#inconsistently eye-searing

[marlynnofmany]

It's the tiny details of a home that you remember. In the house I grew up in, the clock would chime the hour in a bong bong bong that you could count. It was normal and comforting to me, though I understand it occasionally bothered friends sleeping over.

There was one especially squeaky board in the hallway between my brother's bedroom and mine. Easy to avoid if you cared to.

In the summer, the rattly fan was a comforting sound as it swept across the room. In the winter, the rush of air from the heating vents. At all times of year, my cat purring.

Familiar sounds, all easy to miss, but important threads in the tapestry of memory.

In the house I live in now, the heater pulls in air from a vent on the ceiling upstairs, instead of beside the staircase like my old house. We put storebought filters in there, changing them out when they get too dusty. Sometimes they fit better than others. Different brands, I suppose.

I just thought of this now when I finally noticed a small sound that I've been ignoring: when the heater kicks on, the suction pulls the cardboard-edged filter up an inch or two. When the heater turns off, there are two sounds. The rush of air from the floor vent stops. And the filter upstairs falls to whack against the vent cover.

A distant, quiet sound that's easy to ignore. But a thread in the new tapestry.

[reveryfics]

Hi! I hope you had a good new year.

Could you write something about Bucky x bottom male reader?

Mreader is injured on a mission to protect Bucky and Bucky realizes Mreader is more than a co-worker.

Totally cheesy☆*:.｡.o(≧▽≦)o.｡.:*☆

Aftermath

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Male reader

Summary: Bucky confesses his feelings after a recent mission that left you injured.

A/n: I have some drafts I'm working on, I also deeply apologize for the inconsistent posts. Can't express how happy I get when you guys request some of my favorite characters.

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The world exploded into a symphony of screams and crumbling concrete. Bucky, his metal arm a useless anchor against the force, was thrown like a ragdoll. Desperation clawed at his throat as he reached for his teammate, a figure silhouetted against the inferno. His fingers barely brushed against the leather strap of the other man's chest harness before he was flung into the abyss.

Their eyes met for a fleeting, agonizing moment. Terror, raw and primal, mirrored in the other man's gaze. Bucky cursed himself, the echo of his teammate's warnings ringing in his ears. If he hadn't barged in, hadn't ignored the warnings, this wouldn't have happened. The other man wouldn't be dangling precariously, his shoulder dislocated, ribs likely shattered, all because Bucky had been reckless.

Bucky strained against the wind, his metal arm digging into the crumbling support beam, trying to haul the other man to safety. But it was futile. The weight, the distance, the searing pain in his own battered body – it was too much.

"Let go, Bucky!" The words were a desperate plea, laced with fear. He knew the chances of survival were slim, the frigid water below a potential death sentence. "Let go!" he roared, the sound swallowed by the chaos.

Bucky hesitated, his gaze flickering between the terrified face below him and the churning depths. His fingers, trembling with exhaustion and fear, slowly loosened their grip. "Shit, shit!" he choked out, the word swallowed by the wind. He watched in horror as his teammate plummeted into the abyss, disappearing beneath the swirling debris.

The icy water enveloped him, a suffocating embrace. Pain, a searing, agonizing fire, erupted throughout his body. He thrashed, desperate to reach the surface, but his limbs felt heavy, leaden. The last image seared into his memory was the swirling water, the debris raining down around him, and then… nothing.

Days blurred into an agonizing haze. Bucky paced the sterile confines of the hospital room, a caged animal. Steve had tried to coax him away, to remind him that rest was crucial, that the doctors would call when his teammate woke up. But Bucky couldn't leave. The image of those terrified eyes, the echo of that desperate plea, haunted him relentlessly.

Then, a plastic cup sailed through the air, interrupting his tormented thoughts. He looked up to see his teammate, eyes half-lidded, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

"Thought super soldiers didn't cry," he teased, a hint of pain in his voice. "Miss me, big guy?"

Tears welled up in Bucky's eyes. He gently pulled himself onto the bed, careful not to jar his teammate's injuries. "You're joking right now?" he choked out, burying his face in the other man's chest.

A hand, surprisingly strong, slipped into his hair. "Can't always be serious, Bucky," he murmured.

They stayed like that for a long time, Bucky clinging to his teammate, apologizing profusely. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I was reckless, I didn't listen… I almost lost you." Bucky cried. “I love you.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in. Then, a slow smile spread across the other man's face. "I love you too, Bucky."

The words were simple, yet they held the weight of a lifetime. Bucky, finally able to breathe, held him tighter, the fear and guilt that had consumed him beginning to slowly recede. He had almost lost him, but he had him back.

[ot7stan4life]

It’s Not Wrong - Part 2

Dreamcatcher (OT7) x Female Reader

(2 parts - ongoing ⚠️)

Word Count: 5450

Summary: As the 8th member of Dreamcatcher, you struggle with your growing attraction towards your members, because, in your mind, loving seven different people isn’t natural and couldn’t possibly be considered acceptable by any normal human being… so why would they be okay with it?

Click here to read part 1

Warnings: sexual content

A/N: FINALLY I updated this. Only took me a couple years 😭 (I also had a decent chunk of it written already and it still took me literally 10 hours to finish this today- thank god I didn’t have work). I honestly don’t know how I feel about it, so I’d love for you guys to give me some feedback if you have any! I’m just really attached to and proud of the first part so I always felt like nothing I could write will ever live up to that. But maybe you’ll love it. Who knows?

SOMETHING I WANTED TO SAY: I’m sorry I’ve been so inactive. I’ve been working on stuff here and there but ever since I graduated college, I’ve really been struggling to write. But I do see your messages and even if I don’t post a reply to them, just know that I really REALLY appreciate your support and your kind words and even your requests. I promise I am not ignoring them! Like I said, I just haven’t been writing much lately but I’m hoping I’ll be able to put out more stuff soon. Thanks again. Your comments and messages mean the world to me.

Also, HAPPY UAU DEBUT!! 🥳

I definitely think the Minji I’ve written here feels like current Minji and it was supposed to be like 2018 Minji but let’s just ignore that little inconsistency 🤡

-

"We have a schedule in the morning. You shouldn't be up right now," Minji said sternly as she watched Siyeon and I frantically untangle from each other.

I was too embarrassed to reply and Siyeon mumbled something I didn't quite catch as she stood from the couch. Whatever it was made Minji glare at her as she turned around to lend me a hand up. I accepted, allowing her to pull me to my feet, and stood there frozen, doing everything in my power to avoid Minji's intimidating stare. Siyeon didn't seem too phased by the older member's behavior when they made eye contact and proceeded to casually walk past her on her way back to their shared room.

While Minji's attention was off of me, I seized the opportunity to sneak past her in the hopes that I could avoid what awkward confrontation I'm sure was awaiting me. Only, I didn't make it very far.

"Not you," she grabbed my forearm and my heart stopped. I couldn't even will myself to look at her.

Siyeon took a few steps back towards us, drawing my eyes over to her. As if Minji wasn't even there, she took my arm from her grasp and pulled me into her for a hug. Though maybe a little awkward in the timing, the sentiment seemed genuine, yet I couldn't make myself relax into her embrace knowing another pair of eyes was on us.

Sensing my tenseness, Siyeon whispered, "It's just Minji, she won't bite... probably."

Probably?! I wanted to yell, glancing over to see the woman in question eyeing our movements like a hawk. But I stayed silent, swallowing thickly and feeling every inch of my body tingle with nervousness.

When Siyeon pulled back, she gently grabbed my chin so that I was staring at her instead. Without ever once glancing at Minji, she closed the distance between us to kiss me lightly. I could practically feel the leader's gaze searing holes into the sides of our heads while Siyeon drug it out, taking her sweet time before pulling away.

She smirked, satisfied with herself and then said, loud enough for Minji to hear, "Sweet dreams, babygirl."

The vocalist didn't stay a second longer to witness the aftermath, slipping into her room and throwing me like bait into the lion's cage to fend for myself. It was a petty move, but I knew she was doing it to rile Minji up so that maybe she'd do something about it and make a move on me. Now all I could manage to do was stand there, too afraid to make eye contact with her in fear that she might pounce on me at any moment.

Though, as the silence drug on for a moment, the guilt was fast to creep in when I remembered Siyeon's words about Minji's reaction to my kiss with Sua. She had already been forced to witness me kissing another member and now this? I wasn't totally sure how I'd react in her case, but I probably wouldn't feel too great seeing someone else kissing any of the women I loved.

"Unnie-" I attempted to form an apology, but she was quick to cut me off.

"No," she said coldly.

I finally looked up at her, shocked to find her eyes had turned so dark that they'd become unrecognizable: that little hint of light always shining in them now extinguished.

"I just want to sa-"

"You're supposed to be asleep," she demanded.

I took a step towards her, trying desperately to explain myself. "I know, but if you'd just let me-"

"Why do you think this is acceptable when we have practice in three hours?" Her deep tone of voice resonated through the halls and made me shiver. She had never spoken to me like that.

I grew infinitely more uneasy now realizing how mad she truly was. "I'm sorry, okay? I just... I couldn't sleep." I looked down.

Though it seemed obvious she wanted to make another remark, my change in demeanor seemed to render her mute for the moment.

"My mind races constantly the second I shut my eyes," I admitted, unable to keep these feelings to myself any longer. "I've just been so stressed lately and I can't stop overthinking. I thought getting up would help clear my mind and then Siyeon-" I stopped when I caught her jaw clench in my peripheral at the mention of her best friend's name. I sighed sadly, feeling ashamed that I had upset her so deeply. "I'm sorry. I'll just go," I finally gave up and started to walk away.

"Wait," her voice stopped me in my tracks.

I just stared ahead into the dark hallway, bracing myself for more scolding.

Except... it never came.

After a beat of silence, she let out a reluctant breath. I turned around to face her. It took a second for her to look up at me, but once she did, I could tell from the way her eyes softened that she had finally pushed her jealousy to the side—at least for the time being—and was now only concerned with my wellbeing.

To my surprise, she simply observed me for a moment, as if debating her next move, and then said, "We'll discuss this later. Try and get some rest, okay?"

I didn't have time to reply or even react to her sudden mood switch before she grabbed my cheek and boldly leaned in to place a lingering kiss dangerously close to my lips. I stood there in shock, feeling both my chest and the spot on my cheek burn as I watched her back away and bite her lip while staring at my own. She seemed to have to force herself to walk away, her body stuttering with almost every move back to her room, as if she was fighting the urge to run back and push me against the wall just to smash her lips into mine.

But she never did. And I was left alone in the hallway, feeling more confused and conflicted than ever.

This really was gonna be harder than I thought.

-

Almost a week had passed since my confession to Siyeon—if you could even call it that—which also meant almost a week had passed since the incident with Minji. And, as expected, I had spent those several days on edge, constantly wondering when and how the eventual confrontation would go. She said we would 'talk about this later,' but a busy idol life combined with a tiny dorm didn't exactly grant us much time or privacy to make that 'later' happen anytime soon.

It also didn't help that, on top of Minji's nearly-impossible-to-read stares that she would constantly shoot me in practice, Sua and Siyeon were also shooting me stares, but for very different reasons. If a person could be capable of feeling every emotion possible all at the same exact time, that person was me this past week. Which, of course, led all the other members to start staring now that it had become obvious something was bothering me.

I was off my game, even in practice when I normally found it so easy to escape from my emotions through the music and performance. Now I was dancing out of time, missing my vocal cues, and mixing up my lyrics. I could only get away with using exhaustion as an excuse the first few times, then it started to become concerning.

"You sure you don't need to sit out for today and rest?" Our choreographer, Sooyeon, asked, placing her hand on my back as I leaned over to grab my water bottle and rag. She had just called a five minute break from learning our new comeback choreography after I managed to throw the entire group off yet again by starting my rap break out of time.

"No, it's okay," I replied breathless, turning to her. "I'm sorry, I'm just..." through the reflection in the mirror behind her, I caught at least three pairs of eyes staring at me. "...a little distracted."

"It's okay, just try to rid those things from your mind. You know, I always find it helpful to..." she continued talking, but her voice faded to the background as my mind became entirely preoccupied with a scene playing out in a shaded corner of the room away from everyone else.

In the mirror, I watched as the woman—who was supposedly angry with me—reached down to the hem of her shirt and slowly began tugging it upwards, maintaining eye contact with me the entire time. Gradually she revealed her toned stomach that flexed tauntingly with each heavy inhale of her breath before pulling the thin shirt over her head, giving me a sickening view of her skimpy sports bra hugging her chest so tightly that even across the room I could see the not-so-subtle curve of her breasts peeking from the top. She tilted her head back, allowing the dim light to catch the golden layer of sweat shimmering across her body and highlighting the muscles of her neck and arms. Her eyes fluttered closed and her mouth opened slightly as she drug her shirt across her neck and down her chest to dry herself. It was obvious she knew I was watching as she pretended to 'accidentally' tug on the top of her bra to reveal more of her chest to me and bit her lip at the sensation of her shirt brushing across it.

"Sound good?" A hand landed on my shoulder, jolting my attention back to the woman standing in front of me.

"Huh?" I said, stupidly, now registering where I was. I swallowed quickly, noticing an unusual amount of saliva built up in my mouth, before restating, "I mean, yeah. Of course, sounds good. I will... work on that." I pressed my lips together into a forced smile, hoping she didn't just catch on to the fact that I had not heard a single word she just said.

To my relief, she smiled brightly. "Great! Well, in that case, back to practice," she punctuated her words with a clap and started walking back over to the speaker.

Now that she had left, I glanced back into the mirror only to be met with an empty corner of the room. Mildly disappointed, I sighed and raised my water bottle to take a much needed drink of water. Halfway through the sip, a soft hand stopped me and pulled it from my lips. Minji's dark hair came into view, along with the confident smirk now plastered on her face. Her eyes were somehow both dark and playful as she seemed to take pleasure in watching my cheeks turn red as I nervously swallowed the bit of water still in my mouth.

She didn't waste a second in placing my water bottle against her own lips and tilting it back to take a drink of her own. Somehow she managed to make such an innocent gesture feel so explicit as she drank, allowing a little to spill down her chin. I failed miserably at fighting the urge to watch the water drip all the way down her neck and to her chest and regretted it the second I did. Suddenly I found myself wishing it was just me and her in this practice room so nobody else could judge the things I wanted to do to her.

Like she knew exactly what I was thinking, she finished with one final swallow and pulled the bottle away from her mouth just to stare at me expectantly as the water continued to drip from her chin. "Well, aren't you gonna clean up the mess you've made?" she said in a low, sensual tone.

I nearly choked on air at the very obvious double meaning in her words while, of course, she simply grinned at the shocked look on my face. Was she seriously implying that messing with me was making her turned on?

"Clearly I meant this," she teased, taking the rag that I had forgotten was even in my hand and placing it on her chin. "What else could I have meant?" She feigned innocence, tilting her head with a playful smile while rubbing the rag over her neck.

My eyes squinted at her, equally annoyed, frustrated, aroused, and confused. How can she be screaming at me one day and trying to seduce me the next?

She pressed the now wet rag against my chest for me to take and sent me a wink before spinning around and skipping off when Sooyeon called us back to practice. I shook my head at her bizarre antics and turned to follow, noticing a certain main vocalist laughing nearby, clearly having seen at least the ending of what just went down. Nice to know she finds it funny. This was partially her fault.

Ridding the whole thing from my mind as best as I could, I took my place to start the song. Surprisingly, it went well for a few more runs and I was definitely improving. Well, that is, until Minji decided to continue her attempt to seduce me by somehow making the moves to an emotional song about being trapped in a dream sexy. I tried to ignore it by looking dead ahead at myself in the mirror, but then she'd start adding unnecessary contact between us, brushing her hand across my shoulder or thigh when we were next to each other in the formation.

Luckily I managed to make it to (what Sooyeon claimed would be) the final run of the day before we had to head to our individual schedules. Even with my little hiccups, we had finally gotten the choreo down pretty well, so Sooyeon wanted to film it for us to analyze before next practice. Given this information, we all seemed to subconsciously agree that we'd actually try to take it more seriously. Even Minji didn't seem to be pulling any tricks this time and we started off well.

As we were reaching the second chorus of the song following my verse, we had to quickly transition to the next formation. It was one of the fastest transitions in the choreo and required me to take several swift steps backwards in between two other members on the exact right beat before they closed the gap. We had done it many times slowed down because one of us would usually run into the other, but as we gradually sped the song up to its normal tempo, we managed to pull it off so far.

This time, however, I hit the steps just before the transition with my feet a little too close together, causing one of my shoelaces to loosen. By the time I realized, I had already made one step backwards with my planted foot holding the shoelace down with all my weight. The foot I tried to move only made it half as far until it stopped mid air and I lost my balance. I fell faster than anyone could react and instinctively tried to catch myself with my hands extending out behind me. Only, one hand didn't land right on the ground and the force of my weight on it sent a searing pain through my wrist.

