fives spoke up first, clearly angry, “If the Umbarans get to him, he’ll turn over all our intel! The defense codes, everything!” The ARC trooper took a step back, motioning to the door you all had just walked through, “He’ll strike a crippling blow to the Republic!” 

Jesse stepped up, “something has to be done! We can't risk the possibility that he might escape!”

“As long as Krell is alive, he is a threat to every one of us.” Tup reasoned, looking towards the Captain. 

It was clear your lover was conflicted. Clones were made to serve the Jedi and the Republic. Killing their General, even as an act of justice, goes against their very creation. It wouldn’t be easy…

“Rex,” You abandoned protocol. Right now, you chose not to be the 501st field surgeon. You chose to be his cyare. You took his gloved hand and squeezed it, “He’s a traitor. One who has done irreparable harm to you and your brothers. If the Umbarans let him out, he’ll hurt even more people.”

You could see the conflict in his beautiful eyes. With a sigh he nodded, “I…agree.”

The five of you went back into the tower, lowering into the brig. Once there, Fives approached Dogma’s cell and opened it, getting him to his feet. 

Rex stepped forward, keeping a steady glare on Krell, “Turn around, and step toward the wall.” He commanded, readied one of his pistols. 

The former General rolled his small eyes and turned.

“On your knees.” Your lover growled. 

Damn…not the time. But damn…

Jesse pressed a button on the console, opening the cell. Tup remained next to him, stock still.

The former Jedi chuckled darkly, turning his head slightly, “You’re in a position of power now. How does it feel?” He sneered. 

“I said,” Rex steadied his pistol, aimed right at Krell’s back, “On. Your. Knees.”

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” The disgraced General taunted, voice smug and full of hate, “But I can sense your fear.”

There was a shift in Rex. Suddenly, he seemed uncertain, and even scared to a degree. 

He’s trying to go against his very purpose. 

Your eyes roamed over to Fives and the rifle on his hip. If Rex couldn’t pull the trigger, who would?

Could you?

“You’re shaking, aren’t you?” Krell continued to poke at the clones' anxiety, “What are you waiting for? The Umbarans are getting closer.”

The captain tried to steady his trembling aim, “I have to do this.” 

What would happen to Rex if he did? Court martial? Arrested? Decommissioned? Would Kamino call for his mind to be wiped?

You took a subtle step towards Fives, hand slowly reaching for the rifle on his hip.

The fallen Jedi laughed, “You can’t do it, can you?” His fucking voice was smug and overconfident, “Eventually you’ll have to do the right thing and-” 

In one swift movement, you slipped Fives’ rifle into your hands and pulled the trigger, ripping Pong Krell's life away. 

He collapsed, choking on his last words and hitting the ground. 

Save them. Protect them. 

All of those Krell hurt and killed ran through your mind. 

Fyre. Vim. Oz. Ringo. North. Gabe. Tro. Tess. Zeb. Sante. Reign. Pheon. Dawn. Nim. Jamie. Hek. Recon. Mav. Zeo. Fisher. Hinge. Trident. Iron. Mesh. Steele. Bruno. Zeke. Jumper. Aura. Dia. Silk. Forty. Thrall. Hardcase. Uno. Barr. Filter. Faux. 

The 501st. 

The 212th. 

Your eyes met your lovers. Rex looked at you, surprised, fearful and devastated. You went against your purpose as a doctor. All so he didn’t have to. 

You’d do it again. To protect him. Save him. For him.

Rex.

[springsylph]

MAGNOLIA, CHAPTER ONE: “THE ROOT”

ghost x f! reader | read on ao3 | playlist

summary: your return to your coastal hometown is punctured by the sudden disappearance and subsequent death of your father. with all proof of his physical presence effaced, you resign yourself to a life of solitude. how fitting, then, that you should find God amidst your perils.

this story is 18+. minors/ageless blogs, do not interact. mind the tags!

warnings: 3.8k. dark!simon “ghost” riley. description of injuries. religious imagery/symbolism. blasphemy at some point in the near future (oops?). paranoia. mentions of suicide. familial grief is WEIRD, but simon is weirder so don't worry. 1 (one) slap. 1 (one) bug is consumed. just the one.

el·e·gy

/ˈeləjē/

noun

a poem of serious reflection, typically a lament for the dead.

You happen across a snarling dog in an alleyway.

The rain is a whip, and the darkness is a yawn stretched long enough to be cause for concern; muscles are pulled thin, vertebrae begin to collapse. Appraisal will only be possible if morning comes.

