#i don't even remember what the original idea was before that BUT i hope it makes you all just as sick

[dreamescapeswriting]

Vanishing Act ~ HHJ

⤜WORD COUNT: 1.7K

⤜GENRE: Established relationship, mafia romance, mafia boyfriend! NON IDOL, Arguing couple, fighting, making up, cry baby reader, angst with a fluffy ending

⤜PAIRING: Hyunjin!Mafia x Fem!Reader

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - April 2024

⤜MASTERLIST

A/N: I lost the original screenshot! But I remembered cry baby reader so I hope this is okay! 

Hyunjin paced back and forth in the dimly lit office he'd spent most of the day in, his mind plagued with worry. You had vanished without a trace earlier in the day. You hadn't answered his calls or messages, and he couldn't shake off the feeling of dread that gnawed at him. In their world, disappearing like that wasn't just unusual; it was dangerous. His anxiety only grew in his chest the more he thought about what could have happened to you.

"Did you find her?" He growled out at your personal guard who had managed to lose you this morning. He'd hired Mark because he was supposed to be the best of the best, an ex-military man who was also a private investigator and you'd managed to get out of his sights.

"No," The man gulped, looking around at the office and back at Hyunjin who looked as though he was about ready to throw up at the thought of something happening to you. Being who he was in this world meant anyone close to him had a giant target on their back and you were the closest person to him in the whole world. 

As the hours stretched on, Hyunjin's anxiety mounted higher and higher as he thought about everything. He imagined all sorts of scenarios - rival gangs, undercover cops, or some personal vendetta targeting you. He couldn't afford to lose you. You were his anchor, his solace in the tumultuous world they inhabited, you were everything to him and the thought of losing you was tearing him up inside.

Finally, as the evening descended into darkness, Hyunjin made his way home ready to find someone else to try and find you but when he walked through the door he couldn't believe his eyes.

You were sitting calmly on the couch, engrossed in a book, and his anger flared. No one had been able to find you and you'd just been sat there all day?

"Where the hell have you been?" he barked, his voice echoing off the walls. You jumped, dropping your book onto your lap and staring up at him with a mixture of surprise and confusion spread across your face.

"Hyunjin, I was just out for a walk. I needed some time alone." You breathed out, you assumed he was referring to you being gone most of the day. You just needed some time away from everything to relax and clear your mind. 

Something you used to do a lot before the two of you had moved in together, something you didn't think was that big a deal, especially since you'd stuck to the gardens of his mansion and just spent most of the days in there. The place he had once told you was the safest place in the country. 

"Alone?" Hyunjin's voice rose, his frustration bubbling over as he stared at you, how could you not be taking this as seriously as he was? Did you find this all funny? 

"You think you can just disappear like that? Do you have any idea how worried I was? Do you know many enemies we have out there that would love to get their hands on you!?" His voice bounced off the walls and you stood up, wanting to get away from his wrath since you knew he would go on a tangent for a while.

"Hyunjin-" He cut you off by shaking his head at you and scoffing loudly,

"Don't Hyunjin me! You know how worried I get when you disappear on me without a word!" He yelled, his anger finally getting the better of him as he lashed out at you, knowing deep down that it was wrong for him to do so. 

"What if someone had gotten to you? Huh? Kidnapped you?!" You stared down at the floor, feeling the tears starting to rush into your eyes as you did your best to stop it from happening. 

You were so insecure whenever it came to crying in front of anybody but especially someone that you were getting into an argument with. You hated that whenever someone was yelling at you your body's response was to cry, it was the same thing that happened whenever you were angry the tears would just stream down your cheeks. Hyunjin's anger surged as he saw tears rolling down your face, your shoulders trembling with silent sobs but instead of softening, his words only turned harsher, cutting through you like a knife.

"Stop crying!" He barks at you, his voice laced with venom and impatience.

"Is that all you know how to do? Acting like a damn crybaby whenever someone yells at you?!" You flinched at his words, your head shooting up and finding his eyes on you as you stared back at him. your tears flowing more freely now, your silent sobs turning into choked gasps as he turned your insecurity back on you. Something you'd never thought Hyunjin, of all people, would do to you.

You struggled to compose yourself, wiping your cheeks with trembling hands, but the tears refused to stop flowing. Hyunjin's heart clenched at the sight, a pang of guilt piercing through his anger and allowing him to see how much he had hurt you.

He knew just how insecure you were about it, how you saw it as a sign of weakness but his frustration had gotten the better of him and now he'd only added to your pain,

"Yn, I..." He began, his voice faltering as he reached out to you, but you recoiled, your eyes filled with hurt and betrayal. 

"Don't," You whispered, your voice barely coming out, you couldn't believe that he would do this to you.

"Just...Don't," You choked out, walking away from him as he called for you to go back to him but you couldn't. Right now you didn't want to be near him or face him after what he had said to you. 

After an hour or so Hyunjin decided to venture up to your shared bedroom, his anger had completely vanished the second he realised how hurt you were but he'd wanted to give you some time alone before he came up to your room. Entering the room, he found you curled up on your bed, your shoulders shaking with silent sobs. 

The sight tore at his soul, a painful reminder that he had been the one to cause all of this. 

"yn," He whispered as he approached you cautiously, his footsteps hesitant as he sat down beside you.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you," His voice was barely audible over the sound of your tears. You flinched at his words but you didn't push him away. Instead, you turned over to face him, your eyes red-rimmed and filled with sorrow.

"You always say that." You murmur, "But it doesn't change anything." Hyunjin felt a stab in his chest, he knew he messed up and he knew that mere apologies wouldn't be enough to mend the damage he had created. He reached out to you, his hand shaking as he wiped away tears from your cheek. 

"I know," He admitted, his voice heavy with regret, "But please, Yn, give me a chance to make it up to you. I'll do anything, I swear," He begged. He wasn't below begging you, he would do anything for you, take a bullet, run in front of a car, anything for you.

"What could you even do to make this up to me?" You mumbled, your voice tinged with scepticism and he moved to sit beside you on the bed, looking at you as he sighed softly. 

"I had a whole evening planned you know, I was going to take you out to dinner...wine and dine you," He smiled weakly as you stared at him,

"When you weren't here I freaked out, I got scared that something had happened to you and I let my anger get the better of me," He admits as he looks down at your hands, intertwining his fingers with yours and squeezing softly. 

"You disappeared all day without a word...I was worried." He admits to you, not trying to get into another argument but just wanting you to understand his side of all of this.

"The thought of anything happening to you kills me inside." He whispered and you stared at him,

"I wasn't in any danger, I was in the gardens most of the day...I just took some time alone," Your voice had a tinge of frustration but you cuddled into your boyfriend's arms. 

"You can't just wander off without a word, in this world, I need to know where you are." He pleaded with you, his eyes finding yours as you bite down on your lip and nod at him. 

"I worry because I love you. I can't bear the thought of losing you." He whispers as you kiss his cheek softly, 

"I love you too," You whisper back to him as his eyes start to fill with tears.

"I...I just can't lose you, Yn. Not now, not ever," He whispers as tears start to fall down his cheeks, your arms wrapping around him and cuddling closer to him. Your chest hitting something hard in his pocket,

"What-" Your laugh cut you off as you felt the box inside of his pocket.

"Oh," He groans pulling the box out from his jacket pocket and holding out the small velvet box. It was something he'd been planning to give to you at dinner that night before all of this had happened.

Slowly he opened the box and revealed a delicate diamond necklace. 

"I got this for you, I wanted to give it to you tonight, but I messed everything up," He laughed softly as you traced your fingers over the intricate design. 

"Let me make it up to you. Let me show you how much you mean to me," He begged, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears before you nodded slowly, a small smile playing on your lips.

"Okay," You whispered, kissing him softly as he carefully put the necklace around your neck and made sure it was perfectly sitting on your skin.

@chiisaiblog@sw33tnight@kaitieskidmore97@laylasbunbunny@stayconnecteed@saymyspringrain@toplinehyunjin@katnisspeetaprim@acciocriativity@just-aelia@choisoorin@straykids5star@midnightfrog625@beccaskz@scarletemeterio@halesandy@junhannies@gothic4under4lord@lixie-phoria@soulphoenix1618@aerastus@jin-from-the-block@lensfilm@elizaschuyler18@piratequeen-impact@kpopsstuffs@chaeyoungs@delulu18@xyahrinx@katsukis1wife@anthropologymajorkpopmultistan@blairscott@4-chan-inpadella@niktwazny303@moonlight-the-writer@armystay89@hadassahchan@yxngbxkkie@myyouthdonut@extrhotjne@ca11me3mily@elissasimp@piercedddriver

[pain-in-the-butler]

Could you give us some good dadbastian fanfic? Oneshots, incomplete, completed anything really, i am starved and need some more food other than coattails(which i love very much!)

Hey there, thanks so much for being a Coattails reader! As an aside, I'm not sure if you're totally caught up or not, but sorry I don't yet have an idea of when the next part will be ready. I only have 4k words written so far and chapter 33 is looking to be another doozy... I'll be sure to keep everyone informed of when we're close 🫡

Anyway, I have no idea if you're like me when it comes to Dadbastian, but I'm pretty particular about what I enjoy. Angst has to play a factor in some form, for instance. I also don't like it when Ciel and Seb are too sappy with each other without it being earned. There's a reason Coattails had like 250k words of build-up before Sebastian actually accepted his Dadbastian fate.

With that in mind, here are my suggestions!

bottom of the deep blue sea by sunflowergiorno Easily one of my favorite Dadbastian fics, hands down. I remember going positively bananas waiting for the second part to come out. It's so gentle and tender and honest. It perfectly showcases the thoughts and feelings I'd hoped for Sebastian and Ciel to have to approach after their experience on the Campania. Words, Strings, and Butterfly Wings by Kimberly_T I love this story so dearly, and it's tragic that it's unfinished. This fic is a retelling of the Circus Arc, in which Ciel and Sebastian must actually pretend to be father and son, sometimes with hilarious results, other times endearing. A major inspiration behind Coattails for sure. I would die for Falco, an original character who to me is more endearing than any of the canon Noah's Ark cast members.

Dadbastian Week Drabbles by HeartLeftovers Nobody does angst like HeartLeftovers, and you'll drink up her poetic language like nectar. My personal favorite is Midnight, but read Magnifying Glass and Domesticated Wolf first for the full impact of the final stanza.

Sensorium by OtherCat Short but sweet. A story about how Sebastian helps Ciel at the beginning of the contract to stop thinking like a boy trapped in a cage. I love that it shows that Sebastian couldn't possibly have frightened Ciel into becoming an earl: he had to actually coax Ciel towards it.

Singing in the Silence by Kimberly_T Another one from Kimberly_T. Not strictly Dadbastian, but a story about the servants learning how to help Ciel with his PTSD in their very own inventive and roundabout way. Heart-meltingly adorable. It's canon to me, dammit.

Front Page News by TheArchaeologist Also not strictly Dadbastian (in fact, Ciel is incapacitated the whole time), but I only need the slightest reason to suggest this Phantomfam-centric fic. Mey-Rin's voice is especially realized. Even though you already know Sebastian, Snake, and Ciel will make it back from the Campania in one piece, you feel the Pham's worry palpably.

Through the Years by Kimberly_T Can you tell yet that I love Kimberly_T? Admittedly, this one I haven't read with perfect thoroughness, but I can tell you that the Dadbastian moments are peak. Ciel hires a new maid, a woman who nearly killed him when he invaded a brothel on a mission for the Queen. Please mind that this involves some discussions of SA. Also mind that the story largely centers around an original character, but no one does OCs like Kimberly.

ad perpetuam memoriam by redrobin1989 Only Dadbastian if you squint, but my god if you haven't read it yet go do it now.

I also have my Dadbastian week drabbles, Cutting Teeth, if you haven't read those! I hope that's given you some food for the time being. Eat up and enjoy!

[koddlet]

the mind electric // a TOH animatic

flash warning!

[front-facing-pokemon]

[sparklovespink]

PARK JONGSEONG! --- as your next door neighbor

🥽—warnings 18+ hard thought, oral (f. receiving), overstimulation, teasing, masturbation, listening in on masturbation, jay's kinda nasty, pussy whipped!jay, horny simp!jay

📼—author's note this is my first work with even minor plot in it on here. hope you guys enjoy this bc ive been feenin for jay all week long. so sorry that this is in lapslock! it was originally a drabble but it got long and i was too lazy to change it. 🎀—w/c 2,000~

⠀⠀ ⠀myslut masterlist

JAY had moved into the apartment next to yours almost a half a year ago. although he's really only seen you is passing, he thinks you're a good neighbor for the most part—you don't bother him, only greeting him with simply waves when you see him in the hall, and you're not a party person either. in fact he thinks you could be the perfect neighbor, the only problem being your little habit. actually, the things he hears at night from your room might be a major problem, but not in a bad way.

occasionally, every now and then he comes home from work in the later hours of the night, to hear you moaning. it could be past midnight but you're still going. you're so fucking loud about it too, sounds of muffled whimpers slipping through the walls. at this point you probably haven't missed a single night, it's like you've got to want him to know. his only secret show.

and his imagination runs wild. whether you're fucking yourself on a dildo or fingering yourself, he has no idea. sometimes, when he can hear you, he wonders if he could get you to shut up with his fingers in your mouth. wonders if you get off to the idea of him and probably everyone else on your fucking floor being able to hear you. wonders if your own fingers really are any good and if you'd want his to help out that pretty cunt. because jay just knows that you're an absolute whore, can hear it in every squeal.

he's so obsessed with you and he can't help it. even now he's started to jerk off to your sounds too, small moans fueling all of the nasty thoughts that run through your head. fist wrapped around his fat, veiny cock as he strokes himself in tandem with your moans. it's not even enough, he needs to fuck something. and something, is you.

so, he sets a plan into action. seducing you. he knocks on your door the around ten the night after, thinking to at least just meet you under the guise that he's made too much dinner and has leftovers to share.

and there you are, swinging open the door. his already hard cock stirs harder when he sees you, standing behind the door. you're flustered and disheveled, clad in just shorts and a tee. your shorts are hiked up on your ass and he can see your swollen nipples peaking through your shirt. he must've 'interrupted' you, because you look like you slipped them on in a hurry after hearing him knock. fucking jackpot.

"can i help you– oh, hi?" you say, obviously not expecting him, nor noticing the way jay is running his eyes over your figure. you lean one arm against the door frame, making eye contact right as he glances up from your tits to talk to you. "you're my neighbor, jay, right?"

of course you remember him, duh. there's no way you fuck yourself that loudly every single night if you don't want someone to know. at this point the only thing that's confusing to him is why his name's never left your mouth.

"yeah, i'm next door alright." he nods. he shuffles so that the tray of leftovers hides his boner. he's got what he wanted already, now thinking if he should just leave the tray with you and be on his way, maybe come back and ask for it tomorrow. but before he can even say anything, you beckon him invite him in with a wave of your hand.

"actually...it'd be great if you could bring it in and have some with me," you say, "unless you already ate? sorry, it smells so good but i don't think i could finish it myself."

heaven has got to be listening in on this conversation because jay's never been this lucky. even when he won a hundred bucks betting on jake—who's an absolute wildcard in monopoly, jay knows better than to put money on him again—he swears he was not this lucky.

not even fifteen minutes later and he's sitting at your dinner table. he seats himself while you're grabbing two plates and put everything together. you have no idea how hard he is right now, how badly he wants to go home and jerk off to the memory of you. but he's holding in it, pressing his palm against his erection with the hope that it'll be enough to soothe him for now. it obviously isn't.

he somehow makes it through dinner, eventually making small talk with you. you get along rather well with him, shooting bratty quips to match his quick comments. you don't even mind when his knee bumps into yours, moving until it's touching your thigh.

he trades numbers with you and soon seeing each other is routine. he brings over a plate of food for you to try at least once every week, usually over a movie or a board game. you even introduce him to a couple of friends, who he glares horribly at whenever he think they're to close to you. although you never seem to notice, he knows that one guy wants you just as bad as he does, can see it in the way he looks at you.

which makes sense, as you are also currently single, jay soon finds out. he had already thought so, but a small part of him was also worried that there could be a someone. someone who you let hold onto your bare hips and fuck your pussy when jay could be doing that. when jay should be doing that.

and when he gets back to his apartment after one particularly touchy movie night, you really let him know that. he doesn't think you've ever sounded this loud, this needy. he's on the other side of the wall, groaning as he teases his angry, red tip to the sounds you're making. right now, he could be taking care of you, fucking you hard into your mattress. he dreams about it every fucking night. he pulls out his phone, opening your contact and typing with one hand as he squeezes his cock.

damn ur loud lol

he tosses his phone to the side, watches as it lands across his mattress, screen facing up. he's seriously about to cum, core tightening just as his head falls back. the sounds of your moans have quieted, but he hasn't noticed yet, strokes speeding up.

yh i know

come ovr

jay's hand falters as he registers the texts, neck straining to reread because there's no fucking way you just sent that. he double checks. triple checks.

fuck.

he's crawled off his bed in less than three seconds, pulling his sweats up and throwing on a shirt before heading out to hall. when he gets there, he doesn't even have to open the door. you're already flinging it open, coming face to face with him in the door frame.

jay's flustered, pupils big and cheeks painted a soft red. he looks at you, looks down at your hands, wrapped around the door knob, and back at you. he swears every time he sees you, you're in less clothing. panties and a tee. are you trying to kill him? "fuck, that wasn't to the wrong person or shi–" 

you shut him up by pulling him by the strings of his sweats, dragging him into your apartment. closing the door, you spin both of you around so that you're pressed up against the door. "no mistake." you hum, looking into his eyes.

"fucking hell, really?" he asks, eyes wide and glossy as he stares back. he's so close, could press his mouth to the corner of your lips if he wanted to be romantic. could stick his tongue in his mouth and mix his spit with yours if he wanted to be nasty.

“so i was right. you were listening to me fuck myself." you coo, giving him pouty lips as you press your leg against his cock, hard underneath his sweats.

there's a choked up noise that spills out of his throat at your words. he can't admit to that, fuck. even if it's already obvious. he watches your tongue run over you bottom lip, coating it with slick spit. "think you're any better than my toys?"

jay's on you in a second, dropping down to his knees. he presses his face against your panties, rubbing his nose in between your inner thighs. you're already soaking yourself and he can taste it, dragging his tongue along the the crotch of the fabric. "so much fucking better."

his eyes roll back so far when you slide a hand into his hair, tugging him closer to you. he's impossibly hard, dick leaking precum inside of his sweats when he hears the way you murmur a little "jay, please."

and jay wants nothing more than to please you and taste the pussy that's haunted him for weeks. he pulls your panties down, lifting your legs up one by one to take them off. chucking them to a random, pressing his lips right above your cunt before he looks up at you.

this is the man who's wanted you for a damn long time now. who spent nearly every night edging himself to the noises you let slip into his apartment through the walls. who jerked himself off in your bathroom when you got to close on movie nights. who fucking dreamt about you riding his cock till he can't cum anymore.

he fucks his tongue into your cunt, loving the way your thighs suffocate him. his mouth vibrates every time he moans into your cunt.

all the nights he spent in his bed, poor cock between his hand were nothing compared to this. the way you squeal when his nose bumps into your clit, making you rut your hips into face.

"fuck, right there," you cry out, feeling jay's hand snake up your leg to grab your ass cheek. he palms your ass, pushes you further onto his mouth. he's so fucking good at it, eats you out like you're the last meal he's had in days.

there's a dark look in his glossy eyes when he looks up at you, speech muffled as he speaks into your core. "this pussy's fucking perfect." he mutters, diving right back into you.

you let him work, lapping up your arousal, his eyes never looking away from your face even once. "look at me baby." he says, tone stern. one glance down and you can't fucking help the your fist tightens in his hair at the sight of him; dragging his tongue along your inner thigh. delighted in the way you squirm, he sucks a hickey against a patch of skin that's gone wet from the messy way he's been eating you out. "mmm...just like that."

you pout at the loss when his mouth separates from your cunt, begging him to start up again. "jay please, i'm so fucking close."