I cried out and rolled over to clutch my hand to my chest. The members all exclaimed in shock and immediately ran over to me while someone else in the room went to turn the music off. Even after all this, Minji was the very first one at my side, placing her hand on my face and asking if I was okay.

I groaned as the pain throbbed and took deep breaths for a moment to try to compose myself enough to respond. I knew if I started crying the members would only panic more and assume the worst, so I sucked the tears back in.

"I'm okay," I said, but my voice came out strained, unconvincing. I rolled over a bit and Minji brushed the hair from my eyes so that I could see her face.

Strangely, in that moment, the pain seemed to numb a bit as I stared into her caring eyes filled with concern. I wasn't focused on anything but the cute pout on her lips and the way her eyebrows furrowed over her sparkly eyes. This was the Minji I knew. Or perhaps I was just beginning to discover more sides of her that I didn't know existed. Even in her anger and jealousy. Even in her calculated seduction. It was all truly her. And I was about to learn a lot more about her than I realized.

-

After my fall, some of the members insisted on calling the doctor, but I convinced them it wasn't that serious and that if it still hurt in the morning, then I would go. Still, they didn't take no for an answer when suggesting I take the rest of the day off to relax at the dorm. As expected, Minji volunteered to stay with me after getting permission to skip her individual schedule for the day. At first I believed when she said it was only because she wanted to help doctor my wound and didn't want to leave me alone while I was injured—and though I still believed that was part of it—I started to realize she was also taking her opportunity to get me alone.

The tension was evident the second we entered the silence of the dorm. She dragged me into the kitchen and directed me to the short part of the counter. "Sit," she commanded in a serious tone and turned around to start grabbing the first-aid supplies she thought she'd need. Recognizing the change in her expression, I didn't dare disobey or even respond.

I took a seat and held my wrist in my lap with my other hand. She came over a second later with a bandage, an ice pack, and some medicine in her hands. Without hesitation, she stood between my legs, clearly perfectly comfortable with being in my personal space. I thought I had become used to it, but my heartbeat started racing as she leaned in close to place the items on the counter next to me. It didn't help that the height of this counter made it so that we were perfectly face to face.

She leaned back so she was standing up straight and reached out to touch my forearm. It reminded me of the moment she had grabbed that same arm a week ago to stop me from retreating to my room after she caught me with Siyeon. I couldn't even begin to know what was going on in her mind. It had become increasingly obvious over the last few days that she wanted to be with me, but I wondered if she also felt betrayed by me. Or Siyeon. Or even Sua.

As she started gently wrapping the bandage around my wrist to give it support, I watched her face so concentrated on the action and began to realize something. She didn't know what Siyeon did. She didn't know that I loved her too. That I loved all seven of them. So, of course from her perspective, she's probably devastated that I chose either of them over her. That's why she had been so desperate to get my attention, maybe she thought I didn't look at her the same way I looked at them. Which was ridiculous to even consider. How could I not look at her like that?

She must've felt me staring, because, when she finished with the bandage, she took a step back and looked up to catch my gaze. Her expression was soft in that moment. Delicate like how she was handling my wrist. But I watched her eyes change as she glanced at my lips. First to longing, then a mix of something between sadness, anger, and possibly even lust. I stood up from the counter and took one timid step backwards towards the kitchen exit, feeling the urge to run away before she did her damage. Those mood swings were confusing me to no end and I was never sure how she'd react. But her next words kept me in place.

"You know, the walls here are thin," she said lowly, looking back down at my wrist as I cradled it in my hand.

I fidgeted with my bandage, feeling mildly embarrassed and afraid for where this was probably leading. "Unnie-" I tried to apologize once again, but it's clear that wasn't what she wanted to hear.

"No, it's okay." She looked up at me, forcing a smile on her face that I saw right through. "What you do in your downtime is none of my business," she said. "But, if you really want privacy..." She took a step towards me and I took a couple back. "...you should at least learn to be quiet."

I gasped when my back came into contact with the wall. She took the chance to abruptly close the gap with her hands on my waist, pushing her body flush against mine so I was pinned against the wall. "Cause I could tell how turned on you were all the way from my room," she whispered into my ear, her right hand pressing flat against the bare skin just above my waistband. I held my breath, feeling her nose brush against my neck. I had no time to even be embarrassed by her words. Her other hand traveled up my body, teasingly brushing over my chest and planting itself at the base of my neck where her fingers traced slowly across my collarbones.

"Do you like how she touches you, hm?" The jealousy dripped from her tone as her hands continued to explore my body. No words escaped my mouth. I just held onto her waist helplessly while one hand moved up my neck in a tantalizingly slow motion, her fingertips tingling every nerve on my skin. She pressed further into me with her other hand against my chest, her head tilted so that her lips now ghosted over mine. "Do you like how she kisses you?" she breathed out, her voice quieter, yet somehow more intimidating. Her thumb moved to slowly brush across my bottom lip, her eyes following every movement.

"Is she better than me?" she whispered so quietly that I almost couldn't make out her words. Her eyes flicked up to mine and now I could see this wasn't all teasing. It was obvious she was genuinely debating these these questions all along.

I didn't know how to answer her with words, so I tried to convey my feelings to her the only other way I could think of. My lips meeting hers was all it took for her to release her pent up emotions on me. The first kiss was timid from her, almost as if she couldn't believe I had done it, but after that, she didn't hold back. She gripped the back of my neck tightly and kissed me so forcefully and desperately that I thought she might rip my lips right off my face. She barely even pulled back after each kiss, never wanting to disconnect our lips. And even when she gave us a break, it was never long enough to actually catch a proper breath.

By the time she slipped her tongue past my lips, it was clear she wasn't planning on stopping anytime soon. Though I still barely knew what I was doing, I tried my best to keep up, which was proving difficult given how lightheaded she was making me. My hands moved downward to feel the skin underneath her shirt and she seemed to follow suit, moving hers to brush across my collarbones and pull at my shirt.

It wasn't until I felt the cool dorm air against my skin that I realized she was unbuttoning my shirt. Momentarily shocked, I released her lips and reached up to grab one of her hands. She instinctively linked her fingers with mine, and before either of us could realize it was my injured hand, she went to pin it against the wall and connect our lips once more.

I almost instantly winced in pain and she pulled back just as fast, letting go of my wrist. "I'm sorry," she rushed out, retracting herself from me, "I'm so sorry, I completely forgot, I-"

"Hey, hey," I grabbed one of her hands with my good hand and pulled her closer, "it's okay. I forgot, too." She looked so concerned that I was afraid she might start crying. She tried to take a step away from me again and kept apologizing. "Look at me," I pulled her closer again and put my hand on her cheek, "It's okay, unnie. I promise I'm okay."

She just stared at me with sad eyes like a pitiful puppy, so I leaned in slowly to kiss her pout off her face. She hesitated for a moment, but couldn't resist in the end and melted into me.

We both pulled back and I said, "see, now this is definitely helping make the pain go away."

She laughed cutely and leaned in to kiss me again. We shared a few more kisses, this time showing me that she was capable of being gentle. Once I was satisfied, I pulled her into my embrace, resting my head on her shoulder.

"You know..." I started, holding her around her torso as she squeezed me tightly around the shoulders.

"Hm?" she hummed.

"You're really scary when you're jealous," I whispered.

She laughed, still hugging me close. "Really?"

I had to resist scoffing at her. "What do you mean really?" I exclaimed and leaned back, causing her to do the same. "I was sure you were gonna murder me that night. And earlier." Even though I was mostly joking, she still seemed guilty.

She sighed. "I know, and I'm really sorry. For that and for yelling at you," she frowned and placed her hand on my face. "There's nothing I regret more. Especially when you told me how stressed you had been. I wished I had known what you were going through before." Her eyes sparkled with sadness as she looked over my features and rubbed her thumb across my cheek. "Normally you come to me when you're struggling with something. I guess I just thought it would be the same with this."

She was right, I did always come to her first when something was troubling me. As our leader, I always felt like I could confide in her and I wanted her to feel the same with me. We told each other everything. So I understood why seeing me with Siyeon must've hurt her. Though, it seems more obvious now that Minji knew all along that I liked more than just Siyeon or Sua. But I can't blame her for questioning whether I liked her too, that's all I can seem to do lately when it comes to them.

"You wanted me to come to you first," I teased in an attempt to lighten the mood, though this revelation admittedly made my heart hurt. Maybe I should've gone to her first. I was sure a lot of sleepless nights could've been avoided.

A small laugh left her mouth at the accusation. "Maybe." She smiled sadly and I didn't waste a moment before kissing it off her face.

"No, you're right though. I probably would've," I said softly after I pulled back, my nose touching hers. "I just didn't really plan on telling any of you." She frowned and tucked my hair behind my ear as she looked at me sympathetically. "It just kinda happened." I shrugged.

"Well, I'm glad it did," she said honestly, making us both smile. "Even though I wasn't first." Her smile faded.

"Sorry," I said seriously.

She laughed and kissed me. "Mm, I think I'm okay with it now," she mumbled against my lips before stealing another and moving her hands down to grab my waistband.

I allowed her kiss me for the next few minutes, just holding onto her neck and enjoying the feeling of her being in control. She didn't slow down, now pushing me blindly across the dorm until my back hit my bed and she was on top of me, making out with me.

"Oh my god," I whispered after bearing a few more minutes of her relentless attacks. My head laid back into my pillow, already overwhelmed by how good she was at kissing.

"What?" Minji giggled, turning her head to try and get a look at my face.

"I don't think I'm ever gonna get used to this," I said, breathless.

She propped her head up with her hand and looked down at me. "Well, you know what they say," she smiled. I just stared at her, waiting for the punchline. "Practice makes perfect." Her smile shifted to a smirk when a blush set into my cheeks.

"I thought you said I needed to rest," I teased.

"Well..." she paused a moment, leaning in and watching her fingers brush across my jaw. "We've both gone without sleep before, I think we'll survive." She concluded like it was a good enough reason and captured my lips once again.

I didn't make an effort to stop her. She was quick to deepen the kiss and my heart burned at the feeling of her tongue in my mouth. I slipped my hands underneath her shirt and resisted the urge to groan at the way her smooth stomach felt against my fingers. She eventually pulled back and helped me take her shirt off with my one working hand. I only got a split second to admire her before she leaned back down and moved her lips to my neck with purpose.

"You're so pretty," she whispered in my ear, stealing my line and yet still making my heart flutter. She gripped my hair and a small whine instinctively slipped past my lips at the action, making her loosen her fingers. "Is this okay?" she asked softly, placing delicate, wet kisses along my neck that slowly became rougher the further down they got.

"Yes," I replied, voice weak, now clutching her waist in the hopes that it might ground me.

Once she reached the base of my neck, her warm, slick lips started sucking down harshly on my pulse point. I gasped, reaching a hand up to rest on her jawline. The sensation that came from the suction of her lips against my throat was so intense that I could practically feel it throughout my entire body. My heartbeat throbbed painfully in my veins and my brain was lost in the clouds.

The unreleased tension her kisses had slowly been building up in me now became unbearable and I was unable to think straight, shifting my position to find some friction on Minji's thigh. The almost painful feeling of the older woman marking me up in tandem with the sudden pressure of her leg against my center once she realized what I wanted sent a feeling of pleasure like I had never experienced before rushing through my body. The overwhelming sensation forced a moan from my throat and I could feel Minji inhale sharply against my neck as her nails clung harder to my scalp. There was no doubt in my mind she reacted that way because she could feel just how wet she had made me through my shorts on her bare thigh.

Right as she leaned up to kiss my lips and drag her hand down to my waistband, we heard the sound of voices in the hall and the front door slamming. We both abruptly backed away from the kiss, but Minji couldn't make a move to get off of me before Dami entered the room.

"Are you oka-" the short haired woman froze the second she saw both of us shirtless in bed and I wanted to disintegrate off the face of the planet at the embarrassed look on her face. "Oh, sorry," she looked away immediately and started walking back into the hall.

Minji stood up to quickly put her shirt on and run after her while I just laid there, mumbling a curse word while placing my hands over my face.

Why did this have to keep happening?

To Be Continued…

[charmvinyl]

ok many more shy sugar daddy art thoughts

one thing i will say... this is my first time writing smut. probably some inconsistencies probably has some issues. constructive criticism appreciated!!! also reader is pretty fem... pink slip, princess nickname, the works. switch!art?? ish?? he's just happy to be there and takes whatever u give him. also i don't know how to write people coming i stared at this for genuinely 20 minutes figuring out how to write the end and had like no luck... hope u enjoy!!!

this man is a PUSHOVER! he is absolutely infatuated with you. it's been so long since he's felt truly needed and loved and wanted in the affection u and so he's willing to do anything to make you happy. you glance at a purse? he's buying it in 2 different colors. you make an offhand comment about being hungry? his chef is making you your favorite pasta. he just wants to keep you happy and needing him! (ok the needing aspect is a diff rabbit hole i could go down about how he becomes dependent on and obsessed with your validation but that's a diff conversation..)

so, when you tell him that you want him to fuck you, he's tripping head over heels to get you to the bedroom. you push him back onto the bed and he looks up at you with the most dazed look, like you're some sort of angel. a little bit of drool peeks out of the corner of his mouth, and his eyes are unfocused as he looks at you-- adorned in a light pink silk slip, one he picked out.

"princess, i don't want you to do anything you don't want to, you know, just because i'm giving you stuff doesn't mean--"

you quiet him with a deep kiss, lips melding to each other. his hand slides up your back and cradles you delicately. "i want to, artie! don't you wanna make your girl happy?"

his girl. his pants tent at the thought.

you're soaked, but not quite wet enough to take his cock. "mnn, baby, please," he groans up at you, "i wanna taste you." you clamber over his panting body and lower yourself onto his face, panties pushed to the side.

"my prince always gets what he wants."

he eats you like a man starved, like lapping at your pussy is his life source-- dives his tongue in and out of your hole, letting his nose bump your clit. he doesn't deprive your clit of stimulation either, moving his mouth up to suckle on the bud. your moans ring through the room- you swear, every time art eats you out and his hands grip like a vice to your thighs, you get an inch closer to heaven. the only thing in the room louder than your moans are his; he loves his girl and he loves tasting her. it's him that's about to make you cum. it's him that's doing something good and righteous. tension builds in your stomach quickly, right about to snap, so you grind your pussy on his mouth, letting his tongue do most of the work for you. before long, you're reaching your peak--- leaned over, your nails scratching his abs, a loud moan ripping itself from your chest.

"fuck, artie, you did so good," you whimper breathlessly. "so perfect f'me, always"

his boxers are tented and sticky with precum. the second you move off of his face and down to where his aching cock is, he's capturing your mouth in a searing kiss, your wetness still on his tongue. he wants to devour all of you, bit by bit. wants to make you his.

"baby," you pant, "wanna ride you, please, fuck, can i?"

"anything you want, sweetheart, anything."

he's slightly sat up by this point, his back pressing against the headboard. you palm his painfully hard cock through his boxers and he lets out a broken whine "please, princess-" your hand moves under his waistband and moves to slide them down his legs. he shifts his hips up so that you can get them down his legs.

you climb over him and rest your hands on his shoulders. he runs his hands over the silk slip and moves down to the hem, his fingers skating over the exposed skin of your hips. he grips it and pulls it over your head, baring your chest to him.

"fuck," he whispers, "you're so gorgeous, baby, don't know what i'd do without you"

finally, you slowly sink down onto his cock. the stretch burns, but it doesn't matter-- the pain will meld into pleasure soon. you take art inch by inch until his dick is fully buried inside you. he throws his head back and lets out an almost painful moan. he says your name like you're his savior, come to deliver him from evil. maybe in some contorted way, you have. gripping his shoulders, you start to move yourself on his cock, grinding down on his pelvis, moving forward and backward. art swears it's the greatest thing he's ever felt. that is, until you start bouncing on his cock. his moans are so loud that even in his mansion, you're afraid the neighbors can hear. carnal sounds of desperation come from his chest. he's claiming you, breeding you. you're his, and that knowledge makes the tight heat of your pussy feel insurmountably better.

his moans, though, have grown too loud for you. you can barely hear the squelch of your pussy over art's mindless expressions of pleasure. so, you dip your fingers to where his lengthy cock slides in and out of you, gather some of the slick that's dripped from your pussy, and shove two of your fingers into his pretty, waiting mouth. his initial look of confusion morphs into one of pleasure, and he swirls his tongue around your coated fingers.

your orgasm is slowly building, a tight knot forming in your stomach as art's cock rubs against your g-spot, over + over. he's close, too. even though his noise is restricted by your fingers, loose moans fall from his lips and his hips grind upwards.

"y'gonna cum for me, princess?" he questions, breathless.