Moonlight cannot reach you here—will not reach you here. The only proof of life spills out from the window of a flat overlooking the alley, yellow glow a monitory push away as your soul unknowingly pleads for scraps. It warns you of danger. A weakened liver.

Yours recalls, with a sardonic twist, that it is far beyond help. So you approach.

The instinctual flinching stops after the first three barks, but spittle and rain continue to wet your face with each snap of his maw, nerves crackling the closer you get.

At seven paces away, he stands at odds with gravity. It’s not quite sure what to make of him.

At four, the beginnings of what might be fear breach the surface of your psyche. You’ve not seen your ribs, but you think that if he were to pry you open they might look a bit like his teeth.

It’s when you’re at arm's length that you realize he’s large enough to look you in the eye.

His breath, hot against the chill, reeks of an unfamiliar intensity.

(Liar.)

You stand transfixed until the wetness on your cheek splits, and you press a hand to the divide.

Tears.

You draw in a generous breath—your first sin. It’s all rusted iron and scorched muscle tissue, adhering to your lungs like the seductive intonation of a cigarette, and you’re addicted before you can swat at the hand stuffing it down your gullet.

You’re brought back to the dog as your hand lowers, now silent beneath the spray. 

The blood matting his coat isn’t his, but how could you have known?

How could you have known?

(Blood is blood.)

Blood is blood. So you kneel on the cobblestone—-though there is no need to. The rain continues to shout, and he is ever so tall, but you kneel. Bend the rain to do your bidding with the twist of a limb. Strip down that Red luster to a blank slate, vestiges of watered-down violence running down your fingertips in a wet stream. It collects under your nails like damp earth the harder you scrub, replaced and replaced and replaced again until you concede the empty space.

(Well done, well done, well done—)

His fur is wild briar when you finally pull back; ready to burst into flames if you aren’t careful, and so stiff that your hands begin to prickle at the loss. His teeth are still bared, mouth still parted. But he is silent. Frozen in time. And you can’t help but wonder if that softness the blood had alluded to was a ruse—the slick lip of a pitcher plant punishing you for your altruism.

(Altruism. Tumbling right into the belly of the beast, unarmed. Acid burning through your credulity.)

But there’s a spot of Red, just between his incisors. 

(Is it yours?)

Globbing at the tip of your ring finger.

(His? 

Is it his?)

You reach forward. Wipe.

(Again. And again. And again. And again.)

And it is a strange thing, Devotion. If not for the slip of the blood against your fingertips, the rain blurring where one wound ends and the other begins, you might notice that Desperation and Destruction wait just outside the downpour. Patient, but still lingering, for there are things far worse than the Red that bleeds onto the cobblestone to fear.

(Dog is made man. Man is made God. Abomination.)

You reach forward. Wipe again.

And begin anew.

The symphonies composed by the houses of the deceased ought to be a case study.

No matter how softly you tread, how carefully you press the weight of your body against the wall, the stairs let out a fetid belch. An old lover—now free of all pretense and releasing the pungent smell of mildew and wood rot while you creep to the bottom of the staircase.

But the smell is hardly noticeable when set beside the rest of the orchestra’s musicians. Dissonance was a given; their only valued patrons had been the insects crawling amongst the dust until you’d discovered that you’d been named your father’s beneficiary—hardly a qualified audience. At the behest of the rocking handrail, you turn the corner. Amble into the cramped kitchen, yank apart the yellowing curtains above the sink till they grind against their rusty rods to permit the sun entry.

Only, there’s no sun today. Just as there was no sun yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. Nearly a week spent cohabitating with empty threats of war. You’re trapped in the jaws of a waterlogged trench with nothing to show for it but waning patience and a stiff neck.

Outside the small window, the houses just down the shallow hill are still that same shade of diluted molasses, dulled by the awning stitched together from heavy rain clouds. The cottage isn’t quite elevated enough to see the full stretch of the ocean that lies just beyond—only small underscores between clusters of buildings and trees. The waves you can see are cleaved into wedges, crowned with white foam and kneaded into themselves by the wind. If you close your eyes, you can almost hear them collapsing against the rocky shore.

(You’re eavesdropping on your own consciousness. You were weak, then—scraped your shin after the fishing line nearly dragged you out to sea. He’d cupped the salty water to your leg as you’d wailed, thrashed, clawed at his forearms. Everything not absorbed into the exposed flesh was returned to its source, and the meaning of the word “fester” was spelled out in the days that followed: pus bulging out of what could not scab, an agonizing itch that you were not permitted to scratch. A bad omen.)

You shut the curtains.

