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douxspider · 4 years

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— 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞. (3)

‘ARVIN RUSSELL x READER INSERT’

( spoilers for “the devil all the time” ) — Waking up at Reader's place, we finally get a glimpse at Arvin's POV. Though, while their relationship seems to be moving forward, it seems like the whole 'running away into the sunset' deal only happens in fiction.

+ this is the third part to peachy keen! (ao3 link)

warnings: angst, almost smutty but nothing explicit is written, mentions of murder, preston teagardin lmao, rated mature word count: 4,244 published: 9/24/20 ao3 link — part 1, 2

— — • — —

When Arvin woke up leaned against you, he felt his face turn into a beet shade of red. Slowly parting from your leaning form on the couch, he rubbed his eye, unaware that he had an actual decent rest in such a cramped position. He hardly ever felt comfortable enough to sleep in his own bed. Usually, attempts at sleep were mostly met with staring at the ceiling blankly, recalling haunting memories on repeat in his head.

His thoughts were blank when he fell asleep. Arvin was met with nothing but the television’s staticy audio and the sound of your quiet breathing.

He looked over to take in your features— what amazing features, he thought— and found his hand carefully creeping to the side of your face to brush the knuckle of a finger near your ear, tucking a strand of hair behind it lovingly.

Arvin loved you.

He knew he shouldn’t— he knew he had no idea what love was— but within the few months spent together, Arvin knew he liked you too much to be calling it ‘liking’ and ‘platonic’.

That one stormy evening alongside memories of beating the hell out of Lenora’s bullies, blood and bruising splattering his knuckles like paint, he needed a place to clear his head. He needed a place that was quiet in every way shape and form. Arvin had been driving with a foggy haze before his eyes had locked onto McCann Boys. Arvin wasn’t hungry. He wasn’t anything, he just needed to sit somewhere other than a damn car where he could swerve into a building and die.

When he stepped in, the immediate smell of sweetness overloaded his senses, and he found himself hesitantly sitting down in a booth, wringing the cloth against his knuckles in a patterned fashion.

Then you approached.

And by God, had you been the prettiest sight to see. If it were on any other day, Arvin would’ve been sure to come up with better words than asking if he had to buy anything.

That’s not how you talk to a pretty face, his father would scold in his head, y’wanna smile at ‘er, and make her feel all sorts of butterflies. Y’gotta make her feel like the only girl in the world, son.

Arvin often had his father’s coaching in his head when it came to things like this. Though, it didn’t really make sense most of the time. His father didn’t live long enough to meet Arvin in his ‘girl phase’. This was more than a phase, he promised himself, looking at your resting form. And my, had the universe been so forgiving of him, making sunlight drawing from blinds rest on your features, highlighting your skin and making you look like a pure, unadulterated angel.

He wanted you.

Arvin bit his bottom lip. He wanted you so bad. He wanted to keep you forever. He wanted to take you away from this lowly place in Ohio and bring you somewhere nice, somewhere with beaches and sunshine, away from disgusting preachers, dried blood and judgmental eyes.

Realizing the first time you went to that church, Arvin could see the way that no-good priest looked at you. He knew what that man did to Lenora. He knew everything. Arvin got up from the couch, his fists turning stark white as he paced towards the apartment door, red building at the sides of his eyes. Arvin had to protect all the girls in town. He had to. For Lenora, for Y/N. He had to go and—

“Arvin?”

Hearing a voice that reminded him of bells, Arvin turned around, seeing you slowly rise up from the couch and looking over to make contact with him. “Where are you going?”

Your sleepy tone was so amiable. Your eyes were so dazed, blinking as you gave a small sniffle, scratching at your shoulder.

“I was…” Arvin trailed off before coming back towards you, kneeling in front of the couch and giving a smile as he took your hand. “I was gonna get you breakfast. As a thank you.” A lie, but it was fine. He was planning on watching the priest. Though, breakfast didn’t sound too bad. Time with you was worth more than anything else. You were all he had, next to his grandmother and uncle.

You smiled. He melted a little inside.

“You don’t need to get me anything,” you murmured as you clutched onto his hand. Your eyes were studious, flitting around his body, and he suddenly felt small. “Are you okay? I’m sorry about the sleeping stuff… if your neck was stiff, I mean, I’d feel bad—”

“Y/N,” Arvin spoke sternly, “that was the best sleep I’ve ever had in my life.”

Your eyes turned round, diluting slightly once they met the sunlight.

Arvin could hear his father’s berating tone in the back of his head. Say it. Be a man. He looked at the ground, holding onto your hand for dear life, uneasily balancing his weight on his knee. Though, Arvin couldn’t say anything. Nothing was coming out. There you were, waiting so patiently, being so patient with him, and he was at a lack for words.

Words wouldn’t fix this. Only action. Action would fix everything, Arvin knew this. He was taught this. He was always better physically expressing his thoughts and feelings than vocally or emotionally.

Releasing one of his hands from yours, he curved one underneath your palm and pulled your soft, untouched knuckles against his lips, giving a kiss. These knuckles have never hurt a soul. This being had never hurt anyone. Arvin would make sure it would stay that way.

He glanced upwards, his cap altering his view slightly, and he could make out the way your cheeks turned a different shade, inviting lips gaping slightly.

Smiling against your skin, Arvin moved his free hand to the top of yours and gazed at you. To his surprise, he watched as your thumb rolled circles against his own. You were smiling, and it was a smile to take in. Oh, it was.

“You’re sweet, Arvin,” you giggled so beautifully and he wanted to listen to his name coming out of your mouth on repeat, “...I kinda want donuts.”

Arvin couldn’t help but give a laugh under his breath at the change of moods. He stood up, continuously holding your hand as he refused to let it go, and said, “Let’s get donuts, then.”

—

He was angry. He was a pot boiling. Staring at Preston from afar, he watched from his car as the man interacted with a female shopowner who was fresh out of highschool. Arvin’s leg bounced within his vehicle, the sun setting, and he continued to survey.

Preston would interact with girls other than his wife. He would bring girls into his car and do unspeakable, unlawful things with them, then proceed to go back to the place he calls home and force himself onto his wife.

Arvin clutched onto the wheel.

While Preston was a horrible man who deserved the worst punishment from all graces of any lord, he found himself growing frustrated. Not even just about Lenora or all the sweet innocence the man took, Arvin found himself growing frustrated at his own damn self.

He would think about Y/N.

No, not doing such acts as those forcefully, imagining the same power dynamic, he would never. He meant it when he said he didn’t hurt girls. Arvin despised the man. He despised him and he wanted him gone. He wanted that man to suffer for what he did to his sister. Though, at points, he would drive up to your apartment and stare at the window that belonged to you. He would lick his chapped lips and his hand would shake as it reached the door handle. Then, Arvin would grow a clear sense of mind, he would receive clarity, and he would drive to the opposite side of town just to avoid even thinking about touching you in such a passionate way.

After a few days, Arvin decided.

He’d have to leave you behind.

He loved you, but he also loved Lenora, and Lenora deserved justice. Arvin could hear her voice already, pleading for him to let it go. To just let the man be. To leave. Do anything else. Settle down with you somewhere far, far away, start a life, start a family. Be free.

“I ain’t ever let anything go, ‘Nora.”

The priest was dead.

Arvin’s blood rushed through his veins as the sun set on the horizon, him zooming through the city streets, eagerly approaching your apartment.

God, it was a thrill. The adrenaline coursing through his veins after watching the damned predator fall onto the church floor bleeding from his wounds was cathartic. It made Arvin’s head whirl and turn dizzy. He had no moral thoughts, he was no longer moral, no longer a man that could be forgiven. Arvin felt the rage that built up within him for years be released with three gunshots, the guilt and agony of being alone and misjudged by any person left behind within the church.

Sitting in the car and hearing the blinker click at him, he turned it off once pulling into the lot. He took off his cap, carding his fingers through his hair, debating if he was really going to let you go.

Y/N offered a future he couldn’t take. It hurt more than anything.

Arvin glanced up at your patio, seeing you move from behind the window. You were only a silhouette. You were yet to be discovered by him in this manner, this new Arvin Russell. You wouldn’t recognize him, he thought, he wouldn’t recognize you.

It would be a completely different take on his life. He was no longer himself. Was he better, or worse? Was he a criminal, or a vigilante? Arvin didn’t know what to do. It hadn’t set in yet that he was no longer only capable of beating bullies shitless. He was so much more than that. He was more.

Arvin could do anything.

It was dark out. He finally found the courage to yank open the door handle and step out of his car. He didn’t bother to lock it, he had nothing to lose.

Entering the apartment’s doors, smelling various spices of cooking or hearing children laughing from very muffled walls, Arvin found himself stomping up the steps, his heart beating against his ribs uneasily.

Staring at the room, noticing that the others around were vacant, Arvin could just about do anything. No one would know.

He clenched his fists a few times before finally knocking on the door with his knuckles. It was like the first time you two had met, his very knuckles expressing his pain and anguish, and you read onto the signs of a lonely man seeking solace. Arvin was still bruised and broken; just not in any place where you could see it.

You opened the door, and your mouth opened before closing abruptly. Arvin knew he must’ve looked like he just killed someone. Well, he did, but you didn’t know about that.

Arvin wanted you. Though, he’d be careful, you were the one delicate thing in his life. He had to treat you with care. He had to treat you so gently this night, for it would be your last with him.

Taking a step inside, he moved his hand up and cupped your cheek, moving his thumb— once holding a gun used to kill— so that it wiped gingerly beneath your bottom lip. Your jaw fidgeted slightly as you were attempting to find words. Though, your hand didn’t disagree with his actions. Instead, it met the back of his palm, planted gently on top of his own hand that held your cheek.

Confident, Arvin moved in closer and pulled you towards him, meeting your lips with his. You made a soft noise in your throat and it set Arvin’s mind on fire. Flames danced between your faces, and he felt you eagerly kiss back, your arms snaking across his shoulders as he found himself kicking the door with the back of his heel to close it shut.

Your hands found themselves on the surface of his head and pushing off his cap to knot fingers in his hair. Arvin didn’t even care. His body was burning underneath your touch as he found himself pressing you against the nearest flat surface, which was your dining room table that held a vase with hand picked flowers resting inside and a sweet floral mat keeping it level. You were so adorable, he swooned in his head, you were so precious to him and oh so good. You’re so good.

Wife material, Arvin’s head was screaming, he wanted to steal you away and marry you. You were lifted onto the mahogany table, Arvin’s tongue swiping at your bottom lip. You were so good, submitting your mouth to him, letting him roam the inside and clutch onto your hips so tightly it could bruise. Feeling your soft, untouched, blessed hands clutch onto his belt line had him push his pelvis closer to yours.

“Arvin—” you attempted, but he wouldn’t let you. No, he wouldn’t let you worry. You didn’t need to worry about anything, not with him around. He was your protector, he would keep you safe, he wouldn’t let you die or leave. He wouldn’t let you be hurt by anyone. Thinking about keeping you close to him in his arms, just this close, making you sigh from pleasure as Arvin plastered kisses down your jaw and to your neck to test the waters of what made you quiver; it was enough to drive him insane.

He found his teeth scraping at your flesh and you gasped, arching your body upwards and he felt your hips grind against his middle. It made him give out a guttural growl of need.

“Arvin, wait— wait, honey, stop—”

Arvin didn’t want to. Though, he would, just for your sake. He lifted his head up to meet yours, and once you made eye contact with him, your expression changed from flustered to concerned. Nurturing. Your hand met his cheek, your thumb gently rubbing itself underneath his eye, and he moved a hand to hold your wrist and gently kiss your palm.

Your voice was so soft, so sweet, as if you raised it any further it would blow Arvin away. “What’s going on?”

He wanted to tell you everything. You were so kind, you were everything, you were the sun and stars and sky. Nuzzling into your hand, he murmured, “Nothin’...”

“It’s clearly something if you come into my apartment and start kissing me like this, Russell,” you spoke, his last name strong in your city accent. Your voice was so stern, so dead set on uncovering him, and Arvin gazed at you, still high from revenge and loving you.

He hesitated. Arvin pinched his lips together, licking them faintly, still tasting your lip scrub on them.

Your warm hands met his burning face, handling them so sweetly. “You don’t need to give me specifics,” you started, “...just give me something, Arvin, so I know you’re in your right mind.”

Your name made his eyes flutter shut, nudging his nose against yours. “Say m’name like that again, sweet girl…”

“Arvin.” Your tone was more of a warning. It pulled him back from the sea of desire.

Arvin sighed, mumbling, “I had a revelation, darlin’…” his thumb rolled circles into your wrist, “I had a good day… ‘m a free man, Y/N. I wanna share this with you.” He opened his eyes to see you gazing at him so sweetly. “Let me have this night with you, pretty girl. I wanna make you feel as good as me. I’m sober, I promise, ‘m just intoxicated by the thought of you.”

“Such a flirt,” you whispered against his lips, and he felt himself smirking.

“Only for you.”

Your beautiful, reflective eyes stared into his. Then, they shut, and you moved your head forward to slowly encapture his lips. Arvin was more than eager to requite this. Fervor filled his loins as he clutched your thigh once it was squeezing against his side.

“Sweet baby girl,” he whispered into your ear, “Can we move this to your bed?”

—

When Arvin woke up, he had never felt more exhausted. He was hit with a newfound clarity. There was a soft gray shade leaking from the windows, and he squinted at the clock from across the room— wiping the fogginess from his eyes— and took notice that it was in the early hours of five a.m. Arvin went to move, but was barricaded by something clinging to his side.

His eyes were round as saucers as he took a hold of your nude bodies entangled.

Flushed, he quickly whipped his head back ahead, staring at the ceiling.

The confidence he had last night was almost embarrassing. Though, he licked his teeth and looked back to you, his fingers carding through your hair. Your hair was so soft to the touch, so perfect for someone like you, never missing the latest trends.

Arvin gave a hum of contentment, taking in your features in the early morning. Last night was full of unbridled desire, a fervor that the both of you had been bottling up for who knows how long. Perhaps, since that rainy day in the bakery, there had been that weird spark that compelled you both to do this.

He buried his nose in your sweet scented hair, pressing his lips against your warm forehead, hearing you shuffle and murmur under your breath. You were still very much asleep.

Taking in your sleeping face for the last time, Arvin gave a pained smile. He didn’t want to leave you at all. He wanted to keep you forever— he wanted to wake up to this every day— but he couldn’t let you become an accomplice. Arvin had to protect you.