"fuck, yes, artie-- almost there, oh, just like that!"

he's gripping your hips now, slamming up into your dripping cunt. "shit--baby, m almost there, wanna cum inside--"

"course you can baby. want you to breed me, make me yours"

your words send him over the edge. digging his fingers into your plush thighs, he paints your walls white, rope after rope coating you and dripping out of your cunt. the feeling of his cum inside you is heavenly, and makes you throw back your head in a moan, cunt spasming around his cock and your vision going white.

when you come to, you're laid down on art's chest. his fingers run through your hair, and he kisses your palm. maybe, just maybe, he thinks about what you'd look like with a ring on your finger.

OHHDHEJSKEJSKSKROLWKKFKWKEEKDKFE im crashing out so fucking bad THANK you for giving me shy sugar daddy art who just wants to please his girl… i don’t even have anything to add because this was perfect but … im gonna need more thoughts on art’s growing dependency on reader like.. yes hes doing every and any thing to keep u around. because he couldn’t keep tashi— be the loyal lapdog she wanted, so of course he isn’t going to make that mistake again!!!!!!

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Sundew: Chapter 7 (Tom Hiddleston x ofc)

CW: smut. fem rcv oral  Previous Chapter -- Masterlist -- AO3 -- Kofi Want a bonus chapter? See the post on Kofi for details. Or just to say hey, thanks for the fic!

Tom pulled Mia into the small bedroom, lit only with the city lights filtering in through the gauzy curtains that offered privacy. The sound of the door latching closed seemed to echo around the room. The only thing louder was the sound of the lock clicking. 

Mia didn’t have time to focus on the strange way the sound seemed to inconsistently move through space before Tom’s arms wrapped around her from behind. He held her back tightly to his chest, breath washing over her shoulder. 

“I’ve missed you,” Tom whispered, “so much. I’ve been wanting to really hold you since I saw you.” 

“You did hold me,” Mia teased, voice sounding far more confident than she felt. 

“Not like this,” Tom said, pulling her tighter to him. She could feel the stirring of him, just a suggestion of hardness in his pants at this point. 

“You even kissed me, too.” Mia ran her teeth over her lower lip, knowing what she was asking Tom to do without outright asking it. 

“Not like I wanted to,” Tom said, reaching up and turning her head to face him. 

“And how did you want to?” 

“Like this.” Tom’s lips ghosted over his, little more than a suggestion of a kiss that quickly became solid. Hungry but not demanding. 

She turned in his arms, draping her arms around his neck as he kissed her as if it would somehow make up for all the time he had to spend away from her. Black curls, glitter still clinging to them, tangled around her fingers as she ran them through his hair. 

“Mia,” Tom whispered her name as if it was a sacred prayer. 

His fingers slipped under the hem of her shirt. Her eyes fluttered open at the electric feeling of his touch on her skin. Soft kisses marked a burning trail down her neck before icy air replaced where his searing presence had been. 

He quickly pulled her shirt up and over her head, tossing it to the side. This was the moment that always made her feel insecure, aware of every stretch mark and misplaced curve. 

“I want you,” Tom kept his voice low, not wanting to risk making any more noise than needed for fear of being interrupted. 

His roaming fingertips devoured her curves while she worked the buttons of his shirt free, pushing it back and off his toned shoulders. While she could name countless blemish on her own body, she would be hard pressed to find a single on his. Even the freckles and scattering of hair on his chest were perfectly placed in her opinion. 

“Please, Tom.” She didn’t need to say more. 

His fingers made quick work of her bra, sending it to the ground. Jeans were always sexier to wear than they were to remove. Mia unbuttoned them and pulled the short zipper down. 

Tom hooked his thumbs into the waist and pulled them down, taking her simple cotton panties along with them. The denim clung to her hips and thighs tightly, doing everything but falling to the ground. As the pants passed her ass, Mia sat on the bed. Tom fell to his knees and pulled the pants from her legs, leaving her naked as he sat between her spread knees. 

He was painfully hard now, pressing up against the buckle of his belt. With one hand, he worked the belt open and pulled it free. His other hand pushed her leg out, spreading her open in front of him. 

Mia’s flushed face looked down at him as his attention zeroed in on her core. Without looking away from her, nimble fingers worked open the button of his trowsers. A sigh blew from between his thin lips as the pressure on his straining erection lessened. 

For Mia, the first time they came back together intimately after time apart always felt like what she imagined the first time felt like. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach as her eyes met his in a heated gaze. Strong hands wrapped around her thighs, caressing and urging her to spread wider for him as he leaned forward. 

A bolt of lightning shot down her spine as his tongue ran up her slit. There was something about how he tasted her that made it feel so much better than when others would. He tasted her as if he enjoyed the taste. The way he groaned as he worked his tongue over her clit made her feel desired.

“Oh,” she gasped as Tom’s finger rested against her opening, slowly pushing deeper inside her, “oh, Tom.” 

He shifted, working a second long finger inside her while his other hand shoved at the waistband of his pants. He didn’t settle until his cock was free, standing tall from his lap. A bead of precum glistened, reflecting the dim light in the room. 

To Tom, she tasted like home. Her slick walls fluttered around his fingers. Under his tongue, he could feel the slight twitches of muscles as he pushed her closer to her orgasm. There wasn’t a chance in hell he was going to let her cum on his fingers. 

Her breasts heaved with each breath, nipples pulling tighter in the cool air of the room. Each thrust of his fingers, each suckle at her clit, wound her body tighter until she felt like she was going to snap. 

When it was about to be too much, Tom pulled away. Light reflected off the slick on his fingers. There wasn’t time for Mia to complain before he was standing, lining his cock up with her opening and pushing slowly inside. 

Being inside her felt like coming home. Her hot, wet walls spread over his shaft, swallowing him until his balls were pressed against her. He leaned over her, supporting his weight with his forearms. It took his breath away just to be inside her. 

She looked at him, face flushed. Her legs ran along his thighs, wrapping around his waist as she tried to pull him closer. 

He gripped her thigh and pushed her back on the bed. He used his pelvis to generate the force, grinding his cock deep into her in the process. The moan that bubbled up from her throat made him want to hear it again. 

He wanted to hear her moan. He wanted to fuck into her with such passion she cried out his name. He wanted all the city to know how good he could love her. 

But this wasn’t the time for that. If he couldn’t hear the sounds she made as he pushed inside her slowly again, he would feel them. Her lips were so soft under his. Each whine and moan vibrated through their shared breaths, spilling from her throat into his mouth. 

Her walls fluttered, gripping his cock as he pushed into her with each soft roll of his hips. With how close Tom had brought her to completion with his mouth and fingers, it was easy for the slow, deep thrusts to bring her back to the edge. 

Mia’s breasts pushed into his chest as her back arched. He worked his hand under the small of her back, pulling her into him more. He didn’t have to ask her if she was close. The high-pitched whines and the way her body gripped his cock told him how very close she was. 

She came with a whimper that tasted sweet as he swallowed it. The bite of her neatly cut fingernails digging into his back sent him finishing as her core contracted in spasms around his cock. It was his turn to moan into the kiss, the deep sound reverberating through his chest and into her as he spilled inside her still twitching walls. 

Though he spilled his seed inside her, he loathed the idea of leaving the warmth of her. Instead of pulling away, he gripped her hip and pulled her tighter against him. He rolled onto his side, taking her with him. The tight grip he kept on her hips kept his softening cock nestled inside her hot, wet tunnel. 

“I love you,” Tom whispered as Mia’s head nestled onto his arm. It wouldn’t take long for the limb to go numb, but it would be worth it to hold her naked body tightly to his for a few moments longer. 

“I love you, too.” Mia hooked her leg over his hip, pulling his hips tighter against her. His seed smeared between her thighs, leaking from where their bodies came together. 

“I’ve missed being with you.” Tom caressed the side of her face, brushing back stray waves of brunette hair. “I’ve missed this.” 

“I missed this, too.” Mia whispered, sighing at the loss as his soften cock fell from her opening, leaving her feeling empty. “I don’t want to get up.” 

“Then don’t.” Tom rubbed the tip of his nose against hers. 

“I have to,” Mia laughed. 

“Who says?” Tom held her closer to him before letting his arms go slack so she could will herself to stand. 

“Biology,” Mia teased, grabbing Tom’s shirt from the floor. He watched with rapt attention. 

To him, Mia was one of the most beautiful women he’d been blessed to see. Each imperfection told a story if a life lived and stories he was only beginning to learn. The only thing more beautiful than Mia naked was Mia when she wore nothing but his shirt with a few buttons fastened. 

“Fine, leave me if you must.” Tom flopped back on the bed, watching as Mia slipped back into her panties. 

“I’ll be right back.” 

He couldn’t help but to reach around, grabbing a palmful of her ass as she leaned over his naked body to kiss him one last time. She laughed at the way he grumbled when she pulled away. 

Being with Tom after time apart always left her feeling shy and insecure, but after? This was when she felt like the most attractive and desired woman in the world. Tom made her feel that way and for that, she would always be thankful. 

If only she could get past the anxiety that came with coming together again first.

The sad reality of Mia’s life was that she would never have enough time with Tom. Weekends never lasted long enough, and someone always needed Tom somewhere else. Neither Mia nor Sally were ready to part from Tom by the time the small family was standing together inside the airport. 

The sorrow of parting felt suffocating as Mia swallowed back every tear that threatened to swell in her eyes. She couldn’t afford the privilege of heartbreak. Sally needed her to be strong and positive. 

“I don’t want to go,” the small girl whined as Tom hugged her tightly. 

“I know,” Tom said sullenly, “but you’ve got school tomorrow.” 

“I don’t need to go to school.”

Mia couldn’t help the watery laugh at the way Sally protested. “Yes, you do.” 

“I’ll be back home before you know it,” Tom promised. 

Whenever Tom would call the apartment in Las Vegas ‘home’, Mia’s heart would do little flips. She wanted it to be home to him. She wanted them to be home to him. Tom often referred to his personal residence as home as well, though, and Mia couldn’t fault him for it. No matter how he tried to integrate himself into their lives, there was a whole different hom that she’d only seen in pictures and video calls. 

“I had Luke pull some strings for you,” Tom said sheepishly, wrapping Mia in his arms. She wanted to protest, but the warmth of his hug doused any fires of irritation she may have had. “I had him upgrade your seats.” 

“That costs money,” Mia protested, though Tom smiled at the lack of energy in the protest. 

“I can afford it.” He kissed her slowly, softly as he took his time tasting her. It felt like he was trying to memorize the feel of her lips against his, but perhaps that was simply because Mia was trying to do the same. 

“Are you sure?” Mia couldn’t help but asking. 

“I wouldn’t have done it if I couldn’t afford it.” Long fingers hooked her wavey hair behind her ear. “I’ve got a few more projects lined up for the year, some scheduled for next year. We’re more than fine with just what I’m bringing in alone.” 

“Okay.” Mia sighed, kissing Tom one more time. 

“You should get going,” he hated to have to say those words. Tom would have given anything if he could convince Mia to just stay there with him.

She wouldn’t. He knew that. Asking would only cause her to feel pressured. She had to go back to the job she didn’t need but insisted on clinging to. If only she would just trust him, she could spend more time by his side. 

There was no choice but to wait and hope. If he gave her enough time, perhaps she would reach that point on her own. 

“I love you,” Mia whispered the words as she stepped back. 

“I love you, too.” Tom squeezed her hands one last time before letting them fall. It physically pained him to step back from her. “I love you, Sally,” he added as the Mia started walking toward the security line.

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Next?

[bertoltblecht]

On Call - Nine

A/N: Hello hello! Back again! This took a little longer this time, but I'm really pleased with it. Please let me know what you think, the anon messages are really quite delightful.

Word count: 3817

Rated: Mature

Tags: Angst, Mutual Trauma, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Tension, Sex, Mutual Pining, Suicidal Ideation, Anxiety, Comfort/Hurt, Where the comfort also hurts, a lot of baseball talk tbh

-

There was really no better reminder that pleather is not leather than seeing it melted into partial thickness burns. 

What began as a relatively slow night-shift alongside Abbot while Robby had a few days off ended with a flood of injuries from a wedding reception bonfire that had abruptly exploded. 

The burns ranged in severity and size, but most upsetting (or, perhaps more accurately, intriguing) for Dr. Reilly was the variety of synthetic fabrics seared to the wounds. It was a research paper’s worth of data, and part of her felt a little guilty for the rush of good brain chemicals she got at the prospect of documenting it all. 

As she worked, Rose gently requested to take pictures, offered to send them to the patients for insurance purposes, and noted the specific material blend of the clothing when they were willing to let her find a tag. 

The source of the unexpected eruption was a topic of debate among the wedding guests. Parsing the chaos of stories, Rose gathered someone (the groom’s brother, at least allegedly) tossed something into the fire as he was leaving, and a few moments later whatever it was had gone boom.

Apparently the brother was unharmed and in police custody for questioning. Rose found it very fortunate that neither the bride nor groom were among those needing treatment. They were spared from injury and also from having to hear their families’ debate over which one of them married trash. Between the melee of competing smells and family strife, the ER was a sensory nightmare.

In between marathon debriding sessions, Rose took ten to stand outside for a moment of fresh air. There was a dull ache between her eyes, somewhere between pressure and exhaustion. She wasn’t sleeping well. The new place was lovely, and the new bed was a dream. It was all just… different. Like waking up every morning in a hotel or a one night stand’s bedroom. It didn’t feel like hers. Combined with an inconsistent schedule covering different shifts, she was feeling less and less human. 

What Rose needed was a good night's sleep to start her long weekend off right, and it took hardly any convincing from the devil on her shoulder to pull out her phone. Only a couple hours before shift change; she knew he wouldn’t be getting up for work but it was worth a shot to see if he was awake. 

Rose: i have wild photos to show you next time i see you 

The reply came back suspiciously quickly for 5 in the morning. 

Robby: what kind of photos 

Robby: send em 

Rose laughed in spite of herself. 

Rose: they’re just some crazy burns from tonight, bonfire mishap

Robby: you know what I will actually wait on seeing those thanks

What Rose really wanted was a cigarette, but she settled for risky texting to feel alive at the end of this hell shift instead.  

Rose: won’t be disappointed if you come over tonight. you were really on to something in the elevator 

Robby: is this sexting?

Suppressing a grin, Rose toyed with several responses, of varying levels of salaciousness. She eventually settled on winking deflection.

Rose: … i have burns to attend to

Robby: see you tonight 

In spite of the tension headache, Rose ended the break pleased with herself. Couple more hours, a short walk, some kind of sustenance - hopefully a nap - and then he was going to come over. Her rational mind fought her emotional mind to keep her on the correct side of reasonable. Nothing about the situation they abandoned had changed in the last two and a half years. They were just… picking up where they left off. For reasons that Rose wasn’t about to dig into too deeply. Her only goals were contact and good sleep. If his goals aligned, then wonderful. 

Rose grabbed some ibuprofen from the break room and took another second to stretch her neck and shoulders before getting back into the mix. 

By the end of the shift, she wasn’t sure her sinuses would ever release the scent miasma. She was finishing one last chart she forgot about and leaning against the charge desk, her backpack at her feet. 

“How many pictures did you get for your perverted little collection?” 

Rose smiled, shaking her head at Abbot‘s question. “I’ll have you know, twenty-five patients and only two of them told me to fuck off. It was a treasure trove of burns tonight.” 

“Did you miss out or were the last two boring?” She could almost hear the half smirk as he did his own charting. 

“They were boring,” she admitted with a laugh. “I still want to know what the hell happened. I’ve been to some messy weddings but no exploding fires yet.”

“What were you taking pictures of their tags for?” he asked curiously, looking over at her. 

“The fabric blends. Did you see the woman in the ’vegan leather’ crop top? That’s just plastic. Horrifying,” Rose shuddered as she closed the chart. “I watched a documentary about Studio 54 in its heyday and certain synthetic fabrics would literally melt under the lights there.” 

“Studio 54?” 

“The nightclub in New York.”

“Do you do anything but work and watch TV?” Abbot shook his head at her. 

“Not after I got norovirus at Pilates. What else is there though, really?” Rose pretended to dramatically ponder the question. 

“Seriously bro, fuck your whole family. You’re all piece-uh-shit morons.” The angry voice drew both their attention as a man from the bride’s family approached the groom’s other brother. 

“Fuck you, man. This was a dumb accident,” the other man said, brow furrowed and jaw clenched. 

“A dumb accident? Look around, asshole. This was all entirely Levi’s fault! Or I guess I could blame your mother for droppin’ s’many uh you cross-eyed dipshits, there were no brains left for ‘im!” 

“Shit happens.” 

“Shit happens? I’m gonna bash your fuckin’ skull in, dude.”

Nice of him to provide warning, Rose thought.