Looking down, you manage to scrounge up a little regret over the lack of appropriate attire. Someone would nag. A funeral in a ratty sweatshirt and jeans was in bad taste, yes, but you could hardly be blamed: yesterday’s laundry still swims in the wet breeze. You make a mental note to bite the bullet and call in that favor from Mr. Davies while you pull an empty glass from the countertop and shove it under the faucet.

The pitch of the water drowning out last night’s wine lacks the hubris of its competitors. It’s a difficult admission to make, but it rings true nonetheless. Each atom that exists in this foreign plane is an affront to them—an insult. It’d likely remain that way even after the last brick sunk into the wretched earth. 

But, it’s still a house.

The house is all you have left.

Your thoughts continue to perspire, pilling up the cheap fabric of time until you feel the water curling over your hands and hitting the bottom of the sink with a splat.

“Shit, shit, shit—” You slap the lever down, dump the excess liquid down the drain. The pipes give a weak gurgle and you shut your eyes with a sigh. 

Just for today. Just for today, and you were free. Absolved of all faults.

You wet your throat with the little bit of water still left in the glass. Set it down gently into the sink. Peer down the corroded pipe and into the hells below as your fingers dig into the countertop.

It’s much easier, you find, to regret and correct when there is silence that needs to be filled. Silence to shame.

So you keep your mouth shut, and quietly consider the water amidst the noise.

Your steps down the winding dirt road are hurried, but careful.

The trees are no less curious today than they were the last time you’d taken this trek to the church; trunks held back by the dry stone walls, dark branches suspended overhead like lightning. A swampy gust of air passes through their fingertips, tangling them together in an achromatic flash of black and grey before they settle their grievances and separate. They share a common interest. 

Air on the coast is a permanent brine. The very essence of it settles on your soft palate, tenderizing your tongue till you’re on a sharp enough edge to spit a glob of accumulated saliva into a patch of grass. The mosquitoes have grown tired of you by this point. They hover over the sweat on your neck, the skin of your ankles, discomfiture evident in the irregular beat of their wings. You’ve not made a move to swat at them in the twenty-seven minutes you’ve spent tripping over your shoelaces, and it seems your tacit assent has disturbed the natural order of things.

You can't help that your mind is elsewhere. Timing your arrival and your exit requires a considerable amount of effort.

When the steeple begins to poke out in the distance, you pull your phone from your pocket. 11:43 am. Good. At the pace you were walking it’d likely be another ten minutes till you reached the main yard, leaving you with just enough time to say your “hellos” without having to linger. But just as you begin to slide your phone back into your pocket, it pings.

>> Sounds like an issue with the ventilation. Earliest I can do for you is tomorrow afternoon.

You squint. Right. You’d contacted Mr. Davies about the issue with your dryer just before you’d left the house this morning. How he’d managed to suss out the issue with your stairs from a single phone call was beyond you, but the persistence of your wet clothes had backed you into a tight corner.

But…tomorrow. Tomorrow, Tomorrow. You’re off early tomorrow—though not of your own volition. You’re halfway through typing a message of confirmation when your phone pings again, and your gut punches into your spine.

>> Can send my guy over to have a look at the cellar.

Another text comes in.

>> Emergency with the missus, won’t be back till late next week. Best to have it looked at ASAP if we’re dealing with mold.

The trees looming overhead are suddenly sharp in your peripherals. Pikes for your beheading. As you rack your mind for memories of other employees, your hands begin to feel clammy. You didn’t want someone else. You wanted Mr. Davies. And the cellar. What did the cellar have to do with the mold in the staircase—

A shout just down the road startles you. Your head snaps up and you’re shoving your phone back into your pocket when you hear your name called again.

The figure that approaches waves a hand, and you feel your body instinctively mirror her in an attempt to shelve your panic for later. Community connections are important, after all. Even when they’re breathing sour coffee into your nostrils, and their cheap red press-ons dig into the meat of your cheeks while they pinch, and coo, and squawk.

Distant cousin, aunt, family friend—you’re not quite sure yet. But she has your father’s nose and the same crow’s feet, so you suspect she’s somehow related to you by blood. And, judging by the smoldering cigarette hanging from the corner of her dry lips, she’s already well into her exit route.

“Christ, haven’t seen you since you were still running around in nappies!” She takes the fat of your right cheek into one hand and gives it another tug, using the otherwise unoccupied hand to tap her cigarette ashes into the air. “Shot up like a bean sprout, you did. I told them—told everyone, really—you’d catch up. Knew you would, eventually. They didn’t believe me, but I knew.”