"just knew you were damn needy." he murmur. it earns a whimper from you, and that's enough to get jay to attach himself back to your cunt. you don't even notice when his free hand drops to fist his his swollen cock, pumping his length the same way he does every other night.

when you cum, it's overwhelming, messy, and wet. you're fucking crying, and even then jay's not pulling off, letting you choke him with your thighs tight around his head. his own cock aches, pent up from earlier. it only takes one more sound from you before he cums, hard, hand all over his hand.

he comes off your cunt with slowly, like he could have buried his face between your legs for hours if he really wanted to. his face is mess sticky mess of cum, and you can feel the soft blow of his breath against your inner thigh.

hiccuping, you watch the way he cleans himself decently enough with the back of his hand, licking your juices off of his skin. "so much better than just hearing you baby."

[bhaalble]

I like that Last Unicorn quote as much as the next guy but I do always wind up feeling a little detached from analysis that paints Astarion's disapproval as purely envy. Partly because. No one's doing this for Lae'zel for instance even though she has similar disapproval and similar trauma (all she can remember is a hostile physically and emotionally exploitative environment which expected perfect strength and obedience from her or else she would be punished or killed). But also partly because it feels pretty detached from everything he actually has to say about it.

The thing about Astarion is he loathes weakness. He loathes sentiment and he loathes dependence. You can see this when he actually opens his mouth up about the people he disapproves of saving, but also incredibly loudly when he talks about the other companions, as well as his fellow spawn. If Lae'zel submits to Vlaakith he talks scornfully about how some people just come to love their chains. He's confused and put off if Wyll submits to Mizora to save his father. In every conversation with his fellow spawn (at least when hes not actively manipulating them) he's dismissive and harsh, and clearly he's perfectly willing to sacrifice them for the sake of himself.

There's an obvious origin point of those feelings, of course. Cazador's abuse is designed to actively kill off empathy in his spawn, both towards each other and towards victims. The last time Astarion prioritized someone over his own skin he got locked in a tomb for a year. We can see glimpses of it with the other spawn too, how his siblings are (apparently uncompelled at first) willing to drag Astarion back to their master for their freedom, how Petras' first dream of freedom is getting to drain another person dry. Astarion certainly doesn't seem to feel any real sense of solidarity with them, likely because Cazador understands that them building a community is a threat to his authority the way it was to his own master.

I'd also argue its Astarion projecting his own self-loathing outwards. So much of his quest is about his desperate attempt to escape from who he was. He's been given a chance to slip free of the limitations of being a spawn. He clings to that because of course he would. He also instinctively begins to run over everything in his path, because if there's anything he has learned over the past 200 years its that good things can always be taken away unless you make sure to remove any and all possible threats to that scrap of well-being. He's disdainful of people in need of help because they represent who he fears to go back to being! He calls his siblings "poor fools" while refusing to confront the fact that had it not been for the tadpole he would be in exactly their position, forced to cling to the hope that Cazador is telling the truth for once because escape isn't an option either way. He becomes irritated when Tav slows down to help the unfortunate because they represent roadblocks on his own path to safety.

There's an idea in mental health stolen from airplane safety: that you shouldn't help anyone else until your own mask is secure. What they don't tell you, speaking from personal experience at least, is that PTSD, especially for long term trauma, has a way of making you feel like your own mask will never be secure. And while that's scary, and it sucks, and there should be the utmost patience for it: no one is going to realize that mask is secure for you. Eventually you are going to have to accept the fact that you are breathing just fine. Eventually you are also going to have to accept that people asking something of you isn't them endangering you, even if it can sometimes (often) feel like it. It doesn't make you obligated to help them. But it does mean you have to stop reacting to them like a threat, because not 5 minutes ago that was you.

I think the idea that he's only mad because he's jealous is a gratifying fantasy. He didnt feel safe before, but now through your PC and the power of love he'll feel warm and cozy enough to forgive you for not being there to begin with. But I also think Astarion cannot live in a reality where he's never pushed back on. His instinctive self-protective movements are a coping mechanism, yes, but coping mechanisms developed under survival conditions can also be a way of keeping you frozen in your trauma. Outside of the environment they were necessary for, they can even hinder you from growing in the ways you need to grow to move past what happened to you. Sometimes, you need to stop a baby tiefling from getting crazy murdered by a snake because it turns out. That can happen to anybody not just people who are weak and stupid and deserve to die anyways not like me I'm normal-

[fridaypls]

Grove Guardian's Revenge: A Gif Analysis

Pissing him off so you don't have to.

Obligatory slowed version of The Walk to get us started. If you haven't seen it before, you're welcome.

He's so angry and so right to be angry. For a hundred years, he has defended the Grove at great personal cost. Before it was established, he saw the deaths of his friends, peers, mentor; his support circle crumbled in a single day.

Not only did his mentor fall, he had to slay his mentor's shade in the aftermath in order to lay him to rest. This is the final release canon origin for the Sorrow glaive, but the early-access version is even more heart-wrenching. Either version, the mantle of first druid / arch-druid is thrust upon his unprepared shoulders; alone and without confidantes or peers, he shouldered the load and kept going.

In his diary, we see that he thought he'd found hope of a cure for the Shadow Curse, which was what he was pursuing when the goblins captured him. "The first hope in a century" if I'm remembering correctly.

From there, he meets you - a second hope of salvation. And then... this. The ultimate betrayal and the end of the Grove, of everything he's protected for so long.

We rarely see Halsin using his size to intimidate; even when he rips Kagha a new one in the conversation about the Rite of Thorns, regardless of whether or not he throws her out.

He uses his size as threat now... as he should. He's here to kill you.

And if it's not active intimidation, then what we might be seeing here is him reining in his temper - choosing to have a conversation before acting.

He's facing Tav when he storms up; as he starts to talk, he angles himself a little away from them. We'll see that more in a second.

"I thought you'd help me. I thought we'd help eachother - instead you chose this."

Controlled calm slipping into justified anger. Again, that blink-and-you'll miss it detail of an emotion, just amazing work by Larian.

"The grove stood for generations. It was our link to Silvanus. Not, it’s nothing but blood and ashes - thanks to you."

Let's slow it down and get closer, really soak in the tiny details embedded in this scene.

Watch the first part below at half speed, watch his face twist into disgust and pain. Watch him physically turn away from you in anger and loathing. He's not looking at Tav anymore, he's seeing something else instead. Some memory of the Grove, whether a happy one or a more recent, bloodstained one, we're left to guess.

Anger turns into sorrow - he lifts his eyes in a silent prayer as he speaks, then hangs his head in heavy, tired despair. It doesn't drag his features down yet; he's still too angry under all that pain.

A tiny, miserable moment of memory and suffering....

...before sorrow turns back into anger, when he comes back to the present. That second blink of anger when he comes back to himself, out of whatever memory he was replaying in that moment. He turns back to you and rage crowds back into his face.

He's already made his choice... but he's about to give Tav a chance to speak for their actions anyway. While the role of arch-druid might have been thrust onto his unprepared shoulders unexpectedly a hundred years before, he has grown immensely since then. Despite his justified rage, he reacts wisely, seeking to understand before seeking vengeance.

Tell me… was it worth it? 

He's furious, rightfully so, but there's still a genuine question under that rage. The split-second look of curiousity before the rage takes over his features once more.

Was there a meaning to this sacrifice? Was it done for a purpose or was it all just as cruel and wanton of a betrayal as it seemed?

Even as anger and hatred take over his face once more, he gives you a chance to speak for yourself.

There are four options.

Option 1: Of course - I did what I had to do. Your grove was in the way. 

"You have no idea what you’ve done, do you? Or perhaps you simply don’t care?"

First, the genuine sadness and disbelief as he says "You have no idea what you’ve done, do you?"

Then, the anger of "Or perhaps you simply don’t care?"

Sadness and sorrow into fucking rage. Both are so poignant and beautifully done. Round of applause for Larian, god(s)damn.

The first three options all end the same way, so we'll cut right to Option 2 and save that glorious closing gif for the end.

Option 2: "I’m sorry. I had no choice." 

"There’s always a choice - but you have made yours. Now I make mine."

Look at the disgust... the way he squeezes his eyes shut as he says "There’s always a choice". He knows. He's made hard choices, at great personal cost.

The way he says it with his head down, his nostrils flared in disgust and anger, and doesn't open his eyes as he turns his head to face Tav. He doesn't open his eyes until the last instant, both saddened and repulsed by Tav and their actions.

Then, when he's looking into Tav's eyes, the anger and hatred set in again.

Let's cut to Option 3.

Option 3: "Calm down. Come sit by the fire and we can talk this over."

"There’s nothing left to be said. My mercy died when I saw the grove."

Pretty much directly into the rage with this one.

And honestly, I don't think anyone could blame him? The balls to aid in the massacre of everyone he cares about, then to hit him with "Calm down. Come sit by the fire and we can talk this over" once he confronts you and gives you a chance to explain yourself?

Nope. Game over, buddy. (Well...)

The four option is simply to attack; all four options lead to a fight to the death. The first three options all end the same way;

"You have upended nature’s balance. Only your death can restore it!"

Slower? Okay.

[yandere-sins]

The Orcas' Tale - Chapter I

Excited to finally start! I haven't written in a while so I felt a little rusty, but I still hope I was able to convey the conflicting feelings that come with meeting these creatures ♥ Enjoy! (Please remember that the polls are only active for a day!)

Fandom: Original Content   Pairings: Yandere!Orca Mermen x GN!Reader   Warnings: Yandere, Monsters, Violence & Accidental self-harm, Non-consensual touches, Animalistic behavior, Mention of blood/claws/sharp teeth, Hinting at death/non-con/killing of animals/near drowning, Long post

"In fact, you don't want them to think about you at all! Otherwise —ey w—t l— —u ——!"

Straining yourself, you tried to hear what the voice was telling you. A sudden waft of nausea overcame you as you concentrated hard on making out those last, vital words. Your eyes snapped open as pressure squeezed your brain inside your skull, and you barely had time to gasp as your body instinctively threw itself to the side, choking and spitting out water from your lungs and stomach.

Through your blurry vision, you could only see gray. Feeling hadn't returned to your hands to notice the little gravel digging into your palm as you clawed at the stone surface, trying to find hold in your disorientation. Slowly, with every cough you made, the pressure on your head subsided, leaving only a pounding headache and your fight or flight instinct in control of your body while you freed yourself of the wretched water inside the spaces it didn't belong. That was until you finally regained the feeling in your body. The pebbles pressing into your skin, threatening to break it.

The hands on your body, holding you steady.

"This was a stupid idea," an eerily familiar voice sighed, the pressure on your stomach and lower back intensifying. Confused and disorientated, you rocked your head from side to side, trying to see. Trying to find the voice that was different from the one you heard before opening your eyes. But your vision was still blurry, and you couldn't make out anything, even with splashes of color passing your view. 

"It's not stupid just because we have never tried it before," someone else, someone you already knew, hissed, and you tried to remember who it was to no avail. A hand on your collarbones, fingers spreading all over your chest, didn't lock your movements but didn't allow you to fall over either, as they kept you slightly elevated. 

"W-Who…" you sputtered, followed by another cough, another spill of water coming from who-knows-where inside you.

"Urgh, well, it's alive, at least…"

Pressure on your ribs made you fall back on your legs, sitting upright. You were swaying back and forth, worse than you ever had on the ship that transported you out on the North Pacific Ocean for your studies… Right… You'd been working out on the ocean, and then something happened. You couldn't get back to the boat, and they didn't do a headcount before leaving. You'd been left there. For how long? Gulping down spit or water—not sure what was in your mouth at that point—you tried to remember, but your memory was as blurred as your vision. 

Did your crew come back? Were they the ones helping you back to your feet? You should thank them. Had they left you at the mercy of the ocean, who knows if you could have made it long. As much as you loved the deep, blue waters, they were just as risky and unpredictable as any other nature-related job. Accidents happened, and you weren't mad you were left behind, but you were still thankful they came back and saved you. 

Slowly, taking the time to adjust yourself, you turned around, the hands allowing you the room to move as you pleased while they stayed ready on standby if you fell. Focusing your eyes was still hard. The space you were in dimly lit and unfamiliar. But when you lifted your head, squinting your eyes as hard as possible, you could finally concentrate on what was ahead of you. 

Instantly, a cold shiver ran down your spine. 

Your fight or flight mode was still intact as you jumped back from your position, your body slamming into a cold and hard wall of something, your headache briefly making space for other pain before returning full force. You didn't know what to expect, but you expected the familiarity of your kind. Human faces, human bodies, humans.

These were not humans.

It needed the extra blow to your head to jump-start your memories. Memories of the little orange boat you had been stranded on, of unknown voices speaking to you, promising the help you desperately needed. Uncanny figures that intrigued you and eventually lured you to the edge, claws that dug into your clothes as they pulled you where the light couldn't reach. A tongue down your throat that helped you breathe and then… darkness. 

That's right, at the cusp between life and death, you had simply passed out, completely at the mercy of these creatures that now reared out of the water, hands and claws reaching for you from all sides. There was no escaping them, no way out, their black skin glistening in the blue light coming from the walls being the only thing discerning them from the shadows around you. All you could do was close your eyes and wish to wake up. Realize this was a bad dream on a dreadful night. Wake up from it, realizing you left the TV on when you fell asleep, subconsciously listening to horror movies. None of this was real. 

But when the hands wrapped around your ankles, wrists, and shoulders, claws too close to your throat to not fear them slicing it open, webbed fingers both sticky and slick, you realized this was not a dream you could wake up from. Not a nightmare to banish once you opened your eyes again. This was reality. 

It took you a moment to regain this clarity of mind, the hands lifting you away from the hard surface you had slammed into and setting you down on something soft, the fabric almost slippery. They wouldn't let go until you opened your eyes, staring at your left hand as you let it slide through the fur beneath you, knowing the feeling well enough to discern it. "Seal…" you muttered, the softness of it astonishing you at that moment. All the horrors your mind could imagine disappeared with the gentleness and warmth you felt around you, sitting on such precious fur. It soothed some of the shock and weariness that kept you tense and on alert.

"The human likes it," someone cooed, the voice giddy as you heard water splashing alongside it. That finally snapped you back to reality and the situation you were in. Gulping once again, at least there was no more water clogging your throat and airways. Realizing that helped to gain the courage to look up, straight ahead at curious eyes watching you, leaning on the ledge you were seated on, giant bodies hidden halfway inside a pool of water. Every jolt of their muscles caused a small wave to splash against the others next to them, but they didn't mind. Why would they? 

Mermaids. 

You remembered it now all too clearly—their voices, faces, actions. Knowing folklore tales as much as any other human but always denying them to your scientifically driven mind, it was almost laughable you fell for their lures, their promises of help. It was true your options were limited, but it felt like you betrayed yourself by still believing them. Then again, that was the whole thing about mermaids, wasn't it? They were able to lure in even the most experienced and resistant of humans at their whim, to kill and eat them. However, dwelling on your idiocy and not concentrating on the situation at hand wasn't going to help you now, either. 

Watching them for a few seconds, you jumped from their faces one after the other. Orcas, they called themselves, and strangely enough, they looked like it. Like a weird mix of a human and an orca, but you could still see both parts in them and discern either part at a glance. The markings in black and white of an orca, the face and body like a human. Muscles just like a professional athlete, but a tail hidden from sight that you were sure would be exactly like that of an orca. They were decorated in adornments that allowed one to believe they had the same aesthetic needs as humans. Still, their sharp teeth lurked behind their lips, and their fingers ended in claws that reminded you there was just as much animal in this mix. 

Looking away was dangerous but necessary, and luckily, as your gaze panned around the room, they only ever seemed to lean further over the edge, trying to see what you saw, before sinking deeper into the cool water again, wary of your gaze falling on them. Either way, you appreciated their discretion, despite hearing their little clicks and whistles at each other echoing through the space. It wasn't a small room, cave-like and branching off into more carved-out areas filled to the brim with things. But if you remembered the size of these creatures right, they'd have to squeeze together if they all wanted to come sit on the same ledge as you. You found the room to be made of hard, solid stone, a blue, bioluminescent shine of a climbing plant with little bulbous blooms on it, illuminating the cave sparsely as it spread on the cave walls. Part of you would have loved to study this growth, but it wasn't the right time. 

Beneath you was the seal fur, and you tried to ignore the gruesome acts you knew orcas did to these creatures, thanking it silently for softening the spot you sat on. But now that you had time to look at the splashes of color from before, you noticed they were fabrics hung from the walls. Sails and flags mingled with more furs. Crates, both wood and metal, some more decayed than others, stood off to the side, but you also spotted some out-of-place items like golden goblets and jewels strewn about. 

"Where… Where are we?" you asked warily, feeling a sense of dread as you couldn't find a discernable exit or connection to the outside, like a window or door. You had a bad feeling about this, but at this point, it came as no surprise that this situation didn't seem to get better even after you accepted this as reality. 

"In our–"

"Home!"

"This is our cave!"

It was a desynchronized answer, but it did the trick. Though that didn't explain where exactly you were, just their connection to this place. Still, scanning the ledge you sat on, you found three sections laid out with fabrics and furs, the stone ground creating gaps between them. Considering the size of these creatures, it might be a squeeze for all of them to fit, but it did look like the three had their beds laid out.

The sound of excessive splashing made your head whip forward, the merman in the middle lifting himself out of the water and on top of the ledge. It was the first good look you got at any of their bodies, and you had been correct with all your assumptions about them. He had to crawl on his hands to get the massive part of his upper tail over the edge, but he didn't seem to mind. In fact, it looked almost like a natural movement as he put himself in a seated position. You were already cowering backwards, not needing to accommodate the creature, but feeling less safe now that it was out of the water. 

But before you knew it, his hand reached for your ankle. 

The feeling of having to cave in to someone else's demands was terrifying, choking you with fear of the unknown especially considering it was a monster you were dealing with. But even without you trying to scoot away, your leg was painfully stretched as the merman began pulling you back closer toward him. "Are you feeling better now?" he asked. You were surprised about the concern he voiced, thinking about how contradictory it was to be given kind thoughts while you felt like prey in their eyes. 

"Yeah…" you mumbled, twisting your ankle carefully, inconspicuously, hoping he might be enticed to let go. Instead, this seemed to have been the magic word, the orca on the right jumping out of the water with much more force and less elegance than the one in the middle, landing belly down on the ledge and immediately reaching for your arm. "Finally!" he rejoiced, squeezing and pulling at your underarm, both actions reckless and painful. Now you had two limbs of yours being yanked, and the gaze you shot the last merman of the three was almost panicked as he sat up on the ledge as well, back facing you, but his eyes on your free left leg. With a careful hand, he let his fingers graze over your skin, jolting away as goosebumps spread in the wake of his touch. 

Their hands were a horror in themselves. Webbed fingers sticking to you and yet sliding up and down your skin, unable to find hold unless pressure was applied. These creatures had no sense of gentleness, probably used to very different forms of touches and holding than a soft, easily breakable human like you needed. Their curiosity was their drive, but it made you feel sick the longer their touch remained. Occasionally, they'd coo or chortle in awe while all you could concentrate on was trying to soothe the sore muscles inside you by adjusting and twisting your body to accommodate their hands.

Even though you were intimidated by just looking at them, fear clawing at you almost as much as their hands did, you decided enough was enough. While they were stronger than you, you had the advantage of knowledge. If they were any bit as much orca as they said they were, they probably had the attitude of their animal counterpart, making them believe they were above everything. But they weren't above the element of surprise. 

So when you were sure they were mesmerized by your meager body compared to theirs—the third merman even back to prodding at your leg after being startled by the goosebumps—you took a deep breath and then pulled. Pulled as hard and fast as you could, very much aware that if they weren't sufficiently distracted, their reflexes would probably have dismembered you. Luckily, you were able to get away even as their claws snapped after you, your eyes meeting that of the middle merman briefly as you scrambled to your feet, backing away until you found a wall to steady you. Your knees were shaking, but after a few milliseconds, the merman suddenly gripped a shoulder of each of the ones next to him, his claws visibly digging into their bodies. The others snapped out of their reflex just barely after the middle one, looking at him instead. 

"No fun," the one on the right groaned, sinking back into the pool of water. "What good is it if we can't play with it?"

His eyes appraised you briefly, a displeased expression weaved onto his face, turning into a snarl when you met his gaze. "I thought you found us interesting, no?"