With that, he managed to sneak his way out of your koala arms and legs and get dressed in his old clothing. Reading over the letter he wrote yesterday, Arvin felt his heart break with each word. You didn’t deserve this. You deserved better than him— someone who could keep themselves together, who wasn’t so haunted by the past. You came to this city to escape yours, and he couldn’t drag you into his. He had to escape too. Some part of him knew you would understand that with time.

Arvin had stopped by a bakery quickly, ordering a lemon and poppyseed muffin with the most bittersweet feeling, coming back to your room to see you were still dead asleep.

He placed the muffin box down on the nightstand and folded the letter so that it stood up with your name on a proud display. Arvin’s hand wringed its way through his hair before he stared at his ragged blue cap for a moment, placing it alongside the muffin and letter.

Arvin leaned down to kiss you on the lips briefly, you giving a sleepy hum, pursuing your lips lazily before drifting unconscious again. He noticed that the sun was just rising.

The sunset brought a bit of hope. He watched you sleep for a bit, the purple turning into a golden on your features, before he made his exit.

—

Your body felt like jello. Giving a groan, your hands scavenged the sheets for the warm body that accompanied you that night, but you were left with a cold absence. Cracking your eyes open and grunting at the shine of the sun, the clock spoke nine a.m, and you were surprised Arvin was not with you.

You licked your lips and sat up. Stretching your spine, you noticed you were nude and blushed, pulling the sheets up your chest. “Arvin?” You called, noticing the lack of your friend— lover? Boyfriend? Friend with benefits?— and gave a long exhale. Luckily you had the day off, as convenient as that was.

Looking over, you noticed the hat, muffin box, and letter. Your name was in bold pencil, and you tilted your head curiously before leaning over and peering through the plastic cover. You smiled and saw the dark spots of poppyseeds on the treat. It was sentimental, and your heart nearly burst.

Gazing at the hat, you were inquiring if he just managed to leave it behind.

You decided to take the letter, opening it up and not preparing for what you’d read.

Y/N,

You’re probably wondering where I am right now. I am too. If you asked me right now, I wouldn’t be able to give you an answer.

I did something that can’t be forgiven. Maybe not by the Lord, definitely not by law, uncertain by you. I don’t want you to worry. I’m safe. I can’t come back. I can’t give you a number or address. I don’t know where I’m going, I don’t know who I will be.

The world ain’t been kind. I know it ain’t been kind to you either. I don’t want to make things even worse for you, sweet girl. You’re everything I didn’t deserve. You said to me a long time ago that I deserve good, but I don’t. You are such a good girl, so much so I can’t have you. A part of me wants to be selfish and keep you. I know I can’t. I can’t do that to you.

You’re gonna hear about that preacher man. You’re gonna hear things about me, probably. I just want you to know I did it because I had to. You need to know that. I couldn’t be alive knowing Lenora wasn’t and he was. I’m sorry, baby.

I’m sorry for leaving you. I don’t want to. There’s nothing I want more than for you to be with me right now, pretty girl. I’d give everything just to see you every morning, every afternoon, every night. Ever since that day where you forgave me for the first time for my sins, smoking and drinking black coffee, I know what else I could fight for. I know what I could have just for myself. The sad part is, God is a sadist, and he won’t let me have you.

You asked me if I like Puppy Love, and I do. I’m listening to music for once as I write this, and I understand all the stuff they cry about on the radio. I know what it means to love. My heart ain’t ever been this broke before, sweetheart.

I love you, Y/N.

As I said, we’ll be seeing each other again. Look out for postcards from my initials.

A.R.

When you finished, wet spots had been dotting the paper, and the last two initials were the final nail in the coffin. You let out a choked sob, leaning over to clutch onto the paper close to your chest. You collapsed onto the sheets, weeping, unable to comprehend. You kept asking why, why, why, even though it was right in front of you.

You flipped the page, noting the sweet lyrics on the back.

I cry each night, my tears are for you, my tears are all in vain, I hope, I hope and I pray, that maybe someday, you’ll be back in my arms once again.

Sniffling and wiping at your nose, you gave a few sobs, pressing your palm against your damp cheeks until they turned red.

You folded the paper and placed it back on your nightstand, curling in on yourself, clutching your sheets that still had Arvin’s presence lingering on them. Pressing them against your wet, hot face, you gave a few soft wheezes.

How could you tell Arvin you loved him, too? How could you write back to him? How could you sleep at night, not knowing he was okay? That there was no way you could tell him you’d wait forever for him?

You must’ve managed to doze off, as the sun was no longer as golden as before. The skies were a clear blue, and you managed to tug on tolerable clothes. Standing on your patio, you clutched the metal railings, staring down at the town with dismay. He was no longer here. This town no longer held that charming spark that you’d learn to love.

Walking back inside, you gazed at the letter, muffin, and hat. Leaning over, you grabbed the blue cap and rubbed your thumbs against the torn fabric, pressing the lid against your lips and kissing it. At least you had this— something you rarely saw him without. He gave you this, and your heart soared at the thought. Placing it on the top of your head, you took the lemon and poppyseed muffin and headed towards McCann Boys.

Marilyn perked at your presence, speaking, “Sweetpea, it’s not your workday.”

“I’m here as a guest,” you murmured, gazing at her, and Marilyn’s eyebrows rose at your expression. She gave a sorry nod at you, continuing to swipe down the counters.

You sat in the booth you and Arvin met at, and you took your seat, gazing at the ashtray emptily. Picking at the muffin, you fixed your cap to hide your face.

The radio near the coffee player began to sing. Your heart dropped, and you recalled the oh-so familiar lyrics.

...This is not a puppy love.

#arvin russell #arvin russell x reader #the devil all the time #arvin #reader #reader insert #peachy keen #sfw #M #my writing #douxdamian #fic #tdatt #tom holland #multichap

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stranger-awakening · 2 years

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i assume you've seen no way home? will you info dump about it because knowing you when andrew appeared you probably let out a similar screech to the one i did. i was so very excited.

Oh, bestie, I literally saw it at 10:30am on opening day I took the whole day off work I went to the earliest showing that wasn't midnight I was not getting spoiled for this movie lmao

(spoilers under the cut)

Yeah, I screamed, and so did my entire cinema and it makes me emotional just thinking about it. The cinema seemed like it was mostly teenagers so Andrew got a louder shout that Tobey and I was not expecting that I had somehow convinced myself that I would be the only one going absolutely apeshit at the sight of him because all the nerd boys do is talk about how much they prefer Tobey but maybe the nerd boys weren't there that day because hoo boy it was loud. It was so fucking loud I wish I could see it again in cinemas just to hear that again oh my god. (Tobey got a loud shout too, but not as loud. Tbh it was a very active audience. They yelled at the the octopus arms, they yelled at the Green Goblin bomb they were on it. There were grown ass men telling the teens to shush it was incredible.)

Real talk though, you know that quote from The Song of Achilles that's like "I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world”? That was ... literally me in the fucking cinema. Before the reveal literally when they were just looking through the portal and it was pitch black and they called his name and he turned around I fucking knew I knew by his silhouette that it was Him and I turned to my sister and went "that's him. that's my Peter" like literally I 👏 would 👏 know 👏 him 👏 blind 👏 I 👏 would 👏 know 👏 him 👏 in 👏 the 👏 dark 👏 I 👏 would 👏 know 👏 him 👏 by 👏 his 👏 fucking 👏 posture 👏 apparently 👏

I was genuinely physically shaking whenever he was on screen. I teared up under my mask, I was fucking going through it literally I can't believe I got him back. I got him back. I got him back.

I did not like the movie. At all, but at least he was there. And Tobey. Oh, he looked so good in this movie. It was so lovely to see them both again, and to see them both on screen together. If only we would get more of that dynamic they were truly wonderful.

But, I wasn’t surprised to not like the movie. I hadn’t liked the two before it either. So much of Spider-Man movies rely on feeling for me, because Peter Parker is one of my favourite characters ever, and MCU Peter has never been Peter Parker for reasons that are well-documented in other posts on this site so I won’t go into here.

No Way Home just felt profoundly empty to me, in the way a lot of Marvel movies do if I’m being honest. It’s all sensationalism, baby. Sure, it’s a very well-made, well-acted film with a lot of money thrown at it, but where’s the heart? The thing that’s fundamental in a Spider-Man movie? They never nail that in my eyes. I said to Hannah before I went in “as much as this might be a good movie, I don’t think it will be a good Spider-Man movie,” and on the other side of this now I think I stand by that. That’s the fundamental difference for me.

So much of the dialogue relied on you already knowing everything about the characters. Which, thank god I watched the OG trilogy before going in because so much of the first half was calls back to those. Most of the dialogue was just “Haha, remember when this happened? Remember the sun in the palm of his hand? Remember how weird Electro used to look? Remember when Harry Osborn died in Peter’s arms? Remember what happened to Gwen?” and there’s ... no substance to that. It’s not intersexuality or integration as much as it’s just coasting off the fondness people have for the other movies. So much as it’s just pointing and being “wow wasn’t that cool?”

Like, they weren’t all there because Marvel cares so much about these characters that it couldn’t wait to bring them back. As if they’d crafted this plot out of love specifically just to reunite all these actors. No. they were there because it would make the most money, and as much as movie making is money making it should not be as blatant as it was in this film.

As much it had moments, or tried to, I could never let go of that. I could never let go of the lack of feeling that this had.

In essence, I’m like this close to writing an essay about the one aspect that really brings the MCU Spider-Man movies down in my eyes lmao.

I’m sorry to be bitter, beloved anon. I’m really glad that you liked the movie!!! So many people did and that’s wonderful. It just made me upset and angry in a way that only a Spider-Man movie that does me wrong can afgskhf

#no way home spoilers #spider-man no way home spoilers #spoiler alert: i did not like it #i know this was quite vague but you can ask me for specifics later if you like #i'm super busy today but if you send through asks i can go into more detail tomorrow !!#answered

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thetorturerwrites · 4 years

Text

Puer Deus: Reputation

This amazing artwork was gifted to me by @faestae-writes. Please do not re-use or re-post it without permission from them and/or myself. Don’t be a dickbag.

***

Captured / Hurricane / Sustenance / Liar / Scars / Proof / Strings

Summary: All manner of trouble

A/N: 18+ only. Physical violence; sadism; references to abuse; smut

Word Count: 4.5k

Day Eight

You were back in Ren’s room for all of five minutes when the cycle shifted from day to night. You’d lost an entire day to his diabolical plans, and you were exhausted to the bone. Hux had chided you about your nearly-crawling pace, and you’d contemplated stabbing him right there in the hall; but finally, you slumped across the threshold into what your heart kicked up as “home.”

Tension and disgust kept you from crawling into the bed. You knew your brain would loop this day, searing the way he’d looked at you into the gray matter until you wore a constant mask of mottled need. You sunk down in the very center of the room, huddled in on yourself, and stared at the imbrued floor. You were beyond pain and tears, mired in this quagmire of hate and hunger.

He had humiliated you, wholly stripped you of all humanity and personhood. And you had all but begged him for more.

Under his sheer dehumanization, your body had been charged, technicolor and dynamic. Ren had systematically consumed every part of you, continuously conjuring up new ways to crucify you to feed his black need. And at every turn, you had given him the anguish he craved; you had yet to deny him exactly what he wanted.

Would you ever be able to deny him?

Pressing the heels of your hands into weary eye sockets, you leaned forward over crossed legs, bent in half from the burden of your inner war. You weren’t sure you could live with the creature he was unearthing, but you weren’t sure you could live without the feelings he evoked, without him.

Moments later, Ren stepped through the door, flushed red and heaving. His eyes were furious and frantic, and you scrambled away, putting distance between you and the raving lunatic he looked to be.

“Supreme Leader,” Hux’s voice crackled through the commlink. “The rebels have launched an attack, Sir. The Supremacy has been compromised. We have lost the starboard side entirely.”

Ren’s gaze settled upon you and darkened immeasurably. Teeth gnashing and erupting with a snarl, he crossed the room in three strides and hauled you into his arms. The warmth that had been building in your heart evaporated, escaping through your lungs on stuttered breath.

You cried out and turned your gaze to the floor, the heat of his breath scorching your red cheek. You knew there was no placating him like this. This was the Kylo Ren who would beat you for insolence, batter your body for daring to patronize him with any hint of gentle persuasion.

“Get command to the Steadfast,” he replied through his commlink. “I will be at the Night Buzzard and will rendez-vous with you there.”

Angry digits dug into your upper arms so fiercely you could feel your pulse hammering in your fingertips. He had you lifted so high your toes barely scraped the dirty floor, and you clung to his shoulders, trying not to hang like a limp doll.

You could feel it, the accusation rolling off of him like steam, causing the very air around you to fluctuate and waver. When had you come to know the different shades of his rage? You shook your head wildly because whatever he was about to say, you certainly hadn’t been able to do it.

“Yes, you fucking did.”

He was nose-to-nose, and his absolute disdain for you was crushing. After everything you’d suffered at his hands, everything you’d endured for him, he still hated you, still regarded you as an object to be used and crushed, and it sucked the light from your soul.

“I don’t have time for your nonsense.”

He passed his quaking hand over your face, stretched his great power into your cerebellum, and forced you into the inky void.

You dreamed of vast, blue skies and the sunlight on your face. It was bright and crisp and vibrant. You turned into the wind and inhaled the deep, clean, briskness of it, feeling the wispy tendrils curl around your neck and shoulders. You stretched up into the warmth, feeling the ache in your bones and joints ease, the tightness in your neck and back loosen, and the constriction of your ribs and lungs lessen under the blissful perfection of nature.

You lifted your face into a smattering of afternoon clouds, feeling free and weightless. No more walls. No more silent vacuum of space. No more blinding, false light. This was life without Santcha, without your Master, without Ren. It was open and lustrous and beautiful.

And it wasn’t real.

As your senses came back into alignment, you smelled rust-tinged air mixing with the heavy remnants of oil and grease. Instead of balmy sunlight, you felt only cold, recycled, stagnant output regulating the temperature. Curling fingers into the rough sheets where you’d dreamed freedom had been, you buried your face into the pillow and wept.

You weren’t free. The universe had simply wrenched you from one sphere of suffering and delivered you to another. The only difference was that Ren made you respond in ways you never thought possible. He was unique in his ability to make you want to suffer. But you were still his captive, his property, and he would never let you go.