But as he took a couple heavy steps to enter combat, the man of fewer words shoved him hard. The aggressor’s knees twisted awkwardly and sickening snap sounds preceded the thud of his body on the ER floor. If Rose had to guess, it sounded like his ACLs and someone was going to have to pop those joints back in. Lackluster fight really, all things considered. 

Abbot inhaled through his teeth, as Rose winced with an ooh, before the man started wailing in pain. 

“Is that…?” She started, glancing at the attending. 

“Not our problem, shift change happened.” Abbot shook his head quickly. 

“But I want to know what Levi did. I want to know what he threw in the fire.” 

“Text one of the nurses in a couple hours and they’ll tell you what he did, I’m sure.” 

—

This was Robby’s last day off, and he had successfully kept himself from texting Rose for the last three evenings, thank you very much. When she texted, he was already awake laying in bed. 

They hadn’t talked about what happened, but the memory infiltrated Robby’s thoughts every time his mind wandered while he sat in his living room. Even if he tried to enjoy whatever Mission Impossible movie was currently on cable. 

The ghosts of Rose in his apartment made him miss her in a way that told one side of him she should never come back here, and the other side of him he should invite her into the last space she didn’t haunt: his actual bedroom. 

When he got back from walking her home that night, Robby had felt cowardly.  He thought about how easily she had conceded to a boundary he hadn’t even actually set. One time he clarified she could sleep on his couch and she just knew from then on he wouldn’t be able to sleep if his bed smelled like her or he could picture her there? He said her bed and she said his couch? Was he a schmuck? 

He felt selfish for wanting more from her on his own terms, but asking anything from her she wasn’t already offering was unreasonable. Plain as that. Robby was already crossing so many lines. 

Their relationship before had been a means to an end for both of them. Rose was more than just a post-divorce crisis, but they had worked well together for that brief time because she didn’t seem to want anything more than his company. 

Robby sometimes wondered self-deprecatingly what exactly his appeal was, but he reminded himself she liked being around him even when he wasn’t losing himself between her legs. They had compatible methods of coping, it turned out. But if he thought too hard about which ones she had unintentionally picked up off him, he’d get queasy. 

For all the confidence she rightfully earned in the years since then, the earlier Rose needed reassurance she would find places to put all the messy, broken feelings. Sometimes he wondered if he ever actually provided that. 

Knocking it off during her first year was the right call without a doubt. What they were doing had the potential to derail them in so many ways, and they both clearly knew that. None of their decisions ever came with a discussion though. If it came down to it, that would have been part of the problem if HR were involved. What was their relationship? 

Now though… His recently promoted senior resident was spending more time in the OR and often covering shifts under other attendings. How was this more and less complicated?

Robby spent three days thinking about seeing if she was around but talked himself out of it every time. 

Rose worked a night shift and then pulled him so casually via text that for a moment he felt easy.

Fuck it, whatever. There would be time to sort it out later. Why deny himself? 

—

Rose meant to sleep at some point when she got home. She had every intention of taking care of all her physical needs, including napping before Robby came over. 

Instead, she decided to put on a pot of coffee and keep chugging along until she came to a stop. She was hoping for intel from the day shift nurses on the family situation, and she had all those pictures to label before she forgot. 

A natural stop never really arrived though, and she blew past one station by deciding she was going to finish unpacking and cleaning before she showered. 

Rose worked especially well under pressure, and the prospect of Robby coming over and seeing she had in fact not unpacked and gotten her shit together in the last few weeks was the exact motivator she needed to get it all done.  

As she was getting out of the shower, her phone pinged. 

Robby: hope this doesnt wake you. what time is good? i’m free whenever

Rose checked the time - 5:32pm. Damn, thirsty, Dr. Robinavitch. 

It was going to take at least twenty minutes to get the smirk off her face. She waited a second before texting back. 

Rose: i’m up come over whenever you want 

Robby: see you at 6? 

Rose: apt 419

Thirsty as fuck. 

—

Just after 6:00, Robby knocked while Rose was turning over the last of her laundry.

“Hey, come in.” It was easy to relax as he smiled at her. 

“Hi.” Robby stepped inside and let the door shut, tugging her into a slow, soft kiss before he pulled away to scrutinize her with gentle eyes. “Long shift last night?” he asked softly with a light caress to her cheek bone. 

“Did a lot of squinting and pulling burned bits out of places you don’t want bits burned.” Rose wrinkled her nose, her heart thrumming at the immediate affection. His hand fell to the side of her neck as she pressed her lips to his this time. 

“And then you took pictures?” he asked, pulling back again as though he just remembered what she texted early that morning. 

“Of the variety of burned fabric blends. So many fast fashion pieces. You don’t want to see them now, I looked at them for hours.” Rose was babbling a little breathlessly. 

Robby considered her for a long moment, his thumb making soft circles over her pulse point. “Did you sleep?” he asked lightly enough that his Doctor Voice didn’t make her want to lie. 

“Not yet, I’ve got a few days off now though. I just had excess energy and the sun was up.” She chuckled, shaking her head. He probably would have clocked her anyway from the tired eyes and the slightly tachy heart rate. 

“Good you have some time off, you deserve the rest.” No lecture. No tone. Just a small smirk that made her feel like she was going to dissolve into mist. 

“Do you want the tour? It’s not extensive, but the gift shop is the bedroom.” Rose was flushed and feigning a level of casual she was not feeling for some reason.

Robby eyed her with an amused expression. “I can’t decide what the implication of that is.” 

“No need to think too hard about it.” She huffed a laugh and nudged him away to gesture at the space like it wasn’t a shoebox. 

It was slightly bigger than the studio she’d been in previously, but it also had separate rooms.  “Kitchen and living room - bathroom is off the kitchen for god knows what reason. Only other door is the bedroom.” She pointed and headed toward the cracked bedroom door. 

“It’s nice, and no broken mirrors or cursed bookshelves in sight,” Robby bit his lip against a smile as he followed, his hands in his pockets. 

“But their energy… it lingers,” she joked as she pushed the door and went to pull open the blackout curtains. “You don’t have this problem, but I can actually see work from here.” 

“No you cannot,” Robby said in disbelief as he came over to the window laughing. “That’s unacceptable, you have to move. That’s worse than me living in the parking lot.” 

“Shut up! I’m never moving again, I lost like half my stuff in a freak, drunk med student incident.” She laughed too as his arms wrapped around her, his lips pressing to the side of her neck. 

“Pull the curtain, Jack could be on the roof,” he mumbled against her skin with a smirk. 

“Don’t piss me off, Robinavitch.” She tipped her head with a sigh though, drawing the curtains again before turning to face him. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare.” Robby’s thumb brushed over her lower lip, nudging her toward her new bed in her new place that she’d welcomed him into without a moment’s hesitation, even after being awake for who knows how long. When he kissed her again, it was with an aching, desperate attempt to convey what her vulnerability meant to him without having to say it. 

As her legs hit the bed, she tugged him down with her, making him grunt and wrap his arm around her waist to haul her properly up onto the bed. 

“Wow, showing off,” she smirked at him, only a little breathless. 

“Always.” He grinned. 

—

Robby was beginning to wonder if she had immediately dozed off on him, her head on his shoulder and her breaths slow and even. They had pulled just the sheet over them to stop the chill from the ceiling fan. 

“Not all that different walking from here or walking from your place tomorrow morning.” Rose was aiming for a light tone. Noncommittal, as though it didn’t matter at all to her if he lingered long enough to stay the night. 

He couldn’t help but chuckle at her indirect approach. “Trying to go to bed already, grandma? I thought maybe I’d order pizza and we could half-watch the baseball game.” 

A not-answer for her not-question, but she hummed in agreement nonetheless. “Watch yourself, I’ve been awake a long time, but I’ll ramble off stats until I lull you into a sleep so deep you only awaken the next time the Pirates clinch their division.” 

“I guess I definitely won’t be walking to work tomorrow in that case.” 

—

“It’s like watching the team at the beginning of Angels in the Outfield before the angels start to step in,” Rose complained, watching the replay of the right fielder for the Pirates tipping a high, fly ball with his glove over the fence for not a ground rule double but a fucking home run. 

“I won’t wake up until the Pirates win the NL. Dermot Mulroney won’t come back until the Angels win the AL. Now there’s a World Series that’s never happened before.” Robby‘s shoulders shook as he practically giggled. 

Her legs were tossed over his on the ottoman in front of her couch, a plate in her lap. 

The laugh was contagious. “It’s hard to be bad for so long. They really need to turn it around. They’re basically an even 50/50 baseball club. Like for their whole history. The difference between wins and losses was twenty at the beginning of this season. Over all 20,000 games, you can flip a coin and guess if they won or not.” She was half-whining but with a wide smile on her face. 

“That’s kind of tragic.” In spite of the sentiment, he was still laughing as she ranted. 

“That’s a weird amount of pressure for the current team, don’t you think? To keep those scales tipped on the winning side?” Rose took a deep breath and sighed, her sides aching. “You’ve got so much more suck buffer when you’re a Yankee.” 

“Suck buffer!” Robby repeated roughly on an exhale, shaking his head at her. 

“I said it!” Rose went back to eating her pizza, a small smirk on her lips. 

“You’re not old enough to remember when they were good.” He realized the truth of the statement and groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. 

Rose couldn’t help rolling her eyes and nudging his shin. “Because you were, what? A youngin’ when they were last winning the World Series in the 70’s?” 

“Yeah actually. In fact they won the last time on my 8th birthday.” His expression softened at the memory, eyes crinkling as he smiled. “The Steelers won the Super Bowl that year too. Big year for the Burgh.”

“Wow, a birthday present for you and then not again since then. Longest drought in the National League. How have you not personally fought one of the giant pierogis?” She smiled over at him. “Were you always a baseball fan?” 

It wasn’t a heavy question; he clearly had a lot of familiarity. Rose could feel him hesitate though. 

Finally, he nodded. “I lived with my grandmother for most of my childhood and she grew up in the city here and was always a fan. It’s an easy thing to focus on. Bond over, I guess.”

“It is,” she agreed and offered him an easy smile. “People open up around baseball. It’s something to talk about when you want to talk about something else.” The line felt soft and worn-in as she said it, an old sweatshirt. 

“Like battlefield surgery?” His foot tapped hers, gaze on the TV. Maybe people opened up around baseball because there was something else to look at. 

“Battlefield surgery is a lot like baseball actually.” That line sounded like someone else’s too. “So is what we do in trauma medicine. We’re just fielding what comes in and running plays. It’s chaotic, but it isn’t random. There are a finite number of things that can be wrong, even if that number is huge. It’s easier not to panic when you understand the fundamentals, and you know there’s always the next correct choice.” 

Robby looked at her then. “There aren’t always correct choices.” 

She shook her head. “I think there is always a most correct choice. I’m not saying everyone can be saved. I guess knowing when the game is over is part of it.” 

“I’ve never thought about baseball or medicine like that,” he admitted with a chuckle after blinking at her for a moment. 

A sheepish expression crossed Rose’s face as she shrugged. “I think about a lot of things with that approach. It’ll get you out of the woods.”

“Until there’s no next thing to do.” He remembered the way she described the spiral in the elevator. 

Rose nodded. “Then you panic,” she teased with an angelic smile. 

On the TV, the batter for the Cardinals hit a high pop-up. The Pirates’ catcher struggled to find the ball in the air above him, and the first baseman collided with him behind the plate, leaving him laid out in the base path. The runner from third swerved around him into the grass, leaving just enough time for the third baseman to pick up the ball and tag the runner out to end the inning. 

Incredulous noises left both of them. 

“Perfect example of the heartbreaking thing about baseball and life in general - other people not knowing the plays.” Rose sat up to put her plate on the coffee table before leaning into Robby’s side, the weight of his arm settling over her.  

“Hey, they made it work. Got the out, ended the inning.” The chuckle rumbling through his chest made her sigh pleasantly, closing her eyes.

“At what cost?” She mumbled. “Is Rodriguez still on the ground?” 

“Bart helped him up and into the dugout, I think he’s okay.” His fingertips pressed firmly into the tension wound at the base of her neck, absently working out the knot and making a soft noise leave her as the pressure behind her eyes eased. 

It was like watching a wind-up toy run out of momentum, Rose relaxing against him. The familiar tug of affection made him feel antsy, but her hand slid over his abdomen and he sighed, the anxious energy dissipating. He pressed a kiss to her head, settling into silence during the commercial between innings. 

“Stay the night?” Rose asked quietly, maybe the only request she had ever made of him. 

Robby hummed in agreement, and he could feel tension leave her at the affirmative answer. He couldn’t explain why that made his chest ache. 

By the time the game ended, Rose was dozing. He almost didn’t want to move and wake her, but his back was going to complain if he didn’t. Gentle fingers brushed her hair back as he kissed her forehead. “Time for bed, sweets.” 

Her annoyed grunt made him smile fondly as they stood and shuffled off to her bedroom. Rose dropped herself on one side of the unmade bed, leaving Robby to kick his sweatpants off and join her. They tangled together comfortably a moment later as she rolled toward him and tucked herself against his side. His content sigh coaxed her back to sleep.

prev/next

[vermillionwinter]

Do I Wanna Know {Part 2}

Tom Ludlow x f!reader

A night with a stranger wasn't supposed to lead you down a path you weren't prepared to traverse. But when you, a journalist, entangle yourself with Tom, a cop with questionable methods, are thrown into a the tale of lifetime of right and wrong and the lines you swore to never cross. This will be a series. Part 1

Word Count: 3039

Not Beta'd-I'm sure there are inconsistencies.

Warning: Canon typical violence, Talk of kidnapping, entrapment of minors, PTSD, Tom Ludlow

You were running into the doors of News Channel 6 KLLA as the clock struck 9:15. Two coffees in hand along with the, please forgive me for running late, bribe of a bagel egg white sausage sandwich, a slice of melted swiss and avocado for the fierce woman that is Sonya Price. Her brown eyes followed your every move as you put her breakfast and coffee on the expansive, black desk. Her coils the perfect mix of wild sophistication. The glow of her dark, warm skin gave her a beauty that couldn’t be bought in a city like LA.

“I can always count on great food and my favorite coffee whenever you’re late.” Her smile disarming the intimidating aura that surrounded Sonya. A presence you respected. It was hard being a woman at the top. Every male ego wanting to tear you down bit by bit. Though close in age, you admired Sonya her fierce need for the truth. She didn’t want the bullshit coming from her team in this channel station.

“I can’t dig on Tom Ludlow. You’ve got to find someone else to cover the story.” You told her as she was mid bite into her sandwich.

Sonya placed her breakfast down giving you her full attention, hands clasped in front of her on the desk, brow raised in question, a cool neutrality passed over her beautiful face.

“Well, do I get to know why?”

“We uh. We had…relations not that long ago. I’m a biased writer, whether I know the guy or not.”

“You? You willingly let a cop bed you?” she asked with a bark of a laugh, head thrown back with her fingers hooked over her full, plum stained lips.

“I didn’t know! It was just a night to blow off steam! I didn’t ask for anything past his first name, and he didn’t offer. He was just Tom that night.”

“Too bad. I’ve already got you scheduled with him for an interview. You forget my uncle ran Vice? I’m not afraid to use my connections.”

“Fuck me.”

“Look, I’ve heard some rumors about Tom, and you are my best hound dog for information.”

“And you’re the sly fox pulling the string. Why are you so hard to say no to? Fine, I’ll go. What kinda rumors are we talking about? Can’t go in there half cocked.”

“Taking the law into his hands. Bending the rules where he can. His old partner is, Terrence, Linda’s husband.”

You and Linda had met a handful of times for drinks with Sonya, or a lunch here and there. She was a wonderful woman, and knew why your friend/boss held her in such high regards.

“Shit. You think he busted this deal dirty?”

Sonya shrugged. “Can’t be sure, and I’d hate to smear the good he did do. Saving those girls. But, if he’s doing this shit under my uncle’s back.”

“We don’t do this for revenge,” you interrupted.

She smirks, “Of course not, but it’s information to push in the right direction. To make the change we swore to when we became the seekers of the truth.”

There was the burning passion you loved so much in this woman you admired. You were one hell of a duo. The trafficking ring your brains were able to uncover just six months ago stretching from the Mexico border to the Canadian border. The images of men, women, and children in cages forever seared in your mind, plaguing you at their different moments of distress. You had been the one to stumble upon one of the many safe houses in this organization’s hands. Life was cruel, and the two of you were able to help uncover the monsters behind the proverbial mask.

“You’re to meet him at the station for 12. Take him to lunch, charm his pants off, not literally though. Very unprofessional.”

“I’m not happy about this.”

Sonya rolled her brown eyes up to you fixing you with a cocked brow, “In the meantime, I’d like to see your line of questions in an email within the hour. About the girls and the case. What makes him tick to save lives, keep it simple, but dig for whatever subtleties you can manage.”

“Aye aye, captain,” you gave her a mock salute before standing from your chair.

“Before you go, I gotta ask, how was the sex? Tom’s broody, but it doesn’t take away his good looks.”