Lifting his tail fin out of the water, he waved it back and forth, but contrary to what you remembered, no tracker was punched into it; only a gaping hole remained. And yet, you immediately understood what he was trying to say. This was way worse than you thought, as you realized they used their leverage of maybe being able to tell you how to get back to land to make you do what they wanted, no matter what that meant for you. 

"Don't you want to go home?" the merman teased, a smug grin revealing the rows of sharp teeth behind his lips and confirming your realization. It was terrifying but even more so frustrating. Swallowing hard, you tried to find some reasons with the other two, but while one had now fully turned his back to you, the other seemed just as displeased as the one in the water.

"Maybe we should just eat them," the one in the middle pouted. Your mouth almost fell open seeing this creature actively avoiding your eyes, crossing his arms, and pursing his lips in a pout. All just because you refused whatever they were trying to do? How could they not understand that their actions might be wrong? You had never seen a grown man pout in your life, but you couldn't decide if it was worse on this creature or on a man of your own kind. 

"What do you think, Nerrocan?" 

For the first time ever since you met them, you heard one of them being addressed directly. The merman in the middle looked at the one who sat with his back to you, and you took a moment to appraise his form. Broad shoulders, coated with black hairs that reached below the shoulder blades but did nothing to hide the monstrous amount of muscles weaving under his skin. A dorsal fin stuck out from where his human spine must have transitioned to the fish one, and you caught yourself almost reaching out to touch it, confirming the strangeness of this lifeform. It was curiosity more than a reflex, but both were dangerous down here, locked with these strange creatures.  

"Nerrocan…" you whispered, the word slipping out before you could stop. Their white ears perked up, glances snapping to you from the corners of their eyes and over their shoulders. They seemed less alert than surprised, but you clasped your hand over your mouth anyway, feeling as if you were the rude one for speaking so casually to someone you didn't know. Slightly embarrassed, you caught Nerrocan's gaze, looking away before he could, but you scolded yourself for the mishap, missing the shine he had in his eyes as you called out to him. 

You expected some reaction. Cruelty packed into words by Nerrocan that would give the other two the 'go' to do what they planned with you. Or maybe a verbal lashing for daring to speak to him. Perhaps even some hope as he held the other's back, making the unknown threat you felt from them disappear. From the looks of it, he was just as fearsome as the others but showed less interest in you than his fellow mermen. It was hard to understand how different lifeforms thought, but you had still hoped to be able to communicate with them on the same level as with any other sane human being, even just for the sake of the similarities between you two. But you were wrong.

Nerrocan said nothing. He merely shrugged his shoulders slightly, barely visible in the dark. More than half of his body was coated black, so it was no surprise you couldn't see it move much, only when the blue light shone on it. However, you did catch the glance he threw back over his shoulder at you, and you wondered if he understood the devastation you felt visibly on your face. All hope shattered. 

"Nerrocan, you're so fucking boring. Can't you go along with what we want to do just once?" the merman on the right complained, his words a sharp sound, somewhere between hissing and lilting. 

"Shut up, Lyr," the one in the middle ordered, and for a moment, you could see the merman named Lyr snap his teeth at him like a beast warning another. However, when the middle one lifted his hand—presumably to hit the one on the right— Lyr scooted away and out of reach. Before you knew it, Nerrocan vanished in the water, and you watched as Lyr scanned the pool below him before hissing and slipping out of sight. You had a feeling that something must have been going on that you couldn't see, but you knew better as to go and look where they had gone. 

Especially with one still remaining. 

The merman took a deep breath, breathing out before giving you a—what you could assume was meant as a mood-lifting but came out as a terrifying, mocking—smile. "Look, we don't want to eat you. But we hoped you were a bit more… fun."

"I don't even know what that is supposed to mean…" you mumbled, pressing yourself more to the wall as the merman sighed, scooting a bit higher on the ledge and closer to you. 

"Look around you," he directed your attention, gesturing around the cave. "We brought you into our home and made sure you'd survive the dive. Don't you think you owe us something?"

"I didn't ask you–"

"Well, you would have died up there, you know that, right?" His interruption felt like a cold splash of water to your face, but his words hit you even harder. They sat in your stomach like a big stone. One that would sink you if you were left alone in the ocean rather than help you swim. Being demotivated was one thing. But at this point, you were pretty much helpless. You would have died without them but with them… there was no guarantee you would survive these guys, either. 

"Look."

Raising his hands, the merman tried to ease your fear of him—in vain. With a small hopping motion, he elevated himself further towards you, and you, with no place to back up anymore, held your breath. 

"We know humans. You guys are curious and want to know more about us. All of you are. You are always prodding in our territories, trying to find us, and when you do… well. You do this."

Lifting his tail fin out of the water, he waved it back and forth, curling it enough so you could see the red blinking light coming from it. The tracker. You definitely didn't just imagine its existence, and slowly, you let out the breath you were holding, looking him in the eyes. This was more of a conversation than you ever had with any of these guys, and you decided to face it. 

"Humans aren't even that tasty," he noted, assuming your weariness was rooted there. He wasn't entirely wrong. 

"Then what do you want from me."

His grin spread a bit wider at your questions, his eyes sparkling with the knowledge he got you, like a fish drawn to a hook. Inching closer, you barely had time to shift your attention to the two heads that popped out of the water behind him, exchanging glances before directing their focus on you. "You see, we saw humans before. Cute ones—like you! But none would let us explore them a bit. We are oh-so curious about those things you stand on. About your tiny parts and soft body. You're so…"

"Human," you finished his sentence, goosebumps spreading all over your body as you exposed yourself, unwillingly aware of your weakness being your very existence. The merman scanned you with his eyes, almost undressing you with how intensely his gaze burned on your skin. It was an unnerving feeling, one of mutual understanding of how different you were. Weak. Vulnerable. Powerless. Them even communicating their plans was their form of showing mercy. Because if they wanted, they could have easily forced you into it as well.

"Yes," he chortled, seemingly content with you understanding their desire. You couldn't imagine that this was all they'd ask of you, a memory of the voice you heard before waking up in this cave returning to you. 

It hasn't been that long since another tribe—who was it? The sharks?—had been… blessed with an unusual mate.

You wanted to suppress the implications echoing in these words, hoping and wishing this wasn't what these orcas intended to do with you. You couldn't fear something that hadn't happened yet, or else you might lose the last bit of rationality in you that would get you out of this situation, no matter how much anxiety tried to paint the gruesome pictures of possibilities. But you needed to know. Needed to hear it from them, even if the promise was empty. If you wanted to build any kind of trust, this would be necessary, even if the betrayal would hurt twice as much.

"If I agree will you take me back? Back to this place you know, where I can return to my kind? Promise you won't kill me?"

Nerrocan was the first to return to the ledge after disappearing so abruptly. You hadn't noticed it at first, but when he looked at you, his gaze shifting to your legs for a few seconds before looking back up at you, you noticed the split lip he now had, blood trickling from it as the blue light grazed him. "Promise," he answered for the three of them, gaining a sharp glare from the other two. Lyr, too, came back up on the ledge, merely resting his upper body on the stone and propping himself up with his arm. 

"Aren't you gonna say something when he's undermining you, Krill?" he asked the merman in the middle, and now, finally, you had names for all three of their faces. 

"He won't do it again. Right, Nerrocan?" 

The spoken to let out a huff, but when Krill took a deep breath, Nerrocan opened his mouth, submitting as told, "Of course, Krill."

"Well, now that this is out of the way, shall we begin?" Krill asked, his gaze sticking to Nerrocan for just a moment longer before returning to you. Putting on a calculated smile for you—as if he was trying to imitate human behavior—all you felt was another shiver running down your spine. You braced yourself, getting a grip on your shaking hands by curling them into fists. The faster this was over, the quicker you'd find out if they'd keep their promise. The faster you'd be able to get home and sort out this mess your life was in. 

"Okay…" you whispered. Once again, your word seemed to be the one they had waited for, all of them leaping forward, closing in as you let out a surprised squeak. "Stop!" you yelled, shielding your face with your arms and trying to hide behind them out of fear of the approaching predators. To your surprise, the sound of splashing water and bodies moving ceased. When you pried your eyes open, the mermen had stilled, their muscles barely flinching under the intense tension running through them. Their expression was grim, worse than before, seemingly unimpressed with your reluctance after you gave them the go. It seemed their patience was running thin, but what else were you supposed to do?

"Not all at once… please?" you tried to explain yourself, their bodies remaining still for a moment. Lyr was the first to break the silence, groaning loudly in annoyance as he slipped back. Nerrocan said nothing, merely pulling his hands back to his side. He had come the closest to you—especially your legs—and even Krill put some distance between you two, sighing loudly before driving his hands through his short hair. 

"Choose then," he ordered, and there was no hint of teasing or playfulness left in his voice. His eyes remained wide open, staring as he waited for your answer, his body so tense you were scared he might pop a vein. Krill seemed to be the least amused about all of this, but the dirty looks of the other two were just as chilling and pressuring. "Choose who you want to "play" with first, then."

It was an amicable choice that seemed challenging for the three, but they made it your choice nonetheless. Your eyes dragged over all their faces. Nerrocan, the quiet one of them, who seemed very interested in your legs and not much else. Lyr, who was already back to grinning, his casualness paired with the intensity of his gaze drilling into you, making him seem a little unhinged. And Krill, whose word seemed to stand above the others, but whose words could never make him trustworthy to you. 

You had to choose one before their patience with you would finally run out. 

[everlastlady]

Boyfriend Miguel O 'Hara.

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✰ author's note: Hello my starlights~ Decided to write this and get it out of my system before I start getting to request in my box because there are 11 request. So I hope that you enjoy this boyfriend Miguel story that I wrote instead of sleeping if you want husband Miguel then just let me know or drop it in my inbox with any ideas that you have. If you loved this cute short story then please consider liking, commenting, and reblogging. Remember to always support your local community writers or writers in general. Also don't forget to eat, drink water, take your medicine, and that you are loved.

✰ word count: 874.

✰ story contains: Gender neutral reader, mentions of sexual pleasure, romantic Miguel, and overall romance.

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Boyfriend Miguel who doesn’t talk about his relationship with you to everyone at the spider society because he still wants to be seen as a serious and intimidating boss. But once he goes home, he loves to shower in affection. He’ll bury his face into the crook of your neck and inhale the scent of you because he missed you so much. He’ll want to hear about your day while he makes the two of you dinner. He’ll rub your feet from when you had an exhausting day. He’ll listen to you vent about your boss and annoying co-workers. Miguel doesn’t mind taking pictures with you. He’ll even get some pictures or videos of you. When he’s at the society he makes sure that no one is around so he can look at them. Boyfriend Miguel who spoils you by getting you anything you want. He wants you to quit your job so that he can take care of you. He's a man with a lot of money so there is no reason to work. But you don’t mind your job sometimes and you like having your own money. Miguel respects your choice but still spoils you. Boyfriend Miguel who finds it adorable when you wear his shirts, sweatpants, or boxers. Boyfriend Miguel who loves you no matter what size you are and will go at anyone who shames you for your body shape and size, he thinks you are beautiful no matter what scars or marks you have on your skin. Boyfriend Miguel who takes a break from being Spiderman so he can spend time with you and take you on trips. Boyfriend Miguel who cuddles you in bed wanting to feel close to you. If you wake up before him, you aren’t getting out of bed unless you have to pee.

Boyfriend Miguel who eventually introduced you to the spider society. Jess wonders how someone small and sweet as you could date Miguel but she is happy for you both. Peter loves the videos and pictures that you showed him of Miguel and you. You even agreed to watch Mayday which is a blast because now you have something to do when Miguel is busy. Boyfriend Miguel who whenever you both get into an argument, he’ll buy you a rose after every argument and apologize. Now if you are in the wrong and apologize, Miguel will forgive you and kiss your head. Boyfriend Miguel who’s favorite thing to do with you is dance and cook. He loves the way you both dance together, he doesn’t care if you don’t know how to dance he has fun either way. Boyfriend Miguel who lets you cry it out on him and vent. He lets you know your feelings are valid and he’s here to listen. Boyfriend Miguel who let you try his digital suit once and one look he was already on you. Boyfriend Miguel who sometimes wears his glasses but you remind him to use them when he’s at home looking at screens all day, he doesn’t like them but you tell him that he looks handsome. Boyfriend Miguel who lets you touch his fangs he just sits there with his mouth open but after his jaw gets tired he’ll set you aside. He also lets you know that his fangs are venomous so he doesn’t want you to accidentally hurt yourself. Boyfriend Miguel who originally met you at your workplace and was flustered with how you talked with him. Miguel who asked you out on a date when coming into your workplace, Miguel who took you to a restaurant.

Miguel who asked you out on the 6th date. Boyfriend Miguel who takes you to that same restaurant on your anniversary and then goes on a walk with you in the park underneath the stars. Boyfriend Miguel who scolds you and Lyla for pulling pranks on him. Boyfriend Miguel who gets a bit jealous whenever you give Lyla more attention then him. Boyfriend Miguel who is like a walking heater when it’s a cold day Miguel will be sure to keep you warm especially in different ways~ Boyfriend Miguel who appreciates when you place a blanket over him when he falls asleep from working, when you help into bed, or when you bring him food and water. Miguel appreciates everything you do for him even when you tell him to slow down and take breaks. Boyfriend Miguel who loves to pick you up and carry you around the house while he yells loudly how he has the best partner in the damn world. Boyfriend Miguel who loves to take you shopping and likes to see what outfits you try on. Boyfriend Miguel who deals with your plushie collection but sometimes wants to cuddle with you in bed but you're busy cuddling your favorite plushie. Boyfriend Miguel who lets you pack his lunch because when you did the first time, he found it adorable and now looks forward to whatever lunch you made for him. And finally Boyfriend Miguel who gets down on one knee to propose to you in his spider suit on a rooftop where the stars and city lights look beautiful, he is no longer boyfriend Miguel but now Husband Miguel.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

📖Taglist/Miguel's Simps: @sukioyakio @quechulitaaa @miguelcvmslvt @homewreckingwreck @tayleighuh @lauraolar14

If you want to be added to the Miguel tag list or removed just let me know.

[phoenixlionme]

The Deep Significance that Vaggie has in Charlie's Heart

As the title of the post suggests, I don't know if many fans understand how truly significant Vaggie was/is to Charlie. And I hope, the importance gets expanded on in Season 2. The first (and above) gif shows how the couple first met - Charlie rescuing a recently abandoned/fallen Vaggie and the latter returning a grateful and genuine smile. And despite being visibly disheveled and having a gouged out eye, Charlie can't help but be romantically flustered. And just a short moment, the duo have impacted each other before even spending time with one another.

The look on Charlie's face is probably the most scared she's looked - Yes, she's been stressed and scared; but she's always been able to bounce back, or least, need a moment to think, but those moments of fear can't compare to the ones Charlie is having right now upon learning Vaggie's secret. She's not only scared but distraught. Prior to the reveal, Charlie was nothing but energetic, defiant to the higher ups of Heaven, especially Adam and Lute; heck, she wasn't even hurt when she learned that not even the higher ups know how a soul goes to Heaven or Hell. But when Vaggie's lie/secret is revealed to her? She's shocked, scared, confused, and distraught. There's no more fight left in her; no more fight to argue for her cause, nothing. All she can think about in this moment is the secret her Vaggie has been keeping from her.

Like how Charlie's scared face differed from her previous ones, it's also the same but how her anger at Vaggie differs from her other moments of anger. She could be comically furious or genuinely enraged which came with her demon horns and fangs. And prior to confronting Vaggie here, she was emotionally incensed at Alastor's taunting. But, when she sees Vaggie here in this moment, right after learning Vaggie's lie? All of her anger becomes ice cold. There's no emotion or expression; and yet, ironically, the viewer (and Vaggie), can just feel Charlie's immense anger at her girlfriend. In the above screenshot, after Vaggie voices her surprise that Exorcist Angels can be harmed by demons, Charlie curtly remarks if Vaggie did know, would she tell her, which obviously surprise and hurts Vaggie; Charlie's remark comes from a place of hurt at Vaggie's secrecy but still that's gotta hurt Vaggie given how loyal she's been towards Charlie's dream. And the below gif has Charlie give another cold look to Vaggie while coldly asking if she was with her and Alastor. But also, before dawning the icy glare, Charlie has a brief expression of...something; I can't fully describe but I say emotion (?). Like she briefly wants to express her hurt to Vaggie but puts on the cold demeanor as they have their respective duties to do and Charlie is not ready to talk yet. Getting back to my original point, Charlie's anger at Vaggie isn't one filled with emotions, expressions, or demon powers - it's one of tranquil fury, coldness, and emotional distance.

In stark contrast to her earlier stoic fury when with Vaggie, Charlie is MUCH more open and emotional about her anger at her girlfriend's lie when talking to Alastor and Rosie. Now, remember - Charlie is dealing with Heaven not listening to her, them not even knowing how a soul goes there or Hell, Adam targeting the Hotel first, and now having to recruit extra people to fight. So, she has a LOT on her plate but what is her mind truly bothered by at this point? Having to come to grips with Vaggie's lie about her origins. She's hurt at the idea that Vaggie didn't trust her; hurt at how she shared EVERYTHING, Vaggie held back; confused and angry over why Vaggie felt she couldn't tell her. All the other hard stuff is hard to deal with, but she can deal with as long as Vaggie is by her side. And right now, Charlie is too hurt to be comforted by Vaggie.

To summarize, Vaggie's presence is DEEPLY important to Charlie. Vaggie was the first person in all of Hell to support her; before her father, before the friends they would eventually make, before Emily, before Heaven; and while realistic, Vaggie never tried to damper Charlie's optimism. This was something Charlie needed by the time they met, as she was already estranged from her father and her mother had went missing. I think this aspect may be explored in Season, or at least, hope so. I mean, look at how calm and relaxed Charlie becomes when Vaggie gently strokes her face.

In other words, Vaggie is Charlie's guardian angel.

[cy-cyborg]

It will never not be frustrating to me that amputees appear in fiction ALL. THE. TIME. and yet they're almost never acknowledged as such. The Cyberpunk genre is especially guilty of this: amputees and prosthetics becoming a normalised part of life are a defining part of the genre/aesthetic and yet no one even consults with any amputees about how we get represented there. Most writers in those genres don't even consider that giving your characters cybernetic arms and legs means they're an amputee.

CW: Ableism, dehumanisation

This makes it REALLY uncomfortable to engage with stories in the genre because another common aspect of cyberpunk is the idea of losing yourself and becoming something distinctly not-human anymore because you have too many cybernetic augmentations/implants. Shadowrun even has mechanics for this, which state if you get too many prosthetics, which is what cybernetics are 9 times out of 10, your character becomes a monster. These mechanics and discussions surrounding "how many robot bits make you not human anymore" are really, really uncomfortable when you remember this isn't something that's unique to a far-off future setting. Those people you're discussing the humanity of already exist. They're called amputees. If you reframe the question as "how many amputations can you have before you stop being a person" I hope you can see why an amputee like myself is not going to feel safe around you or in your fandoms.

And it's a shame, because I REALLY want to like Cyberpunk. I really, honestly do. I love the aesthetics, I love the idea of big corporations being the villains and the anti-capitalism at the heart of the genre, and I love the idea of prosthetics being not only destigmatised, but desirable. When written from a disability-inclusive lense, it honestly has the potential to be an incredibly uplifting and empowering genre. but as the genre stands right now, it's actively hostile to the very folks who are usually the stars of its stories: amputees, all because people just refuse to acknowledge us.

Cyberpunk isn't the only genre guilty of this, it's common all throughout sci-fi as a whole, but Cyberpunk is the only one where it starts becoming a serious issue due to its rampant dehumanisation of a real group of people. In other sci-fi settings, it's just kind of annoying and while it can be a form of erasure, it's not usually harmful, just...frustrating. Fantasy does it on occasion too, think pirates with a hook and a peg leg, but nowhere near as much.