Unaccustomed to the familiarity of the gesture, you stiffen in her grasp while your mouth twists between a smile and a grimace. There’s a dig nestled in there somewhere. But there’s not much time to process it; your equilibrium is tipped the moment the woman loops a leathery arm through your elbow to pull you forward, and you stumble after her as she turns to walk back toward the church. Her pace only evens out once you’ve settled in close enough to brush shoulders.

Not knowing her name is a disadvantage. The conclusion is drawn in greater detail the longer she speaks, twisting around your lungs with enough force to burst the blood vessels that reside there. You don’t know enough. Either that, or she knows too much. It should be easy enough to ask what exactly she is to you, and yet, you can’t. You’re not sure you know how. You chalk it up to her unbroken ramblings and settle for the polite choice: nodding in place of a response.

She doesn’t ask you much about yourself—small mercies. It’s balanced out by the curious glances she shoots you as the minutes slog by. But something etched into the ground must remind her of your sentience, because her face suddenly lights up as she breaks off in the middle of an anecdote to look at you.

“I hate that we had to meet under these circumstances,” she begins, voice rife with something you now can categorize as pity. The coffee still renders it rotten. “Terrible thing, what happened to your father. Can’t imagine what you must be feeling.” 

“Mm.”

You curse inwardly. Too clipped—you’ve let your frustration get the better of you. But the woman doesn’t seem to mind; she finally pulls her arm from your elbow, and you’re almost able to relax until she begins to rub her hand up and down your back. The sensation is peculiar, as is the sound of her hand passing over your sweatshirt.

“Still living in that old shack?” She prods.

Old shack, house, same thing. “I…still am, yeah.” You pause. “Why do you ask?”

“Just reminiscing, is all. It’s a good thing you’ve got there.” And her voice trails off, lost to another round of tapped ashes and shifting dirt.

You manage a nod. You didn’t have much choice in the matter, anyhow.

The churchyard comes into view soon enough. Despite how often you haunt its grounds, you’ve never had much to say about it. It’s old, you suppose. Made from stone, but more of an imprint than a structured thing now that the dense fog has settled over the cliffs behind it.

(At the foot of the cliffs is the sea, still churning in time with the wind.)

“I’m here, if you need anything.”

It’s your turn to look. She’s finally stopped touching you, both hands empty and swinging lazily at her sides. 

If you…need anything. 

“Of course,” you mumble.

You’re distracted by the hesitant timbre of an organ. Its handler is unpracticed.

“I appreciate it.”

It’s over.

You’re sitting in the very first pew. Hands folded neatly in your lap, eyes glazed.

It’s over.

You remember a few faces, more unfamiliar than familiar. Pupils had narrowed as you’d trailed in behind “Bethie.” A family friend, not a relative. The nose had meant nothing.

They’d smelled the tobacco clinging to her and laughed, sucking out the humidity that’d crept indoors like venom from a snake bite. Proximity had allowed you to reap the benefits, but not for very long. Their eyes had turned to you with the same curiosity Bethie hadn’t the wherewithal to fully disclose, but they were quick with their heavy-handed condolences in the interest of time. Another blessing.

You can remember more things than faces. Light filtering through the stained glass windows. The sound of tongues unsticking themselves from the roofs of mouths before every speech, every discordant hymn. That air of indecisiveness in knowing that the urn was hollow, that there was not enough left of the body to constitute a casket.

They express their joys, their sorrows, though you identify with none of them. There’s disbelief, too. That such a man would take his own life. You find yourself nodding along with the chorus of sniffles and sobs. Impossible. Unbelievable.

But one voice—you cannot, for the life of you, remember the face it belonged to—relied upon the poeticism of it all. The ocean had been harsh in its taking, he’d said. But your father, more than anything, had loved it. Those gathered could be hopeful in that regard. He had died at the hands of something he loved.

Everything after that was a blur. Whatever words you’d uttered during your speech were a blur. But it was enough for claps, and a few chuckles. Nothing like the laughs Bethie had prompted, but a response was a response. 

Invitations to convene afterward at the local pub are declined. You’re tired. You need time to think. You miss him.

They leave.

The nave has been emptied.

It’s over. Long gone. Downstream. Discarded.

And you’re still sitting in the pew.

You look down, after hours have passed, to find your shoelaces still untied. The growling of your stomach and the weight of your head on your shoulders fold you over, and you will your fingers to refasten them. It’s time to leave.

When you stand, it’s with a wince. You’ve tied your strings too tight. You can feel your arches pulsing in time with your heartbeat, but you can only hope that the sensation will keep you sane long enough to make it home.