“Oh, please,” you buried your face into your hand waiting of the floor to swallow you whole, “can we not do this? Just know, it was mind-blowing. And with that, I take my leave.”

With a smirk Sonya waved you off, “Good luck, dear.”

“You hate me, I swear.”

And it was now your personal duty to dig up every little dirty secret you could about Tom Ludlow. Finding past cases, and police testimonials. Cross referencing older articles, but that all could wait until after the interview. Keep some biases clear, and to repeat to yourself you could never experience another night of this man successfully fucking your brains out. He was a very thorough man in the sheets. Investigative skills off the charts.

~

“What’s going on boss?”

“Hate to break it to you, Tommy boy, but I need you to do an interview.”

Tom gave a scoff of protest, sitting straight from the slouch he oh so comfortably fell into when he sat in the chair

“Really, Jack, an interview. I don’t talk to journalists, there’s a reason you’re Captain, and I do the grunt work.”

A damn interview. They don’t know what it takes to protect the streets of LA. Quick to write up their overzealous criticisms in the way business of crime is busted up around here. As if they don’t have their own scandals to worry about, taking money from those wanting to sway a story one way or the other. Maybe they don’t get their hands dirty roughing up some punk, but they’re just as dirty accepting bribes in many forms from public officials.

“Look, Tom, I don’t like having reporters up our ass, but this?” he tapped his finger against the top of his light brown desk. “This is a huge win for us. My niece is chief editor, she wouldn’t run anything unsavory of me. Give whatever chick she throws at you that Ludlow charm, and convince her that we are effectively making the greater area of LA safe from those that seek to harm others.”

Wander spread his arms out with a victorious smile on his face. Tom couldn’t help the amused smirk on his lips as he looked from his lap back to his friend. Jack Wander was happy within his newly promoted power.

“Yeah, alright, captain. I’ll charm the hound dog your niece sends my way. Know anything about her?” Tom raised a curious brow at Wander’s file he slapped down in front of Tom.

The seasoned detective opened the manilla jacket, and holy shit would you look at that? A rumble of a laugh rippled through his chest.

“Know her, Tom?”

“We had a rendezvous the other night. Left without a trace. First name basis only transaction. Guess luck is looking out for us after all, Jack.”

“Tommy left in the cold? Got your work cut out for you then. She’ll be here at 12.”

Tom’s hand grasped the doorknob, “And, Tom, please. Please remember you are dealing with someone looking for all mistakes and vulnerabilities. Leave the fucking vodka behind for this. Do not let me down.” With a nod, Tom made his exit from Captain Wanders office. 

~

Tom clocked you as soon as his eyes found your recognizable shape; leaning against the wall, ankles crossed, and oh would you look at those black heels? Maybe he could get you back to bed, and you could keep the shoes on while he drove himself between the warm, slick of your cunt.

Finally your eyes found him, and he burned as your eyes roamed over his body, and the mirth in his dark eyes when you met them again let you know he knew you were checking him out. How could you not, knowing exactly how delicious his body felt against yours. How every neuron on your body lit up to his rough and gentle touches. The dark polo fit perfectly taut against his strong torso, accenting the muscles his biceps. How strong they felt in your hands when they wrapped around his arms to anchor yourself from the unforgiving pistoning of his hips. 

With a smile on his face, he closed the distance between you with an outstretched hand, “Excuse me ma’am, Detective Tom Ludlow, Vice Special. Heard we have a meeting today.”

You rolled your eyes with jest, but going along with his introduction as if you had never met before. But with all the eyes around them, maybe, scratch that it was better for everyone to think they had never met before.

You grabbed his hand with your best mega-watt smile introducing yourself and your credentials, “Would you like to grab something to eat before the interrogation begins?”

Tom’s laugh was deep and beautiful, his head titled slightly back, “I’m not usually on the other side of the interrogation booth. But sure, full bellies, less emotions to fly. Too distracted by the food and a pretty lady. I know just the spot.”

The seasoned Detective led you to a quaint food stand where the cook, presumably owner, addressed Tom by name, took their orders, and insisted it be on the house. Citing Tom as the savior of his little food industry and dreams. It was an off duty day when Tom saw a group of masked men terrorizing the man you now know as Julio, and he took it in his hands to detain the three men that were throwing threats and slurs to the hardworking man making the world a little better with a smile and delicious grub.

“Who knew your calling card would be my crime bust of the week.” He said as you sat with your food. “Gotta say I was disappointed you left me all alone.”

“I have a feeling you’ve left many women high and dry after night tangled in the sheets, Ludlow.” A dark flicker of hurt crossed over his eyes quickly, if you weren’t watching every nuance of this man, you would not have noticed it. “But I’m not here for personal matters, Detective.”

“Mmmm, I like the sound of my rank of your tongue.”

You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks. His voice was whiskey over gravel in your ears. That same tone whispered against your skin when his broad body was wrapped around yours bringing you waves of pleasure.

“We are going on the record with Detective Tom Ludlow, part of LA’s elite Vice squad. Detective Ludlow was an integral to the team on the Park Twins disappearance. I was told you tracked the girls with a fake arms deal, and once you arrived to the residence of the suspects, you heard screams and entered. You were injured as well?”

“I heard the screams, I wasn’t sure if it was going to be the twins, or someone else, but I couldn’t wait for back up. I had to act soon, who knows what would have happened if I didn’t. I announced myself, kicked in the door, and was fired at upon entry.”

“Exigent circumstances.”

“Exactly.”

“And were the twins the only victims found in this dwelling?”

“Yes, thankfully, no other victims were found. The fear in those girls’ eyes, will haunt me for the rest of my life. I’m grateful to be the one to free them from the cages. To get them out of the hands of evil that plague our streets. We all just want to make the city safe.”

“Is that what drives you to stay in this position? To bring security and a feeling of safety to the people of LA?”

“Isn’t that why you go chasing stories in the darkest rings humanity has to offer? I read your articles about the Trafficking Organization you stepped into. I saw you were the one the find the first housing facility with the local police. Helped lead them there. The thrill as you follow leads. Where will this one take you? How does the information link to the case. And down the rabbit hole you go like Alice. Sometimes the wise caterpillar is an informant hitting the pipe too much and stays in trouble. He’s got nowhere to go, no way up, no way down. So, they trade freedom for information. You wanna know the streets, you gotta trust the people of the streets. The hooker in room 12 or the back of some sleeze ball’s car, is just a single mother that got tangled in with the wrong people too young to know any better. But it’s the ugly world we live in.”

The passion for protection rose in his eyes with each word he spoke, and truly he was right. You loved the spike of adrenaline you’d get when you figured out a piece of the puzzle. Following the white rabbit down the red stringed road of clues and leads. Getting your information from people of all walks of life. Leave no stone unturned. But there was a glint in those dark eyes; anger, sadness hiding behind that passion for good. 

 “At this time does the LAPD suspect anymore players in the game with the three suspects you discovered on scene?”

“No, there have been no foundings of their contacts or any connections as of yet, but I can assure you that we have some of our best eyes in the department searching for anything we could use to keep more people from being abducted and sold off.”

“And what is the LAPD advising our civilians do in such events?”

“Keep to the basics. Be aware of your surroundings. If you’re out after dark, stay in well lit populated areas. Self Defense classes are a dime a dozen in LA. Be smart.”

“Thank you for your time, Detective Ludlow.”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” your name rolled off his tongue. He knew what he was doing. He learned quickly what made your blood hot and your stomach clench with desire. “Now that we are off the record,” he folded his arms on the table top, shirt stretching around his biceps deliciously.

But two could play that game, you thought crossing your arms under your chest resting your elbows on the table. You followed his eyes travel down to your chest taking in the cleavage you purposely gave him a view to. He looked up to you, sultry grin on his lips.

“What do ya say about drinks? Continue where we left off last time?”

“As much fun as we had, Tom, it’s better we leave it at that. Lunch was great, thank you. I’ll have to bring my team over here one day.” You stood from your bench sending a message to the cabbie you paid to be on standby. “I’ve got a cab on the way. Enjoy the rest of your day, Tom, and stay safe.” You extended your hand to him, his warm hand engulfed yours once more, but not before pulling you in closer to him, your chest now face level with his devilish smile. He slipped what you could only believe was his card into the strap of your bra with expertise.

“Just in case you change your mind.” The spice of his cologne playing with your senses, how wonderful he smelled in this LA heat. You swallowed trying to get your dry throat to work once again.

“I don’t get involved with cops.” Your voice was breathless, but you were grateful to form words in the first place. If this insufferable man did not stop smirking at you, you might explode.

  “Is that so?” His hand let go of yours resting his fingers around your forearm, lightly tracing shapes on your sensitive skin.

            Beep beep.

Saved by the cabbie, you leaned away from the man overwhelming your senses. “That’s my que. Bye, Tom.” You did not give him time to respond before you rushed off to the yellow sedan. Yet you still watched the detective’s strong figure shrink further away until you could no longer look backwards.

What a fucking mess your head was swimming in right now. You could not fall for his handsome face and charms while you had to investigate him. This would compromise your legitimacy of anything you wrote in regards to this man, whether you discovered good or bad. No one likes a biased journalist. Fuck, maybe that one night already had you compromised from the moment you let his lips find yours in the back alley of the bar.

Maybe you should schedule an appointment with your therapist. Sorry, Marianne, I’m investigating the man I last had between my legs because he might be a corrupt power abuser, but I’m blinded by his cock and charms. How do I lock all that lust and desire away, so I am not distracted by his hungry, brown eyes and constant bedroom voice? Please help the horny woman with a moral code please. You were sure Marianne would have a field day picking that apart with you, but truly you trusted her advice, so it really wouldn’t be so horrible.

And the nightmares had amped up again after a night of feeling like someone was following. No one had been following you. But the feeling of being trapped plagued your dreams. Sure, you discovered the location with police, but as they searched one area, you were taken swiftly by one of the suspects into the overgrown grass where the officers you were with could not see you, and knocked you unconscious. You had woken up to the sounds of gunfire zip tied to a chair, cages all around you full of fearful eyes, and the cries of children. Months later you were still working through it.

So you would do what you did best, bury your nose in a case and follow the white rabbit down every hole, and red string road you would connect.

[thaleleah]

Godless (Part Three) Sneak Peek

Note: I'm not going to get this out by tomorrow like I had originally intended. My week got away from me 😭 I'm so sorry. Give me a few extra days and I'll keep you guys updated on the exact date when I have a better idea. I'm aiming for Sunday now but... you know lol. Sorry about the severely inconsistent updating schedule. Unfortunately, it will definitely happen again.

I'm really excited for Godless though and this next chapter and I hope you guys are too so I wanted to give you a little sneak peek for anyone who is interested. Hope you like it 👀

Unedited. Subject to change.

CW:// ***NON-CON***, Oral (fem receiving), Religious desecration (?), Naughty stuff happens in a religious place, Paranormal aspects (?), Idk if these are technically the proper tags tbh, but I tried lol (it makes sense in the story i promise)

The room is your room, a place that you’re intimately familiar with, but the feel of it is wrong. It feels off and like something is missing - the peaceful presence of the Lord is unnervingly absent in this space that should be holy.

There’s another presence though, something darker, and the hair stands on the back of your neck as you register the new energy. Something is creeping up behind you, you can feel it - can feel as it comes closer and closer and you want to turn around so badly, want to spin and lock your eyes onto whatever is nearing you and making you feel so unnerved in a place that’s supposed to be safe. But you can’t, your body is frozen in its spot, not listening to your brain’s commands as you scream at it to turn around. 

There’s warm breath on your ear, a hand at your hip and you’re still frozen as the hand balls the material of your tunic, dragging it up until it's over your bottom and pooling around your waist. Another hand finds the curve of your waist and then another caresses your shoulder. Two more hands slide along your front and drag down to grip at the fat of your thighs, trying to pry them further apart, and you can feel the faintest of touches of fingers against your nipple as if the hands touching you now don’t need to be concerned with the barrier of clothing you have on to block their advances. 

Fear courses through you at the touches and you murmur the words of the Lord’s prayer faster. Your eyes are locked on the crucifix, taking in the wooden grain of the cross as it contrasts with the dull metal figure of Jesus hanging in the center and it's the only place you can look. The warm breath is still on your ear, but now it's between your thighs too somehow - searing hot as it fans across your bare folds. 

Your clasped hands squeeze together harder as something soft and wet slides against your slit, and you gasp when the thing laps over your clit. The murmured prayer is louder now, rushed and panicked as you beg God for guidance and deliverance from whatever monster is attacking you right now. A demon maybe. Perhaps the Devil himself. Your body heats up as the thing digs in deeper, pushing between your folds and dragging against your hole. The tip of it nudges against your entrance, wiggling like it wants to push inside but is just barely holding back before it retreats and slides back up to the top. 

The heat that fills your body is a terrible combination of pleasure and shame as the demon has its fill of your paralyzed body. The sensation of what it's doing between your thighs is forbidden - you were never meant to experience this, and yet the feel of it makes your eyes water and your hole clench like it’s trying to clench around something else. 

The thing focuses on your clit, lapping at it and swirling around it and you can feel how your belly tightens with increasing pressure with each lick. You can’t think clearly anymore. Your prayer is becoming muddled - coming out in whimpered words, accidental repeated sentences, and interrupted by the desperate whines and moans as your hips unconsciously try to drive down harder on the foreign thing between your thighs. 

This is wrong. This is wrong. This is so wrong.

Lord, please forgive me. Please forgive me. Please for—

[nevess]

[ don’t leave me here alone… don’t go where i can’t follow! ] -j. r. r. tolkien

🌱… description: Its been years since you last saw Anakin, still you could not help but nurture the glimpse of hope within you that kept saying the man you loved was not entirely gone. He was not Darth Vader.

🍵 … warnings: lightsaber fight, not very explicit tho. Hearthbreaking feelings ngl

🧳 … character/s: Darth Vader/Anakin Skywalker x Reader

☕️ … word count: around 1k ; | date: October 9th, 2023

🗞️ back to the main menu

a/n: Disclaimer: I looked at it to see if it had inconsistencies, but its almost the same as I wrote it in the draft, so i apologize for any typos :p In other news, im looking for beta readerssss here's the post!

The tension hung heavy in the air as you faced him, the man you loved appeared to be long gone. His helmeted face concealed any trace of the person you once knew, and his voice, distorted by the modulator, carried a tone of bitterness and anger.

"Why, (Y/N)?" he hissed, his red lightsaber humming menacingly. Hearing the sound of your name coming out of his mouth and being distorted by his helmet made you shiver. "Why did you betray me? Why are you with him?" Vader’s voice dripped with a searing sense of betrayal as he spoke, as if every word carried the weight of a love now shattered and a trust irreparably broken. His tone quivered with the pain of feeling abandoned and let down by someone he had once held so close to his heart.

Your heart ached at his words, and you struggled to find the right response. "Anakin, I didn't betray you," you pleaded, your voice trembling. "I never wanted any of this. I just want you to come back to me."

Anakin's breathing was heavy, and his anger seemed to boil over. "You and Obi-Wan," he spat, his words laced with venom. "He turned you against me. Obi-wan couldn't stand knowing that I was more powerful than him, he was jealous—and now you." In all your years of knowing him, you had never heard him refer to you like that. “

“He couldn't stand to see me happy, to see me achieve what I've worked so hard for. I can't let anyone destroy it." 

Tears welled up in your eyes as you took in the heartbreaking reality of the situation. Anakin believed you had turned against him, that you were working to thwart his plans. He couldn't bear the thought of you being on the opposite side, and his desperation had driven him to this point.

A tragedy was unfolding before your eyes as you felt responsible for the total destruction of the love of your life. You watched in despair as Anakin, the man you had cherished and believed in, had been driven to this point of desperation and darkness. It was as though the very essence of the love you had once shared was being consumed by the overwhelming power of the dark side, leaving you with a deep and profound sense of loss that threatened to shatter your very soul. 

Before you could say another word, Anakin lunged at you, his red lightsaber swinging with deadly intent. Reluctantly, you ignited your own lightsaber, the green blade crackling to life. The clash of lightsabers marked the beginning of a battle neither of you had ever wanted, but one that had become inevitable. Each clash of lightsabers felt like another painful blow to your heart, a cruel reminder of what had been and what was now slipping away, seemingly beyond your reach.

As the battle unfolded, your heart was torn between love and sorrow, anger and regret. You fought not just for your life but for the man you had once known, hoping against hope that there was still a chance to bring him back from the abyss.

You couldn't help but remember the days when the two of you had fought side by side as Jedi, when love had blossomed between you. But now, that love seemed like a distant memory, overshadowed by the darkness that consumed him.

Without a word, Darth Vader lunged at you, his crimson blade slashing through the air. Instinct took over once again as a clash of lightsabers filled the space around you, the sound a painful reminder of the divide that now separated you.