If you, as an author or creator, use any of these words to describe a character or their tech in a sci-fi setting:

cybernetics/cybernetic enhancements

bionics

robot limbs

cyborgs

augmentations

You are probably writing an amputee. Please, at the very least, acknowledge it, and be mindful that those are real people who actually exist, not just a fantasy group you can speculate about.

edit:

I originally posted this article on my old Tumblr account and lot of people commented/reblogged to tell me that originally in cyberpunk, the "less human the more robot bits you have" only applied to people who opted for their limbs to be replaced by cybernetics, because it was seen as "renting out your body to corporations for money" but people who had to get cybernetics out of necessity weren't impacted. The thing is though, I really don't think that makes it better, for a few reasons. For one, where do you draw the line at "opting" to get a cybernetic prosthetic? This isn't a black and white thing, even in real life. Most amputations are done out of necessity, but there are situations where it's not the only option, just the best one. Talking from personal experience, I lost both my legs below the knee as a baby, that was a pretty clear cut case, I had a blood infection and gangrene and they had to act fast. But the infection caused lasting side effects and impacted my physical body's development and growth. By the time I got to my early 20's it was causing a lot of pain in my right leg, in my knee specifically, and when I got a bone infection in the end of that stump, I chose to have the whole thing amputated up to the knee. They only needed to take a few inches off the end of my stump, but I asked them to go higher, because of the ongoing issues in that knee, issues that would have been made worse by the shortening of the leg. I choose to remove the whole thing, knowing the joint was degrading and I probably would have lost it later in life anyway. Even if it was salvageable, it would mean much more surgery, and I've had enough of those. A boy I played wheelchair basketball with was born with a partially formed leg, it was half the size of his other leg and he wasn't able to use it al all, it was just dead weight, so he opted to get it amputated too for convenience and so he could use a prosthetic on that side. I worked with a girl who's hand didn't form properly in the womb, resulting in a normal palm, but tiny "finger nubs" (her words) with no bones inside. They weren't actively harming her usually, but she opted to get them and the top of her palm amputated after an incident at work where we were tying balloons and one of her nubs got stuck in the knot. She decided to get them amputated because it meant accidents like that would be less likely, and she could use a prosthetic more comfortably. All 3 of these are considered "optional" amputations, so would people like us be penalised in your setting? does it make sense that the technology in your setting can tell the difference, or that corporations would care about the how and why? Even stepping away from medical grey areas, if your character opts for a cybernetic arm because the corporations will financially reward her, and she's struggling to put food on the table without that help, is that really optional?

Don't get me wrong, I do think that idea could work but it would take a lot of work to do well, and most works I've seen don't do the work. Even if they did though, it doesn't change the fact that most modern uses of this trope don't mention that bit or actively ignore it. It doesn't matter in most cyberpunk works I've seen if the amputation was optional or out of necessity, they still are more prone to being seen as "less human" and in most of the sci-fi writing communities I've been part of, the authors are genuinely shocked when I ask them to remember "people with cybernetics are real people already, they're not some far-off-distant future fantasy group, they're just called amputees". Like it didn't even cross their minds. These are the people creating the works in this genre. Even if it wasn't the original intention of the genre, it's still an issue in the modern version of it. Edit 2: Elaborated a little more on why I don't think the "only people who choose it" argument works in the edit. Also, please stop telling me that old cyberpunk doesn't have this issue, I literally address that in the post lol.

[withoutyouimsaskia]

Sometimes It's Fated (Sandman Short Story Part 2)

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4

​GIF: Originally posted by @harleytudinous

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

Summary: Reader Self-Insert. After restoring the Dreaming and locating the missing dreams and nightmares, Morpheus turns his attention to finding you, the human he believes fate has chosen for him. (Title inspired by Placebo's "This Picture".)

Warnings: Minors DNI. Dark!Morpheus. Soulmates. Angst. Obsessive and possessive behaviour. Tension. Threat. Dream manipulation. Masturbation. Voyeurism. Plot related cigarette use. Dubious consent.

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: So I know I initially billed this as a two shot but the story has run away with me in the most lovely way. Part 3 will be coming soon. Thank you for all your kind responses to part 1, it honestly means so much to me. Hope you enjoy this one too. All my love, Saskia xx

Sandman Masterlist

---------------------------------------------

The veil of sleep comes down upon your weary body with a feather-light touch, trying to coax your mind back into the world of dreams.

Dreamscapes have been a whole new experience for you in the past month of your life. Before, you would wake with no recollection of what had played out. Not even the slightest inkling. Now, you remember everything.

They are staggering; bursting with details and ideas beyond your most outlandish daytime imaginings. The emotions that are conjured by them, both when asleep and also awake are just as bold.

And even though it's been 23 nights since it started you are still finding them predominantly jarring and disorientating. You are baffled by how other people cope with the sheer vividness. The unpredictability. Maybe they have become desensitised. You can only hope that the same will happen for you in time.

One thing you tell yourself with each sunrise:

Thank goodness they weren't nightmares.

At least, you don't think they are. There's no resemblance between yours and what you have heard others describe over the years, nor to those outlined in a dream decoding book you had checked out of the library last week. There's no obvious threat or fear. No re-living of traumatic events. Just weird subtext.

The first dream found you standing barefoot on a beach. A mirage distorted the particulars of the scene making it impossible to see further than half a meter in front of you. The temperature of the sand under your soles was verging on painful and as such, it forced you to walk into the unknown before you.

A groaning wind started to brew and lifted the sand into sparkling flurries. You shielded your eyes from the abrasive particles.

The sun was at its apex when you heard the ear splitting bangs. Unmistakably gun shots; you didn't last much longer in the dream and woke with a start.

For the next week, your dreams had been like a series of video clips edited into a supercut.

Raven wings. Black cats. Hellfire. Ruby red glow. Sprawling library shelves. Landscapes hewn by earthquake fissures. Hotel corridors. A handsome, blond haired man wearing sunglasses, holding a blood covered knife.

If you didn't know any better, you would begin to suspect that your new box of tea bags had been laced with a psychedelic. Alas, no. Your hypothesis was unequivocally disproved when you friends had been completely unaffected after stopping by for a Sunday afternoon catch up.

This quick fire of snapshots eventually stopped, transforming into lucid long form dreams. You often think back to the first one where it happened.

Standing in the the empty room, and the appearance of the figure dressed in black. The colour that had flashed in their midnight eyes had the quality of liquid silver. Sometimes you wonder if you see the same image in other dreams, standing in amongst a crowd.

From that point on, regardless of what dream you are in, you cannot shake the intuitive prickle down your spine that tells you someone is watching you.

You reason that it is nothing to be concerned about. Humans dream, and you cannot deny that some of them - swimming in a sea of clouds, re-visiting childhood haunts, trying out superpowers - have been quite fun.

You roll over on to your left side and close your eyes.

You dream.

The room you see is expansive in breadth and depth. Impressive windows bring brilliant light into the space which bounces off the ivory stone of the floors and walls. There are statues positioned at equidistant intervals, implying that the chamber is a gallery of sorts.

One effigy, fashioned from bronze, and rich in colour draws your attention. The lines and curves of its form intrigue you, despite not knowing the creature it was portraying.

You are about to move on when the feeling of being watched sparks through your skeleton.

Everything changes.

Clarity gives way to haze. Sun is swapped for moon.

You see a man across the room. He stands with a perfect posture. Graceful, powerful. His elbows are bent, fingers interlaced, palms facing upwards. Sheer black fabric floats around his frame. It moves languidly, giving glimpses of his bare body beneath.

The man's face is imperceptible. The distance between you too great but somehow you know you are the focus of his attention.

His robes fall to the floor with a gossamer sigh. The pale, unmarked skin of his slight form glows beautifully in the moonlight. You look down in embarrassment as arousal flushes through you, and you see that you are suddenly as naked as he is.

You gasp, and snap your gaze back up.

The sight you see is rather unexpected. The man is intimately touching himself.

You feel compelled to mirror him. You immediately reach between your legs. The man groans as you make contact.

All it takes is a little bit of attention on your clit before you are ready to slide two fingers into your core. The noise you make at the feeling of the stretch is salacious. The man echoes you with a sound that is just as dirty.

It spurs you on and you burrow deeper.

You curl your fingers until your legs are weak and quivering. You long to sink to your knees so you can finish in a more comfortable position yet you can't. An invisible force is preventing you.

It keeps you on display.

Just like the statues to your left.

You wonder if it is for the man's benefit.

You try to focus on him but it is impossible to do so through the trembling glaze over your eyes. All you are able to sense from him now is the sound of the rhythmic pump of his palm around his cock and his panting breaths.

Desperate whines escape your lips. You are teetering on the edge of an orgasm but you can't seem to lose your balance and fall into the abyss. The unsteadiness in your legs is too much of a distraction. You rub at your clit again in the hope that it will bring the satisfaction you need.

It does nothing.

You are so frustrated by your body's disobedience that it is almost painful.

"Please. Please. Please," you mutter under your breath.

A voice suddenly speaks next to you ear. A velvet voice with the timbre of a thunder rumble. It pours like a soothing syrup into your brain and commands you to do exactly as it bids.

"Let go."

You climax intensely, crying out in relief, squirting all over your fingers and onto your hand as you legs finally give way.

The fall jolts you back into consciousness and you wake with a barely contained scream of pleasure in your throat and adrenaline lighting up your nervous system.

Daylight is peeking through a little gap in the curtains. You take a deep, grounding breath.

That was obscene.

The context, the actions, the sounds. That sultry voice at the end. From the throbbing in your vulva and the twitching of your legs it seems like you didn't just finish in the dream.

There is really no point in looking it up in the dream decoding book.

You were clearly horny on a subconscious level. Or craving attention, hence the exhibitionist behaviour. The latter is not usually in your nature to seek out but if it is the reason, you might not have to wait long before the desire is fulfilled. There is a work event happening this evening that may require you to accept an award and address the crowd.

You love this time of year where community projects get recognition; a nomination alone is a sure-fire way of garnering publicity which in turn helps the charity's outreach.

But first, a normal day at the office. You throw back the covers and go straight to the bathroom to rinse off the evidence of your wet dream.

---------------------------------------------

Your right hand connects with the metal push plate of the function space's front door. The heels of your boots click and clack as you cross the threshold, moving from floor board to paving slab.

It's fortuitous that you brought a long, thick coat with you this evening for the wind is wintery and unforgiving. You stay close to the wall of the building to try and shelter from it as much as possible.

The pavements are slick with recent precipitation, streetlamps bouncing off of the water with caustic white light.

Then you see him; a figure cut from shadow.

He's breathing in such a laboured way that you wonder if he is sick.

Your phone is still inside the venue, currently being guarded by a colleague along with your bag but it wouldn't take long to retrieve it and call for medical assistance.

"You okay?" Concern colours the simple question.

His reply comes quickly and assertively, "I am well, thank you."

You nod, not entirely convinced for the stranger's response was as stiff as his posture, and reach inside the pocket of your coat for the box of cigarettes and lighter stashed within.

You settle one of the sticks between your lips and use your thumb to bring forth a flame. The crackle of smouldering paper and tobacco perforates the damp air and you take a needy drag. The nicotine taints and tantalises in equal measure, filling you with guilt and relief. You've been trying to give up but the little voice inside your head had won this evening. You close your eyes and focus on the pleasure it brings before flicking some ash into the tray mounted to the wall.

Your attention now back on your surroundings, the stranger steps into the scope of the streetlight. The angles of his cheekbones, jaw and nose are accentuated to an incredible extent in the gleam. His dark hair is being buffeted about the wind, locks of it very close to falling in the blue eyes that are unwaveringly trained on you. He begins to talk again, showcasing his deep baritone.

"I'm afraid I wasn't entirely honest with you just now. It is not how I envisaged our first interaction transpiring. I hope that you can forgive me for my deception."

You laugh nervously and take another quick drag. "It makes no difference if you're honest with me or not. I don't know you."

"You are correct. You don't know me. Not yet -"

"Oh," you cut in quickly. "I'm not looking for a hook up."

While you cannot deny that he is arrestingly beautiful, you are technically working and have never been one for one-night stands.

"You mistake my meaning. I have been searching for you for so long. I oftentimes doubted your existence however I was wrong and I find myself humbled to be in your presence at last."

The grandiose declaration is one of the stranger things you have heard in your life and you used to deal with drunken patrons when you worked at a university bar. Maybe he was intoxicated; it would explain a lot.

"Look, this might work on other people but I just came out here to have a cigarette -"

It is his turn to interrupt you now. "You will have no need of those going forward. Your addiction to them will be replaced by me."

"Excuse me?"

You are trying to sound incredulous, however, inside you are rather frightened by the turn the conversation has taken. His gaze is not helping either.

The crystalline eyes are embodying every part of the descriptor; a hard, chill inducing blue. Ash drops from the smouldering cigarette as a tremble of fear rattles through you. The man sees this and the ice suddenly melts to a warmer hue.

His tone turns soft and gentle. "We are supposed to be together. Our union is fated."

He's staring at you expectantly even after your two attempts at rejection. You swiftly stub out the part-finished cigarette and take ownership in ending the interaction.

"I've had enough of this. I'm going back inside now. If you try and follow me, I will speak to the venue's management. If you are still here when I leave later, I will call the police."

You turn towards the door.

He calls your name. Your full name. Middle name too.

Despite your brain chanting at you to go inside, you can't stop yourself from looking back at him. "H-how do you know my full name?"

The profound rumble of his voice resonates deep in your ears. "I know everything about you, Y/N."

He's right in front of you now. His posture is bordering between desperate and predatory. Like he can't quite decide if he is seeking comfort from you, or if he wants to consume you.

You are fumbling behind you to find the door handle. "Please get away from me," you say hoarsely.

He reaches for your hand.

You jump back and struggle to get out of his grip but his strength is inhumanly strong. His skin of his palm is glacial against yours and yet somehow, the touch makes heat snake up your arm and settle in your chest.

You become aware of an internal feeling that you've always had, like that of chapped lips. Low level but something that constantly nags. Something that existed every minute of your life until the moment he touched you.

You grip his hand and look up at his face in astonishment.

"Good. That's it. Look into my eyes. See what you know is there."

You do as he says, totally stunned by the depths that seem to reside within them. It's as if there are universes suspended inside. Maybe there are. Perhaps you could float among the celestial bodies if you asked him to show you how.

You feel so alive and overstimulated that you welcome the delirious thoughts taking over your mind.

You welcome him.

It's like there is a cord connected between your heart and his that is shortening in length. The intensity scares you.

You obey, feet moving of their own accord and then you are standing before him, just centimetres apart.

"Give into the pull," he urges darkly, sensing your anxiety.

He smiles triumphantly and presses you flush against his body.

His free hand comes up to cup your jaw, fingers brushing the sensitive skin of your neck. More heat sears through you from the additional skin-on-skin contact.

Your peripheral vision closes tighter and tighter with every passing moment. The outside world is gone.

He leans in further and you wonder hazily if he is going to kiss you or break your neck. Both options are equally viable given the behaviour he has exhibited. You keep staring at him regardless.

His irises flash silver as he intones his next sentence. "Y/N, I claim you as my soulmate."

-------------------------------------

Taglist: @herfantasyworldd @kpopgirlbtssvt

"Am I your dream girl? You think of me in bed. But you could never hold me. You like me better in your head."

[moonpedri]

matching.

summary: though it was spontaneous, you decide to tag along to ibiza when your best friend and her boyfriend invite you. the only problem was his little brother, barcelona's number 8, pedri, and his red swim shorts.

pairing: pedri x reader

genre: fluff, smut (suggestive)

warnings: making out, petting, swearing, pedri is a little shit

word count: 3.2k+

a/n: i orginally had this planned as a little imagine. if you've read honey, you may remember a beach scene being mentioned very briefly. and since i recently got a similar request, i fleshed everything a little more out and birthed out this big baby lmao. hope you enjoy!!🤍

PS: while proof-reading i noticed that i completely messed up the timelines, this fic actually happens before honey and not after, but oh well. 😭 this is super annoying but i liked the way this fic turned out so deal with it pls 🥺i may turn this into a little ibiza trip series with multiple parts and other places!!

────────────

It is the middle of summer and the sun was blazing unforgivingly over you that not even your sunshade could help you escape from the heat.

You look at your friends over the rim of your sunglasses, as some of them currently play around in the water. The radio stations all reported well above average numbers for the coming weeks and so naturally your friends would want to go on vacation somewhere near the beach.

Originally you had nothing special planned for the summer, but since your best friend Sofía is dating Fernando González, who just happens to be the older brother of Pedri González, Barcelona's young star-midfielder, you somehow happened to get dragged along to Ibiza.

This wasn't a rare occasion, because ever since Sofía started dating Fernando, you ended up with this whole new lifestyle consisting of football matches, special events, galas and travel.

And with FC Barcelona winning LaLiga and the season ending, all the players want to make the most off their freetime.

"Fer wants to book the tickets, __, you're coming with, right?", Sofía asked you last week. It was super spontaneous and honestly you were a bit annoyed that you got asked so late, giving you no time to prepare or clear your schedule (not that you had much written on it anyways lol)

But you would also lie if the idea of going to Ibiza didn't excite you. You always wanted to go to the infamous "party" island, but it was a costy dream - one you couldn't afford. Well, until now.

So you agreed and found yourself only 5 days later at your dream destination. One of the perks of having a friend like Sofía is that with trips like these, you didn't have to pay a cent. As a close friend, the whole thing basically got financed for you. Only shopping expenses and maybe food you had to cover yourself - of course.

The single downside of it all was the fiancier of it all himself: Pedri.

Ironic, right?

But there was no way you couldn't feel that way towards him. He is simply infuriating. When the two of you were introduced to each other over dinner at their home, Pedri wasted no time trying to subtly smooth his way into your pants.

It was almost unnoticeable to be honest and you know no one paid attention, but you did. You noticed how his arm brushed your shoulder, how his hand grabbed your waist when he wanted to move past you and his hips grazed your ass. It seemed like his eyes were glued to your cleavage and somehow no one took notice.

In his defense though, you weren't a saint either. Where he pulled, you just let yourself get tugged along. When he moved past, you purposely arched your back; just to test the waters and pushed out your chest to maybe rile him up a bit; you don't know really.

There was something entertaining about an attractive guy like Pedri showing his interest for you so blatantly and pursuing you in such a secretive way.

Yet for all it's worth, you never went further than touching and looking, sneaking a kiss here and there. It's clear what type of guy Pedri is, if all the buzz around his rather promiscuous love life, filled with influencers and models, is any indication.

You heard what people said, what the articles reported. Pedri is young, rich and successful, he would be a fool to immediately pursue a serious relationship at that stage in his life. He liked to enjoy life, be wild in his early 20s and keep the monogamy for later.

And it's not like you could blame him, honestly. You're sure that if your roles were switched, you would enjoy his lifestyle too to an extent. You are you though.

And you wanted something serious, someone to treat you with respect and loyalty. Surely, Pedri saw you more as a way of passing time, just having his fun with you. But you had enough self-respect to not give in to his troublsome ways.

Also, you barely had the nerves to put up with all that.

That's what you liked to tell yourself at least.

With a sigh you turn your head to where Sofía suddenly sits up. You're about to close your eyes again, ready to fall under the sun's mercy, when you hear your best friend scoff next to you.

You bring your sunglasses up and follow her sight. "Can you fucking believe that?", she says agitated.

A loud giggle errupts and you watch as two girls talk animatedly with both Fernando and Pedri.

The brunette one subtly scratches over Fernando's arm, as she seems to listen intently to whatever he's saying. Fer doesn't really engage her, keeps his visible distance, though Sofía doesn't seem to care. Her eyes shoot daggers in their direction.

What bothers you though was the blonde one clinging like a koala onto Pedri. She seems so....you can't find the word but it irritates you. And he did absolutely nothing about it, actually rather enjoying it. Not that he shouldn't of course, but he could keep his distance as well. Also, you didn't want to have to deal with two horny people during your vacation (one you didn't pay for but you get the gist), and an angry best friend, if they were to stay.

It also doesn't help that Pedri looks the way he does. Absolutely gorgeous.

You never thought to be admitting to this but he almost looks like sex-on-legs in those red swim shorts of his. The sun burned his skin in the most beautiful way possible, accentuating his natural blush and his slim but toned body. It's been nothing but torture the entire day.

The two of you watch them for another minute, none of the brothers noticing any of your hard stares, when Sofía stands up determined. "If he wants to play, I'll play."