“Quiet now,” the dulcet tone of his voice drew you further awake. “Sit up.”

You didn’t want to open your eyes upon this palpable, metal hell, but you complied, shifting so that you were facing him as he crouched at the foot of the dismal bed. You recognized the pattern playing out and didn’t object when he pushed a warm cup into your hands.

He’d brutalized you yesterday; today, he would put you back together, mend the madness he'd rained upon you.

“Your weapon,” he urged, turning his palm up to your lips.

Silent, you reached down to your thigh and the last swatch of surgical tape on your body. Peeling the corner away, you uncovered the little scalpel blade hidden snug against the puckered skin. You weren’t stupid enough to sleep with it in your mouth, but you hadn’t had any time to actually sleep before he burst in.

Ren huffed on an entertained smirk and tossed the blade away, reaching down to peel off that last strip of tape. Over the last 2 days, you’d been discarding remnants as they frayed, but he’d been too busy dismantling you to notice.

Your mostly-healed scars still looked fresh and bright, and he slid his fingers over the largest tracks, eyes lingering on the raised edges.

Ignoring the way he studied you and the gooseflesh his grazes produced, you sniffed the warm liquid questioningly. You knew better than to object and swallowed down the soup, your upper lip curling at the stale, bland taste. When you finished one, he pushed a second into your hands, followed by a large cup of water. You hadn’t had solid food in two days, and he seemed to recall the doctor’s order that you not have it for at least 24 hours.

He didn’t speak, and the distorted closeness felt awkward, wrong. He was doting on you like a partner, but you recalled the utter hatred he leveled at you earlier and the deep well of longing in your heart for the sunlight in your dreams. Brow furrowed, you pushed his hands away and leaned out of his reach, preferring to brood alone.

Having never cared for what you wanted, Ren ignored the pained look on your face, discarded his light trousers, and sunk into the small mattress. You were immediately crowded by his commanding frame and, unnerved, moved to escape his purview.

Too near his imposing incandescence, you would certainly burst aflame and beg for his touch.

You weren’t quick enough, however; and he slid a rigid arm around your middle, tugged you up into his lap, and mouthed at your jaw. Fortified and fed, you tensed and worked to twist out of his control.

If he wanted to hate you, you wouldn’t argue, but you wouldn’t pretend to be his docile, doting slave.

“Time to be useful, puppet.”

His hold tightened at your curse and subsequent squirming, and you scratched at his arm, trying to contort your body into some strange shape that would jar his grip loose so you could crawl away. You’d never felt so worthless in his captivity as being reduced to “useful.”

Ren pulled you back into the hard pillar of his chest, biting into your shoulder until you yelped and stopped fighting. He was solid and strong, uncompromising and exacting, and you wondered when his unhinged demands started to feel safe. He brushed his nose into your hair, lips right at the shell of your ear, and he melted your resolve with that sensual inflection.

“You can sit; or, you can swallow, but I’m going to be inside you.”

His vulgar words set your core to clenching, and the idea of him burying himself into your body again socked you in the gut. You yearned for that version of him, vibrant with the pleasure he found in you, and the satisfaction you’d seen in his features for just a moment. You ached for that feeling when you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began, when pain and pleasure bled together.

You told yourself that you didn’t want to be that person, that whore, for him. You wanted your autonomy, to make your own decisions and to live a free life away from ruthless men.

He held you, stroking your stomach and dipping his finger into your belly button, while he waited, listening as your struggle unfolded.

You sagged against him, eyes closing in resignation. Your body and your brain wanted very different things.

Forcing your jaw to relax, you shifted onto your knees and turned to face the demanding deity who now invaded your every waking moment. You let your eyes roam his perfect arms, abs, hips, thighs, cock, trying to decide which part of yourself to sacrifice.

If you gave him your face, maybe he’d blow out the bastard vocoder, and you’d drift back into blessed silence. But if you gave him your pussy, he would definitely demolish any resistance lingering in your brain.

He reached for you, intent upon ending the debate, but you brushed his hand away and moved to kneel between his legs. You forced yourself to meet his dark, eager eyes, blatantly ignoring his standing, straining, far-too-pretty cock.

Raising an eyebrow, you nudged his knees apart wider by spreading your own and relished the quick intake of his breath. You told yourself it was because you needed the balance, he needed to know how it fucking felt, and you needed him to not kick you or asphyxiate you with his thighs.

A satisfied rumble descended from on high as you bent forward, pressing your nose and lips into his bruised thigh, and you knew that the curve of your ass was the highest point of your body in this position.

You inhaled the musky aroma of his skin and hummed against the fuzzy patch of hair. Your eyes danced behind closed lids as you remembered the soft, colored flesh in your mouth and the way he’d looked down at you, ravenous himself and pleased with your hunger. Your hips loosened and your pussy warmed, readying to accept him.

Something started to tingle inside your belly, and you angrily shook it away. This wasn’t how any of this was supposed to go.

You were waiting for him to thread demanding fingers into your hair, to lift your face and force you down onto his weeping dick, to take away your complicity in this act. If he took it from you, as he had been doing for days, you could pretend that you didn’t want this.

But none of those things happened. He was silent and still, and you glanced up at him, irritated and troubled and uncertain.

“You’ve caused all manner of trouble, puppet."

His voice was smooth, and he tapped your lower lip on every single word.

“Show me you’re sorry.”

You snorted, anger suffusing your nose, ears, cheeks. Shot up onto your knees, you completely abandoned what he’d instructed you to do because you had done no such fucking thing. You’d spent mere moments in his room on the Supremacy; and, then, you’d been in this hole, right here, unconscious for what was likely hours.

“When, exactly, did I have time to cause trouble?”

You practically shouted it, and the smug grin that played at the corners of his mouth only enraged you further. He didn’t move to quash your tirade, though, and you jabbed a finger at him, losing your composure entirely at his amusement.

You knew his condescension stemmed from the sound of your voice, modulated, just the right pitch, and fully on display.

“I’ve been here, blacked out by your own fucking hand. Before that, I was pinned down to a surgical table while you had your blasted doctor force things into my body.”

You jumped off the bed entirely, standing alongside his crooked, relaxed knee and positively fuming at the calm, arrogant look on his beautiful, infuriating face.

“And before that, I was unconscious because you slit me open from chin to toes. So, Commander,” you spit the word out as though it was poison, “when have I made all of this trouble? Or would you like me to go back farther than the last three fucking days?”

Ren sat up slowly, and the absolute animosity in his eyes pushed you a step back, your ire faltering. He slid from the bed, unfurling like a great, storied behemoth, and stalked forward at you. You held out a hand, but you didn’t know if it was to stop him or to touch him.

Unclothed, he looked even more deadly as there was no fabric, no weapon to draw away your stare, and every rippling, taut muscle was an exhibit in transcendence.

He was what men aspired to be, godlike and mesmerizing.

If he killed you now, it would be the pinnacle of intimacy with nothing between his raw aggression and your abject fear. He would press his naked form against you and surely end your life by sucking the very marrow from your bones.

He was every inch the infernal predator, and you were the prey that just pissed him off.

“Yesterday,” he sneered, “You threatened to murder Supreme Leader Snoke.”

Your mouth dried out completely, snapping shut with a clatter because you couldn’t argue. In your rage and fright, you had absolutely threatened to murder Snoke and everyone on board the ship, and it was clear from Ren’s response that Snoke had heard you.

Terror flooded your veins, pushed out all the blood that was supposed to be there and replaced it with adrenaline. Your mind screamed at you to run, now, get away, but your body could only slink further back into the room, sweating and twitching.

“Before that,” he reached out, wrapped his giant hand around your throat, and drew you in close, tightening his ritual noose until you gulped and wheezed, “You wounded me in battle.”

You could feel the delicate bones bowing to his snapping grip, and you clawed at his arm. Surely, Ren’s patience had run out. You had done all of those things and more.

Just today, you had denied him the feel of your mouth, your body, and you shouted at him, challenged him, in front of the Knights of Ren, his troupe. Animosity had so clouded your judgment that you’d shucked off every bit of common sense and self-preservation.

You could not possibly be more stupid.

“Shall I go back farther than the last three fucking days, puppet?”

You paled, remembering that he’d caught you trying to escape the day before that, and shook your head in defeat. His fingernails cut into the tender flesh of your neck, and you whimpered, standing onto your toes in a vain attempt to lessen his grip. Your lips drew into a tight line, and you closed your eyes, surrendering to whatever punishment he would inflict.

Maybe you did deserve it.

Ren shoved you away, and you collapsed into a pitiable heap on the dirty floor. Tears sprang to your eyes because the internal conflict was never going to end. You were flooded with shame that he was disappointed in you and fuming that you fucking cared to begin with. This contention inside your own body was becoming unbearable, and you were so incredibly tired.

It was all too much.

Snoke surely wanted your head, and Ren would have no choice but to deliver you to the slaughter. Just days ago, you had been ready to die, but that had been for Ren, not Snoke. Your lips would hardly work, the emotion bubbling over and shunting your idiotic bravery.

Kylo, I can’t do this anymore….

He looked down at you, eyes dark and haunted; and even though you knew he was incapable of feeling or compassion, you lifted pleading eyes to his. There truly was no going back, and the way forward had just been shut to you. Snoke would hunt you. He would send the Knights of Ren, and their Master, to hunt you.

You only needed a day's headstart. Just long enough to find a tall cliff or a blaster.

Could you convince him?

“Please, Kylo,” your voice quaked, “Please, let me go. Or make all of this go away.”

But what you were begging for was for him to make you go away. To end this seemingly ceaseless back-and-forth between acceptance and survival. Your torso punched low to the ground, and you erupted into broken, wretched sobs.

“I just can’t.” You whispered as he crouched down silently and lifted your face. You shook your head from his touch.

“This isn’t me,” you rallied and shouted, “You’ve taken everything! There isn’t anything else. Just let me go. Let me go or kill me.”

There was something else, another possibility dancing just beyond your trepidation. You knew that he saw it, but you still weren’t ready to take that leap, to let the beast out of the mirror and allow her to consume you, to burn away the parts of you that weren’t his.

Ren’s strong arms gathered you up, caging your shuddering sorrow and caressing your neck while you cried. He smoothed down your hair and rubbed the length of your back, murmuring into your pulse that you needed to take a breath and then another and then one more.

His very demeanor was disarming, and you felt the fight ebbing out of every single pore. Resenting the ease with which he placated you, you clenched your fists again and batted at his chest, shifting and pulling away. Lifting puffy, red eyes, you glared at him, willing there to be more malice in your gaze than there was in your heart.

“No,” your voice was all harsh edges and angst. “You don’t get to be nice now.”

You twisted in his arms, kicking at his shins, but he only held you tighter, his arms a vice around your middle. You sniffled and sobbed and tried to not let your anger die away. You needed it now more than you needed to breathe. It was the only thing that was yours, the only thing you had left.

“You’re not capable of being nice. You’re a monster.”

Ren dipped his face to yours and traced the curve of your chin with his lips. When you abandoned your bitter tirade, he slid long fingers up the column of your throat and squeezed, the way you’d asked him to yesterday. He turned your face so you had to look up at him with your shining, crestfallen eyes.

“Dammit, Kylo,” your lips trembled, the false voice he'd given you cracking with feeling, “I need you to be a monster.”

“Stop,” Ren shushed you, lifting his hand to your mouth and sliding his thumb in to hook at your teeth.

The gesture, unique to you and he in all the Galaxy, silenced you, and he held tight to your throat as though to punctuate the notion that, in this moment, there was only you and him.

You sniffled and pushed against his broad shoulders, but he didn’t chastise you further. He tugged you in by the jaw and nudged his nose through your tears.

“The Supreme Leader isn’t coming for you,” he crooned against your temple, "I killed him for daring to take what is mine."

Your whole body went rigid at his admission, and you blinked, too shocked to speak. He stroked your hip soothingly, but you felt strung too tight. This knowledge should have eased you, but something was settling in your mind that you hadn’t considered before.

Kylo Ren would never let you go.

Because he couldn’t.

“I will not make this go away,” he cupped your cheek and dipped his face down to press a kiss to the thumping heartbeat under his thumb. “You were made to suffer for me."

You sucked in a pained breath, caught between a gasp and a sob. The kernel of realization was spreading, growing by the second, and you were drowning, keening, lost to the implications of it. It raised your panic and your longing at the same time and shot through your body like lightning.

"You want me to break you, puppet."

He clutched at your back, obscuring all the world around him and folding you into his darkness.

"Almost as much as I want to break you."

There it was.

Ren came alive when he was hurting you. He spread out into the universe like it was meant for him, just waiting for him to conquer the very stars. But only when you were bleeding and crying at his feet.

This was not the same man you first met a week ago. Gone was the unconquerable rage and tantrum, the explosion of too much turmoil. Gone, too, was the leash that held Ren's potential in check.

The man before you was calculatingly cruel with clear intent. His viciousness was purposeful, and he existed without boundaries, without limitations. He had entirely cast off all inhibition and conscience.

Kylo Ren was now the most skilled, destructive, horrible weapon in the Galaxy.

And you were his whetstone.

“The next time I hurt you,” he licked at your earlobe and whispered, “It will be because you begged me for it."

The gavel crashed down, and all you could hear was the rushing of your blood. He’d cemented it, practically carved it into your skin.

He would chase you into oblivion because you were the only thing that made him feel alive. This whirlwind of terror and feeling you existed in together was the only thing that ignited fire in him.

And you would let him.

You would worship your Child God in any and every bloody way he wanted because he was the only thing that made you feel alive.

It was only a matter of time.

You dissolved into tears all over again, collapsing against all of his unyielding and letting him wrap you up into that otherworldly embrace. He tucked you against his heart, rocking you from side to side and soothing you with his steady pulse. He pressed his lips into your temple and murmured there that you were so pretty when you cried.

You couldn’t stop the sobbing now for anything, so complete was your heartbreak.

You mourned blue and purple skies, pink-tinted sunrises, and twinkling sunsets; rushing, clean water and a rainbow of flowers; the frenetic disarray of the workshop and the tools you had been collecting for years that you would never see again. You lamented that you would likely never again be able to set yourself to a task, to fixing a broken thing, and see it finished and made whole.

You would only ever be the broken thing.

Most of all, you grieved for yourself. Because you knew that you would relent. You would give him what he wanted because the part of you straining to belong to him was expanding by the hour. Soon, she would be strong enough, and your freedom would be gone. You would let him defile you day after day.