As you parried his strikes, you couldn't help but see glimpses of the man you once knew, intuitively you could sense part of him was still fighting against the influences of the dark side. The eyes that had once gazed at you with love and warmth now held only a cold, distant fire beneath the black helmet. Your heart ached as you fought, refusing to believe that the Anakin you loved was entirely gone.

The battle raged on, and with each strike you tried to reach him, to call out to the part of him that had once been good, but your words fell on deaf ears. He was consumed by an indelible feeling that overwhelmed even the quietest parts of his being, an echo that seemed to never stop, and it seemed that nothing could bring him back.

But you couldn't give up, not now, not when you have him in front of you. With every swing of your lightsaber, you held onto a glimmer of hope, a belief that there was still a chance to save him. The battle was fierce and heart-wrenching, a tragic dance of two souls torn apart by the forces of destiny.

In the end, it was Anakin who delivered the final blow, his red blade cutting through your defenses, but it was not a deadly cut; you knew he did that on purpose. As you fell to the ground, gasping for breath, you looked up at him one last time, tears in your eyes.

"Anakin, please," you whispered, your voice filled with love and desperation. "You could come back to me. We all miss you," you say softly while trying to stay calm. The cut on the skin of your leg definitely burned agonizingly. But having him in front of you, with tears flooding your cheeks, you had to make him see reason. Your voice trembles with emotion. "It's okay you made the wrong choices; we'll take you back."

Anakin's eyes, hidden behind his menacing mask, seem to flicker with a hint of conflict. "I'll only hurt you again," he responds, his voice tinged with regret.

It was a cry for help, an agonizing plea that he no longer wanted to inflict pain on others. Seeing you on the ground had inadvertently triggered an internal alarm within him. He had harmed the woman he loved, the woman he had envisioned building a future with, the one with whom he had hoped to grow old.

Tears threaten to spill from your eyes once again, but you swallow hard, determined to reach him. "We'll keep a better eye on it," you insist, desperation seeping into your tone. "We'll learn to live with things, and communicate it all this time."

If this were a movie, the most tense and guilt-ridden soundtrack would undoubtedly be playing in the background. Yet, it wasn't necessary to hear the music to feel the overwhelming weight of remorse and desperation that hung in the air, palpable even through the Force. Anakin awoke from a deep, dark slumber that had consumed him for years, as the realization of what he had become, and what he had done to the love of his life, flooded over him like a tidal wave of anguish and regret. 

For a moment, it seems as if the darkness in Anakin is wavering. You can sense the turmoil within him, the battle between the Sith Lord and the Jedi he used to be. But will your words be enough to bring him back from the brink of darkness?

© Nevess 2023. My original posts are not allowed to be edited, translated and/or re-uploaded on another account or platform without my permission, nevertheless, re-blogs are accepted and very appreciated.

[medicwhumpee]

phoebe's first torture session

(sorry for the inconsistent timing between all my writing- this fic is set right after phoebe is taken for the first time! it's not set after my last fic.)

phoebe woke up screaming. pain seared through her entire body, her veins felt like they were on fire.

"oh... did we wake you up with the drugs we gave you? sorry! we're just testing a new interrogation technique. want to know what it's called?" jaide smiled.

all she could do was sob, biting back another scream, her shirt soaked with sweat already. the pain was excruciating, all-consuming.

"it's called, we've given you a drug meant to cause pure agony! is it working?" the woman tilted her head at phoebe. "just a simple yes or no will suffice."

phoebe nodded her head weakly, the movement making her cry out.

"mmh, good. now... we do have an antidote to this drug. all you need to do is tell us the location of your base. it would be... useful information."

the redhead's eyes hardened, and she glared at jaide even as she cried from the horrible pain pulsing through her.

jaide smirked confidently and jabbed her fingers against phoebe's ribs.

"you won't last ten minutes."

she screamed, the drugs making even simple touch feel like she was burning alive, spots dancing in front of her eyes. phoebe couldn't speak now even if she wanted to. just when she thought it couldn't get any worse, jaide pushed a needle into her neck and the pain increased tenfold, if that was even possible.

phoebe screamed until her voice was hoarse and broken, her eyes stretched wide open and swimming with tears.

"you poor dear... just tell me where the base is and this all can end."

she knew she would never do that. she couldn't betray her friends.

through the all-consuming pain invading her senses and breaking her completely, all she could do was imagine how hurt and confused the look on katya's face would be if she gave them up.

so she didn't, even when jaide injected her again, even when the pain grew so bad her senses abandoned her and she was left in darkness, unable to hear anything but her own shrill screams.

[guinea-pig16]

Something Better || Chapter 2: Familiar Grounds

Ghost x Reader x Soap

Fic is below the cut, please read Chapter 1 first if you haven't!! Please enjoy !!!

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Word Count: 4,500+

Warnings: guns and gunfire

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You stared at yourself in the mirror. Goddamn. You couldn’t remember the last time you looked at yourself. You looked like hell.

You had dark bags under your eyes from sleepless nights, your skin had a sickly tone due to lack of time outside and inconsistent meals, your once muscular arms had gone soft due to inactivity, and your eyes that once sparkled with life were dim and lackluster. You ran a hand through your hair, letting out a long sigh. You had a lot of work to do.

You called Laswell the next day, accepting the position. You could hear the smile on her face as she explained the next steps. As soon as you had completed your recovery, you would be under her jurisdiction for the next few months as she showed you the ropes. Then, you would be assigned a task force. Now, all you had to do was recover. Easy enough.

It was in fact, not easy. You thought bootcamp as tough, but this was just downright torture. Everyday, your nurses would push and bend your leg in a new, painful way. But you would show up everyday bright and early, eager for more. And every night you would collapse into bed, exhausted, your mind too tired to plague you with nightmares.

You got yourself to begin eating more, making sure to leave your plate practically spotless. Your nurse openly cried in front of you when she saw your clean plate.

Slowly but surely, your stamina was returning as well as your muscle definition. You were able to walk further everyday without assistance from a cane or a nurse, though you still had a noticeable limp. But eventually, you would have to resort to using your cane, though you wouldn’t admit it.

Two months pass, and your doctors declare that you’ve completed your recovery. The nurses who have been with you since day one decided to throw you a small party to celebrate, bringing in plates of snacks and drinks. You were happy to see them look at you without pity and sympathy, just joy and pride. The party was full of laughter and smiles, and occasionally a few tears. Especially from your personal nurse, who practically saw you as her child. Then, the day came for you to be discharged from the hospital.

“Now, just remember sweetie… I’ll always… I’ll always be here for you.” Her eyes well with tears once again and she chokes down a sob. You smile gently and nod. She breaks down and wraps you into a bone-crushing hug, being mindful of your lower back and leg. You awkwardly pat her back. She fans her eyes and takes a deep breath, before returning to helping you pack your few things. You walk out of your room, a content smile gracing your face. A different nurse walks with you to outpatient, as yours is currently being consoled by the others. You give her a grin and a wave goodbye, causing her to break down once again.

The nurse walks you to outpatient and you see Laswell waiting outside, leaning against her car. The nurse gives you a small hug and wishes you well. You thank her and return the thought, before turning and leaving the hospital for the first time in months. You take one step outside, and breathe in the fresh air. You take another step and-

“AH!” You cry out, a sharp, searing pain rips through your right leg. You would have collapsed to the ground if Laswell hadn’t caught you. And then you realized something. You forgot your fucking cane.

“You alright there, L/N?” Laswell asks, helping you stand up straight. You hiss through your teeth as your thigh begins to spasm painfully.

“...Yeah… Forgot my damn cane…” You mumble, slightly embarrassed. Right after those words leave your mouth, your nurse comes running out the doors, clutching your cane.

“I can’t believe you! Trying to leave without your cane! You should know better!” She chastises. You just have to stand there, clutching your returned cane, as your nurse chews you a new one. Laswell stands behind you, a small amused grin on her face. Eventually she calms down, and gives you another hug and kiss on the cheek. 

“Be careful dear. I better not see you here again unless it’s to visit, alright?” You roll your eyes slightly and smile.

“Yes ma’am. Take care now.” You wave goodbye as Laswell opens the passenger side door for you. You see her hand move to take your cane for you, but stops herself. She rounds the car and gets in on the driver’s side as you tuck your cane next to your seat and pull yourself in. You throw your small bag of belongings in the back seat and buckle. Laswell takes off the emergency break.

“You ready to begin, L/N?” She says, turning her head towards you. Eyes full of determination, you nod. She smiles. “Alright. Let’s get started.”

_______________________________________

 From that moment on, you spent nearly every single day by Laswell’s side. She assigned you classes to take, mission logs to read, training simulators, she even brought you to mission debriefs. She watched your progress closely, praising you when you completed an assignment, and correcting you where you messed up. After four months of training, she finally decided you were ready for your first official assignment.

“You’ll be assigned to one of our low stakes task forces to start off with. If you do well, you’ll be moved to higher stake task forces. Got it?” You gave Laswell a curt nod, taking in each and every word she said. You two were on your way to meet with the general to get your first mission before you met with the task force. Your cane hung around your arm. You didn’t want the general or the task force seeing you walking with it, even if you did have a noticeable limp.

The two of you reach the general’s office door. “Now, General Evans is just going to state the mission, it will be up to you to figure out how to accomplish it.” Laswell said, looking at you. You nodded in response. She gave you a nod back and knocked on the door.

“Enter.” Said the voice from inside. Laswell opened the door and the two of you stepped inside. General Evans was standing in front of his window, looking outside. He turned once the door closed and gave you both a smile. You straightened and saluted him, slightly hiding your cane behind your back.

“At ease, you must be Officer L/N, the retired vet, right?” General Evans stuck his hand out. You took it and he gave you a firm handshake.

“Yes, sir.” You replied. He smiled at you and gestured for the two of you to sit at the chairs in front of his desk. He took his place behind his desk and laced his fingers together.

“Alright, so, we’ve got some important intel at one of our bases in the Bahamas, but a local terrorist group has invaded it and claimed it as their own. So we’re sending task force 125 in to infiltrate and reclaim the base. It should be easy enough, the group isn’t large and won’t have the same gun power we have.” He explained. You listened intently, mind swimming with strategies and plans. You could see Laswell watching you out of the corner of your eye.

“Got all that, officer?” You nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, I expect this to be resolved by 0800 Friday. Dismissed.” You nod and stand, saluting the general once more before you and Laswell leave. Once outside the office, your leg trembles and you finally resort to using your cane for support. Laswell glances at you, but doesn’t say a word.

“Right, let’s go meet the task force.”She says. You nod and both take off down the hall, albeit slower than you would have liked due to your limp. The two of you head to the training room of the base. As you approach the door, you lean your cane against the wall and walk in without it. Laswell hesitates a moment, looking at your cane. But you’re already through the door.

There’s only one group in the training room today, that being task force 125. As you enter, you see the captain stop and look at you. He motions for his men to stop as well. You see that the team is decently sized, about 10 people including the captain. Laswell steps in behind you and stands at your side, arms behind her back.

“Well, you must be our new strategist, right?” The captain approaches you, almost sizing you up. He notes your posture, how you lean all your weight on your left leg. You think you hear him let out a huff. You straighten your back, much to its discomfort, and stick out your hand.

“Officer Y/N L/N. You must be Captain Fischer, or am I mistaken?” You say, eyes boring into his own. He hesitates slightly, before gripping your hand tightly and shaking it.

“...That I am. And behind me are my men. Get over here, boys!” Fischer turns his head and yells. His troop kind of awkwardly walks forward, and a handful salute you and Laswell. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Laswell’s eyes slightly narrow. 

“Alright, here we have Privates Bradley, George, Stephenson, White, Foster, and Woods. Then it's Corporals Park, Garner, and Pittman. You got that, officer?” Captain Fischer says, a slight snark in his tone. You nod.

You know exactly what this team is like by just looking at them. During your years of service, you’ve encountered people like them before. They’re young, reckless, and think themselves unkillable. They’re egos are high because they’ve been placed in a task force. Little do they know, their task force is just the clean up crew. Compared to you, they’re just a bunch of rookies. But you know that you have to start somewhere in order to move up.

“Pleasure to meet you all. Now, let’s get started shall we?” You say, hands behind your back. You explain the mission to the team, word for word, exactly how General Evans gave it to you. You notice that they halfway listen, a couple of the privates eyeing you up and down. 

“This mission should be easy in and out. I’ll have the plans ready by,” You glance down at your watch. “0200 this afternoon. By then, I expect you to be ready for debrief and packed for the plane that leaves by 0700. Copy?” You saw the Captain’s eyes roll slightly. But you didn’t let it bother you. You saw Laswell slightly smile next to you.

“Copy that. We’ll be waiting.” He says. You nod, and dismiss the team. They shamble away, glancing at each other, chuckling. You let out a breath you were holding and grit your teeth. Your leg had been throbbing the entire time, but you didn’t let it show. Laswell nudged your side. You looked over. She was holding out your cane to you.

You stood there for a second, then took it, gratefully leaning on it for support. “Thanks.” You say. When had she grabbed it for you?

“No worries. Now, let’s get you the intel you need for the mission.” And with that, you two took off back down the hall.

You spent the morning planning how the mission would go, considering every countermove, attack, even what the weather would be like. You double, triple, quadruple checked the intel you received, making sure it was 100% accurate. You wanted to prove yourself to Laswell and make sure this mission went smooth as butter.

Exactly at 0200, you met back with the task force. Though, you had to wait about 10 minutes longer for the entire team to show up. You went over the plans with them, detailing where they would infiltrate, where the intel was located, and where the enemies would be located. They half listened, occasionally yawning loudly. You ignored them. At least it wasn’t your ass going on the mission.

Later that day, Laswell walked with you to the black top to put you on the plane. Task force 125 was surprisingly on time and packing their things into the plane. You saw the captain look you up and down, taking in your cane, and whisper something to one of the corporals, smirking. You once again, ignored it. You and Laswell stopped in front of the plane.

She turned to you. “Alright, L/N. This is your first mission. Don’t mess it up now, understand?” You nodded. She patted you gently on the shoulder. Her eyes softened. “You’ve done good so far, now’s your chance to prove yourself, got it?” You gave her a smile, and nodded again. She glanced at the task force and back to you, then leaned down next to your ear. “Try not to let them bother you that much, they’re just a bunch of idiot rookies.” She whispered. You chuckled slightly.

“You got it, Laswell.” You said, a smile on your face. She returned the smile and patted your shoulder again.

“See you in a couple days, officer.” She said. You saluted her and she walked back into the base.

You took in a deep breath, and walked onto the plane, clutching your bag, cane clacking against the ground. You could see the soldiers eyeing you from the corner of your eye. You tried not to let the embarrassment build up in your gut.

The engines rumbled to life as you and the task force settled down. And the plane took off into the sunset. You hoped to God this mission would go as planned.

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“Fischer, what’s your status?” You said into the microphone, watching the body cam feed intently. You had landed in the Bahamas just a few hours ago, but there was no time for rest and relaxation, much to the team’s dismay. It was just past midnight, and you had shoved their asses right out into the field. You knew night missions tended to go smoother, as the enemy wouldn’t be expecting it. At least, from your experience they didn’t.

“Tired as hell, but moving forward.” He responded, a snarky tone to his voice. 

“Copy that, keep proceeding, you’re about 1 click away from the base. Keep low to the ground, there’s a chance for night guards.” You said into the mic. Fischer grunted in response. You shuffled around the various screens, looking over your people’s shoulders. When you arrived, you were given a small team to help you monitor the task force’s radios and cameras. You listened to the idle chatter over the radios between the team’s members.

“Officer L/N, we’ve got visuals on the base.” Said a member of your group. You went over to him and looked at the camera. Private Stephenson had been the first to approach the base.

“Private, we’ve got a visual on the base, keep low and keep an eye out for guards.” You said to him. You heard him sigh.

“I’ve got it.” He replied, before inching closer to the building. You furrowed your brows. What the hell is he doing?

“Private, stand by, wait for the others to arrive.”

“I said I’ve got it. This shit’s easy as hell, I’ll be in and out, 2 minutes top.” Stephenson said.

You frowned and were about to start to order him to wait again, when you saw a glint of metal from his camera.

“Stephenson, get to the ground. Now.” You said, eyes fixed on the sniper rifle that was steadily aiming for his head.

“What, why?”

The rifle stopped, and you knew what was about to happen.

“Get on the fucking ground, NOW!” You yelled. Stephenson hesitated slightly, but dropped to the ground right as bullets whizzed past his head. You gritted your teeth. The fucking idiot just alerted the base to their presence. 

“Goddammit Stephenson, you just let the whole base know you’re here.” You grumbled on the radio. He said something back, but you had already switched back to Fischer’s channel.