When she notices your indifferent state, she looks at you expectantly.

"What?", you ask.

"Come on, I can't do this alone."

Reluctant you get up as well and shake non-existent sand off your legs. "I don't know Sof...Fer doesn't really seem too into it."

She cocks an eyebrow and the expression on her face says enough for you to not press any further.

"Yeah, yeah alright.", you say. You don't know what plan she has in mind exactly but you follow her anyway. You get increasingly confused when she proceeds to take her bag and go to the changing rooms. She closes the door behind you and rummages in her bag and only when she pulls something out, you realize the absolute stupid plan she has.

No, you don't think even scriptwriters could come up with such silly ideas.

"I cannot believe you."

In her hands are, what you believe to be, the flimsiest bikini pieces you have ever seen.

"I always pack a pair or two for emergencies.", she says and gives you a pair. A red brazilian bikini, the ones with high-cut strings. "And as you can see, this is an emergency."

You hold the garments up. "I thought Fer doesn't like you wearing those, why did you pack them for emergencies?", you ask confused.

Fernando is a sweetheart. You really think there could have been no one more perfect for your best friend than him. He's not controlling, always puts her first and you genuinely believe that he always has her best interests in mind. Fer is not the type to forbid Sofía anything, especially not in regards of clothes. He let's her wear whatever she wants, no matter how short or ridiculous it looks. However, for some reason, he has often voiced his strong dislike towards those brazilian bikini bottoms that recently started trending.

It didn't bother Sofía at all, she didn't really wear them often anyways. But you guess she never got rid of them either.

"Precisely that's why. Also, they tan better.", she says as she takes out a white pair for herself. You don't think she really understood your question and you make a point to ask her later. For now though, you have another problem at hand.

"Ok ok, so you try to rile him up one way or the other. I get it. But why do I have to wear one as well?"

Sofía looks at you like it's so obvious and you're dumb for even asking, "Because there's two of those skanks? We can drive one off, but as long as the other stays, none of them will leave."

Your brows shoot up and you groan frustrated at what this means. "Oh come on, Pedri is not that bad.", Sofía reasons.

If only she knew, you thought. You want to protest but you think back to the blonde girl that threw herself onto Pedri and something bad bubbles up in your stomach.

With new determination you two change and make your way back to the beach. Sofía looks gorgeous in the bikini and for all it's flimsiness you think it suits you pretty good as well. Okay, who are you kidding. It looks fucking sexy on you, hugging you in all the right spots and making your ass look extra perky.

And you know you're not the only one who thinks so, as you feel the eyes of several men and women alike on both of you.

It gets even more apparent when two certain brothers look your way. Comically enough, the two girls shamelessly joined them on your sunbeds. By now your other friends joined as well and Sofía walks in front of you to where the others are; pointedly ignoring Fernando's presence.

You aren't as strong-willed though and can't help but sneak a look at Pedri. He already looks back at you, a smirk playing on his lips as his eyes scan your entire body.

You immediately turn your head back, feeling your cheeks heat up stupidly enough, despite the weather, and sit next to Miguel.

"Ohh, what's the occasion?", Samuel whistles when you two settle down.

Sofía shrugs and you feel uncomfortable with all eyes on you. It becomes worse when the conversations stop as well suddenly and Fer stands up. "Why did you change?"

"Felt like it. Also we can tan better now.", Sofía says indifferent.

He frowns, "But you looked pretty before." Bless his heart you think.

Sofía ignores him, and you think she's going a bit too far but it's not your relationship to intervene. "Samuel can you help put sunscreen on my back, I can't quite reach it."

The flabbergasted look on Fernando's face was both priceless and heartbreaking to see and you slowly begin feeling bad.

"What?"

"Sure."

Both answer at the same time and you grimace at the awkwardness. Fer goes and grabs the bottle out of her hands, the pretty brunette completely forgotten already. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I don't know what you mean."

He turns to the rest of you with an apologetic but upset expression, "Will you excuse us for a moment?"

He proceeds to take Sofía to a more quiet place on the beach. You see them argue in the distance but ultimately decide that for now it's not your business anymore.

Samuel and Loréna already went back into the water, Pedri is occupied with the two girls and only Miguel was with you.

The sun hasn't gotten any less warm and now that you wore this criminal bikini, you could at least put it to good use, right? So you take the sunscreen and hold it out to Miguel. "Can you?", you say pointing to your back.

It takes him a moment to understand what you mean, but when he does, he nods and reaches out but someone else happens to be faster than him. "Let me do it."

You look into Pedri's honey eyes.

Next to you, the blonde girl scoffs and regards you with an angry face. Miguel leaves as well and you want to say something to stop him, begging him not to leave you alone, but Pedri beats you to it. "Turn around and lay down." His voice is firm and it unwillingly sends shivers down your spine.

And for some reason you listen.

Your stomach retracts slightly when your belly touches the cold sunbed. But you forget everything the moment the cool sunscreen touches your skin and Pedri begins spreading it.

It's too sensual for your liking and he's gentler than you thought. Pedri goes all the way up to your neck, massaging the spot thoroughly and when he slowly goes down, his hands reach under your bikini top. Embarrassingly enough, pleasure fills your lower stomach.

Yet, you don't know what overcomes you, but attraction makes you do stupid things, so you simply reach behind your back and open the knot. "It'll be easier.", you explain with a small voice.

You get an answer in the form of his hands, when Pedri touches the exact spot and slowly glides his hands to your sides. His index fingers barely graze the sides of your boobs and goosebumps erupt all over your body.

If Pedri notices, he doesn't say anything.

Instead he just continues spreading the cream all the way to your lower back, his fingers once again invading places he shouldn't, much to your own excitement though.

It's quiet the entire time, you barely register Miguel talking with the two abandoned girls and going away with them. Light chatter and laughs, the splashing of water and the moist sound of Pedri spreading the sunscreen are the only audible things around you.

But you should know by now that it's only a matter of time before Pedri decides to ruin peaceful moments.

"Need me to put some on your ass as well?"

Shameless is the only word good enough to describe the football player. "In your dreams maybe.", you say and turn your head to watch him through your glasses.

His eyes are glued to your backside, "Oh if only you knew, princess."

You bind your bikini top back together and sit up, "You're stupid, González."

"For you, yeah."

You resist the urge to punch him and ignore the fact that it affects you more than what is condemned good. "Will you stop?"

"Why, do I make you nervous?"

You cross your arms over your chest, his eyes immediately zoning in on the movement. You (un)consciously press them together tighter, for no particular reason.

"No."

"Really?", he extends the 'e' sound and leans forward. Not expecting him to, you automatically fall back. He grabs the edge of the sunshade and pulls it down until it completely hides the two of you.

"What are you doing, they'll see us!"

Pedri chuckles and you can't help but peak at his pink lips, only inches away from yours now. "That's what you're worried about?"

"What else?" You think maybe the heat has gotten to your head, but really it's just Pedri's presence on top of you.

You see the way Pedri's mouth opens, ready to continue the banter but with his entire body pressed into yours, his natural scent mixed with the sea, his honey eyes boring into yours and exploring your entire face and his hands itching on your hips, you do the only thing possible in this situation.

You grab his neck and smash your lips against his.

He responds immediately, reciprocating the kiss. You hate how good it feels and despite how confusing it is with him, no moment has ever been clearer than right now.

A whine leaves your mouth when Pedri presses his hips into yours, the pleasure inmessurable. It's an indecent thing to do at a public beach (even though this is a private part of the beach Pedri specifically rented for the vacation) so he pulls back but right now you can't care at all.

All rationality leaves your body when you grab his red shorts by the hem and pull him back. You cling your legs around his back thighs and butt.

"Woah there, sugar, slow down.", he laughs, while caringly pushing a loose strand of hair out of your face.

Honestly, you would be flustered in any other moment but this. You can't think straight, the need to have him currently overweighting any other feeling.

His left hand slides from your waist to your ass, massaging the flesh. His other hand is clasped around your jaw, keeping your lips firm against ist.

You lose yourselves in the moment, Pedri's left hand close to where you need it the most. It's embarrassing how easy his fingers manage to slip under your bikini. And when he touches your clitoris, you're on cloud nine.

Your hands wander down to his beautiful red shorts and waist no time to wrap around his dick.

He groans into the kiss, "Fuck."

You begin moving your hand up and down and that's when all the weight on top of you suddenly disappears. "Shit, I hate to be the one, but we-"

"Yeah, I know.", you immediately cut him off and organize yourself a bit. Your head spins a bit, everything going too fast for you. Your body and mind haven't completely sobered up yet, and it stings a bit to be turned down like this. It's also confusing. But he's right.

Pedri seems to read you well enough by now, when he says, "It's not because I don't want to."

You hold up your hand, not ready for any kind of rejection, "I'm not dumb, Pedri. This is the fucking beach." Yet you wonder if he would have gone further if it was the pretty blonde and not you.

He goes through his hair and laughs, "Not because of that. My brother is coming and I don't think now is the time to explain ourselves, is it?"

You immediately spin around and indeed, Fernando and Sofía are walking in your direction; hand-in-hand, you might add. Luckily they seem too focused on one another and their ice cream to notice you and Pedri.

When you turn back, Pedri winks at you. "I'll choose a more private place next time."

You scoff, "There will be no next time."

He rubs his chin thoughfully and looks at you in an actingly confused way, "The way you were going at it, I could have sworn you were down for another- Ow!"

You hit Pedri angrily, the redness on your face surely visible, "Don't ever mention that again."

"And what if I do?", he smirks cockily.

"Pedri!"

"__!", he imitates in a high voice and this time you can't help but laugh. You roll your eyes playfully and shove him away. It gets increasingly hard to not crush on him. Maybe you already do.

The sunshade moves then and Fer and Sofía hop next to you two.

"Nice to see that you two love birds made up, I was beginning to worry.", you comment and Sofía lovingly puts her head on Fer's shoulder.

You four chat around a bit more, when Fernando suddenly chuckles and points at you and Pedri. Confused, you both look at him.

"You two look more like a couple than we do. Did you notice that you're matching?"

You did, in fact, not notice. And neither it seems, did Pedri.

You make a gaggig noise then and shoot up, "Whatever, I am going to change."

Pedri follows close behind, "Want me to help?"

"Shut up!"

────────────

© moonpedri - DO NOT copy, translate or post my work anywhere without my permission!

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Ruin requests??? Anything w/ ruined Roxy x reader please I need to clean her up and make her feel better my wife is so sad :(((

NAH FR I'm devastated for her </33

[RUIN SPOILERS AHEAD]

.......

You don't know how you did it.

You don't know how you managed to reach Cassie and Roxanne deep within the bowels of the Mega Pizzaplex and destroy...whatever mechanical abomination was lying there.

But none of that mattered right now, as there's only one important thing sitting in front of you at this very moment:

The heavily damaged wolf animatronic, currently in a deactivated state as she was recharging power.

You did your best to clean off whatever grease, charcoal, or dirt you can find on the remnants of her suit. However given her lack of any exterior shelling, you focused mainly on her endoskeleton.

A dozen rags and special cleaners later...she was already looking better than before.

You took extra care when cleaning her hair--the part of herself she valued the most aside from her eyes. The last thing you wanted was for her to go into a frenzy in your own garage.

At first you were afraid for Cassie's safety, thinking Roxy was going to attack her like Monty, Chica, and some older Freddy model. But instead the young girl actually led you to her, begging you to save her as she was too scared to lose her "only friend".

That was surprising to hear, though you trusted her and took them both hope, escaping through a tunnel leading to the outside world.

You drove Cassie to the hospital, where she would be staying for a few nights, while you went back home to repair Roxy to the best of your abilities.

Being a former technician had its perks, but even so...you couldn't 100% restore her to her original state. You had no idea how she was even capable of functioning at all, even apparently fighting an animatronic that mimicked Cassie's friend.

Still, you had to try.

For both of their sakes.

Once Roxy was charged fully, you smiled and got up, going to your monitor to complete the process and reactivate her.

--WARNING: ANIMATRONIC SAFETY PROTCOLS REMAIN CRITICALLY DAMAGED. CONTINUE? [Yes/No]--

You huffed in annoyance, going ahead and selecting "yes". There was nothing you could do about those right now. But you hoped she would recognize you before she made any sudden movements.

As soon as you made your choice, the wolf jerked to life, already fighting against the restraints of her chair as she growled and shouted.

"Where am I?! Cassie?! CASSIE?!!" She cried out desperately. "Let me go-!!"

"Roxy! It's me." You spoke up, trying to calm her down as you cautiously approached. "Do you remember me?"

Closing her endo jaws, she fell silent for a moment, trying to recognize your voice. "[Y/n]? My...personal repair technician..? Where are we? Is Cassie okay?"

"You're at my house, far away from the Pizzaplex. Cassie's staying at the hospital for a few nights. She's safe." Relieved, you smiled when her gaze met yours, and you could see her relax in the chair. "I can't believe it...you were down there all this time. I thought you guys were goners. What happened..?"

"It's..all a blur." She muttered, tensing as she felt a cable being removed from the back of her head. "What are you..??"

"It's okay. I had to recharge you and run some diagnostics, so I'm taking the cables out. Keep talking to me, Roxy."

"Did Cassie book her party?"

"...come again?"

"Her birthday.." She looked up at you, ears twitching and rotating. "She didn't have the best time, I tried cheering her up...did you know she's my number one fan?"

"Yes." You nodded as you detached the final cable. Then you helped her stand up and regain her footing. "You've only told me about her a dozen times while I was repairing you."

"I did...? Huh...can we go back to the Pizzaplex when she recovers? We'll throw her the best birthday party ever!" Her tone sounded so hopeful, yet your silence made her frown. "[Y/n]?"

"I'm sorry, Roxy. But the whole mall's condemned. It's not safe anymore" You regrettably reminded her. "I don't know what the hell happened there in the time I was gone, but...it's in ruins. Even if it was somehow magically restored..I don't think Cassie would want to go back there."

Of course, you knew that's not what she wanted to hear, but it was the reality. And you could see her growing more and more distraught.

"..right, I..remember now..but that's it? No more parties or...o-or races to win..? No more sharing carrot cake? No one to tell me I'm beautiful..?" Her voice wavered, but you couldn't tell if it was due to the glitches or genuine emotion.

The robotic sniffle you heard confirmed the latter, and you stepped forward to take her hands into yours. "You're still beautiful, and..I promise when she gets out, we'll go buy all the carrot cake she wants. We'll throw her a party here. One she deserves." You could feel tears pricking your eyes, despite your attempts to smile.

Although you wish it didn't take a tragedy of this scale to change Roxy's personality, you were glad to see this softer side coming out. Her sassiness to other kids and staff members was always there--even towards you--but Cassie is the only one she ever looked out for.

Maybe..they had more in common than they realized.

'She's the reason Roxy didn't go rogue like all the others...she's been fighting tooth and nail to protect this girl..'

"Y-You mean that?"

"Every word." Nodding, you embraced her as she began to cry, oil leaking from her sockets. Her arms eventually found their way around you, and while constricting...you didn't dare to let her go.

Not anytime soon.

Now it's gonna be your turn to protect her.

[sandinthemachine]

Mortal Remains

König x f!reader

written for the request: "You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn't have to go to such extremes." With Either ghost or König? There's not enough fluff for my men.

I don't even know where to begin with this one. It's massive, the longest one I've ever written. I love it, and I hate it. It made me cry. I'm excited and terrified to see what everyone else thinks. I hope someone reading this feels at least one of those emotions while doing so (preferably not hate)

before I begin, thank you to @sprout-fics and @zwienzixes for being lovely beta readers, and a MASSIVE thank you to @itsagrimm for beta-reading, helping me work through ideas, giving me proper German translations, and all around being an amazing and supportive person. I would have given up on this without all the help.

Translations for the German will be at the bottom

Words: 12,450 (yeah...it's big just like him)

Warnings/tags: König is soft and pretends not to be, reader is afab but no pronouns used, canon-typical violence, piv sex, oral f!receiving, self-deprecation, lots of raw emotions, mental health is hard, fluffy ending

---

It started easy enough, as so many things do.

A week-long joint training exercise. Mixed teams, both 141 and KorTac. Something something bonding before the real mission. You hadn’t been listening.

You remember being excited to be teamed with Soap. At least you could get along with someone, you mused. You barely noticed the hooded figure, tall and sticking to the corners, merging with the lengthening shadows. What’s another ghost haunting your footsteps? Nothing special, that’s for sure.

The first four days fly by. Early morning patrols, always in pairs, tracking for signs of the other team. Finding nothing, you move to a different shelter, secure the area, sleep. Rinse, repeat.

The fifth day is different. There are ragged clouds cloaking the sun while the rest of the sky is completely clear. You’re not sure why you noticed that, but you did.

It was an early morning patrol, as usual, you and your partner sweeping around a centerpoint like you were analyzing a single massive clock. Northeast quadrant clear. Southeast clear. Southwest…a scuff in the dirt. You lean down, fingers tracing the air just above it, a black fleck catching your eye. You grasp it, finding it much larger than you originally expected and partially buried. You pull at the rubbery texture, curious. Distracted.

The ambush comes quietly. Perfectly so. The weight lands on your back with an abruptness that flattens your lungs, dropping you directly onto your hands. You might have twisted your wrist, but the pain of that is overshadowed by the thought of the immense beratement you’ll get from your NCO for failing so fast.

Yet the weight from your back is lifted as quietly as it arrived. You turn, rolling to your feet to find that it had been Gaz on top of you only a second ago. Now he dangles like a ragdoll in the air. The shadow holding him draws a knife, taps it against his throat. You're out.

Gaz sighs as he’s set on the ground, giving you a nod before marching off. You don’t return it, too busy staring at the man next to him.

You’d never noticed his eyes before. You’re used to Ghost’s eyes, dark and unyielding, cavernous black holes reaching into a skull long dead. Like he was born to wear the mask.

This man’s eyes couldn’t be more different. They’re pale, washed out, windows into a sky perpetually on the verge of snowfall, slumbering clouds cold and waiting.

They curve down at the corners, lending an air of melancholy to the only part of his face you can see. You wonder how he really feels behind that gaze.

You’re staring.

You clear your throat awkwardly, aiming to thank him before pausing. “I…I’m sorry, I never caught your callsign?”

The head dips down, draped fabric falling down his chest slightly. A nod. “We need to keep moving.”

And he’s walking past you.

-

Two days later, the training exercise finally comes to a head in a fierce brawl over the fake weapons cache. Knives and fists only.

The fight takes only a few minutes. Ghost on the opposite team notices your attempted ambush immediately, throwing his men after you. Your team is outnumbered, stuck in a hallway. But it doesn’t matter.

Ghost and the hooded man roll on the ground, tousling like a pair of tomcats, Ghost landing on top for just a second, raising his knife-

You’re there. Arm wrapped around his shoulders. Blade tapping against his throat. You’re out.

With that, the fight is over. Ghost moves with a grumble at the man under him. It might have been a threat. But the man doesn’t hear it. He’s too busy staring at you with grey-sky eyes wide. A child dressed as a dirty sheet-ghost. “I…I don’t know your-”

You thrust your hand out, yanking him to his feet. “We’d better head back.”

-

You feel him at your back throughout the debriefing. Rolling thunder clouds looming over your head, ready to burst at any second. Your tongue is between your teeth, lungs heaving. Soap whispers a joke in your ear, something about Ghost getting chewed out by the NCO. You can barely muster a smile.

You stay still as the meeting finally ends, waiting for everyone to filter out before you finally turn around.

As you turn, your shoulder knocks into hard muscle and you look up, craning your neck to take in the hooded face and the way his pupils are blown wide into dark pits. A gale you should take shelter from lest you be blown away. But for a moment all you do is stand there, watching your own pupils expand in the turbulent reflection.

Your teeth are carving marks into your tongue by now, and it takes you far too long to draw in a shaky breath and push past him. You have more training tomorrow. It’s sleep your body needs. Not…whatever this is.

He doesn’t say a word as you depart, but his eyes track your every move before the door shuts behind you.

-

Of course this is a night where you can’t sleep. Of course. You flip and roll, hearing your bed frame smack against the wall every time you shift until you get so annoyed you shove it further into your room and flop down on it again. It doesn’t do anything, of course. Just makes your insomnia a little quieter.