As you turn to finally walk down the aisle, you’re struck by a sudden chill. Anxiety blossoms in the confines of your throat, tearing through muscle and vocal cords that are ill-equipped to handle such pressure.

It should be over.

But something has been unearthed.

Your eyes flit from one thing to the next in the cavernous space, searching for the disturbance until your eyes lock with a divot in the shadows. 

The moment you meet his stare is like flint to steel. The darkness disperses, leaving behind—

This.

(There is a dull horror here. The crepuscular noises of your residence, appearing only at night when the chill has set in and the foundations have shifted. A tree felled by a violent storm. Sinking its teeth into a house occupied by unsuspecting bodies. Time has remedied what it can, righting nature’s wrongs with roots and vegetation to soften the edges of all that has split open. Pieces of the outside world have been braided into the vines. But the more you look, the more you begin to see that it is not a braid, but a sickening tangle. Hair shorn with rusted clippers and impatient hands. A bent nose pushing out from beneath a mask. Bones, wrapped in hulking muscle. Eyes. The hint of a mouth. Was there a victor? The tree? The house? You’re unsure. But you do know that all who set eyes upon this mass have lost.)

You’re sure that he is many things. But he appears to you as a human, so you greet him as such.

“...Hello?”

You think his eyes have withdrawn under the heavy cliff of his brow bone until it dawns on you that he’s blinked. A slow sort of thing, yet once it’s over it’s as though it never happened.

“‘Ello,” he responds. An echo tinged with mockery. Flint to steel. Flint to steel. Flint to steel until there is nothing left to strike with but your bare hands.

In the back of your mind sits a flinching clock. Growing more and more anxious as the seconds stretch on. The man sits in the rear of the church, closest to the exit.  The pews reject him. 

Your phone vibrates in your pocket and you reach for it almost immediately. Some robocaller looking to scam you out of your meager savings. You set it to your ear like a shield as you walk, measuring your steps so it isn’t obvious that you’re attempting to flee.

One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. Over and over until his voice spears your chest in one quick thrust once you’re standing just beside where he lurks.

“You’ve been sitting there a while.” You think you can hear the wood screaming under his weight. It chokes out into a whimper when he opens a heavy thigh out into the aisle. “Believe in God, do you?”

He thinks you were praying.

“I’m just here for my dad,” you supply. You keep your eyes trained on the heavy wooden door. You don’t look, but you hear the pop of a single knuckle.

“Tha’s not wha’ I asked.”

Cheek still pressed to your phone, you gulp. You should answer, and answer only. Par for the course. But you overshoot:

“No,” you confess. Then, after a pause, “not really.”

The man hums as the rest of his knuckles pop. “Why.”

He sounds young enough not to judge you for your lack of faith. Old enough for you to recognize that he’s probably toying with you. So you throw him a bone: a saccharine pursing of lips while you “contemplate” your response. You’ve been plagued by thoughts of this omniscient stranger longer than most.

“It’s a little easier to believe all the shit luck I’ve had happened by chance.” You slide your phone into your back pocket, seeing as the poorly put together excuse isn’t working. “Someone else trying to pull my strings sounds a little too human for my tastes.”

Nerves are shoved into a cramped corner, and you shift your focus from the doors to the man’s face. Interestingly enough, he turns his gaze back toward the altar.

“Made in his image, ain’t we?”

“I hope not.”

He barks out one laugh, then another, and your body seizes up. It rattles up your spine, metal rod clanging against the bars of a cage.

You’ve met your fair share of strange men, but something tells you that you’ve bitten off more than your mouth can chew. More than your stomach can digest. More than your body can entertain.

A glance at the crack in the door tells you that the sun has been cut from the sky. It’s nighttime.

Go.

“I’ll…be off then,” you say. His shoulders are still shaking when you finally wrap your fingers around the cold door handle, prepared to walk out into the nothingness.

Only to stumble sideways when a calloused hand slams into your neck, shoulder crashing into the wall next to you and sending a spark of pain through your collarbone. One blink, and he’s towering over you. Previously dispersed shadows form a curtain around the two of you as he hauls you upright with one hand.

“Mosquito,” he says. “Nasty little buggers, hm?” He flashes you his palm as proof.

You, still winded, still lightheaded, force yourself to nod. There is no apology.

Any sense of composure you’d prided yourself on is torn to shreds when you burst out of the front door, neck still throbbing. You must be imagining things. Another bad dream, come to haunt you.

It must be.

(You’re sure of it, for no other reason than the fact that when you chance a look over your shoulder, you think you see him drag a palm over the flat of his tongue.)

CHAPTER TWO: “ROOT ROT” ->