“You will ask me,” he instructed, tipping your face up to taste your tears on a kiss, “and I will drown you in the clearest water I can find.”

You whimpered against his mouth and curled fingers into his dark tresses. He chased the sound away with a nip to your lower lip, licking at the quiver. He purred at you like a lover, and you wondered if this was pillowtalk for a man whose base language was violence.

“I will make you bleed on forest floors, and I will listen to your screams echo off of mountains.”

His warm breath mingled with yours, lips barely touching, as he coaxed the tip of your tongue up to touch his before canting your head to one side and kissing you so deep you forgot to breathe. He licked at your teeth and sucked on your tongue.

“And I will fuck you so hard the only name you remember is mine,” his voice was lower, all gravel and demand and lust.

“You just have to ask me, puppet.”

Teeming with uneasy arousal, your body flushed in response to his words, to the conviction with which he said them. You lifted onto your toes to better receive his kisses, and he hummed in satisfaction against your mouth.

It was as though he had promised you moonlight, paradise, babies, and your heart responded to each threat as though they were professions of love. He knew your fears and was trying to assuage them, to paint you a pretty picture so you would give in to him.

You knew this wasn’t love. Neither of you were capable of such a fanciful notion. This was obsession, and it would likely be just as fleeting. But it would be absolute.

“Stop crying,” he said into your neck, molding the length of your body to his.

Ren slid your limbs around his body in that familiar way, and you squeezed at his sides when he lifted you. You buried your face into his neck, shaking silently and trying to obey, to get yourself collected.

The war inside of you wasn’t over, and you hadn’t gained any ground today. But you understood the battlefield better than you ever had before.

Crawling into the little bed with you, he shifted you so that you were lying beside him, your tight, anxious back pressed into his calm, steady torso. He slid an arm around your rib cage, tucked his hot hand in at your breast, and snuggled his erection between your buttocks.

You clutched at his arm, sniffling and fighting adrenaline tremors.

Ren nuzzled the back of your neck, and you marveled at how today was so much different than yesterday. You’d just begged this man, this monster, to end your life, to rise up to his reputation. Instead, he had weaponized kindness and thrown you entirely off kilter, to the point where you were entertaining his offers to persecute you throughout the Galaxy.

“Sleep,” he commanded, his voice almost gentle. “We’ll be there by morning.”

#kylo ren #kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren imagine #puer deus

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The Contract :: CS Omegaverse :: Ch 7

Title: The Contract Rating: E Summary: Emma had never wanted much in her life, despite being married to one of the richest men in the world. For ten years she has felt like a prisoner in her own marriage, denied the one thing she wants the most, but her husband cannot help but bargain her want like a cheap business deal. Enter Killian Jones, the Alpha her husband has hired to make sure she gets what she wants. And then some.

AO3 - Ko-Fi (100% of coffee’s bought go towards buying @adognamedkillian toys and treats!)

A/N: Chapter 7!!! It comes with some trigger warnings i’m afraid, because I am just that kind of writer *evil grin* TW: domestic abuse. I don’t know what else to call it without giving anything away, which i do not want to do. As always, if in doubt, message me. This chapter has the answers everyone has been waiting for, and some other good news! Ch 8 is already done!

Fantastic artwork by @kmomof4 so give her some love and beta’d by the lovely @hollyethecurious And as ever, thank you to all the ladies in Discord! Thanks ladies!

This is an Omegaverse fic featuring A/B/O dynamics. Whilst this varies from fandom to fandom, for the purposes of my fic, there will be no mpreg. Just so you know. There will however be knotting, breeding, heats and other delicious things that come along with A/B/O. If you do not know what A/B/O is, feel free to message me :) Many thanks to @hollyethecurious @shardminds @kmomof4 @darkcolinodonorgasm @resident-of-storybrooke and @ineffablecolors for letting me bounce my complicated ideas of you lol

If you wish to stay away from this fic, blacklist the A/B/O tag.

Taglist: I’ll be honest, i have lost my taglist for this fic, so if you want a tag, please message me here on on discord (Salem #5158/ [email protected]) and I’ll add you! I’ve tagged the following people i KNOW want to read this, but i don’t want to accidentally tag you if you do not like ABO.

@hollyethecurious @shardminds @kmomof4 @resident-of-storybrooke @darkcolinodonorgasm @thisonesatellite @xemmaloveskillianx @hookedonapirate @teamhook @winterbaby89 @carpedzem @courtorderedcake @profdanglaisstuff @itsfabianadocarmo @donteattheappleshook @ultraluckycatnd @jennjenn615

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A week was going to be far too long. It was only seven days but in the grand scheme of things, Emma worried that it might feel like forever without the Alpha she was now sure she was in love with. Of course, she hadn’t told him that. Like an idiot, once he had declared his feelings, she had pretended she was asleep and let him pull her harder into his embrace where she had spent the rest of the night. Morning had come and he was gone but she didn’t blame him. After all, she was well aware that Graham was having the apartment watched, making sure that neither of them broke the terms of his precious contract.

Maybe this was a blessing. Maybe they had been spending too much time together. As much as Emma wanted her bastard husband to be wrong, maybe he was right. For the next seven days she was to accompany Ruby to a very exclusive spa where they would get some much needed rest and relaxation, or so Graham had told her. In truth, he had been angry at how much time she was spending with Killian, his loyal henchmen having told on them and their extra meetings. She should have known. Graham was far too connected to not find out, and Emma had only agreed to go with Ruby because she was afraid of confirming the reality of his paranoia.

Emma did have feelings for Killian. They were more than she had ever felt before, powerful and robust and she was sure that not even seven days apart would change them. The time would be perfect for her to process her own feelings, and how to let Killian know that she felt the same. Emotions had ever been her strongest point, and to play along with his little game, Emma had told Graham that she would be glad to get away from all the men in her life, which also meant, however, that she had to be careful of what she told Ruby. Best friend or not, she was still a spy for Graham and she had no doubt that Ruby would sing like a songbird given half the opportunity.

All Emma had to do now was tell Killian.

It would crush him to see her gone. Emma knew what it meant for an Alpha to declare their love for another. Most of the time they never did until they were sure they had found that perfect someone, but she had never known a single Alpha to pair with a Beta as their mate. Ever. That was half of the confusion currently swirling around inside Emma’s head. She was a Beta, and a broken one at that, illness rife within her body, and she was damn sure she wasn’t worth the love of any Alpha, let alone one so perfect.

She paced up and down the apartment, stopping briefly to draw the curtains. The metal rings scraped across the metal rail, but the sound was quickly drowned out when a car sped passed outside. Emma pulled one curtain back a little in case it had been Killian, but the bright red tail lights at the end of the street dashed her hopes in a second. With a sigh, she shut the curtain again and resumed her steady pacing around the apartment.

She had never been a worrier before, but suddenly she felt herself apprehensive for Killian’s arrival. Years of mental control at the hands of a so-called husband would do that to anyone, but rationally Emma knew that whatever she had to say, Killian would be okay with. In a way, she kind of agreed with Graham, not because she thought they needed to be apart, but because they had been spending so much time together even she was starting to realise that she only smiled when she heard Killian’s voice. Graham was a lot of things, but he was not blind.

Emma only wanted to tell Killian one thing; that she felt the same way and she would be back with the same feelings in her heart.

Her attachment to Killian had become so much lately that she didn’t even recognize herself anymore. She had become someone else, someone liberated and where she had previously been quick to argue, she was now willing to accept whatever pleasure or punishment was dealt out to her. Killian had awakened that inside of her, and she was not ready to let it go. She knew Graham would never give her a divorce, but over the last few hours she had found herself trying to fabricate ways of getting rid of him for good.

A soft knock on the door woke her from her murderous daydream and she was up and racing towards the door before she had even looked in that direction. She knew it was Killian. She could smell him, even through the door, cedarwood and sea salt with a dash of darkness that only she had been privy to. She grabbed the door handle and pulled hard, the wooden panel jumping from the frame without a single sound. She gasped, because somewhere between drawing the curtains and plotting her husband’s death, it had rained, obvious by the fact that Killian now stood in her doorway dripping wet.

He was out of breath having raced from his car, but had been unable to avoid the downpour. His clothes were soaked, clinging to every definition of muscle that Emma could see, his dark blue t-shirt moving with every heave of his chest. Her eyes moved down, over the outline of his bulge now defined by the dampness of his pants and she felt herself suddenly become short of her own breath. When she looked back up to his face, hair dishevelled and clinging to his forehead, she noticed a drip as it fell from the tip of his nose and his eyes were wide with worry, the blue much brighter than she remembered as he searched her face for an answer.

“Emma,” he whispered, like it was the only word he could say. It held so much meaning, a question he needed to know the answer too, but as he searched her face for what he sought, Emma burst into tears.

Killian was over the threshold in a heartbeat, slamming the door behind him just before clutching her face in his hands and dipping his head down to attract her gaze again. Watery eyes tried to focus on his features but Emma couldn’t speak. All she could do was shake her head to tell him something was wrong, and Emma grabbed his hands, holding them to her face in an attempt to keep his warmth on her skin. Even after standing in the rain he was hot, a true Alpha trait, and Emma felt herself immediately calmed by his touch.

“Shh, my love,” Killian said calmly, stroking his thumbs over her cheeks to wipe away her tears, but his words caused a new wave to burst from her eyelids. “Oh, Emma,” Killian soothed, placing one hand on the back of her head and pulling her to his chest.

Her arms wrapped around him immediately, fingers interlocking behind his back and holding him tightly. Killian let her cry, let her expel all of her wails into the fabric of his t-shirt as he stroked her hair, his own tears burning the rims of his eyes. He pinched them closed in an attempt to halt the sob in his chest at how much she was hurting, and a single tear rolled down his still wet face and fell onto the fabric of Emma’s oversized shirt.

After rubbing her back for a good few minutes, and letting her cry until her energy was almost gone, Killian smoothed his hands over her shoulders and pulled her from his body. Her eyes were red, as was the rims of her nostrils, and she quickly wiped at her nose with the extra long sleeve of the white shirt. “Is this one of mine?” Killian asked her with a small smile and Emma coughed out a watery laugh at his attempt to distract her.

“Maybe,” she shrugged weakly.

“It looks good on you,” he said with a smirk, arching an eyebrow playfully.

“It smells like you,” Emma sobbed, a fresh set of tears causing her vision to blur again.

“Hey, now, don’t start that again,” Killian pleaded, rubbing her arms lovingly. “What’s got you all upset, love?”

Emma’s bottom lip quivered and she was unable to stop it. She opened her mouth to speak but the lump in her throat stopped any of the words from coming out.

“Is it something I’ve done?” Killian asked her urgently, the tips of his ears blushing with pink. Emma shook her head and real panic rose up from within him about their last encounter. “Something I’ve said?”

“It’s…It’s…,” Emma stammered, unable to find the words she needed.

“Is it me?” Killian forced himself to ask, his jaw clenching straight after the words left his mouth in nothing but a whisper. He hated himself for being so selfish but Emma instantly reassured him.

“Never,” she breathed, placing her hands on his face. “You’re everything to me.”

Killian heaved a sigh of relief. Emma’s words were exactly what he needed to hear, even if they were not the ones he wanted to hear. He hastily gave his face a wipe, another stray tear having fallen in joyous comfort.

“Then please, love, tell me.” His hands slipped down to hers, clutching her fingers in his and giving them a little shake.

Emma gave him a small nervous smile and a nod of assurance before giving his arm a gentle tug and leading him to the couch. Killian followed, letting his hand slip from hers just long enough for him to slip off his jacket and hang it over a stool as they passed by the kitchenette. Emma was already settling against the arm of the couch when he got to her and reached out to take her proffered hand.

“I have to go away,” Emma said softly.

“Away?” Killian repeated, his stomach falling away from him as he sat down and made sure there was no gap between them.

“To a spa,” Emma said, hanging her head. “With my best friend who is also Graham’s mistress.”

Killian let out the breath he had been holding and a nervous laugh. “Is that all?”

“For a week.” Emma looked over to him and he was still smiling.

“Love, that’s nothing. I’ll be here when you get back,” he promised, rubbing a hand over her knee.

“Graham says we are getting too close. He’s been watching us.” Emma’s confession had Killian narrowing his eyes and an envious rage boiled inside of him.

“How?” Killian licked his lips and shook his head. He didn’t need to know the answer really, because he had seen the same car parked outside with the same distinctive henchman behind the poorly blacked out windows as she had. “Are you safe?”

“I think so, but I don’t want to go and have Ruby fish around for information I know Graham has told her to obtain. It’s going to be so fake,” Emma pouted. “I don’t have a lot of people in my life I can trust anymore.”

“You have me,” Killian told her. “You’ll always have me.”

Emma was suddenly overcome with a warmth pooling inside her that she never thought could be felt at a time like this. Killian’s concern meant more than she could say, more than she could describe, and all she could do was launch herself across the sofa and into his awaiting arms. Killian fell backwards onto the cushions and Emma fell onto him, her mouth seeking his for a passionate kiss. He let her fall onto him, nestling her against his chest as she scrambled for his touch, clinging to his wet t-shirt and holding on for dear life, forgetting all of her troubles in an instant.

Emma kissed him hard, like he was going to be gone the second she opened her eyes, and Killian let her, his lips parting ever so slightly and tracing the seam of her lips. Emma obliged, her tongue slipping passed her teeth and into his mouth where it duelled with his in impetuous passion. Her hands clawed at the hem of his shirt, desperate to rid him of the fabric as quickly as possible, but her weight pinned it to his body because she was reluctant to let even a slither of light pass between their bodies.

Killian grew hard despite his intention to not become aroused and he could smell that Emma was too. She was coating his senses in a cloak of visceral need, the animal within him roaring to life at the mere scent of her, and before he could rationalise any thought, his fingers were fumbling with the buttons of the shirt she was wearing, desperate to get to the skin beneath. Emma shifted her position until her knees were on either side of his legs and tore her lips from his, pushing herself into a sit and helping him divest herself of the shirt.

“Are you alright, love,?” Killian breathed, his words a whisper.

“I am now,” Emma sighed. She was in such a haste to rid herself of the shirt that she tore the bottom two buttons off before wrenching it off her shoulders. She was naked underneath, expectantly or not Killian wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t help but watch the sway of her breasts as she wobbled atop his groin while her hands went to work on his pants.