“Keep to the trees, Stephenson was kind enough to let the group know you were coming. Expect more targets to leave the base. They’ll be looking for you.” You said, pinching the bridge of your nose. Bunch of idiots… Your team was never like this… You stopped that train of thought before it could continue.

“Roger that.” Replied Fischer. You watched as the team slowly approached the edge of the treeline, a couple retrieving Stephenson from the edge. You and the team watched carefully as members from the terrorist group exited the building, just like you said, looking around. You scoffed slightly at their weapons. General Evans was right, they wouldn’t stand a chance against what you had. But they had the advantage now of expecting the team, and you could tell they weren’t going to be scared off easily.

“Let’s just go in, guns blazing.” Said Corporal Garner.

“Negative, they’re expecting you now, you’ve lost the element of surprise. They’re weapons may not be the best, but they have the advantage right now. Remember, they outnumber you, it’s 10 against 20. Best course of action is to lure a handful into the woods and take them out.” You said, watching the targets scan the treeline.

Fischer scoffs. “Please, we’re better trained than them, we can take them.” You see him get ready to charge, along with the others. You grit your teeth, and your team looks at you with apprehensive eyes.

“Do. Not. Engage. You’re going to get your shit rocked. Lure a handful of them into the woods and take them out with your knives.” You say, attempting to keep your cool.

Fischer straight ignores you. You hold your head in your hands as you watch them charge out into the open. Gunshots echo through the radios and you watch the screens, your face set into a deep scowl. Just as you said, the team is quickly overwhelmed and are forced to take cover behind a couple fallen trees.

“Captain, we’re taking on too much fire! What do we do?” Yells Corporal Park. You stand there, waiting for Captain Fischer to respond. He doesn’t, and in the silence you can tell he’s panicked as hell.

“Captain. I’m going to say this slowly so it gets through your thick fucking skull. Throw one of your smoke bombs at the targets. Once the smoke has filled the area, you, Park, Garner, and Pittman charge and take down as many targets as you can with your knives. Do not use your guns, they’ll be able to see the flash and hear the sound, alerting them to your location. Before the smoke clears, enter the building and have the rest of the team shoot down the rest of the targets. Retreive the intel and get your fucking asses back to base. Copy?” You say, voice low. You couldn’t help but let some of the venom enter your voice as you spoke. Your team was looking at you apprehensively. 

Fischer was silent for a moment. “Roger that.” 

“Good. Now begin.” You replied. You watched as he executed your plan. He threw the smoke bomb, and as soon as smoke filled the area, he, Park, Garner, and Pittman jumped over the fallen tree and sliced down at least half of the targets. They slipped through the open door and Fischer motioned for the others to begin shooting. Gunshots rang out through the night air as they stepped through the base. 

“Keep your guns up, the base could still have targets inside.” You say through the radios. Fischer, Pittman, Garner, and Park reply with a curt ‘Copy’. Right after they replied, a terrorist jumped into the hall with a gun, but was quickly shot. They inch down the hall, towards the intel room. Finally, they entered and quickly found the intel you were looking for.

“Good. Now get your asses back here.” You say. You get a quick ‘Roger that’, and watch as they exit the building. The rest of the team have already taken care of the targets, their bodies splayed out on the ground. You huff and take off your headset. You gently set it onto the table, an attempt to appear you’ve kept your cool. But you and your team both know that it’s just a ruse. You were fucking pissed.

Your boots clamped on the ground, your cane clacking angrily on the concrete floor as you tore down the hallway, people quickly getting out of your way as you rushed past them. Your right leg was screaming at you for the harsh speed, but you didn’t care. You had a score to settle. 

You arrived outside right as the task force returned. They looked nervous and as soon as they saw your figure striding towards them, scared. Captain Fischer stepped forward, mouth open to speak. The only sound he let out was a small cry as you hooked your cane around his knee and tugged, causing him to fall. You grabbed his collar before he hit the ground, getting him down to your level. You brought your face close to his.

“Listen here you ignorant, egotistical prick. I don’t give two fucking shits if you like me or not, but you do not ignore a direct order, do you understand me?” You savored the fear in his eyes. He swallowed and gave you a single nod. You loosened the grip on his collar and let him fall to his knees. You glared at the team around you, they shrunk under your gaze.

“You all could have died tonight because you decided you were more intelligent and experienced than me. You’re fucking lucky I didn’t leave you all out to dry out there. I know you think you’re better than me because you’re faster, stronger. But let me tell you something.” You leaned forward, your voice low. “You disobey an order again, and I’ll fuck you up so bad they won’t know which side is your ass and which is your head. Am I clear?” The team hesitated a moment and let out mumbles of ‘yes’s and ‘okay’s. You scowled once again.

“When I say, ‘Am I clear?’ I expect a fucking ‘Yes, Officer.’ Now, once again, AM I CLEAR SOLDIERS!?” You yelled, posture straight, feet apart, arms behind your back. The team stands stiff as boards, and salute.

“YES, OFFICER!” They yelled in unison. You sigh, looking at all of them. You hold out a hand to the Captain, who’s still kneeling. He hesitantly takes it and you pull him to his feet.

“Good, now get the hell out of my face. We’re leaving by 0900 so get some rest.” They scurry away, the Captain hesitating slightly, looking at you, before he ran off. Once they’re gone, you let out a gasp and clutch your right leg. It was killing you the entire time, but the anger had thankfully sheltered you from the pain. For a bit at least. You hobbled back inside and made your way to your assigned quarters. 

You closed your door and leaned against it, savoring the darkness of your room. You had a headache coming on, and you were thinking about the mission. You pulled out your phone and texted Laswell.

You put your phone back into your pocket, not expecting a response. You shambled over to your bed and collapsed in it, exhausted. You weren’t going to worry about changing. Your eyes began to drift close, when you felt a buzz. You quickly pulled out your phone again.

You smiled at your phone. Setting it on your nightstand, you rolled over and pulled your blankets up to your chin. Letting out a sigh, you drifted off to sleep.

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After that mission, task force 125 treated you with respect. They executed every order you gave them as effortlessly as possible, and listened intently to your debriefs. You worked with them for about 2 months, before Laswell transfers you to another task force. You’re surprised when the team wishes you well, Captain Fischer giving you a hearty handshake as a goodbye. 

For the next 6 months, you bounce between task forces, each one providing a new and more intense challenge from the last. You plan, strategise, and give orders effortlessly. You’ve had no casualties in any of the teams you’ve worked with. You began to develop a sort of reputation as this incredible strategist, the one who got things done without losing men. Eventually, you developed a codename, Harbinger. 

Even with your reputation, you still couldn’t escape the judgemental gazes of the teams you worked with. Their eyes would immediately be drawn to your cane, to your limp. You could tell they wanted to ask, but no one ever did. You never gave them the chance.

One day, as you wrapped up a mission with your latest task force, 326, Laswell entered the intel room where you were monitoring the team's return. 

“Oh, Laswell, nice to see you. What are you doing here?” You ask, turning away from the screens. She came to your side, and you saw her clutching a folder. She smiled at you and handed over the folder. You gave her a curious look, and opened the folder. Inside were four documents. You skimmed through them. They were files of the soldiers, John Price, Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick, John ‘Soap’ Mactavish, and Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley. Your eyes widened slightly. These were the members of task force 141. You looked back at Laswell, who was smiling.

“You’re being transferred to task force 141 with me, L/N. This is your last mission with 326. Tomorrow we’re flying over to Greece where they’re stationed to meet them.” She said. Your jaw dropped. You’re going to be task force 141’s strategist, along with Laswell. The task force 141. You’ve heard the rumors about them, about their strength, resilience, and teamwork. They all moved together as one, and were considered unstoppable. You’d heard what they did with the Hassan mission. You studied their debriefs intently. And you were about to meet them. 

“Are… Are you serious? Do you think I’m ready?” You ask. As excited as you are to work with such a strong team, you can’t help but feel a bit apprehensive. Are you skilled enough to be trusted with the lives of these soldiers?

“I’m certain of it. This is what I’ve been training you to do, remember? Since day one I’ve been wanting you on the team, but the higher ups wanted to be certain you were ready. You’ve proven to be more than skilled enough to work with task force 141.” Laswell says, smiling at you. You look back at the folder in your hands, thinking.

You look back at Laswell, determination present in your eyes. “What time do we leave?” 

She smiles.

“That’s more like it.”

You hand her back the folder, and the two of you leave the room. You can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings to the table.

______________________________________________________________

Hiiii !!! I wanted to thank yall for your support of this series !!! Ive never had so much fun writing something before !!! Next chapter we'll see our task force 141 boys!!! Have a wonderful day !!! Ciao !!! <3

XOXOXOXOX <3

tagged people:

@sucka2me @deltottoro 

[syneilesis]

[fic] Where Does Such Tenderness Come From

Where Does Such Tenderness Come From

Ikemen Prince | Clavis Lelouch x f!Reader | G | 6.7k words ao3 link

In another universe, you were Belle, and you fell in love with a prince. And nothing came of it.

A/N: For @violettduchess's One Suitor, One Prompt event! This is a canon alternate universe where Emma had never been Belle and it's reader-chan who became one. It's understandably canon divergence, and everything is slightly nicer in this AU.

I did not expect this fic to be long! It's my first time writing him as the central character in a serious (?) fic, so I don't know if I got him right (it's AU anyway >.>). I've proofread this twice, so any mistakes and inconsistencies that survived is still my fault lol.

Title is from a Marina Tsvetaeva poem. Hope you enjoy! :)

prologue 

Sariel observes you as you lay out your arguments for your choice as the next king. He makes no reaction to anything you say—a veritable politician in your eyes. When you finish, he hums, and nods to himself, a small smile creeping in.

“Excellent,” he says, “I knew that I did not make a mistake in choosing you as Belle.”

“I did my best,” you demur.

Outside the chamber, the halls are empty except next to the door, where Prince Chevalier is leaning against the wall, head in repose. He opens his eyes upon your appearance, his gaze cutting in its severity.

He says: “It is done.”

“Yes. I suppose congratulations are in order.”

“Hmph.” He moves to enter the chamber—most likely to speak with Sariel—but as he passes you, he adds: “Do not forget that you’re indebted to me. I will collect it soon.”

A smile finds its way to your face, the muscles of your cheeks heavy with amusement and apprehension in equal measure. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

The title is ignored and he strides away, leaving you alone in the hallway, leading to where your old life awaits you.

You take the first step, then another—and another—and another. To your right, the tall windows glow with the morning shimmer of the palace gardens. And then you think to yourself, you’re going to miss the palace, Sariel, and even the princes. Especially—

No. That’s a dangerous thought. You suppose it’s all for the best. It’s impossible from the beginning anyway.

1.

King Chevalier tells him one day: “A newly formed group of merchants near the Rhodolite-Benitoite border has been engaging in potentially treasonous activities. Investigate it.”

Words of challenge sear his tongue, but Clavis swallows them down like all other instances in the past, opting to plaster an obnoxious grin on his face, teeth almost grinding against each other.

“Oh? And where did you get that information? Surely that little intelligence should have gone over to me before it could reach you. Your dear little fool of a brother no longer trustworthy? How shocking.” The last two sentences are punctuated with the unpleasant grit of sarcasm, but Clavis makes sure that his sentiment is known.

Of course, Chevalier swats the jab away. “Don’t be absurd. Why do you think I’m sending you there?”

There’s an abrupt collapse of everything Clavis has put up in front of his elder brother, and for the first few seconds he just stands there, staring. Chevalier rolls his eyes as if the exchange pains him, as if Clavis is slow on the uptake, which starts him up again, filing this detail for later inspection. For now there are much more pressing matters.

“When will you send me away?” When Chevalier levels him a look due to his wording, Clavis just shrugs, the twitch on the corners of his lips noticeable.

“Tonight.”

“Eager to get rid of me?” Clavis laughs. Then he says, “Of course, of course, as you wish, Your Grumpy Majesty.”

He leaves the office without a glance behind, tamping down the desire for another bout of petty comeback.

◈

Towns situated near kingdom borders always adopt a mixture of its local culture and its neighboring one. The one Clavis visits, while still filled with gardens of the nation’s trademark roses, has the colors and splendor of Benitoite. Because it's the kingdom known for its trade and soft power, budding merchants gather in towns like these to try their luck at trade, and the goods they acquire become part of the local scene. Clavis reminds himself to peruse the current supply of medical ingredients later.

A few minutes’ walk outside the town lies a mansion, considered as one of the sites for social gathering and negotiation of goods. Years ago, a wealthy merchant retired to the then-abandoned mansion and opened its doors for anything market-related. Since then, it has also been used as temporary residence for traveling merchants and trade diplomats.

Clavis is dressed more modestly than usual, but continues to be recognizable to those who know of him. Cyran trails after him at a distance, slower in pace and more alert in observation. Today is reconnaissance—the need for action remains to be seen, but Clavis insists on bringing his sword as both precaution and identification.

As the mansion entrance becomes sharper with proximity, the doors burst open and out comes the person Clavis least expects to see here and now and in the foreseeable future.

You freeze mid-step, eyes bulging in shock at seeing Clavis. Needless to say, the feeling is mutual.

“You—” a storm passes your face, before you remember who you’re talking to “—r Highness.”

It takes him longer to say something, but the glee that lights up inside him makes up for it. “Dear dear dear oh dear, what have we here?”

Underneath the glee: something tender, a twist in his chest that refuses to leave, however dull, beating in sync with his heart.

interlude

Just a few more days left before you decide on a new king. You had a vague idea of who you'd pick; you just needed a last-minute interaction to cement your decision. This was one of the things that you took pride in. At first, hearing Sariel's pronouncement that you'd become the next Belle had been such a surreal experience that you weren't sure if you were just being pranked by your mischievous neighbors. But now, with your notes and your newfound knowledge and the friendships that you'd made during your time in the palace, you're certain that you were going to finish your tenure with ironclad conviction.

You entered your room, humming to yourself. And that humming escalated into a shriek when you found Clavis perched on your bed, his troublemaker smile present.

“Good evening, my lovely partner-in-crime.”

“Not a good evening—you almost gave me a heart attack!”

Clavis laughed—that eventually petered off to nothing. You sensed the shift in mood, and you followed, closing the distance and sitting next to him.

“Did something happen?”

An upward tug of his lips. “What did you think happened?”

“I don't know—you tell me.”

“Oh, my dear partner-in-crime,” he said, singsong, “is that worry I hear in your tone?”

Normally you'd deny it. Perhaps it's because of the approaching day of your decision—it made you feel sentimental and a little more honest—that you told him, “Yeah—actually, yes. I am worried.”

It was worth it for his surprised blink.

You grabbed the opportunity to tease. “What—you're gonna miss me after all this?”

He didn't answer right away, his wide-eyed expression prolonged in the pulsing quietness of the room. Then he recovered, and said with frankness, “You know it, don't you.”

“I'm sorry?”

He shuffled, the rustle of the blankets loud, until his body faced towards you completely. “There's something between us, you can feel it. I can certainly feel it. So why not act on it?” He leaned forward, closer; his scent strong from this lack of distance, and you could almost feel the puffs of his breath.

The sharpness of your inhale sliced through the ensuing silence.

He wasn’t wrong. The burgeoning feelings you harbored for him surfaced in your awareness on the day of your accidental kiss. Try as you might to crumple it into a ball and tuck it away behind you—out of sight, out of mind—things didn’t always end up how you planned for. Love was a tricky thing to maneuver, and it wasn't for long that you gave up denying it—at least to yourself—and cradled it to your bosom, regardless of whether he knew or not.

But accepting the feelings for yourself was vastly different from acting upon it and accepting the consequences.

And that was what you weren't ready to accept.

“Let's say you're right,” you began, slowly and carefully, “what then? What would happen if we acted on it?”

“Then we get what we both want.”

The inside of your mouth tasted bitter.

“What do we want?”

And in the space that followed, there was only the echoes of breath—and the glassy, shuttered countenance of a prince who was unable to answer a simple question.

“Oh, Clavis,” you whispered, leaning away. “I'm sorry, but I think it's better for us if we pretend this never happened.”

You expected a protest, a challenge, a sly taunt that would turn your decision around. But there was only a wistful gaze; lips parted halfway, an aborted response.

Only silence.

And that—that was something you were willing to accept.

2.

“Isn’t there something in the contract that says once I’m done with being Belle, I’d never see all of you again?”

You’re looking at Cyran but the question is aimed at him. You’re probably rigidly following the clauses of the Belle contract like an unquestioning soldier, but the desire to cup your face and turn it to his direction bubbles up inside Clavis.

He immediately stomps that part of him. You’ve made your thoughts clear to him before you went home, and a gentleman respects a lady’s wishes, no matter his personal feelings. But here, right now, the way the surroundings frame your form, the bag of tools hanging over your arm, a roll of fabric on the other …

It’s—well.

Beside him Cyran shifts, obviously uncomfortable despite trying to hide it.