It’s nearly midnight by the time you throw your legs over the side in frustration, shivering at the frigid air before throwing on enough clothes to look decent and marching down towards the shared kitchen.

He’s there. Your luck is just perfect tonight. You take a step backwards, planning to flee back to the darkness of the hallway, but he’s already turning his head, shoulders jumping just slightly as you enter his view.

You crumple a little as he notices you, but it’s too late to do anything about it now. “Can’t sleep either, huh?” Your voice is rough as you walk over to the counter next to him, yanking an expired box of cereal from the back of it. Your arm brushes his as you pull it out.

You spare him a glance as you pry the old box open, snorting at his narrowed eyelids. You bet he’s scrunching his nose through that silly hood, too. You reach in, hearing a series of crunches as you rifle around. “Ah, there it is.” You pull out the clear bottle, shaking it triumphantly in his face. “This’ll knock you right out. 50/50 chance you get back up tomorrow.” You trail off, eyes traveling up and down him. “Well, maybe a bit better odds for you.” You chuckle half-heartedly, but it dies a second later.

You puff your lips out in a shaky breath, running your tongue along your teeth before giving him an awkward smile and raising the bottle to him. With that you leave.

-

As soon as you take a sip you spit it right back out with a blech. You’d forgotten how nasty the stuff is. You toss it into the trash can and flop back down with an irritated groan. How hard is it to fall asleep? It’s literally laying there doing no-

Your thoughts are interrupted by a knock at the door, and upon swinging it open you find him, his looming shadow nearly blotting out the light from the hallway behind. It’s easy to forget how big he is when he’s not around. How strong he is. How…deadly.

But right now he’s leaning against your doorframe, hands tapping along his legs. “Have enough for two?”

You smirk a little at that, but as you step closer you feel the heat radiating from him, your shoulder blades clenching together as your mind begins to process something.

You’d sleep better for it. Perform better the next day. It would be good for you.

Your smirk deepens. “I have a better idea.”

As your hand tangles in his shirt you feel a tremble along his skin, but he doesn’t respond when you pull on him. “You’ve been drinking.”

“I haven’t had a drop. Shit’s disgusting.”

“Show me the bottle.”

Despite yourself, a smile tugs at the corner of your lips as you fish the full monstrosity out of the bin to show him. He nods but still doesn’t move, and you find yourself rushing to assure him as heat rushes up your neck. “If you actually just want to drink, we can. We don’t have to do anything-”

“No. That’s not it.” Finally he steps fully into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him before he stalks to you. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you hiss, moving to hold onto him again, your mind swirling with exhaustion and old memories that you just need out, right now, and he’s right there and he needs it too, you just know it as he swoops down to grab you and toss you on the bed, both of you a mess to rip your clothes off now that the facade has finally fallen.

-

After the fog clears you find yourself panting on your stomach with him above you, caging you in with his forearms. Each of his stuttering inhales brings his burning chest and stomach against your back. Before the heat can become unbearable he pulls away, breaths still heaving as he tucks himself back into his pants.

Your eyes widen in surprise when he makes his way to your bathroom and comes back, washcloth in hand, to softly clean you up. As he finishes he pauses, thumb brushing the edge of an old knife scar running up your hip. “My callsign,” he murmurs, fingers tracing its length. “It’s König.”

And with that, he leaves.

-

You were content for that to be the end of it. You’d each gotten what you needed, after all. And as you stretch languidly across your mattress the following morning, an unfamiliar relaxation settles along your tense muscles. Yes, you would be more than happy to leave it at this.

But as the next training drill ends you find yourself faced with your cold barrack and the prospect of another sleepless night. Before you even realize what you’re doing your legs are moving, ready to go to the kitchen and-

He’s right there, startling as you nearly open your door into his face. He takes a step back, but you’re already holding your hand out and his eyes are burning into you as he takes it and lets you pull him in, lets you shut the door behind you before he’s lifting you with laughable ease and carrying you to bed.

-

You’re already burrowing your face into your pillow by the time he comes back to clean you up. This time his palm runs over a puckered mass on your thigh, a nasty burn scar from failing to dive for cover fast enough. It still hurts sometimes, but the pain is good. Reminds you not to be so careless again.

As you drift off completely to the feel of his warm hand taking in the old wound, you fail to notice the way his head has turned up, eyes running over your face. He contemplates brushing a finger over your hairline, tucking the wild flyaways behind your ear. But no. That would be too…friendly. That’s not what this is.

So instead he spreads your blankets over your now sleeping form, and with one last lingering gaze, leaves you to sleep peacefully.

-

You’re not surprised when you wake up to the empty room. It was what you wanted, after all. You had gotten another restful night out of it, and he got what he wanted. It was a fair trade. A great trade, even.

And as the training drills continue and you feel how naturally your body flows, how efficiently it executes your will when you’re actually well-rested, you find yourself seeking his company out more and more. Soon the pair of you have built your own kind of routine, him coming to you the evening after each debriefing when the leftover sparks of adrenaline are refusing to die out in you both.

He always lays you down on your stomach, opening you up with his fingers as he patiently works you through your first orgasm before letting himself take you. He’s always slow at first, but he finds you restless and impatient, urging him to go faster and harder, to knock you out for the night, to knock everything out of your mind that you never want to think about again.

You try to look back once only for your face to meet his hand. With gentle but firm fingers, he turns your head away.

Afterwards he’s even more delicate, wordlessly cleaning you up with a touch light enough to leave a butterfly unharmed. Although he rarely meets your eyes, his gaze and fingers take in your body, each time finding a new scar for his fingers to brush over like a chaste kiss.

You’re asleep by the time he leaves, and you like it that way. The two of you can crash against each other like blizzards raging and howling until you finally break into clear skies. And afterwards, you’re soldiers again. Well-rested, sure. But soldiers all the same. No hard feelings, either. You know he understands.

Soon you two find yourselves assigned to the same training team more and more. It’s natural, an unspoken communication flowing between you, and your superiors see it in the skyrocketing success rates. They pointedly ignore the way your stares burn holes into each other, keeping their eyes fixed on powerpoints and mission statistics. Not their business, they tell themselves. What matters is that you two do your jobs.

-

And then finally it’s time for the mission, a deployment in the middle of a remote and mountainous forest with terrible radio signal.

Like your first training, it starts easy enough. You’re divided into two teams on two separate mountains, and it’s just your luck that they put you on the team with no one you’re close to. Not even König. Maybe the higher-ups were finally sick of you two.

But you’re an adult. You handle it. You swallow the unease that comes with the teams not being able to contact each other. It’s simply too risky, and the signals are shoddy at best anyway. Base will come in for extraction if the other team succeeds.

With practiced ease you push yourself through two weeks of empty trails and summer-camp camaraderie as the talkative ones share jokes around the empty fireplace and the quiet ones listen from the shadows and chuckle their approval.

Week 3, everything goes to shit.

You should’ve known. You really should’ve known. The weather out here can change in an instant, clouds materializing from a clear sky’s empty expanse like an angry god throwing his rage down from above. You should’ve known the people here would be the same.

Before any of you knew the safehouse was surrounded, they were already through the doors.

You remember waking up to the creak of the old door with a groan, not ready to start your watch yet. The man on watch had been short and wiry, and you marveled at how shadows warp themselves against the light, twisting and turning to make one man look like another, tall and burly and carrying a-

CRASH!

The windows burst inwards in a crescendo of sparks and you’re scrambling backwards, reaching for your

BANG!

Dust from the roof is falling on your head, in your eyes and you’re blinking at the haze, the sting, your hands feeling the solid weight of your weapon and yanking it against you, and you’re stumbling backwards towards the

BANG!

and you’re stumbling forwards towards the

BANG!

And you’re on your knees crawling crawling

BANG! BANG BANG BANG!

crawling away from everything and your eardrums are hot iron seething in your skull and your eyes are being scratched by cats and there’s something warm on your face now and there’s something heavy thunking to the floor just next to you and everything is all dark, all the shadows are choking you and-

-grey. Not black. Not the black of the inside. Grey. A doorway. A hole in the wall. You’re on your knees, your hands are on the wall, you’re pushing yourself up, you’re running, and there are patters behind you and gurgling sounds and the volleys of automatic weaponry but your vision is finally starting to clear, you can see the treeline and all you need is to get there.

A roar surges behind you, and you spin into the sun. Heat slams into your body and you’re flung, a leaf in the wind, hard onto your back as yellows and reds surge in front of you or maybe it was behind you and now you’re a deer, eyeballs bulging out of your head and rolling in your skull as you run from a forest fire, angry and starving, only this fire has legs and they’re longer than yours and it’s following you, you just know it, you can’t hear it but you know.

You’re not a human anymore, you’re barely even an animal, you’re not thinking, you’re a scramble of limbs and an impulse. Run.

You try. You try so hard but there’s nothing carrying you, your legs don’t feel connected to each other anymore and they’re not even your legs you look down and they’re still there but you can’t…feel them?

Tilting. Tilting. Tilting.

Light. Burning light.

Fade to black.

No, wait. Not you. You’re still here. Your legs are wavy and jelly but still there.

You fling an arm out and feel something solid. Cold. Rough. Bark.

You made it to the trees.

There’s no time to celebrate. Behind you lights are still flaring, and with each passing second more bodies are falling to the ground, leaking out into the snow. You have to move.

-

The second safehouse is to the north. It’s your only way out, you know that. The rest of your team would be there.

Should be there.

Better be there.

Don’t think about it, don’t think. Just move.

-

The battle is fading behind you now and your blood is beginning to cool, settling heavy in your veins like the thick jam your mother used to make on warm summer mornings just as the sun’s rays flowed through your windows.

It would be nice to be there right now. Warm. Content. Full. Your stomach growls in agreement at the thought. You have some ration bars in your pocket, but you know it hasn’t been long enough to have one. You need to spread them out, make sure they can last.

Your stomach groans again, and you shake your head. To divert your attention, you take stock of the rest of your body.

You’re scraped and bruised, your head vibrating like…oh, what is it like? Like…your phone after you get added to a group chat you wanted nothing to do with. Hehe. You can barely remember the days when your problems were as simple as that.

You're letting yourself get too distracted. Anyways, as you were saying. You’re a bit battered and scraped up, alright. But no broken bones. No visible deadly wounds. And you still have your gun clamped to your chest with shaky arms. That’s all you need, really. Making it to the safehouse will be a breeze.

-

You’re halfway down the mountain as twilight begins to lighten to dawn, and there’s still no sign of anyone chasing you. It’s a bit warmer down here, and as you flex your fingers and toes you feel the sharp pins and needles radiate through them and force a smile. It’s good, you tell yourself. Means they’re all still there. You might just be in the clear now.

Then the sky darkens again, and it begins to rain.

Within a few minutes you can’t see your hand in front of your face in the downpour and you're forced to hide out. You find a fallen evergreen and burrow through its thick boughs, needles pricking your face and poking in your mouth with a sharp scent that settles behind your eyeballs as you force your way through, certain it will block out the worst of the rain. It doesn’t.

-

It’s past noon by the time the deluge finally lets up, and as you step out, cursing your shelter for all its faults, the slick earth shifts abruptly under you. With a cry, you are yanked off of your feet into a roll down the slope. You fling out your arms, grasping for anything solid, but the world is a mass of dirt and grey-brown snow-slush and you can’t stop yourself until your hip jams into a tree-stump. Hard.

You hiss, twisting your face upwards off the ground. Bad idea. The mud-slush runs down into your nose and you splutter, spasming and hacking up half the mountain. You move to wipe your eyes on your arm but only rub more dirt in them, gritting your teeth and hissing through them at the sting.

You push yourself onto your hands and knees with a whimper, gingerly feeling around your hip. Not broken. Just another bruise. What’s one more bruise? It’ll be fine.

You’ll be fine.

-

Your ankle is twisted. You’ve wrapped it as best as you can, but every time you put weight on it, you imagine a great big serpent with needles for scales is slithering under your skin, wrapping itself tight around the bones and squeezing.

Even worse, it's getting dark again. Fucking FUCK.

You should get yourself a thesaurus for Christmas. Fuck really doesn’t have much weight to it when you say it every other sentence.

Whatever. You’re fucking screwed.

Your clothes are soaked, you’re painted in dirt and runny snow and as soon as it gets dark temperatures are going to drop fast enough to freeze you right in place like a stupid fucking statue. Fuck this, fuck this so hard what do I do what do I do.

You bury your face into your hands, heels pressing hard into your eyes. It doesn’t matter that your hands have mud mittens anymore because your face is solid mud and you’ve had dark spots in your eyesight for hours and maybe if you rub them really hard this will all be a shitty dream your shitty brain made up and then you can wake up in your shitty cot with your blanket that’s too thin and it will be so fucking lumpy and uncomfortable and perfect. It would be perfect. Maybe König would be there.

What?

You’re breaking down and going to die in a few hours and you’re thinking of him? Some dude you fuck? What the hell is wrong with you?

He was really warm, though. And he was always so gentle afterwards. For hands that kill with such brutal precision, his fingers felt too delicate to be his when they ran along your body, mapping every scar and dimple like he was trying to memorize you. Like he was terrified that tomorrow he might wake up blind and never be able to see you again, so he needed to be able to recognize you by touch alone.

You didn’t even know what his face looked like, but you could get lost in those eyes, you think. You've learned that the skin above them stretches when he’s surprised, and the skin under them scrunches up when he laughs, so you think it must scrunch like that when he smiles, too. You’ve even seen the way his lids drift down to hide the way his eyes roll back when he’s bored.

What do they look like when he’s excited? When he’s angry? Sad?

You wonder what it would be like to look him in the eyes while you both fell apart. Would he look away and screw them shut? Would they water a little, as yours so often did?

Would he stay the night if you asked? Would he hold you? Would he…

No. This isn’t happening. No way in hell. You are not dying thinking of a random man you’ve barely spoken two words to. It’s ridiculous. It’s pathetic. You’re better than this.

You will not go out like this.

You yank yourself to a tree whose limbs burst forth in sprays of dark needles, your shoulders screaming at you as you pull yourself up on the branches, feeling like a toddler learning to walk for the first time. It’s pitiful. You swing your good leg up, grinding your teeth so hard your jaw pops as you pull yourself up to a thick fork and begin pulling down limbs above you, cutting through the ones around you, tying and weaving and undoing and redoing.

It is dark by the time you’ve finished, a thick nest of evergreen boughs settled under you and woven walls crushing you in. You have to curl into a tight ball to fit into it, but you can no longer feel the breezes from outside. You’ve stripped your clothes off and spread them along the walls as best you can, hoping they can dry just a little.

You thank the mud for clogging your nose. You don’t even want to imagine what you and your clothes must smell like by now.

Maybe by the time you meet up with the others you’ll smell so bad you’ll make one of the rookies vomit. Ghost did that last mission, and you and Soap nearly burst a lung as the poor guy emptied his guts over and over again.

You chuckle at that and try your best to fall asleep.

-

By the time you make it down the mountain the next day, your knees are knocking against each other with every step and your weapon is plastered with muddy slush that has frozen and melted and frozen all over again. The valley is even worse than the slope, with runoff from the rain congregating in a swampy mess that has you sinking up to your calves in some places. Lifting a leg in this feels like pulling yourself out of concrete, so you get really good at sliding each foot forward without raising it upwards at all.

You think the pressure from the mud is helping with the pain. You barely feel it when you move now.

Your jaw is clenched so hard you chip one of your molars.

-

You’re halfway through the valley when one of them finds you.

It’s funny how it happens. How you both stand in the mud staring at each other. How you both instinctively know who the other is through the curtain of earth camouflaging you both, yet each stand stock-still as statues anyway.

A second passes.

Two.

Three.

In an instant your guns are to your shoulders, fingers rushing to crush the-

Nothing happens. You squeeze. Squeeze again. The man shakes his gun and yells in frustration, the mud and ice having rendered your weapons unfireable.

But not unusable. The man’s head whips back to you with a growl and he lunges forward, his foot sinking into a deep patch and jerking him down face first. He throws himself up again, splatting forward another pace.

You slide backward, forcing yourself to slow down, to keep your feet under you as you move gut-wrenchingly slowly, searching for solid ground. He’s flailing and flinging himself towards you but the mud is slowing him down, and there’s a rocky patch right behind you. You’re going to make it.

He reaches you before you reach the edge, raising his gun and throwing his body behind a downwards blow. Yours is already coming up to deflect, but the blow sends you backwards, landing on your back with a splash. He’s on top of you, a hand shoving your face down as mud flows around it.

You thrash and wiggle, a scream cut off as your mouth fills with liquid dirt. Your hand is whirling all around and it catches something and you yank.

He howls as you pull his ear, sending him off-balance just enough to raise your head for a choking gasp before your palm is on his face, shoving him sideways. He rolls away from you, struggling to his feet as you’re on your hands and knees and your gun is in the mud but so is his. He tries to reach for it but he’s stuck, and in that precious heartbeat of time your legs are back under you, feet planted deep and wide.

He whirls towards you as you stand, throwing a punch at your torso that you know you can’t dodge, you can’t even move, so you throw your fist sideways, twisting, forcing all your strength into shoving from your rear leg so that when you catch his knuckles on your forearm they are savagely wrenched sideways with your momentum. His pinkie pops outwards with a crunch, and he falls back with a choked sob.

You grab your gun off the ground, throwing your whole body into a swing at his head, shattering through his palm as he tries to block it. You both fall sideways with the momentum but you find your feet faster, gripping the weapon through the slime coating it as you bring the stock straight down into his skull.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

Your grip slides, dirt scraping more of your skin off with each blow, but he’s not moving. You stumble backwards drunkenly, falling onto your forearms again and army-crawling, gun held tightly in each hand, all the way to the edge. You flop on your back then, one eye on the body, and heave great breaths, coughing again and again until your body has enough and you curl inwards, choking out mud and throwing up even more. You try to even your breathing, try to filter the adrenaline out of your system so you don’t crash. In, out. In, out. In out in out inoutinoutinoutinoutin-FUCCCCCKK. You shake your head violently, over and over.

You take one last look at the body, only seeing it because you know where to look. A mud-covered shoulder pokes out of the ground, the rest already lost.

You can’t balance on your feet anymore, so you crawl away.

You don’t even bother to make a shelter that night. You crawl under a rotting log, ripping your last ration bar from your pocket and devouring it, licking the crumbs from your stained and tainted fingers. You curl up and fall asleep just like that, bones chattering and muscles spasming.

-

Helicopter blades wake you up in the morning. You’re on your feet, falling and jumping and running and falling, flailing your arms because you know those blades, that’s your team and they’re here for you and you’re finally free, you did it you did it you’re so proud of yourself you can’t wait to have a warm bath and then maybe even afterwards you can see-

The helicopter passes over you and disappears around the mountain.

You stare at it, deathly still. It’s just sweeping the area, making sure it’s safe to land.

But the wingbeats have already faded into the distance, replaced by a vast and engulfing silence. Time stretches out before you, and you’re still staring at the mountain.

Your stomach breaks the silence with a gurgle.

You flop down, shoving your face into the ground, and scream.

-

You press the button on your radio, cracking the caked mud. It clicks, and you hear nothing. Not even static. You click it again. And again, this time just to hear the sound. Rapidly you click it again and again and again.

You start laughing, your abs clenching and strangling your organs as you guffaw, thrashing around like a headless chicken, and thinking about yourself as a headless chicken makes you laugh even louder. Everything is just so funny, none of this is real, you’re on the Truman Show, you’re the biggest comedy in the world. It’s even funny that your laughter only comes out in squeaky wheezes. It’s all just a big joke. Haha. You can’t wait to tell someone.

You fall asleep just like that, grinning up at the sky with dirt in your teeth.

-

You wake up, stare into the sun, and go back to sleep.

-

You feel lighter.

Is this what it feels like to leave your body?

It’s not as bad as you thought.

-

You wonder if König will remember you.

-

The ground beneath you is moving, sliding under you and scraping along you.

There's no ground underneath you at all now, and something is pressing, and you feel your legs dangling and swinging all around you, the world spinning a jig and you the unwilling passenger. You think you might tell it to stop, but it doesn't listen to you.