“No, Emma, stop,” Killian ground out, hating his rational brain and grabbing her hands, halting her advances. It pained him to his very soul to stop her, and the look in her eyes, one of pure hurt, sliced right through him.

“Don’t you want me?” Emma whimpered.

“Aye, of course I bloody want you,” Killian assured her with a sure nod. He still found it absolutely baffling how someone as beautiful as Emma had such a low self esteem, but as usual, the answers to his many questions led right back to her sorry excuse of a husband. He sat up, a huge flat palm spreading out over the middle of her back to make sure she didn’t topple backward, and gave her a loving smile. “I know you’re scared he is going to stop this,” he began, skimming his other hand down the length of her arm and massaging her fingers. “Only the gods can express how unbelievably frightened I am of the same thing.” Confident she was well balanced now, Killian slid his hand up her back and buried it in her hair, cradling her head and holding her face to his. Their noses were pressed together side by side and he felt his breath hitch before he pressed his lips to hers for a quick, chaste kiss. “I meant it when I said I loved you, Emma, and I don’t think I know how to stop.”

Emma pulled her head back and Killian’s hand moved to comb her golden tresses through his fingers, eager as ever to reassure her that whatever worry she was feeling would be over with soon. She blinked, swallowing hard. Emma had never told anyone she had loved them, not even Graham. Sure she had told him, but it had always been after he had said it first, as fleeting as those times were, and she wasn’t exactly sure what it meant to love somebody as openly as Killian clearly loved her.

“I can’t-,” she began shyly, but Killian cut her off.

“You don’t have to say it,” Killian added softly, recognizing the turmoil in her features and giving her a boyish smile that melted her heart. He reached behind her for his shirt she had discarded and pulled it up over her back to cover her once more. “I just want you to know that you are loved, Emma, and despite what you might think, you are not worthless.”

Emma’s lips curved into an unsure smile, little ticks of the corners that were accompanied by a rosy blush across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose that told Killian she was not used to such compliments, something he thought of a as grievous crime against the beauty of both her body and soul. She deserved more than she had ever received and if Killian could offer her just a small piece of his heart, he would wait forever for her to fill the void it had left with the gift of a piece of her own.

“Not to me,” Killian added, reiterating his feelings with a smile. “And I do love you.” He stroked the back of his knuckles over the apple of her cheek and his heart warmed with how deep red her cheeks grew. “But we shouldn’t do this, not here, not if the place is being watched.”

Emma nodded in agreement. “You’re right,” she pouted.

“I’m always right, love,” Killian winked. “And when you return I promise to show you just much I want you.” There was a darkness to the tone of his voice that had a shiver running down Emma’s spine but as quickly as it had appeared, it disappeared in his next words. “And luckily for you, I’m soft.”

“Soft?” Emma asked, confused.

“Soft,” he repeated with a nod and a grin. When Emma’s brow furrowed he chuckled and took pity on her, sliding her from his lap and wrapping one big strong arm around her. “It means I like cuddling too, even without sex.”

Emma snuggled into his side, stretching an arm across his still soggy midriff and hugging him tighter with a content purr. “Me too,” she said softly, a smile breaking out across her face as wide as a mile when Killian turned his head and kissed her on her forehead. “I mean, the sex is great, but,” she teased and Killian’s chest rumbled with laughter.

“But?” Killian prompted her to continue with a little nudge.

“But this is nice too.” Emma had never really had much physical affection like Killian had given her, little touches here and there and now a full blown snuggle on the couch as if they were a real couple. It made her feel special, more than she ever had done, and somehow she was okay with tonight being a different kind of intimate.

–

Angry didn’t even begin to cover what Emma was feeling right now. Thank the Lord for small favours and her chauffeur being on call, because when she had insisted on her driver staying at the resort too, and Graham had obliged, more than likely because the tall, skinny man with small round glasses and a hat Emma was pretty sure was glued to his fake hair piece underneath was actually one of Graham’s many little birds whose favourite song was the Killian and Emma show, she’d had no idea that after just two lunches with Ruby, she would need him to drive her home.

Even thinking about that invasion of marital privacy had her blood bubbling with fury, let alone what she had been stewing on during the drive home after less than half the week at the spa. Was nothing sacred to the man? Emma had been trying so, so hard to fight her growing feelings for Killian, despite everything thrown at her, if not for Graham than for the sake of her reputation as a lady of elite society, a reputation that had helped her fashion out a little niche existence of her own. It wasn’t about being rich, or being able to rub shoulders with these people, but instead about her identity as an individual without Graham, and she still had friends in high places, and many endeavours that would not look favourably at an affair, but did Graham care?

Fuck no.

Clearly not, because if the truth bomb Ruby had just dropped in the lap was anything to go by, Graham didn’t give a flying fuck about her or the meager life she had tried to build for herself in his shadow. Ruby was pregnant and her ever doting husband was the father, apparently something he was thrilled about. However, perhaps the most telling indication of who he was as a person, was when, after telling Ruby how delighted he was for an heir, he told her that Emma would raise the baby with him, as if they had sired the next CEO of the Humbert empire together, totally disregarding the feelings of a mother who would have her tot ripped from her bosom quicker than he could wish he was an Alpha.

The only reason Ruby had told Emma was because she was leaving town to get an abortion and regardless of what had happened between Graham and herself, she still thought of Emma as her best friend, and the whole thing with Graham had been fun and games until she had missed a period. She would tell Graham the baby was dead and knew he wouldn’t waste resources following her to check. Emma understood completely. Ruby was one of her most valued real friends, someone who had been there for her through so much already, and she couldn’t imagine taking the woman’s child and trying to raise it as her own. She just couldn’t. And if Graham knew either of them, he would have realised how insane the idea even was in the first place.

The ride home hadn’t abated Emma’s vehemence towards her husband one bit. It wasn’t about her, and it wasn’t about Ruby, or the life inside of her, but it was about how he had, for so long, managed to breeze through life treating people like property. Emma was sick of it. She was sick of how he had treated every single person and events around him with such frivolity, like his life was a game and his actions had no real consequence. Maybe she was taking it a bit far, storming out of a spa and wellness resort in the middle of the afternoon with nothing but the clothes on her back, but Emma just had to give him a piece of her mind whilst her temper charged storm of emotions swirling inside of her still fuelled her every being. If not for any other reason than he deserved it.

The time it had taken Jeeves - Emma knew that wasn’t his name, but Graham had never let her know his real one for fear they had, ironically, begun an affair - to get her home, Emma’s rage hadn’t fizzled out one iota. She launched herself from the car quicker than it took Jeeves to put it into park, and raced across the expansive gravel driveway in the fading light of afternoon. The sun was heading down for the evening but Emma was wide awake knowing that Graham would be home at this time too, and with any luck, she would be interrupting something he deemed of the utmost importance.

As usual, when the door was opened for her, the lobby of their mansion was empty, cold and uninviting despite the rays of sunshines currently warming their mark into the stone floor. Absentmindedly Emma wondered if they had owned a dog, would it be sunning itself in the beams the way dogs often did, desperate to catch the last warmth of the day. Equally as unnecessary in her thought process, Emma wistfully wished for the carefree life of a pet, free to do whatever she wanted all day without being constantly reminded of how she was nothing but a dissatisfaction wearing an expensive wedding ring.

Boy, was Graham in for some kind of shit storm.

Eventually she found him in his study, after a few pointed directions from staff who thought better than to get in her way, and didn’t even try to hide her ire as she strode across the expansive Persian rug between them and, just as he turned to look at her in shock of her actually being there, slapped him across the face with an audible smack. Hard. Graham’s previously relaxed stance stiffened up in an instant, his eyes fluttering closed as he rearranged his jaw from one side to the other before clenching it closed. Emma was seething, positively vibrating with wrath, the tips of her fingers tingling from the impact that had left a rather telling mark across Graham’s cheek.

“Hello wife,” Graham spat, peeling his eyes open to give her a cold, dead stare. “Back so soon?”

“Don’t ‘wife’ me, you bastard,” Emma yelled, jabbing Graham in the shoulder with the heel of her hand.

“I take it Ruby opened her fat mouth,” Graham mumbled to himself, sighing dramatically. “I guess you know the rest, judging by the pain in my shoulder,” Graham sneered.

“Why the fuck would you think I would raise someone else’s child with you?” Emma shouted, eyes wide with her words.

“It’s not someone else child, Emma, it’s mine,” Graham growled, his voice low and his words ground out through his clenched teeth.

“Oh, that makes it all better!” Emma laughed.

“What are you so angry about?” Graham shrugged. “It’s not like you aren’t getting what you want out of this arrangement.”

He meant Killian and Emma knew it, swallowing the spiteful words that threatened to fall out of mouth back down where they could fester in her stomach some more. “And what about Ruby, huh? You think she is just going to give up her child?”

Graham turned and Emma was taken back by his calm demeanour. “The child is a Humbert. It will live with me and you are my wife, and as such you will be expected to raise it accordingly.”

“Accordingly?” Emma shook her head. “What the fuck, Graham? You really have no idea how your actions affect everyone around you, do you?”

They stared at each other, Emma shaking with exasperation and Graham as cool as ice, still and motionless. Emma watched the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, slowly and deliberately like he even had control over his body’s most basic instincts.

“The child will be raised a Humbert,” Graham repeated slowly, pushing his hands into his pockets and taking a few menacing steps towards her. Emma didn’t back down, squaring her shoulders and met his gaze with the same intensity he was giving her. “You will raise it as a Humbert.”

“I’m not some fucking wet nurse for your bastard, Graham!” Emma sniggered. “I will not raise someone else’s kid, and I will not let you manipulate this situation in your favour like you always do. This is a life, a human being, Graham, surely you realise that!” Emma waved her hands, trying to find any empathy behind the blue eyes staring back at her, but all she saw was a wall of stone.

“You are my wife,” Graham ground out. “You will obey me.”

Emma laughed, loud and heartily, her entire body moving with the deep, belly rumbling hilarity of Graham’s statement. “I won’t, and there is nothing you can do about it. What are you going to do? Divorce me?” Graham’s furrowed brow meant she had struck a nerve.

“Pity,” he huffed, looking down at his feet. He knew there was no way Emma wouldn’t do as he wanted. She might want to be with the Alpha more than him, but he was pretty confident that if it came down to it, she wouldn’t leave a defenceless babe to fend for itself. Graham would simply take the baby form Ruby and leave it with Emma, sure nature would take its course and she would be unable to not help, and over time they would become one big semi agreeable family. He smirked to himself, and Emma scoffed a laugh as if she could read his mind.

“I’m so sorry I’m such a fucking disappointment!” Emma spat at him and with her words, Graham snapped, his biceps bulging under his sleeve caps as he clenched his fists in his pockets.

“Disappointment?” He snapped. “What do you know about disappointment, huh? Maybe if you’d been the wife I was promised-,”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Emma cried, moving towards him and grabbing his arm as he attempted to turn away.

“Nothing, forget I said anything.” Graham shook her off and made for his desk, the decanter of whiskey already halfway to the bottom.

“No, no, go on,” Emma insisted sarcastically. She followed after him, giving him a little shove that spilled the whiskey right out of the glass in his hand. “I’d love to hear about how yet another one of your problems in life is caused by me.”

“Not this one you wouldn’t,” Graham cautioned. He lifted the cut glass tumbler to his lips and took a sip of the burning liquid, exciting all of his taste buds at once.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Emma screeched, running her hands through her hair. “Ten years of marriage and you won’t even be honest with me?”

“You wouldn’t want honesty, Emma, trust me.” Graham finished the whiskey, pouring the last of the honey coloured drink into his mouth and swallowing the lot in one gulp. He pinched his eyes closed until the burn at the back of his sinuses passed but when he opened them, Emma was still as disgruntled as before.

“Trust you?” she said spitefully. “Graham Humbert, the almighty, the all powerful, the good for nothing burnt out Beta who wishes he was an Alpha so badly? Where has that ever got me before?”

Graham spun around and advanced on her, making Emma jump back for a second. His hands were on her face, clamping her jaw in his grip and silencing her long enough to stare into her eyes and cause real fear to spark behind the green hues. “I can tell you where it will get you if you don’t stop with this Ruby bullshit.”

“Well it won’t be a divorce, you’ve made that abundantly clear.” Her words were compressed through her lips but they made her point. Humbert men didn’t get divorced, or so Graham had pounded into her brain from the second she had married him.

He pushed her head aside and released her jaw and Emma immediately rubbed at the soreness there. He walked by her as if she wasn’t even there, like she was nothing, like he hadn’t put his hands on her and hurt her. “Oh there are worse things to do to you, Emma. Don’t push me.”

“Don’t push you? Oh, honey, I haven’t even begun!” Emma ground her teeth, stalking after him with heavy footsteps that echoed off the vast ceiling above them. “You’re a bully, Graham, plain and simple,” she shouted. “You use other people to get what you want and you always will, and I don’t know if this is some kind of bullshit Alpha complex run amok, but I’m sick of it!” Emma caught up with him and dipped sideways, reappearing in front of him and halting his escape attempt. “I’m sick of the lies, the cheating, the galas and fake smiles, pandering to all your important friends, and most of all, I’m sick of you!” Emma took a breath, balling her fists at her side. “You’ll never be an Alpha as long as you live so-”

Her words were cut short by an overwhelming thud and the instant Emma’s eyes filled with the stinging sensation of tears, she knew he had hit her. The moment was in slow motion, like an out of body experience, and Emma felt the point of Graham’s knuckles hit her under the eye in a back hand punch. It shook her, physically and emotionally, and her body flushed with white hot prickles of adrenaline that blinded her so much she didn’t see the next blow coming.

“Shut up!” Graham shouted, his words hidden behind the slap sound. “Shut your dirty whore mouth!” Graham roared, spittle dripping from his lower lip in his rage. He raised his hand again but paused when Emma cowered away. “You want some truth? Here, how about this for a truth. The only reason we took you in was because you were an Omega and I was supposed to be Alpha, that’s the only reason I married you.”

“What do you mean I’m Omega?” Emma snapped, the pain in her cheek radiating through her entire jaw as she gently pawed at the underside of her eye socket where the skin felt like it had split open.

“Come on, Emma, don’t be dense,” Graham sneered. “Have you ever wondered why you couldn’t remember seeing a doctor for your ‘illness’? Ever wondered why my family were so insistent on your medication? It’s a supressant, you dumb bitch!”