You're yanked back into consciousness by a thundering vibration setting every bone against itself. You jolt upwards, feeling heavy pressure on your shoulders as your eyes roll back into your head. The world is black. Black and blue and blurred. Through the haze you begin to make out a white visage and two black voids that pierce through you.

This must be hell. You don’t want to be awake for your judgement.

Your consciousness drifts away again, blocking out the rumbling flight of the helicopter, completely oblivious to the warm bodies pressed in around you, speaking rapidly through their headsets.

Any more? Sweep around again.

There's nothing else here.

Ok. Let's bring these ones back, then.

-

You are still asleep as your body is carried into a hospital room, completely unresponsive as the nurses strip and bathe you with clinical precision. You don’t wake until hours later, seeing only a single nurse checking your vitals and bandages. Each hand and foot has been carefully wrapped, the angry red battlefield of blisters and exposed flesh meticulously covered in pristine, unblemished white. The nurse offers a smile as you fight through the haze, imagining you are underwater and slowly floating to the surface, watching the sun jiggle and warp through the abyss above you. Just bad blisters, the nurse is telling you. Very lucky. Very lucky. You think you might nod back. She’s right, of course. You’re alive, aren’t you?

-

Ghost comes by as you’re released the next day. They’ve rewrapped your hands in a bandage that gives you a little more flexibility, and he finds you sitting on the edge of the bed, staring into the white fabric.

The mattress shifts as he settles beside you. He doesn’t say a word, but his eyes are trained on you. Black voids in a mask of white.

“You left me,” you finally whisper, eyes still on your hands.

“What?”

You look at him, trying to see something in the face to get mad at, but his eyes are just a little wider than before. Confused, maybe.

“The helicopter…” you begin, voice scratchy, and clear your throat. “The helicopter flew right over me.”

“That wasn’t our helicopter.”

“It was heading back from the safehouse.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Oh,” you huff, sinking into yourself. “I…”

You stop as he clears his throat, shoulders expanding in a loud breath. “It’s alright. You were knocked out pretty good by the time our boys found you. Happens to the best of us.”

You nod, swallowing again, and wish someone else was here to comfort you, literally anyone but Ghost. “Is…uh…is…umm…is Soap ok?”

Ghost grunts. “Johnny took one to the arm, but he’ll pull through. I was just going to visit him now.”

You push yourself to your feet, proud that you only sway a bit. “Can I-”

“No,” Ghost cuts you off. “You’ll have time to visit him later. For now you need to go and rest. That’s an order,” he cuts you off as you open your mouth to protest. Your jaw shuts. Call it obedience, call it cowardice, but you find you just don’t have it in you to argue the point. You promise yourself you’ll see Soap in the morning. Well, later in the morning, seeing as it’s somehow 0100 hours already.

When Ghost leaves you slump, any need for straight posture gone with the departure of your superior officer. Trying to keep your breathing even, you will your legs to carry your body down the medical corridor. Just a little longer, you promise them, then you’ll get the break you deserve. But your body has had enough of your unfulfilled promises, and you find yourself forced to sink onto one of the shitty metal chairs littering the hallway. Just a little rest, and then I’ll go back to my quarters.

You wake to the familiar sounds of agony. Before your body has the chance to disagree, instinct has you on your feet again, hands grabbing at the thin air where your sidearm should be. My holster, my holster, where the hell is-

Your eyes land on the white-washed walls. Too clean. Too smooth. And your hands aren’t moving like they should, strangled by white fabric. It finally sinks in that you’re far from the battlefield, far from any fight.

The sounds continue, drawing your eye to one of the many nondescript doors lining the corridor. Someone having a nightmare, probably. Or reacting badly to a procedure, maybe. Either way, a problem best left for the nurses with their iron wills and their tranquilizers. You have enough bruises already. Best not add a black eye to the list.

A pitiful whimper sounds through the door, one that has your heart twisting like a towel being wrung out, sending all the blood to your throat and stomach.

Fuck it. What’s one more bruise?

Your fingers curl the handle down, and you shrink in on yourself as the door swings open on its own with a creak. You catch it and hastily shut it behind you, trying not to make any more noise.

The room is small enough that even the military-issue cot feels too big for it. The room is made even smaller by the man lying in the cot, arms dangling off the sides as he thrashes, his feet hanging off the end. You can see the crumpled blanket on the floor and automatically avert your eyes. The hood is still on, but below it he’s wearing an undershirt and boxers, and you realize this is the most of him you’ve ever seen.

You press yourself to the wall as he spasms again, a leg kicking out and narrowly missing you, causing you to notice the thick white bandage wrapped around his thigh, and the dark line slowly being painted along it.

Hesitantly you flick the lights on, wincing at the burn that rushes through your eyeballs, but he doesn’t even react to it. You have no idea how to wake him up without breaking a bone, so you press your back to the wall, slowly skirting along the edge of the room and staying as far out of his reach as you can, praying to whatever old ghosts are listening that he doesn’t wake up and go straight into murder mode. Or, you know, default alert soldier setting. This is a stupid idea.

As you approach his head you lean over as far as you can, stretching one arm out until the socket pops in protest. You poke his shoulder and leap back.

Nothing.

You take a step closer and lean in again.

You’re immediately interrupted by the door swinging open with a much-louder creak. You and the nurse both pause and stare at each other for a moment, startled, and you sheepishly move to straighten and pull your arm back.

With viper-like speed an arm shoots out to grab your wrist, capturing it in a deadly grip and you yelp, whirling back to the man in the bed and raising your opposite arm.

You freeze when you see his eyes, so wide they’re more white than color. He’s stock-still, fixated on you like a mouse caught in a cat’s gaze. Paralyzed by fear, praying. Shaking.

His hand is…shaking. “Hey, hey,” you coax, hesitantly pulling your arm back in so you can place it over his fingers. “It’s just me, big guy. You’re safe.”

His chest heaves outwards, and you feel his hand relax a little before his head snaps towards the nurse as she takes a step closer, cradling something small and cylindrical in her hands. “It’s alright,” she speaks directly to you. “I can take it from here.”

König releases the breath he’s held, shoving himself backwards on the bed with a shake of his head, prompting the nurse to click her tongue at him before raising the needle. You realize it’s a lot bigger than you first thought. “You’ll be fine,” she’s assuring him. “It will hurt a lot less once it’s done.”

König’s head turns very slowly, back up to you, and for a second you’re confused at his gaze, wondering why he thinks you have enough knowledge to give him any medical advice. Then you notice the way his eyes seem just a little too shiny in the light, the way his other hand is clenching and unclenching around the bedsheet.

You’ve always known him as the perfect soldier, quick and to the point, pin-prick precise, a dancing whirlwind of death. More monster than man. You know him as the one who laughs with every good kill, mocking the reaper of death with a smile. Look at how slow you are. I got here first. He’s the one who dances on the precipice of fate and spits over the edge.

Even sprawled out like this, sweaty and trembling, you are well aware of every flex of his muscles, of the strength he holds back in his grip. Yet as you look into the eyes of the storm you find that for the first time you see no hint of the giddy killing machine looking back at you. The eyes staring back at you from this big soldier’s body are those of a fragile little kid. And he’s terrified.

You gulp, your tongue catching on the back of your throat. “Yeah…yeah, it’ll be ok. I’ll be right here.”

Finally he relaxes, slumping back into the bed, and the nurse takes the opportunity to give him the shot. You feel his flinch in a wave of pressure radiating up your wrist and forearm, but his gaze doesn’t move. He keeps looking into your eyes until his own begin to droop and he sinks even further into the mattress.

Before his hand drops from your wrist you catch it, the skin under your bandages protesting at the sudden flexion. You choose to ignore it, settling down on the floor next to his bed as your own eyes begin to follow his. Even as your head falls into your knees and your body finally gives itself completely over to darkness, you refuse to let go.

-

You’re woken by something warm trailing along your hairline. You jerk, smacking the back of your head into the wall with an irritated grunt. König’s arm hovers in the air just in front of your face, and you turn to see him pressed to the edge of the bed, looking a little guilty. “Sorry,” he murmurs.

You should be, startling me like that, you want to say. But when you open your mouth, what comes out instead is “No, it’s ok, I just…I wasn’t expecting it.”

König gulps audibly, and the cot creaks as he pulls his hand back, shifting his body even closer. “You stayed.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“Never,” he hisses, and you find yourself staring into his eyes again, only this time they’ve taken on their old torrential intensity.

Now it’s yours that are as wide as a child’s. You gulp, feeling the muscles of your jaw flex and unflex. “Ok,” you finally murmur. “I’ll stay.”

-

And you do. For two more nights König stays in the infirmary, weathering the steady rounds of nurses and bandage changes with a steely resolve even as his fists flex and twist into the sheets. You stay with him all the while, but he doesn’t reach for your hand again, not after noticing your own bandages.

The second night you sleep in the cot next to him at his insistence. You’re hurt too, he reasons. You need a real bed to rest in. He scoots himself to the back edge to give you room, and when you wake up he hasn’t moved.

After the third night you wake to his hand resting on your arm. It’s a small gesture. Innocent even. Yet still you find yourself contemplating it, barely saying a word as the nurses come to remove his bandages. You grind your jaw as you take in the puckered line of stitches running from his knee up to the edge of his boxers, looking away politely as the nurses help him into a pair of sweatpants.

You don’t even say anything when you let him lean on your shoulders, using your own aching body as a sacrificial lamb to transport him back to his barrack. Once you get him into bed you hover in the doorway, taking in the shadows of the walls, twisting your wrists back and forth, a habit you picked up to alleviate the pain from flexing your fingers. They’re in even thinner bandages now, but you’d rather be safe than sorry.

Maybe there’s nothing to say. You found him in a vulnerable situation where he needed a lifeline. It could have been anyone, he was barely lucid. Now he surely wanted to forget all of that vulnerability and go back to a time where he hadn’t needed help from anyone. Not even you. Especially not you. He was a soldier, after all. Fondness wasn’t in the job description.

Best not to say anything then. Just…leave and get this over with. Just like that. Yeah…easy. Really easy.

Your move to shut the door behind you is halted by him calling your name. Your real name. You didn’t even know he knew your name.

He calls it again, quieter this time, and you lean back in the door, eyes drifting across his room to him. He’s still sitting on the bed where you left him, only now he’s hunched over to rest a forearm on his good thigh. “Come back here,” he breathes, voice cracking, and it hits you right in your stomach, settling there like a wounded bird, flapping and screeching at you to stay away, you’re already in too deep, you don’t know how this will end.

But it’s too late. You’re walking forward, the door swinging shut behind you. Locked. You’re already reaching out for the hand he offers, only for him to reach past the bandages and grab your wrist. You pause at that, staring into the hazy depths of his eyes, pupils bursting for you again. Slowly, inch by excruciating inch, he straightens again, face coming closer to yours as another hand snakes around your neck to help guide you down to straddle his good thigh, moving your forearms to rest on each of his shoulders.

The bird in your stomach has moved to your chest, and you’re positive he can feel your heavy breathing even through his mask with how close you are. His eyes look down to your lips, and you wonder if he is going to lift his hood up and kiss you, your cheeks flushing in anticipation as he leans forward.

Only instead he rests his forehead against yours, eyes drifting closed. You feel your arms drift upwards with his inhale. “Stay with me,” he exhales. “One more night.”

You nod against his forehead, wrapping your arms around his neck and finally letting your own eyes close. Your breathing is slowed down now, and you find yourself enjoying the warmth you feel radiating from everywhere you touch him. One of his hands has spread against your thigh, while the other still rests along your neck, thumb tracing up and down your jaw. You know you could fall asleep just like this.

König, however, has other ideas. As you slump even further to him, both of his hands drift to your hips. You notice the movement, sighing at the pleasant sensation of his hands running over your body. You don’t notice the intention until he takes a deep breath, and in one smooth motion he has stood and twisted to lay you down on the bed, climbing on top of you. You gasp, feeling your heart stutter all over again, blood rushing to your core as you feel the fabric of his hood rub up your neck. His nose, you think.

Fuck, you want him. You want him just like this and any other way he’s willing to give, but you can’t, you shouldn’t, and you know you have to at least try to protest. You bite back a whimper as a hand drags up your inner thigh. “König, your leg.”

“I don’t care,” he growls. “Say my name again.”

You groan in protest and he pulls back, tilting your face up to his. “Is this not what you want?” He feels the way your jaw flexes and pulls away.

“Wait. No. I want this. You. I want you. Just…please be careful.”

He hears the last part, but he’s past giving a damn about his own body now. His hand is already undoing your belt and he’s leaning back to ease your pants and underwear off your legs, lazily tossing them to the side.

A harsh word escapes his throat as he looks down at you, but you don’t catch it through the blood rushing in your ears. “Close your eyes,” he orders, and unthinkingly you do, another growling swear reaching your ears. “So obedient for me.”

You hear the shuffling of fabric and feel a hand wrap around one of your knees, lifting it up for a warm tongue to swirl along the inside of it, for wet lips to place a sloppy kiss just above where his tongue had just been. His lips slide up again, and this time he sucks on the skin just slightly, and you feel your leg tremble as a tiny moan escapes you, but he’s already moving further up and this time sucking harder, and then further and harder and further and harder until he’s against your inner thigh and his teeth are sinking into you and you yelp his name, whining in frustration as he pulls back.

“No,” you pant, “don’t stop. Please.”

You feel a chuckle rumble in his throat and his nose presses into the bottom of your slit. You jolt, squeezing your eyes tighter as it slides up through you before pressing into your sensitive spot, and he inhales.

“Fuck,” you cry, tangling your hands in the sheets only to choke on a sound of pain.

König pulls back immediately and you shake your head at him, a sob on the edge of your quivering lips.

“Easy. Watch your hands.”

You grit your teeth and nod, relaxing your fingers and turning your palms up.

“Good,” he purrs as his hands hook under the backs of your knees, easily throwing your legs over his shoulders. As he settles back down you feel the muscles in his back flexing against your calves and moan before his mouth is even on you.

He hums contentedly at the sound, running his tongue along the length of you before swirling it around your clit. His lips pucker against it and he sucks, pulling away with a soft pop that has you clenching your legs around him. He moves in again, lazily altering between sucking and tracing his tongue just around your bud, feeling the way you flex against him, hearing the way you react to each movement, and committing all of it to memory before shifting his head so he can dip his tongue inside you. He groans at the taste, the vibration of it radiating up under your ribs and down through your legs. You’re quiet now, feeling how close you are settling heavy over you, drowning you in deliciously sweet honey.

He feels the shaking of your legs around him and returns to your clit as he slowly works a finger into you, curling it upwards to stroke at the spongy part inside of you.

You break quietly, choking on his name as the pleasure strangles your muscles and sets them briefly aflame, fresh sensations flowing through you as he continues to touch you just so, only pulling away when you sink into the mattress and your legs slip from his shoulders.

You hear the bed frame creak as he pulls back, running a hand up your thigh before the shifting sound of fabric hits your ears, and you feel the mattress sink down in different places as he shifts.

“Open your eyes.”

You do as he says, your disappointment at seeing the sniper’s hood obscuring his face immediately squashed by the realization that the rest of him is completely naked.

You’re seeing him for the first time.

Fucking hell, what a sight.

Your eyes rest on the delicious curve of his cock first, marveling at the pink tip and the thick veins running along it. You had felt his size on plenty of occasions, but seeing it for the first time is a new beast entirely, one that has you biting your lip and wiggling your hips like a teenager all over again.

But soon your eyes are taken in by the strong curves of muscle outlining his hips, and your eyes are traveling upwards to the delicious bulges of his chest, your own heaving at the sight. You find yourself wanting to trace the outline of each hill and valley of muscle that flows along his shoulders, down his arms, to the hands, wanting to run your tongue along the veins like raised rivers spreading down his forearm and across the back of each hand.

You wonder what his back looks like. You wonder how the muscles of his neck shift as he moves, what the outline of his jaw is shaped like. You are greedy and want to take everything he has, and at the same time you are desperate for anything he can give you. You’re a peasant kneeling at the feet of your king, ready to lick the crumbs he throws you off the floor.

His head tilts playfully, breaking you out of your reverie. “You like what you see?”

Your chuckle catches in your chest, only a tiny puff of air leaving your mouth. “Yes.”

His eyes scrunch a little, and you imagine he is grinning as he leans over, balancing himself above you. He moves back a bit, hand adjusting your hips as he positions himself. He looks back up at you, and you nod eagerly, your hands reaching up to grab his shoulders. He clicks his tongue, glancing at them, and with a groan you put your hands above your head. He moves one of his own to grasp your wrists, keeping them pinned as he sinks onto his forearms.

You feel the head of his cock running up and down your folds, and instinctively bend your back to give him a better angle, earning an approving hum that makes you even wetter. But as he braces himself and begins to drive into you, a strangled sound smashes through his gritted teeth.

Oh no. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer, only pressing his face into your neck, inhaling heavily as you feel his entire body stiffening against you. “It’s…it’s fine,” he hisses, his hand strangling your wrists. “Just …” he heaves another breath. “Ah... Ich… I…need a…moment.”

You sigh, wiggling a hand out of his grip to push his chin up. He lets you move his face back, and even in the dim light you can see the way the skin around his eyes has gone even paler than normal. “Get off,” you murmur.

He slumps, twisting his face out of your grip and keeping his eyes on the wall. He stays like that for a second before giving a swift nod and pulling out, maneuvering backwards on the bed and moving to get off.

“Wait!” you burst out, and he freezes. “That’s not what I meant.”

After another moment he looks at you in bewilderment, so you sit up and shift to the side, patting the bed next to you. Awkwardly, he crawls to it, nearly dragging his bad leg, stiffening again when you place your wrists on his shoulders. “Let me?”

After a second of staring into your eyes, he nods again, allowing you to push on him, laying him on his back before you straddle him and finally take your shirt off. You see his chest rise with a shuddering breath and before you really think about it you’re leaning down to lick a stripe up his sternum. Seeing his pecs jerk upwards on either side of your tongue emboldens you and you shift your head, running your tongue back down to circle over one of his nipples before you suck.

Immediately the muscles flex again and he pushes up into you. “Like that,” he snarls, loud and vibrating through your skull. You’re aching down there again, but you’re not done yet. You release him with a squelch, watching the patch of saliva glisten before moving to give the other nipple the same treatment, your heart leaping at the sounds falling from his mouth as he quivers under you.

“König,” you croon. “Touch me.”

He whimpers as you flick your tongue over the sensitive bud. “Where?”

“Anywhere. Grab my hair, squeeze my tits, just put your hands on me.”

You groan as he obeys, long fingers tangling tightly in your hair as his other hand spreads along your ribcage, thumb sliding over your breast. You sigh, leaning down to bite into his pec, moaning as his grip on you tightens. You kiss the mark left by your teeth before leaning back. His hands move to cup both of your breasts as you raise yourself up and sink down onto his cock. You’re too excited and you go too fast, and a sharp pinch of pain seizes at your entrance. You gasp, instinctively leaning forward to brace yourself on your palms, but his hands move to your waist, catching you before you hurt them any further.

“I have you,” he whispers, voice scratchy, and despite the pain you clench at the sound of what you do to him. He chokes on his next words, a groan coming out instead. “Do you need to get off?”

“No!” You whisper-yell back so quickly that he laughs, and despite everything you laugh with him. He runs his hands up and down your sides, feeling you start to relax a little, but not enough yet. “Tell me what you need,” he murmurs.

“It’s fine.” You close your eyes and try to focus on your breathing. “Just need…a moment.”

“Hypocrite.”

You shoot your eyes open to glare at him, only to see his chest shake with another chuckle at your scrunched-up angry face. “Your leg is sliced open, it’s not the same,” you scoff.

His eyes glimmer with the start of a witty retort before one of his hands freezes over your bottom rib, drawing his lovely gaze away from yours. His thumb is circling around a tiny hairline of a scar, bone-white and soft. You’ve already forgotten how you got it.

“This one,” he murmurs. “It is new.”

“How…how did you notice?”

“It wasn’t there last time.” His tone was quiet and matter-of-fact, like the answer was obvious, and it takes you back to every time his hands ran over you as you drifted into sleep. How long did he stay there after you fell asleep? How long did it take him to commit you to memory so well that a patch of skin even you had forgotten was instantly recognized as something new?