Emma’s entire life flashed before her eyes. It all made sense. Everything was much clearer. She was Omega, a completely different gender class that she had always believed, and the entire Humbert family knew about it, but had suppressed her nature with drugs. For a second Emma imagined what her life might have been if she had never had the misfortune of crossing paths with the Humbert family. Would she have married an Alpha? Would she have pups of her own? Her mind swirled with scenario after scenario, all of which had been ripped from her grasp by Graham and his family.

“All this time,” Emma whimpered angrily, shaking her head. “You knew and let me think I was sick.” Her rage boiled up inside of her and she felt her fists ball at her sides again, her feet carrying her closer to the man in front of her.

“And you would have never have found out if it wasn’t for that fucking Alpha,” Graham rasped, his nose wrinkling at the thought of Killian being more than he had ever developed into.

His misplaced rage was evident and Emma was quick to interrupt his fury with a balled fist pounding on his shoulder. “Leave him out of this. He doesn’t know anything.”

“Aww, did I hit a sore spot there, darling?” Graham leered, cocking his head to one side in mock sympathy. “I’m not a fool Emma. I know you two have been fucking without my prior consent!”

“Your prior consent?” Emma yelled. “Listen to you, trying to control my life, what I do and who I see.” She laughed, scrubbing her hands over her face with a sigh. “Well, newsflash Humbert, I’m not your property.”

“Newsflash, Emma, I’ll be suing the fuck out of Killian Jones to recover all of the money he took whilst still fucking my wife, and then, when he has nothing else left, I’ll take his brother’s bar. I know people who could get that place shut down like that!” To emphasize the power he had to do as he had threatened, Graham clicked his fingers right in her face, and Emma blinked in an attempt to fight her flight response.

“Why are you like this?” Emma asked, her voice turning softer, more sympathetic. She had been fond of Graham once, and they were friends for so long before they got married, so the man in front of her right now, the man who had dared to lay hands on her, was not the man she had once known. “What happened to that sweet, charming guy I married, huh? Look what you’ve become, Graham. Spoiled, hateful and with so much anger-,”

Another blow took Emma by surprise and she had no time to brace herself. Graham’s clenched fist hit her again in the same place and Emma was sure that that blow had split the skin under her eye now. She tumbled backwards, falling flat onto her butt and only narrowly avoiding hitting her head on the marble fireplace surrounding behind her.

“Because of you!” Graham bellowed, looming over her, the vein in his forehead bulging.

“It’s not my fault you didn’t become an Alpha!” Emma slapped the floor beside her to highlight her point. “That’s not on me!” Emma snapped.

“They said an Omega presence would draw it out of me, make me into the most powerful Alpha my family had ever seen, but no!” Graham yelled, shaking with anger. “We paid good money for you!” He accused, pointing at her. “You ruined me, you poor, good for nothing ungrateful Omega whore!” Graham raised his hand again, intent on making sure Emma felt this one, but she scrambled backwards across the floor, pushing herself to her feet when her back hit the solid door frame. “Now do me a favour and get the fuck out!”

When Emma pulled open the door, the cold air from the hall hit the welt under her eye and halted the throbbing pain when she blinked. Graham was hot on her heels, shoes pounding the stone floor and sending echoes into the hall. One of the staff was barged out of the way by Emma and stumbled into Graham’s path, slowing him temporarily and Emma took the opportunity to race for the front door. She yanked it open and couldn’t stop the tears from falling any longer. One of her shoes came loose and she kicked the other one off, ignoring the searing pain shooting up her legs as she tore across the gravel driveway.

“And don’t come back!” Graham yelled after her, the door knocker clattering as he slammed the door and cast her out into the night.

#cs fic #the contract #A/B/O #a/b/o dynamics #cs fanfic #alpha!killian #emma swan #tw: domestic abuse

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witchoflit · 4 years

Text

The Song of Achilles - Book Review

“Greece in the age of heroes. Patroclus, an awkward young prince, has been exiled to the court of King Peleus and his perfect son Achilles. By all rights their paths should never cross, but Achilles takes the shamed prince as his friend, and as they grow into young men skilled in the arts of war and medicine their bond blossoms into something deeper - despite the displeasure of Achilles' mother Thetis, a cruel sea goddess. But then word comes that Helen of Sparta has been kidnapped. Torn between love and fear for his friend, Patroclus journeys with Achilles to Troy, little knowing that the years that follow will test everything they hold dear.“

*spoilers*

Oh wow, what a way to kick the blog off - this is arguably one of the most famous YA books I’ve seen, and little old me is here to give her opinion.

This book... leaves an impact, to say the least. I know a lot of people will agree if they’ve read it that it’s a Doozy. I’ve been thinking about it pretty much every day since I finished it.

First off, the writing style. From the very first chapter it’s obvious that The Song Of Achilles is incredibly beautifully written. It’s by all accounts a stunning retelling of the Trojan War and Greek mythology. The sweeping landscapes and well-developed scenes bring the story to life in vivid, romanticised detail, and it’s honestly a joy to read. The language shines in particular with regards to the iconic love story with Patroclus and Achilles. For example, one famous quote is: “I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.” (Oh my god, right? If my true love doesn’t say some equally poetic and dedicated stuff I’m out). The way Patroclus describes Achilles is just enchanting and you feel the strength of their love from the get-go. I think this is part of the reason this book lingers in readers’ minds. It’s the ultimate, soulmate, true-love fairytale romance and it’s so easy to get lost in the relationship the author weaves through the story.

To be honest, as a sucker for love stories, the romance was the best part for me. I have no experience with Greek mythology or any knowledge of Troy beyond Troy Bolton (go wildcats!), so unlike some readers I was less interested in the myths and legends and more interested in the two lovebirds’ character development. Overall, I loved it. You really see Achilles grow from a Prince to Aristos Achaion, the best warrior in Greece and a killing machine with a soft spot for our boy Patroclus. Their dynamic changing as a result of Achilles’ success is interesting and heartbreaking, and really speaks to me about how we wish we could stay young forever, when things were simple and in this case when the two could be together without the weight of the world on their backs.

This rise to fame and the subsequent downfall makes this story end as a tragedy rather than true love’s happy ending. Although I almost threw the book across the room with all the emotions it made me feel, in the end I think the tragic finale makes the happy memories and love story all the sweeter, in a Greek Romeo and Juliet kind of way. One of my only criticisms with the book is how the ending came about. By the end, I found Achilles to be arrogant with fame to the extent that he became a little unlikable and he ultimately seems to sacrifice thousands of soldiers to maintain his pride. This forces Patroclus to beg for Achilles to choose a different path, but he ultimately ends up fighting Achilles’ battle for him and, in the haze of the adrenaline rush, gets a bit too cocky and is killed. (This is totally an oversimplified explanation of course.) I didn’t like Achilles’ pride, and especially the way our usually level-headed protagonist Patroclus loses his head and wildly overestimates his abilities at the last second, basically for plot alone. However, the mourning after and the climax of the epic battle was so impactful and well-written that I can just about let these points slide.

In the end, I was hooked. The last few pages certainly had me slightly misty-eyed. I’m glad to finally understand the cult following of The Song of Achilles, and the dreamy love story that unfolds still has me daydreaming and ogling at all the magnificent romantic quotes.

I’d recommend this book particularly to anyone fond of Greek mythology - I myself probably missed countless mythological references, and my dislike for the way the ending played out could be a result of the myth it was based on, I don’t know. Nevertheless, its fantasy and romance will captivate any lover of those genres, guaranteed.

Rating: ★★★★☆

Tarot Card: The Knight of Cups, which reminded me of the dreamy but unstable nature of the lovers’ relationship

#the song of achilles #tsoa #this was a wild ride #it'll stick with me for sure #book reviews #bookblr #books #book #writing #greek #mythology #love #review #reviews

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 5 years

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Okay so ik ur in he middle of writing a series rn but do you think you might ever revisit “the bad guy” & maybe do a part 2 where like another enemy comes along and y/n, e and gray have to maneuver thru it?? I’m sorry if you’ve already answered this but I am so hooked on these characters it’s not even funny. I’ll dead ass be in a lecture thinkin about their love story & the dynamic they had w/eachother. It reminds me sm of daisy & gatsby especially w/the national anthem vibes. Ughh I love it!💕

I love that you still think about them, cause I do too. I honestly had no plans, but I do have something written in case I change my plans.

It's totally unedited and filled with imperfections, but this is how I saw their story evolve next.

If anyone is interested, let me know. 💕

The Bad Guy - preview of a possible part two

He opens his eyes, the darkness around him seemingly moving through the cracks and pushing in. His right arm falls open to the side as he struggles to breathe, blindly reaching out for his nightstand, the top drawer where his inhaler resides. While his right hand struggles to grasp what nature intended to be his cure, his left one taps around the bed for his real remedy - his saving grace.

Finally finding the pump, he takes one puff for the wheezing to stop, allowing his mind to function properly.

His left hand comes up empty, void of what he holds dear and he sits up madly, looking around the room in a daze.

She's not there.

His already wild heart beats fast, letting his hands and feet numb further than when he awoke from his sleep.

But was it all a dream? Was Y/N ever real? If she is, did Mikhail really take her from him?

The questions in his mind drive him up the wall, his arms shaking and legs no longer able to hold him up, so he remains seated. Gripping at his hair, he feels the panic seep in, overtaken with cold sweat and trembling chin.

She must be real. He felt it in his heart. She wasn't just a dream, but her being gone could be more than his imagination.

She's not here.

Had she been there, she'd surely be tucked into his side, her cold feet warming on his calfs or at the very least she'd drape a leg over him.

She's not here.

It's more than panic, paralyzing him. He can't breathe, his lungs are heavy. He feels the air around him, pressing in, overwhelming. He finds his phone, pressing number one on instinct, knowing he had put her in because she's his number one girl. If she is his, she is always his number one dial.

The line goes silent, his mind unable to process the generic response of the caller not being available, eyes widened and a lump forming in his throat.

Wanting to scream, he chuckles because there he is, a man who fears nothing and yet he's absolutely lost in his fear of losing one girl he is no longer sure exists.

Columbia.

"If she's real, that's where she'll be." He whispers to himself, scrambling to his feet without putting on any clothes. Only in his briefs, Grayson runs out of his mansion and sits into his Porsche, driving at illegal speed toward where he might find her.

One of the cops recognize his car, not stopping him. As if he would stop.

Finally on campus, he parks in front of her dorm and rushes out.

Room 23, he thinks, already finding himself before the red door and his heart stumbles on itself when he realizes she must be there. He can't be imagining everything, believing he isn't that creative.

Connecting his fist with the door, he pounds on it impatiently. Until the lock is heard and the door creaks open, her nose and her right eye the only parts of her peaking out.

He sees her eye widen in recognition, the door opening instantly and her worried face meeting his unsteadiness.

"Gray?"

In one move, he grabs her smaller form and presses her into his chest, folding his arms around her. His nose buried in her hair at the top of her head, his hands at her sides, crossed at her back, her arms wrapping around him as well.

"Shhh. It's okay. I'm here." Her voice is muffled by his chest, but the sound of it alone makes his heart calmer and the smell of her hair puts his mind at ease.

She doesn't fight his embrace, for this isn't the first time he came to her room completely out of his mind. Physical touch is what he needs now and not the sexual kind. He needs to feel her, breathe her in and she allows him.

Slowly pushing him in, she kicks the door close and moves him to her bed. She notes the warm, naked back and the muscular built going up and down under her fingertips, realizing he must have had a bad dream. She told him to call her if he needed her, come what may she'd be there. But here he is, in all his glory, trembling like a scared child in her dorm room.

Laying him down, Y/N snuggles into his side, enjoying his strong arms as they push her into him and the way his palms go up and down her skin to assure himself of her existence.

Tenderly, she presses kisses into his chest and neck, reminding him she's with him as she promised to be.

Ever since Mikhail nearly killed both of them, despite the man being dead, Grayson had been restless. They didn't talk much about his gang related work, knowing it upsets both of them as result. But it didn't stop Y/N from insisting Grayson finds help for his nightmares that usually led him to her door at ungodly times and all in his underwear.

Although she insisted living on her own in a dorm, she's become quite aware he needs her with him. She's been splitting her time to the best of her ability between his bed and her own, wanting to permanently give into his requests of her moving in. It's hellish, making a decision between having all she wanted in the accelerated med school programme and having Grayson, what she never thought would be an option.

"You're really here." He mumbles, eyes closed and already drifting off, failing to notice the tears in her eyes as she chooses him above all.

"I am. I always will be."

Once the morning came, Y/N's alarm wakes them both in the most frustrating way possible.

The "I like to move it" song blares, startling them and as big as Grayson is and as small as Y/N's bed is, he nearly dropped Y/N on the floor when he jumped up. Catching her mid fall, pressed against the bed frame with his arms, a scream dies kn her throat and her hands grab at him for support.

"You good?" Grayson chuckles, half thinking how he's too old, too rich for dorm rooms and half thinking how lucky he is to be in her dorm room.

"Think it's time." She grumbles, helping him pull her up into the safety of his chest, draping her leg over his stomach for a better hold.

"For what?" Grayson leaves a kiss atop her head, running his fingers up and down her arm, his ring grazing her skin lightly.

"For me to move back with you." She sighs, enjoying the feathered coldness his ring brings to her warm skin. She's always cold when she sleeps alone, yet sleeping with Grayson, a human volcano, she finds herself burning up.

Grayson's lips part, trying to hold in a confused, but excited gasp. She always makes him feel like a high school girl with a crush, still going through puberty: senselessly blind and constantly confused, wanting to gush about his feeling for her and write poems even if he's not particularly good at it.

"Didn't you say it would take you forever to get here and it would affect your grades?" Grayson asks, still holding in his true feelings. He respects how hard she works, her ambition and drive endlessly, even admires her for it, but he also wishes she'd just be with him...all the time. God knows he had more money than he can spend in seven lifetimes, she need not work a single day of her life, yet he knows how important it is for her which is why he offers his home to her every month, but never pressures her into accepting.

"Yes. But I also want to wake up in your arms every morning like this without falling on my ass. I'll just have to take my Impala and put it into use for the drives, a few hours lost is better than being away from you so long." She excuses, refusing to tell him the truth; that she's worried for him.

After all, Grayson is a head of the most formidable criminal organization, a gang as some would say, and he can't afford to show weakness and these dreams might come across as such. When she's there, the dreams tend to go away. Most of all, she makes sure he takes his prescription and attends his therapy sessions.

"You know I'd love that, but only if you're sure. It's a big move in a relationship and neither of us have much practice there. It's also a strain on you, so if you're absolutely sure, I would love nothing more." Practical, very self aware and extremely protective response put in the sweetest, most gentle way possible. There's the charming, magnetic man she loves so much. Right underneath the rubble. But she found she loves the rubble too.

"I'm sure." She lifts herself up, just barely enough to peck the tip of his nose because that always made him scrunch up and his lips whirl to the side into the cutest smile she had ever seen and that's what she loved the most - having such an effect on him that she discovers new things about him that not even Grayson himself knows.

Lazily, his hand slides down her back and rests upon her bum, squeezing it a little too hard but not enough to make it painful, although she never opposed to a little pain. Releasing the flesh he wanted to take a bite out of, he taps her gently, like a summer breeze.

"In that case, get that cute ass to class and I'll call a few people to help me move all this by the end of the day." Grayson taps her but once more, getting a happy giggle in return only prompting a crooked smile of his own to appear.

She tumbled over to her side, barely managing to survive the fall from grace she considered his chest to be, only to throw on the first thing she could find - a deep green summer dress, falling to her ankles where a tattoo rests; one she got after being saved by the members of The house of the rising sun. As her eternal gratitude, the rising sun tattoo on her right ankle will forever be there to remind her why she's able to giggle with her boyfriend while running late to class.

"And take a banana and an energy bar with you!" He commands, the change in his voice now evident to her. She could always tell when he simply suggests something in comparison to when he orders her to do something, when he dared to do such a bold thing.

Y/N didn't mind this particular demand, knowing this is just another way Grayson shows his love for her because she does forget to eat on time and his nagging helps keep her healthy and at the top of her game.

Quickly pecking his lips, she stumbles toward her door and turns around to take him in. Just for one moment longer her eyes remain on his faintly lit sculptured body, the sun rays dancing on the tan skin. His hair is a mess, his eyes tired but bright and his lips curled into a self satisfied smirk because he knows she's checking him out.

"Clothes are in the drawers." She begins, Grayson joining her for the last part to be said in unison.

"Second one from the bottom." Both smile, giving them enough soul food to survive the day.

Some would consider this a mundane thing, but for Grayson it was extraordinary, magic even. For a man who didn't think he'd live to see his thirtieth birthday, this was the epitome of happiness.

The men came quickly, packing all Y/N's things except her underwear, for Grayson had packed that before anyone even showed up. Maybe being jealous over his men seeing the sexy underwear he loked to provide her with is silly, but he wanted to be the only one with such privileges.

Just as they're leaving the day at its end, Grayson finds Ethan rushing in with a crazed look in his eyes.

"Where the fuck have you been all day?!" Ethan speaks through gritted teeth in hushed voices.

"Why?" A dark look befalls Grayson as he already knows something is happening and it's bad. It's always bad.

He spent the past year trying to make right of his wrongs, legitimize his work, but that can't ever be entirely done.

"Silver Snakes heard you closing up shop, and declared New York an open season." Ethan hissed, finding Grayson's face harden like stone.

"I am still the leader. I am still the Capo." Grayson's jaw clenches, only now seeing he and Ethan aren't alone.

"What does open season mean?" Her voice is determined, but the fear in her tone doesn't go unnoticed by either of them.

"It means they want this territory." Ethan answers instead, seeing his brother had gone back to the cold person he was before he ever met Y/N.

Grayson still considered New York his playground and he definitely had no intention giving up such a prized possession many died for him to keep.

"The Silver Snakes must have found out Gray has you now and in our world that means weakness. When one has a weakness, he can be dealt with. You're a liability." Ethan continues until Y/N starts to shake her head, her chin trembling instead of her lips because her jaw is clenched tightly enough to prevent that from happening.

"What does that mean? How does he get the territory?" Y/N insists, walking toward Grayson.

"It means Grayson has to die. Both of us. Heirs if there are any as well." And that's when her world comes crashing down once more.

"We can fight this. Them." She quickly moved ahead, standing on her tiptoes to cup Grayson's face and bring his eyes to her instead of the faraway place this piece of information took him to.

"We will prevail. As always." He noticed her speak in plural, meaning she would fight with him and although he loved her for it, that is exactly why he's so scared now. That's a part of her magic; she sees the sun even in the darkest days.

#grayson dolan #ethan dolan #dolan twins #the bad guy #the bad guy concept

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kyraensui · 6 years

Text

Similar Differences

Soft A/O dynamics with premise of Keith accidentally went into another reality from a normal scouting mission and met a different Lotor with an unorthodox relationship.

++++++++++

Galran.

He recognized the characters, but he was not proficient enough to read majority painted on the wall. Halo screens after halo screens of Galran languages with images of graphs and wave lengths were plastered around the room’s wall. It was a place Pidge would love to be in if she was here.

His fingers were curious to touch and understand.

“I appreciate your docile behavior now that I am making better progress without your volatile actions.”

He sighed.

“But I can understand the transgression of your earlier actions based upon my appearance.”

“It was my-”

“Instincts. I know as we both have Galran blood in our system.”

“How do you know?”

Keith was curious as he turned to face the man who has his back turned to him. Never once took his eyes off the halo screen and fingers in constant motion across the terminal pad.

“Your markings and your fighting techniques. Quite unique. I wish to learn more about your genes, but I rather not have my beloved mate spend anymore ticks in your reality.”

“Is he..” as Keith took a few steps closer to Lotor.

“In this reality, he is part Altean and part Terran such as yourself.”

“You said beloved mate. As in, he is your lover?”

“Yes. An omega too, but I can tell you do not understand the meaning. A special secondary gender trait for this universe.”

Keith’s mouth ‘o’ in silence as he was careful not to disturb the Galran Prince with his work. He will have to ask Pidge to look it up when he gets back.

Was it possible to have secondary gender? His mind was still boggled even after Lotor had told him he will not understand. Of course, he wouldn’t if he was not explained in certain details.

He tiptoe carefully to his right side to view what Lotor was focus on.

“How…” His words were hesitant to come out. He took a deep breathe. “How is this reality like?”

Lotor’s fingers paused.

“If I was not so blind from my thirst of knowledge, then I would not have accepted my beloved’s request to test this out.”

Keith took two steps back and turned with his back facing Lotor. His hands clasped together behind his lower back.

“If only your alternate self can think like you do here, then we would not have become enemies.”

“Have you or your other Paladins care to make my other self understand?” His fingers went back to typing. “To retrieve something he had yearn for.”

“I guess we did not.”

“He sounds similar to Empress Allura except we do not have Voltron or the lions. Those were lost when my father destroyed the plans with Alfor so it will not come into fruition.”

He had some time. Whatever length of time he has before he can return. The reality was polar opposites where Altean ruled the universe and the Galras are hunted down.

Which comes to the Galran behind him. He was strikingly gorgeous as usual, but he was not a conniving being like his counterpart.

If he had to compare with this Lotor, he would be like a mix of Shiro and Pidge. He has the strength for not only in combat, but leadership to stand by his conviction. His intelligence can rival with the combination of Pidge, Matt, and Hunk.

What about his counterpart? What was he like? How does he look as an Altean?

“Do not dwell too much, little Paladin. You will be home soon.”

“What if I don’t want to go back?”

He wants to know. No, he needs to know.

“You will. Your presence alone can cause or disrupt unknown effects for both your and my realities.”

He paused and slightly turned his body halfway with one palm on the terminal.

“In my beloved’s eyes, your Paladin friends are the very ones who threw away what compassion they had to show their loyalty for their Empress.”

Keith’s throat felt swollen and constricted. He swallowed hard as he turned around with his breathing hitched.

Cerulean eyes. They were deep and rich in emotions he had not seen within the counterpart.

Compassion and sorrow.

Not once he had called his name. It was only beloved. Or was it his way to show how deeply he cares for his counterpart.

A tiny prick struck his heart quickly and silently as Keith continues to stare at Lotor’s eyes.

“I appreciate your wish to stay, but this is not your true home. Your home is beyond this wormhole.”

Keith followed his line of sight as Lotor turned his head and gave a quick side tilt.

There it was. The white wormhole that he fell through moments ago by accident.

He will be home. With his friends and Marmora family.

“Go, little Paladin.” as Keith turned and stared at Lotor. “Please do understand why I must rush you back.”

“I think….I think I do.”

Another tiny prick, but it was gone the moment it came in his mind.

“He loves you too..”

Lotor’s smile were gentle and soft when words came out of his own mouth. The white light behind him became brighter.

“I—I will do my best to talk with your counterpart and show him a different kind of hope.”

“Please do.”

His visions are now engulfed in white and sounds becoming softer with one hand stretching out. He closed his eyes. A word came out gentle before losing his conscience.

“Keith.”

His arms stretched out wide as he could see the familiar white, fluffy hair coming out the wormhole. His movement were swift to catch the fallen figure and held him close to his chest. His fingers combed through silky white hair and a chaste kiss on top of his head.

His beloved is back.

“Lotor?” His words came out shaky and uncertain.

“Yes, my beloved Keith.” Lotor released his pheromones to calm his mate. “You’re back.”

With some strength left, Keith lifted himself with his arms wrapped around Lotor’s neck and nuzzled his nose on his scent glands.

“Easy, beloved.” He could feel his beloved omega trembling in his arms. His arms cross-locked on his omega’s back and pulled him closer.

He gave several more kisses. He can smell and sense fear emitting from his beloved. After easing Keith’s turbulent emotions, his mind had made up. Not from what the other Keith had mention, but what he can feel now. His beloved in his arms.

“Let’s scrap this project.”

One was enough.

It was not worth losing someone so precious, so dear to his heart for the sake of science. He understands it now.

He hopes his counterpart understands it too.

“We will find another solution to win this war.”

Keith nodded and buried his face into Lotor’s collar.

“Together,” his voice muffled against his mate’s collarbones. “we do this together.”

His cheek sits on top of Keith’s fluff hair with his hand stroking behind his head.

“I promise.”

#keitor #vld fic #vld fic: similar differences

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efoyisk · 7 months

Note

❛ i'm somewhere outside my life. i keep scratching but somehow i can't get in. ❜ :)

his chest swells with a scorching sensation, stealing his breath from his lungs, rising the numbing needling of bile to the back of his throat. “none of you can,” comes loki’s response. not to deter mobius—but to remind him it isn’t his fault. that it can’t be helped by simply focusing hard enough. heavens know what tricks were concocted to scramble mobius’s mind; and a million other heads. though at the moment, loki was concerned about this specific one. he did not enjoy seeing this solemn look on mobius’s face. perhaps he’d not allow his dismay to show, perhaps he’d shrug it off as though it has left him unaffected—but it’s easy to tell. this isn’t just bitter curiosity. it hurts him.

“mobius.” loki’s hand reaches out, unabashed, to drape over the agent’s. squeeze, gently. “say the word and we shall find it all. we could—find who you were, on the timeline. or perhaps we could—” loki pauses. wets his lips, cautious. his voice lowers, his other hand holding higher, onto mobius’s wrist. “i could… look for it, inside your head, if you’d let me. if that’s something you want. you don’t have to stay here, mobius, i told you before you did have a life. you could have had a family.” loki pauses then, gulps, hard. he shan’t say what he has seen. “you could look for them. i’d help you.”

hozier lyrics.

#` ‧ ° ❅⠀⠀◟ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐄◝⠀⠀━⠀⠀ interaction.#dynamics. ⠀i could recognize him by touch alone by smell; i would know him blind by the way his breaths came⠀⠀━⠀⠀ mobiues.#just leavin a lil easter egg for you there #take it as you will <3

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talesfromthepayload · 7 years

Text

The Best of Overwatch

Requests are open!

The world was quiet around you, your roommate having gone to stay with some friends, as always. You were peacefully alone, the bright glow of your monitor lighting the room around you.

“Get their Bastion!” A familiar, muffled voice shouted over your headset.

“Got him.” You replied, grip on your mouse tightening as your helix rockets sent the enemy team’s Bastion falling into a pile of scraps.

A Genji popped out of the spawn point, trying- and failing- at getting on the payload before your team won. ‘Victory’ popped up in the middle of your screen, momentarily blinding you. It was late and you had a midterm tomorrow.

“Alright guys,” you announced, breaking the silence. “I’ve got to get going.”

Your friends grumbled “goodbye” and “goodnight” before you exited Overwatch, hoping to catch an adequate amount of sleep for your midterm tomorrow. You heaved a sigh, lifting yourself from your chair for the first time in hours. You’d been editing a few clips, deciding which one would make it into your next video. Making Overwatch videos had become a hobby while you were away at college.

You’d become decently successful at it too, though sometimes the amount of time you sunk into it stressed you to no end.

Green lit up your screen as you shut it down, following the path to your little bed before the light disappeared. As soon as your head hit the pillow, you were out.

“Is…”

“Okay…”

“Stable…”

You couldn’t quite make out what you were hearing, your head pounding as you tried to push yourself up. Your head rolled back, voices coming from all sides.

“Ugh,” you groaned, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

Your bleary gaze fell on a clock to your right. Absentmindedly, you wondered when that had gotten there, but the time sent a spark of energy and worry through your spine.

10:37

“Shit!” You cursed, jumping up faster than your head wanted, if the pounding was anything to go by.

The world was spinning as you looked around, blurry colors trying to piece together the room. You needed your closet. You ran to the right, knowing about where it’d be. You were stopped short, running directly into a hard surface.

You stumbled back, holding your head as you squeezed your eyes shut, forcing yourself to focus. You released a breath, raising your head to the room. You’d finally regained your vision to the fullest, though it didn’t seem to help much.

“Uh…”

Your brows furrowed, legs weakening at the sight you found yourself in front of. Three people stood next to you. Three very recognizable people.

“Mercy? Soldier? Zenyatta?”

Talk about a weird dream.

“You are familiar with us?” The blonde that you’d played oh-so many times questioned.

You laughed. You really didn’t know what else to do. This was insane, and you didn’t have time to be dreaming right now. You had to get to your midterm. Soldier: 76, in all of his glory, scowled at you. Or, at least, you figured he did. It was hard to tell with his mask and visor.

Zenyatta, however, was opening his hands in invitation, silently welcoming you. His kindness suddenly made you feel bad for all the times you’d sniped him as Widowmaker.