Your body has always been a means to an end, a vehicle carrying you rather than a full part of you. Batter it, toss it around, whatever you need to do to get the job done. And when your body protests, you treat it like any other tool you can beat into submission. Like your first battered old car that revved to life with a well-placed kick.

But now all you can think of is his hands running over you with thorough determination, acknowledging each new mark with a gentle reverence that was more than you deserved. Getting to know you in the only way he knew how.

For the first time in a long time, you’re reminded to see this body as something more than a bruised vessel you’re obligated to carry around. He reminds you to see it as something more.

Fuck, you think you might love him.

“König?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

His head tilts a little, his hand still running along your rib, and your cheeks flush.

Before he can reply, you gulp a little. “I…I think I’m ready.”

He hums again, his hands moving back to rest on your hips. You stay still for another moment, looking into his eyes. You don’t think you can memorize his body, not like he has yours. But you have memorized his eyes, have burned them into your mind so clearly you saw them even as you were trapped on that damned mountain. Thinking about him.

And now you think he might've been thinking about you, too.

You feel him twitch inside of you, pulling you out of your thoughts. Taking a deep breath, you raise yourself up slowly, feeling his hands tighten and take some of your weight, following your lead as you sink into him again, this time with a sigh that echoes his own. Slowly, hesitantly, you raise yourself up and down, feeling how easily he stretches you, how easily he could break you.

But he never has. The only pain you’ve gotten from him was caused by your own impatience. As you keep going, finding an angle that has him dragging across your most sensitive parts and making you even wetter, you become confident that there’s no chance of pain, allowing yourself to speed up.

His hands are steady as ever, guiding you up and down, but beneath you his shoulders and chest begin to squirm and heave. His eyes wander all around, and his breaths are scattered and staccato.

And his sounds. You’d never known a man to be so loud, and now you know you’ve been missing out all these years. Every grunt, every groan, every moan and whimper goes straight through your core, winding you up faster and faster. As you get closer his sounds shift, and you realize he’s started to stutter out words.

His eyes are hazy and unfocused but you can still tell they’re trained on you, and you urge your body to calm down for just a minute longer, just long enough to hear what he’s saying.

You can’t make out any of the words, but his hands are even tighter on you now and the way his voice shifts from growling to whimpering settles into a melodic language that has you crying out for him anyway.

Beneath your trembling body, he keeps going. “Never..told you …du bist wie ein Traum,” another whimper leaves his lips. “Ich kann nicht glauben, dass du wirklich hier bist.” He gasps as you clench tighter around him. “Du bist…du…Du bist viel zu gut für mich…Dein Lächeln und …und…” His eyes are watering and you slow down only for his hands to dig into you, urging you to speed up again. “Ich weiß nicht wie ich dich loslassen soll aber du verdienst so viel mehr als …”

His mind is lapsing again, his determined confession faltering into a fervent prayer sent to the only god he’s ever believed in, to you - moving over him and taking everything he is giving you, making him wish he had more, so much more than the desert-dry heart of a killer whose hands can only ever pull things apart. His thumb is over the scar on your rib again and his blurry vision is taking in the white of the bandage wrapped around your hands and it has him wishing his own hands could build something instead of destroy it just so he could put you back together again. You’re coming apart around him, crying his name, and he’s thinking of flinging his body in front of you, taking every bullet and blade meant for you, because his body is all he has to give and he knows how to sacrifice it, he knows he’ll gladly lay it at your altar, bloody and broken, if it could only mean making sure he’d never be surprised by a new scar again. Maybe you’d even remember him a little when he was gone.

He’s trying to tell you all of that, the messy syllables punching through his throat. “Niemals, niemals, nie,…” but before he can finish he’s failing already, falling apart under you and screaming your name and emptying everything he has into you.

It’s not enough.

You’re laying on top of him now and he tries his best to be gentle but his entire body is shaking as he rolls you off and staggers to his bathroom, slamming the door behind him and sinking against it.

He shatters in a whole-body-wracking sob.

You’re never going to look at him again.

He tucks his legs in, squeezing his knees into his chest, squeezing even harder as a burn radiates out from the stitches, trying to rein in his ragged breathing in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, he can save this and cover up the fact that he’s crying.

It was just meant to be casual sex. He wasn’t supposed to start caring. That’s not what you wanted. It’s not fair to you. It’s not your fault he let himself get emotional. And now he’s ruined the only thing you two did have, he wanted to make you feel better and now he’s made you so uncomfortable and…and…

He slams his forehead into his knees and sobs again.

He’s pathetic. Pathetic to think this could be something more. Pathetic to think he could have something more.

Everything hurts.

That’s what he signed up for, isn’t it?

That’s what he deserves.

A knock on the door has his head jerking back up, hands clutching his knees hard enough the knuckles just might pop through the skin. “Go away!”

“No.” Your tone is flat as he hears a thunk against the other side of the door, imagining you leaning against it and sliding down, mirroring him perfectly. “Not until you talk to me.”

“No.”

You sigh. “That's how it’s gonna be? Well, in that case, to quote a man I…admire very much, I can make you talk.” You drop your voice, trying and failing to mimic his battle growl.

He snorts despite himself.

You take that as a cue to continue. “For one, I’m not leaving until you do. You’ll be stuck with my annoying-ass voice forever.”

“I like your voice.”

“Oh…umm…thank you. In that case I’ll…I’ll steal all your knives and I’ll draw a kangaroo on your door and-”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he growls.

“Guess you’ll never know if you keep that door closed. And that’s not all, I’ll…I’ll steal those cheap chocolates we get every supply drop. Don’t deny it, I know everyone joked it was Ghost but I saw you take them all. You love those.” You smile, laughing a little. “On the other hand, I’ll fly to Austria right now if that’s what it takes to get some chocolate you’d really like. I’d even get you some of those waffle things you were telling Soap about that one time I caught you both raiding the snack cabinets. Well, I’d probably eat some of those. But I promise to save most of them for you. Just…please talk to me. I’ll…I’ll…” you’re cut off by your own squeak as the door opens and you fall backwards.

His hands are already there to catch you, and once you sit back up he stays there, half-crouched and awkward, eyes anywhere but your own.

Slowly, you open your arms, watching his head turn back to you.

In an instant he’s lunged into you, burrowing his face into your neck with an awkward grunt as he stretches his bad leg out to the side. You try to change to a comfier position for him but the man is like a brick wall.

It’s nice.

So you let yourself stay there, wrapping around him as he wraps around you on the hard floor. It’s a softness unknown to you both, two soldiers carved razor-sharp from solid steel. But as you let yourself sink into him, you find yourself liking the strange tranquility of this moment, the way two bodies made for war can still drape over each other and feel peace instead. Against all better judgement, against any scrap of common sense you have left, you find yourself yearning for a few less battles if it can mean more of this. You let your eyes close, imagining it for just a little while.

After a while, he pulls back, moving to lean against the wall and pulling you so you can balance on his uninjured thigh. You let your head loll onto his shoulder, face turned into the hood. His chin rests on your temple.

“Are you cold?”

He grunts noncommittally, eyes half-closed. “Are you?”

“Nooo,” you mumble, burrowing into his neck. He shifts, maneuvering you off his lap, only to grunt when he tries to push on his leg.

“I got it.” You push yourself up, moving to the bed to retrieve one of the blankets there, carefully wrapping it around both of your torsos when you settle back onto his lap. Your legs stick out, but you don’t really care.

After a while you feel his heartbeat begin to pick up again and adjust yourself to look up at him. His eyes drift to you before he sighs. “Do you…still want me to talk?”

You nod.

“Alright then. I will talk. I do not think it is what you want to hear.”

You bite your lip and try to keep your breathing steady as he continues.

“Back in the med bay. No. Before that.” He shakes his head emphatically. “When we were assigned to two different groups…No…Scheiße, I…”

You run a shaky hand up and down his chest. “It’s okay. Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

His fingers dig into you for a fraction of a second, so quick you think you might have imagined it before his entire body is deflating, his head settling back against the wall. “They ambushed us. You weren’t there but…they hit us on patrol, hit us and ran before we could counter. I did not even see who hit me, I just look up one moment and down the next and the snow is all red and…” His voice drops to barely a whisper “Das war meines.” He trails off completely, a finger tracing circles on your shoulder. “I've been wounded before. I've accepted death before. This time...before I...while I was…” he exhales another irritated sigh. “I was on the ground and…wie sag ich das…ich hab versucht etwas zu tun, mich zu bewegen aber alles was ich tun konnte...I was thinking of you.”

He freezes, turning his head away and dropping his hands from you. But instead of moving away, you kiss a patch of skin just outside the hood, watching the muscle under it jump. “Is that all you want to tell me?”

He shakes his head.

“Do you think you can keep going?”

His head turns back to you briefly before he tilts it up to stare at the ceiling. “When I was in the med bay. Well, I…it went like this. I wake up and you are there and I think, König this is it, now you are finally dead. And then I feel the pain and I see the nurse and you were moving away and I couldn't…du warst da und dann warst du fast nicht mehr da und ich konnte nicht atmen. Ich…” he shakes his head back and forth, back and forth. “Ich konnte nicht ohne dich. Ich…needed you to stay.” His head jerks down again, eyes boring into yours with all the intensity of a tornado, arms wrapping around you once again. “I need you to stay.”

You nod, holding him tight, the weight of the words unspoken tangling in your chest and constricting your tongue. Stay. With me. He won't ask for more than tonight, not when neither of you can even risk asking for a tomorrow. Stay with me. For as long as you have. A day, maybe. A month. Maybe you'll get out of this mess someday and get years.

Stay with me for a lifetime. Whatever lifetime we get.

You nod, whispering a promise into his skin. Always. Your fingers drift down along his leg, tracing just outside the stitches, your eyes following the line of gooseprickles that rise in their wake.

You feel more than you hear your name being whispered into your hair, and as you look up fingers wrap around your wrist, guiding it up over his hip, his ribs, his chest. Sliding around the edge of the hood, pushing it up, up, up. Until the fabric slides off. You gaze in awe, watching his jaw flex as his lips part to form a word whose sound hides in the back of his throat. Always. You look back into his eyes before surging forward, hugging him tight, tight enough to strangle, you think, but he’s already wrapping himself around you with equal fervor.

“You know,” you murmur, breath ruffling his hair, “if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

He huffs a laugh, the air catching in his lungs with a choking sound. His grip tightens.

-

When you wake you find you’ve been moved to the bed, but his face is still buried in your neck, unmoving despite the soft light filtering in your window. You smile a little, watching the early-morning sky, perfectly clear and pale blue.

It matches his eyes.

---

German Translations

du bist wie ein Traum: You are like a dream

Ich kann nicht glauben, dass du wirklich hier bist: I can’t believe you are here

Du bist viel zu gut für mich: You are too good to me

Dein Lächeln und…: You smile and…

Ich weiß nicht wie ich dich loslassen soll aber du verdienst so viel mehr als: I don't know how I am supposed to let go of you (eventually) but you (clearly) deserve so much more than me

Niemals, niemals, nie: never again, never again, never

Scheiße: shit

Das war meines: it was mine

wie sag ich das: how do I say this

ich hab versucht etwas zu tun, mich zu bewegen aber alles was ich tun konnte: I tried doing something, moving, but all I could do

du warst da und dann warst du fast nicht mehr da und ich konnte nicht atmen. Ich…: you were there and then you nearly weren’t there and I could not breathe. I…

Ich konnte nicht ohne dich. Ich…: I couldn’t without you. I…

[luveline]

hi Jade! I had a Miguel request but I apologize that it’s rather vague. Could you do Miguel comforting/dealing w how to comfort r when she’s genuinely afraid of something? I figure he’d be a little lost until he snaps into how much he cares! <3 love u

hope this is okay, thank u for requesting!! ♥

cw drug mention

Miguel watches you from the corner of his eye, uneasy. Arms stretched out in front of you to avoid walking into walls in the dim lighting, you follow the beam of his flashlight through the dark laboratory you'd wanted to investigate one precarious step at a time. The air smells of water-logged wood, rotting and stagnant. 

You're not his protege, but Miguel decided to take you under his wing (his claw? his web?) because you have good ideas, and he needs all the help he can get if he's going to save everyone, everywhere. He's also fucking tired and he's agitated with you for bringing him to some derelict building in a dimension that doesn't have spiders, let alone Spider People. 

"Why did you need this thing?" he asks. 

"Already told you." 

"Tell me again." 

If Miguel thinks he's a man of little words, you talk even less. "Spider adjacent creatures create a chemical similar to what you're injecting now, but less volatile." 

He doesn't remember you telling him that before. He doesn't stutter, the only evidence of his surprise a waver of the light beam. 

"And you'll, what? Synthesise for me?" he asks. 

"It could be gentler. Maybe give you a sense of normalcy."

Normalcy. He hasn't felt normal in a long time. 

He snaps into the quiet, "This is a waste of time, I don't need something gentler, what I need is to be back at the lab fixing your communicator." 

"It'll be like methadone," you say, stepping over a puddle of water with no apparent source. It must be seeping upward. 

He's lucky he didn't just get 'methadone' and nothing else thrown at him. Miguel fixes the flashlight up the oncoming stairs as you start to ascend, lightly chastened. Methadone is a drug intended to assist in heroin dependency. It has its own cons, but in lots of cases, it can help the user stop using the original drug. He assumes you're suggesting that whatever drug he synthesises from the 'spider adjacent creature' will help him wean off of the injections (unlikely), or maybe repair some damaged DNA (complicated but not favourable right now).

"It'll be safer," you say, walking into the room toward an upturned lab bench. "You can make something with it. I know you can." 

"I have to do it?" he asks, stopped in the doorway. 

"You're the geneticist. It's really quiet." 

The lack of changing cadence to your voice doesn't catch up with him until you're turning back toward him, your nervous expression lit by the torch. One second you're looking at him for reassurance, and the next you're falling through the floor, wood splintering up in a wave as the boards crack.

You scream. As loud of a sound as Miguel has ever heard from you, your arms slam forward to catch onto the edge of the hole your feet created. Miguel doesn't immediately move, aware that his weight over the weakened floor will damage the integrity further, but you beg him, shrill, "Miguel," you say, your voice strangled, "help me!"  

Your arms scrabble for purchase, you're pleading through sobs, "I don't want to fall–" 

He snaps his torch to his shoulder and flips forward. He grabs your arms, rolling across the shattered flooring to the opposite end of the room, releasing you as the weight of your bodies lands. You oof and roll out of his arms. 

He's quick to get on his feet. Miguel hardly felt it. You flinch away from him and hold out your arms, a sleuce of maroon blood spilling down your side from under your arm. "Don't! Miguel, don't concentrate our weight!" 

"You're crying," he says. 

"Stop moving!" you yell. 

"Alright!" he yells back, moving back toward a load-bearing pillar. "Calm down, estúpida! I'm not going to let you fall." 

"You can't come over here, the floor's gonna break again." 

"It won't break." 

"It's going to break!" 

You breathe harshly, staring at the hole you'd made. He understands why you were scared. The fall was sudden, and if you'd managed to slide through the hole you would have snapped your legs, perhaps your spine. Super healing doesn't negate pain. 

"Lyla?" he asks. 

She appears from his watch, in pyjamas with her hair held back by a white bunny-eared headband. "I was taking my fake nap. What do you want?" 

"I want a filter that accounts for a building's structural integrity," he says. 

"That's impossible without blueprints and– Hey, woah, what happened to Y/N?" she asks, keying in on your frantic panting. 

"Tell me how to get from here to there without breaking through the floor," he says, snaps, incensed by your panicked breathing. 

Lyla thankfully doesn't argue, nor does she make him beg. His heart pounds at the sight of you where you're shaking, certain you're a moment from falling again, your hands clamped uselessly to an outlet fixture on the wall. 

A blue path lights up Miguel's UI. It directs him with blinking arrows on how to reach you. Miguel follows along, and, wanting to carry you or at the very least wipe your wet cheeks, he lifts you onto your feet and walks you back to the door, directing you over stress points, hand held taut in his. The floor groans and sags dangerously underfoot, but it doesn't collapse again. 

You should've been wearing your suit, he thinks. You're an idiot. You came out here wanting to find something for him when you should've been directing your efforts to the cause of the strike force and the whole Society, but you wasted time, and now you're injured. You should've been wearing your fucking web shooters–

You try uselessly to bury your hands in his suit, your face dropped to his chest. You sob quietly, your shoulders shaking. "I'm sorry," you say, borderline hysterical. 

Miguel brings his hand to your shoulder awkwardly. You might have made a mistake, but you're kind. You're more than a brilliant mind, you're a person, with fear and want intertwined. You clearly hadn't liked the dark but you'd braved it for him knowing the chemical here in the labs could improve his quality of life. He shouldn't think about you so meanly. You couldn't have known about the floor. 

"What are you sorry for?" he asks with a sigh. 

His awkwardness comes across as reluctance. You stiffen under his hand. 

"I thought I was gonna fall," you say weakly, sniffling against his chest. 

Miguel starts to rub a slow shape into your back. It feels wrong to hear and see you cry, his quiet cariño, who haunts his laboratory offering little in the way of words but always a smile if you have it to give. "It's okay," he says, ducking his head to talk into your hair. He remembers how to do this. "Don't cry. I would've caught you." 

Miguel would've followed you down and wrapped you up to take the brunt of it without thinking, he knows that.

Your arms wrap around his sides. "When you didn't come get me I thought you were gonna let me fall," you confess, with a wet laugh as if to say, How silly am I?

Insanely silly. 

Miguel pats your back in a steadying thump, thump, thump. "Are you kidding? You think something like that would happen on my watch?" 

You shudder and give a little cough. He's surprised you didn't throw up, you'd wound yourself that tightly. Miguel pushes you away to make sure you aren't about to yak on him, and to check your face over for injury. He moves down to your neck, your bloodied side. 

"We need to go home," he says, holding your arm up away from the wound in as tender a grasp as he's capable of. 

"I didn't find the adendiam."

"Forget about it," he says. "We're going home. You're hurt." 

Miguel would pull you through the portal kicking and screaming if he had to, but luckily, you don't make a fuss. 

—

It's admittedly a blow to your ego to have cried in Miguel's arms. You don't know what to say or how to look at him now, miserable as he wipes down your skin with an iodine solution. His touch lingers: his hand on your shoulder, his reassuring hug less than an hour before like a cobweb on your skin. 

He passes you a change of clothes, a simple white shirt for moments like this. There's no need or want for a hospital gown. 

You pull it on, wincing at the soreness despite your quick healing and the nanotechnology that stitched your mean cut. You've deep bruises everywhere, especially under your arms where you caught yourself. 

You haven't managed to stop shaking, curled forward with a disposable bedpan in your hands. The smell of iodine makes you nauseous. 

Miguel audibly huffs. You can't face his disappointed glare. 

"Sorry, Miguel," you say. "I… wanted to do something to help you." 

"That was your first mistake. I don't need help." 

You wince and go rigid, clinging to your bedpan for dear life and cursing yourself for being an idiot as he'd lamented, when a weight shifts on the examination table. A blue bedecked thigh spread out next to your own. 

"Second mistake, thinking I'd leave you to fall. Third, thinking you owe me an apology." 

"Any more?" you ask weakly. 

Your waist grows hot under the touch of a hand. Miguel wraps his arm around you gently. "No. Nothing else." 

Miguel pulls you in for a half hug.

You lean in to his side. He's solid beside you, and he starts to talk. He tells you about Rapture, the first time, and the mistakes he made after it. How scared he was in few words but an honest admission, his arm never moving from where it curls around you, holding you close. "We all have things that scare us," he says. "But you can't let them stop you from moving forward."

"How do you stop the fear?" you ask. 

"No, you can't. You need to keep going. I wasn't going to let you fall, and I won't, but you need to be able to pull yourself up. I can't… lose you to fear." 

You look up at the side of his face. He's looking down at the floor, not bashful or nervous but determined. His brow is set, and when he turns his gaze to you, it doesn't soften. 

"I can't lose you," he says. "I won't." 

You stare as he wraps you in a hug, your wide eyes looking over his shoulder in shock, your hands moving weakly behind his back to reciprocate. He drops his face into your neck. 

After a moment, you close your eyes and lean in.