Mercy, the closest to you, had furrowed her brows in concern, reaching a hand toward you.

Sign #1 you’d been playing too much Overwatch: you were dreaming vividly of all the characters.

“Did you happen to hit your head,” Mercy inquired, a small, worried frown on her lips.

“Uh… no.” You said lamely, pinching your arm tightly, trying in vain to wake yourself up. This was so not happening.

“Are you sure?” Soldier: 76 asked, his voice just as gruff as it was in the game. Unconsciously, you almost expected him to yell “get over here and heal up”.

“It was a nasty battleground,” Zenyatta suggested lightly, gesturing vaguely. “Perhaps you hadn’t noticed in the heat of battle.”

Wait, what?

“The heat of battle?” You squeaked. “I was asleep in my dorm!”

Mercy’s head tilted, her eyes meeting Soldier’s visor, silently conversing.

“Look, I don’t know what kind of weird dream this is, but I really need to get to my midterm. So, uh, nice meeting you and everything… but, bye!” You shouted, fleeing from the three of them.

In your haste to escape them, you kept your head back, watching in fear as Soldier: 76 darted after you. You almost wanted to laugh at how similar he looked to when he sprinted in game, at least until you remembered you were his target and sped up.

You were so busy monitoring the old soldier you ran splat into another body. The impact pushed you back, the smell of cigars and something you couldn’t quite place wafting around you. You shook your head, lifting your eyes into the gaze of two brown orbs shining with mirth.

McCree.

“What the hell is going on?” You shouted, grabbing at your head as you backed away from the cowboy you’d played for hours.

Your sudden outburst caused a few more heads to turn. You felt like the room was spinning when you saw Reinhardt, fully suited and looking at you with kind eyes, and D.Va, pausing her game to investigate what had happened.

“Calm down,” Soldier: 76 whispered with some heat, hoping to diffuse whatever situation this was.

“Me calm down?” You yelled voice rising as you scrambled away from him. “You’re not even real!”

His brows furrowed, dropping his guard a little bit in confusion. McCree offered a hand on your shoulder, his eyes moving from 76 to you.

“What’s the problem, darlin’?”

You laughed again.

“I need to wake up.”

McCree tipped his hat up the slightest bit.

“Don’t seem to be dreamin’, sugar.”

You backed away further, shaking his hand off your shoulder.

“This is a game.” You stated firmly, pointing an accusatory finger at McCree. “You, Jesse McCree, are a character. Believe me, I’ve said 'it’s high noon’ enough times to know.”

McCree narrowed his eyes, opening his mouth to speak before being interrupted by you.

“And you,” you pointed at Soldier: 76. “You’re Jack Morrison or Soldier: 76 or whatever you want to be called. I just took out Bastion with your helix rockets last night.”

Soldier: 76 took a step forward, his muscles tensed as he grew closer.

“All of you, you’re not real, you’re just a game! I’ve spent hours pl-”

Your voice cut off as you felt something sharp poke your neck. Briefly, you recognized the soft features of Mercy as you fell back to the ground, the world darkening once more.

As soon as awareness began to trickle back into your senses, you jumped up. Now you really were going to be late to your midterm. Your headache had gone away significantly, and your sight returned within seconds, only for you to be thoroughly disappointed.

“Ah, you’re awake,” Mercy said, smiling at you kindly.

“Not again,” you groaned, though your grumpiness didn’t deter Mercy in the slightest.

“Sorry about earlier, I needed to calm you down.” You managed a half smile for her sake. After all, you were a Mercy main.

“I have to be dreaming,” you whispered, dropping your head to your hands.

“You aren’t,” Mercy suggested lightly, carefully placing herself by your side.

You couldn’t believe this was anything but a dream. Ever since you started playing Overwatch, you’d wished to be whisked away to their world, to be amongst such admirable (some, questionable) people. But it was always a dream, one that wouldn’t come true.

“I have to be,” you stated quietly, not really noticing whether Mercy heard you or not.

“How are ya?” A voice questioned from the doorway.

That familiar slang you’d heard so many nights sounded even smoother up close. You knew it was McCree without even having to look up.

“I don’t understand,” you admitted, getting to your feet.

Mercy kept a watchful eye on you, a hand close to your back just in case it got too much for you.

You shoved your hands in the flimsy pockets of your pajamas, idly playing with whatever your fingers found. It was cool to the touch and fit in the palm of your hand.

“I can prove it!” You shouted triumphantly, pulling your phone from your pocket.

It wasn’t quite dead yet and you knew you had one of your streaming videos downloaded to the phone.

“You sure ya alright, darlin’?” McCree eyed you curiously, then the medical expert.

You didn’t pay him mind, too busy flipping through the hundreds of pictures on your phone. You found it quickly, smiling at the caption: The Best of Overwatch. It was your favorite video of yours, complete with witty banter and great plays. A lot of it was just messing around, occasionally filled with actual good plays.

“See!” You flashed the screen to Mercy and then to McCree, gathering them around you as you examined the content.

You knew it best to not show them the whole video, well aware that some of it was a little inappropriate- especially in regards to one particular conversation concerning the voice lines.

“Hey guys,” your voice said cheerfully over the screen as the first Overwatch clip popped up.

You were playing Genji, your Hanzo teammate right next to you.

“This is going to be my personal best moments of Overwatch. As always, you’ll hear my friends and I messing around while, mostly, playing seriously. Sometimes.”

You could hear George laugh over the mic, his Hanzo perched carefully by your side as the counter reached the end, signaling the beginning of the match. The voiceover ended, going directly to your live mic at the time.

“Dynamic duo, eh?” George suggested, laughing as you ran ahead.

“Ain’t no ninja like me,” you said, jumping into of the enemy Mercy.

“If you don’t get Mercy I will,” George taunted you.

“If you take my kill, I swear to Christ,” you released a puff of air when the Mercy went down, jumping towards the Reinhardt.

Before you could finish getting there, he fell to the ground, Hanzo’s portrait coming across the screen with the kill.

“Ass,” you muttered, slicing through the Reaper to get to the Junkrat.

Before Genji stopped, Hanzo’s scattershot killed the Junk, causing you to stop right on his after-death bombs. You grumbled out curses as you died, watching you teammates as you waited for respawn. You paused the video, looking to Mercy and McCree.

Their eyes were widened, mouths open in shock. You weren’t crazy, you were telling the truth.

“That’s… us.” Mercy stated, wild thoughts flying through her mind, visible in her bright eyes.

McCree spoke up after a silent pause.

“Well, shit.”

#mccree x reader #soldier 76 x reader #jack morrison x reader #mercy x reader kinda #overwatch imagine

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pdanno · 7 years

Text

Jess and Rocky

writing assignment for school- needed 1 dynamic character, 1 static, at least. Set in the distant future.

Jess always taught Rocky it’s not okay to hurt people, because they’re just people in bad spots. Sometimes, Rocky wonders if Jess is right.

She can tell, even if Jess tried to hide it, that they’re definitely in a bad spot. Still, she knows that the two of them have it better than a lot of people. A tiny, tiny apartment that Jess somehow got. It’s better than the streets. Without Jess, Rocky would probably be dead by now, and Jess is like a sibling. Given, a sibling that is very fond of being a helicopter parent.

Rocky sat up in her pallet, yawning quietly so as not to wake Jess up. They must’ve been out late last night. They’ve been doing that a lot ever since they got the apartment, and Rocky always figures that they’re doing some kind of late night work to pay for it. It exhausts them though, and she worries. Regardless, Rocky steels herself. No food in the pantry for lunch, but she brushes out her short hair and starts out for school. It was a dinky little place, looked like it was made out of scraps compared to the shiny polish of the skyscrapers. The white streets were more of an ash gray around here, and there was still the acrid smell of chemicals and fossil fuels despite them being (technically) banned/depleted for years. If it were up to Rocky, she’d go to work to help get money so eventually the two of them could move out of the neighborhood. But Jess was adamant. No working. Jess wants Rocky to have an education. Even if its an education from a poorly funded school, with teachers who probably don’t have degrees.

Aside from that, work is dangerous. It’s pretty easy to get sick or hurt in the slums, and doctors are so expensive you’d be paying for the treatment for ages. Once, Rocky got real sick. Jess panicked and took her to a doctor. The check up alone took a year to pay off, nearly another for the antibiotics. In the end, Rocky was alright but both kids were far more wary about going to a doctor.

So, Rocky went to school. In some classes, she was the only student. There were maybe 3 teachers, and all looked only marginally better than Rocky felt. She pushed through it, and she walked quickly home at the end of the day, averting her eyes from dark alleyways, and sticking to the LED lit paths home.

“Payment. Before the end of the week, Jess. You don’t work this out, and everything’s done. “

“I-“

“I don’t give a flying rats ass about anything, no excuses. I get my payment. One way or another.”

Rocky hesitated at the rickety door leading into the one room apartment. She’d never heard the mans’ voice before, and it sounded angry. Rough.

“Jess?” She called out quietly, before pushing the door open with a grating screech.

“Rocks! M- I hope school went well!” Jess looked away from a tall man. He was in a clean suit with crisp white cuffs, and he looked out of place. Jess’ eyes were just a touch too big, their expression strained.

“Who’s this? Rocks?” The man turned, his expression cold and unreadable.

“It’s Rochelle, uh, sir.” Rocky shifted her feet, looking back and forth between the tall man and Jess.

The man offered a warm smile, his stance changing from hostile to friendly in an instant. “Well, hello there Rochelle. It’s nice to meet you. Is Mx. Jess your friend?”

The smile didn’t reach his eyes.

Rocky gathered herself and took a breath before smiling brightly. “It’s nice to meet you too! Yeah, Jess is real nice and all, they’re my friend. What’s your name?” Her smile was unsteady, and her voice cracked mid sentence, but she kept her expression impressively consistent.

“Mr. Lawrence works just fine. Now, I think my business here has concluded, Mx. Jess, Miss. Rochelle, I hope you have a fine afternoon.” Mr. Lawrence adjusted his cufflinks, and strode out the door. As the screeching stopped and the door clicked shut, both Jess and Rocky deflated.

“Don’t worry ‘bout him, kay Rocks? Just a grumpy old landlord,” Jess attempted to console Rocky who despite her good show earlier, was shaking slightly. She didn't entirely know why. “Now. Got any homework?” Rocky nodded, glad for the distraction. “Here, I’ll help.”

Rocky pulled on her messenger bag, tugging it onto the top of the cheap table in the middle of the room. She took out a small rectangle, pulling the sides out and laying it on the table to reveal a blue screen. The black edges of it were worn and scratched, with the words “Property of District 504” written into the side. Both Rocky and Jess sat at their table, with Jess helping sounding out unfamiliar words and math problems. Before long, the only light in the room was from the screen and a rainbow of neon filtering through the blinds on the window.

——

Rocky rolled over in her pallet. “..Jess?”

“Yeah?” Rocky could just make out Jess’ silhouette, bending over to tie their boots up.

“Can you tell me a story?” She was having trouble sleeping. Stories always calmed her, distracted her and let her fall asleep and forget everything. Jess sighed.

“Sure, sweetie. Wanna hear ‘bout some princesses? Gotta make it a short one, work starts in just a bit.” Jess glanced at the clock at the same time as Rocky. It was 1 AM.

“Princesses work,” Rocky declared, swaddling herself in her thin blanket.

And so, Jess spun a tale, of princesses living in luxury. Their father was a kind man, until he died and the kingdom fell into despair. After the Queen died as well, their stepfather took over as regent, and the girls escaped to a magical place, where they could spend ages in, talking and laughing and enjoying themselves. They always had to return to their stepfather though, who was cruel and unforgiving. One day, the eldest princess hatched a plan. Eventually, through determination, she overthrew the man, and became Queen. The kingdom was happy again, and the princesses could live happily ever after.

By the end of the story, Rocky had quietly dozed off. Jess sighed again, rubbing their eyes. They were so tired. But Rocky deserves better than this dump, and so do they. So, Jess picked themselves up, made sure Rocky was properly tucked in, and opened their door as quietly as possible. They were lucky Rocky was a heavy sleeper.

——

Rocky woke up, feeling groggy. Looking over to where Jess usually sleeps, their bed was neatly made but empty. She drew her eyebrows together, but went about her normal morning routine. Maybe Jess got held up? ‘By what?’ she asked herself, worried. She decided, it would be better to just wait. All the same, on her way to school, she looked around a far bit more than usual. She was so distracted that she ran into a muddy puddle accidentally, and cursed quietly under her breath. Rocky looked up sharply, a habit. If Jess was near, they’d have reprimanded her. She was too young to swear and such. Rocky rolled her eyes even thinking about it, though it made her smile.

She continued on. Going home wouldn’t do any good, these were her only pants.

——

Halfway to school, Rocky heard an unusual sound coming from the nearby alleyway, and despite her instincts, she glanced in and gasped. There were people with gang tattoos on their upper arms, surrounding someone. It looked like it’d been going on for a while, because a few of ‘em were on the ground, knocked out. Whoever was in the middle was definitely holding their own, from the sound of it. Despite herself, Rocky hung near, fixated. She hid behind the wall to the alleyway, only her head visible.

“You-“ Someone made a low, guttural sound. They’d gotten hit. “Need-“ Another. “To get OUT.”

Rocky recognized the voice “Jess!” She blindly rushed into the alleyway, holding her bag with white knuckles, but she tripped on something, falling down the the ground.

“No-no! Rocky-“ Jess was shouting now. Rocky couldnt see them, but their voice went from angry to panicked in a heartbeat. There was another big grunt, and Rocky heard someone hit the ground, hard. One of the gang members laughed, and Rocky heard their boots scuff the ground before it found its place and someone gasped for breath.

Finally getting the strength to try to get up, Rocky struggled to her elbows, her feet scraping at the ground trying to catch up

“Stay down.” Rocky heard another familiar voice, but was too panicked to place it. She winced, falling back down and shivering. She waited. And waited. She could hear that they were all gone, but... Her eyes were glued shut, she didn’t want to look. She couldn’t. When she finally got enough willpower to open her eyes, she shakily got to her feet and felt the sting of cuts on her elbows and knees.

Jess was on the ground, curled in the fetal position. Their knuckles looked swollen and red, and their nose was broken badly. “Jess!”

“Rocky.” Jess coughed, and struggled to get air. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to protect you, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Rocky.”

Jess always told Rocky it’s not okay to hurt people. Sometimes, Rocky still believes them.

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