“You know, my lady,” he starts. Glances surreptitiously at Clavis. “Did you know that the pri—”

Clavis cuts him off. “Clause 99 only applies to the chosen king. And you chose my dear, beloved older brother for that.” He feels his mouth stretch into a strange smile. “Having second thoughts?”

Finally, your gaze snaps to him. It tastes like victory.

“Of course not!” you say, tightening your hold on your things. “I’m proud of my choice and I don’t regret it. I trust King Chevalier to bring prosperity and security to our kingdom.”

And that victory decays into something ugly, spoiling his expression—the twitch of his cheek, the dip of his eyebrows. You must’ve noticed it, because something flashed in your own expression, like a trap activating. It calcifies your posture into stone.

Cyran feels the shift in the air, and he frantically salvages the mood. “In any case, Prince Clavis is here for a reason, but we didn’t expect you to be here as well. What are you doing here, my lady?”

And in a blink the caution is gone. Your face smoothens into that familiar, friendly shine. Clavis swallows the sourness that has pooled inside his mouth.

“Me?” you say, genuinely confused. “I’m here for work.”

There’s a prolonged silence after, in which Clavis and Cyran feel compelled to look at each other in surprise. But an idea sprouts inside Clavis’s scheming head, and the smile he adorns this time is wild and delighted. It doesn’t escape your notice, because you take a step back out of suspicion, having known him long enough to recognize the signs.

“No,” you say, unprompted. “No. No.”

“What are you talking about?” Clavis says, cheerful. “I didn’t ask anything.”

“I know that look. And my answer is no.”

He takes a step forward. “Even if I asked nicely?”

You take another step back. “No.”

Another step forward. “Even if I beg?”

The step falters. Clavis narrows his eyes like a predator gaining on prey. Almost there. “C-Clavis, no …”

Clavis. Another push. “Even if I tell you that the fate of Rhodolite rests upon this assignment, and that I need you for it?”

A complicated look descends on your face, and Clavis forgets to breathe, waiting for your response. He clocks in the moment you give in, and his hand twitches to touch your lips, tracing the shape of your words.

“All right … All right. What do I need to do?”

He doesn’t raise his hand, doesn’t touch you, your lips, but it overwhelms him like floodwater.

interlude

The books that Emma sent you were heavy on your arms, but you strived to carry them all the way to the library. This was important—a gamble, yes, but crucial to your bet with Nokto. The prince's cooperation was the key, and you're determined to win.

Suddenly, the books became lighter.

“How is my lovely partner-in-crime doing on this lovely day?”

“I am not your partner-in-crime,” you said. Clavis hovered, half of the books appearing on his arms. They seemed as light as feathers when he carried them.

“Oh?” he said in that way of his—a crescendo, like it was a challenge. “The way you hung over me last night, ardently pouring Sariel's liquor at the pond says otherwise.”

“I needed to get my message across to Sariel. Else he'd subject me to suffering again.”

Clavis laughed, as if your suffering was amusing. Then he studied the book cover. “Donating some books?”

“Not exactly,” you said, almost absent-minded. “I'm going to give it to Prince Chevalier. He mentioned before that he was interested in reading some foreign books on political economy, so I pulled some strings to acquire these. I don't know how he'd manage to read them if he wasn't fluent in—”

You stopped. The second set of footsteps were absent.

Several paces behind stood Clavis, unmoving, just watching you with an unreadable glint in his eyes.

“Prince Clavis?”

He tilted his head, his brows in knots. The line of his mouth pulled down in an angry moue.

“You're doing this for my brother?”

“Um, yes?”

He frowned as if he couldn't understand. “Why?”

“Um, because?” It wasn't like you could tell him of your bet with Nokto; that would invite rumors, unpleasant ones, and Clavis was already a troublemaker enough on his own. You didn't want to fend off another set of stressors. You'd just gotten the hang of entertaining this particular prince.

He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Then—you weren't sure—you heard a click of his tongue before Clavis was back to his usual troublemaking self. But somehow, his smirk seemed to curve askew.

“Well, then!” he said, loud and cheerful. “Let's visit my very intelligent brother together, shall we?”

3.

The merchants buy their story: the palace commissioned you to make uniforms a month before Rhodolite declared her new king. Palace Minister Sariel was so impressed by your work that some princes had noticed—one of whom was Prince Clavis, who consequently requested you to design him a coat.

“It’s displayed in my room, at a corner where I can easily see it and admire its details,” Clavis says with a fond smile, while you gawk at him like he’s weird. The important thing is that the merchants are lapping it up, eyes sparkling with the revelation that their decision to hire you was right, and the opportunity to sidle closer to a prince who’s directly connected to the king. This allows you to stay a few days longer in the town, work longer in the mansion with him as your current client—and that affords you to become his eyes and ears at the places he and Cyran can’t reach.

“I feel underqualified for this,” you tell him later, after the introductions and the meeting that proceeded next.

“Nonsense! You were splendid when you were Belle,” Clavis assures, and that may be a genuine sentiment, but the way it’s conveyed has you glaring at him. “Even now I am grateful that you thoughtfully offered yourself to personally deliver my gift to Chev.”

As expected: you pale at the memory. “I didn’t know you were trying to poison him! I didn’t know you suck at cooking! You weren’t there when I opened the cover and he saw what’s inside! I did not sleep for days!”

Clavis sniffs, and then brings a hand up to wipe away an imaginary tear. “So, so thoughtful.”

And then you pause in reminiscence. Whatever you remember, it has you dedicating your whole attention to him, and Clavis preens under it.

“You know, now that I think about it …” you begin, and the knowing tone you adopt warns Clavis into caution. “Prince Chevalier did eat your cooking …”

Clavis stumbles. “What?”

He must’ve heard wrong. Or you’re pulling his leg. There’s no way Chevalier would indulge him this way—crossing swords, yes, but others? That brother of his would rather march alone into a battlefield to face an army than cater to someone—anyone, at all.

“He took a bite of your dish, scowled, and tried to murder me with his eyes.”

But he doesn’t hear your words; he’s still arrested by the news that Chevalier did, indeed, eat his cooking. And you catch him frozen in shock, because your demeanor melts into something softer.

“Your Highness,” you say, “let’s prepare for step one of our plan, yes?”

Clavis knows what you’re doing, but right now, he has no other choice but to accept your offer of reprieve, so he says, “You’re very diligent for someone who complained earlier, aren’t you?”

You only smile in response.

interlude

Going to his room was always an exercise in courage; going inside, however, stupidity. But Clavis had overtaken you on the way to the library and handed you a tray of food, said, Breakfast for our dear Chevalier; he wanted to eat and our people are too busy to deliver the meal to him. Why don't you do the honor of bringing it to his room?

And now you're in front of his bedroom door, trembling hand poised to knock when it opened on its own and out came the man himself.

“Good morning, Your Highness.”

Chevalier took one look at the tray you're holding and your nervous smile and he sighed, as if expecting something like this to happen. But he didn't say anything; just stepped to the side and—surprise, surprise!—let you in.

“Thank you so much.”

You placed the tray on a clean table and waited for him to sit. The silver cover reflected his skeptical face and you began to explain, partly to appease him, partly to fill the tense silence in the room.

“Right. I was told that you asked for breakfast and there was no one available to bring it to you, so Prince Clavis—”

“Hah.”

“—Prince Clavis asked me to do it. And here you are, Your Highness.” You reached for the handle to remove the cover. “Your breakfast. Please enjoy.”

The tense silence graduated into frigid after the reveal, and you squirmed at his icy expression. When you followed his gaze, you blanched.

“Oh my god.”

You should have known. You should have known. The fact that it was Clavis who asked you for that favor should have clued you in, but his smile was pretty at the time, especially when the sunlight that sneaked through the window hit his face in a way that highlighted his amused eyes.

“I'm so sorry,” you stammered, trying to salvage the situation. Chevalier was watching you now with murder in his eyes, and you almost dropped the metal cover. “I-I'll return this right away—pleasedon'tkillme.”

Your limbs locked when you heard him sigh, and a gloved hand reached for the spoon and in your head you chanted no no no but only watched, morbidly fascinated, when Chevalier took a spoonful and brought the abomination to his mouth.

Your jaw dropped.

As he chewed, Chevalier locked eyes with you—a taunt, a warning, a threat—and you gulped and tried your best to be one with the floor.

He swallowed the objectionable thing, which made him even more invincible in your eyes, and took the cover from you. Without breaking eye contact, he set the cover back on the plate and said, “Get out.”

You'd never followed an order so willingly in your life. “Yessir!”

4.

In the mansion’s backyard, there’s a large fountain that stopped working months ago. It’s huge enough that a couple of people can take a soak. While the mechanism for the pump is no longer usable, the caretaker still fills the reservoir with water, and during the afternoons when the sun is high up, the water sparkles gold, a cluster of shiny waves that steals the attention.

On the third day of his stay in the mansion, Clavis meets you by the fountain for a report. It’s a few hours before noon, clouds aloft beneath the vivid blue sky.

“Any progress?”

Your brows knit in thought. “I think so. I don’t know if this is helpful or just a false lead …”

“Let’s hear it anyway.”

As you relay your findings, Clavis glances back at the mansion. Even from where he stands, he can see a couple of silhouettes behind the second-storey windows. Merchants who still doubt his intentions, perhaps; who want to watch his every move.

Suddenly, a plan develops in his mind.

He takes a step forward. Another. And another. Until the tips of his shoes touch yours. You're watching him move closer and closer, this time not retreating, which gives him hope. He dips his head next to your ear, mindful of the witnesses inside the mansion, and whispers:

“Do you want to play a game?”

“No,” you whisper back, but the fraction-tilt of your head intimates that you understand his intention. In the corner of his vision, he sees you dart your gaze at the building. You're too quick for your own good.

“That's too bad; it's going to be a fun game.”

“Not when you're too close to me.”

Clavis immediately steps backward. Grins at you, while you only continue to observe him warily.

“You didn't have to move close.”

“But isn't that part of the fun? And besides, we are already playing the game right now.”

“Then why ask me if I wanted to play?”

“I always ask first, you know.”

“Not always.”

“Those that count, then.”

“Fine, I'll play the game,” you say, fixing your posture as if bracing yourself. As if Clavis is an opponent you're determined to win against—which is kind of cute. “Cyran did say something like pretending as part of the plan …”

“Cyran told you that?” He feels an eyebrow twitch. “Well, now, isn’t that unfair.”

“I already said I'll play. I'll do it, come on. I'm ready. I know they're watching right now. Give me your best shot.”

And Clavis laughs. The entire conversation, he didn't miss the fleeting way your gaze drops to his lips, as if remembering a memory that still lays vivid in his mind. It's almost a confirmation, but Clavis knows where you both stand with each other—except despite his want to stay behind the line that you drew for each other, the desire to cross that threshold lingers like an insistent tug.

He steps forward again. And again. And again until again the warmth of your body mingles with his own. His fingers hover on your temple, brush against a stray lock of your hair, insert it behind your ear. His eyes track yours, how they go from point to another point of his face—eyes to nose to cheeks to beauty mark to, finally, lips.

“I'm a gentleman,” he begins, and your gaze snaps back to his, “so I have to ask again: are you playing this game with me?”

It stretches—your gazes at each other. It stretches and lingers and sighs at the stillness of the moment. You swallow, a short-lived dilemma, and then nod, a small one that Clavis catches nonetheless.

“Then—” He angles his head in the most optimal way that their spectators in the mansion could see and brings his lips to yours.

It's just a press, soft and light—definitely longer than the first time your mouths brushed, once upon a time. His half-mast eyes drawing closed, missing the way yours flutter before shutting tight. But the way you press back is apparent, and Clavis knows, down to the marrow of his bones, that you want this too. That you've always wanted this—whatever this is between you. It doesn't matter how vehement and how often your denial is of your feelings; you always look back when you walk away.

He doesn't pry open your lips (that's for another time), but he does sigh at the feeling, the warm pressure that comes from your body almost touching his, the way your hands slowly and hesitantly come up to his chest and clutch at his lapels. His own hand tightens on the back of your head, the other settles on your waist.

It feels like a lifetime—an infinite thread between then and now—before you part, hands still clinging to where they are. You look at Clavis and a sigh escapes you; the nerves on his hands alight with something that could alter the rest of your stay.

“Clavis—”

He lets go of you and retreats, zooming onto the windows of the mansion. Figureless glass, closed curtains. They've seen what he wants them to see. It's up to Cyran to fan those flames further.

“They fell for it,” he says. When he returns to you, you're looking at him with a peculiar expression, and Clavis wants to kiss you again.

He doesn't. Instead he claps his hands, smirks, and says, “Now, we'll move on to the best part of the plan.”

interlude

It happened so quickly you wondered whether it happened at all.

You and Yves were in a heated discussion about pastries, with you extolling the sublime virtues of pouring chocolate over croissants and Yves arguing for more adventurous baking recipes, such as tea-flavored cake. You were both so involved in the conversation that you missed the very obvious pitfall trap in your path.

“And one other thing about this cake—”

Yves never got to make his point because his next step landed on nothing but air.

His scream pulled you back into alertness, and you would've fallen too, had it not been for a hand that grabbed your wrist and tugged you out of the way.

“What—” Your body was dragged into another body, and you whirled around—and your lips touched something like another set of lips—

—before you jerked yourself away, searching for the source.

Clavis stood in front of you, slightly in a daze.

But just as you were to call his name, Yves's voice startled you out of your next move.

“Prince Yves! Hang on, I'll get you out of there!”

When you turned back, Clavis was gone. It was an odd thing; you knew that he'd brag about his trap and laugh at your gullibility, but he prevented you from falling and in that sequence of events you accidentally kissed him.

It was so quick that you might have just imagined it. His reaction, however, was anything but.

5.

Turns out, Chevalier is right: half of the merchants who've gathered in the mansion throbbed with the desire to stage a rebellion. They'd been committed in recruiting people to their cause, convincing them that royalty should no longer hold the power and instead it's the merchants who should. In their hubris, they'd approached Clavis with the intention to pull him into their side, after seeing him kiss you by the fountain. With that image alone the merchants had concocted to themselves the elaborate story of a royal and a commoner falling in love and being unable to stay together because of the differences in status. They'd talked to Clavis, asked about you and his sentiments, complimented his affections, sweet-talked their way into his good graces—At this current state, it is an act looked down upon for a prince to marry a commoner girl, and we sympathize, we really do, so we wanted to change the tradition, we're in talks with Benitoite and Obsidian right now and—and thought to themselves that they'd truly caught a big fish in him.

When Chevalier strides into the path that leads to the mansion, a number of soldiers marching behind him, it's you who notices first. That dampens Clavis's mood somewhat, but he has momentarily forgotten that someone with a great sense of responsibility like you would not greet the king; rather, you retreat further into the mansion, backing yourself into an empty room on the third floor, waiting until the king finishes his business.

“Clause 99 is a downer, huh.” Clavis leans against the doorframe, watching you organize your luggage.

You don't glance at him when you answer, so you have no idea of the expressions that flit through Clavis's face as you speak. “I suppose. The king has become a good friend during the time I was Belle, and now I can no longer meet him again—it's sad.”

“Friend?” The word and its association with his brother sound like a ridiculous combination. “You're friends with Chevalier?”

You jerk and look up at him, surprised. “Yes? I'd like to think that we get along. Is that so hard to believe?”

“You're not ... in love with him?” Sometimes, he’s led to believe that he’s in a scandalous love triangle—your heart torn between a callous beast and a dashing, charismatic villain. It’s the kind of love story that will stir Rhodolitians for years.

You look indignant even at the suggestion. “Of course not! Where in the world did you get that idea?!”

“You were very close with him during that one month, you can't blame anyone for thinking that you two are involved.”

“I don't like him that way! God. I just supply him foreign books every now and then. I know somebody who works at a bookstore and who could get almost any kind of book.”

This is turning out to be a lovely story. “So you were bribing him.”

The look you give him is baleful. “Not bribe—just encouragement.”

He can't help it—Clavis laughs. He laughs and laughs and laughs until you throw a sock at him. He catches it easily, and he laughs again.

“That's so cute,” he says, wiping tears off his eyes, “dear Chev getting bribes! Books! Of course.”

From where you sit, you grumble.

There's a lull in the moment where you study him, something bright in your eyes that compels him to repeat the words he said to you months ago, in that palace room that once housed you, your scattered notes and your cloths and your sewing tools spread across the bed. The words that slice him open and uproot the foundations of his self. In this lull of a moment, with your clear gaze and your soft expression, Clavis finds his courage once again, and he opens his mouth to say—

“Your Highness, the king has called for your presence.”

The moment passes.

Clavis swallows the words and directs his attention to Cyran, who’s boggled at the thick, tense air in the room. He decides to concentrate on Clavis, who is struck with the longing to send Cyran on a wild goose chase. But he doesn't give in to the urge.

“Goodness, the king doesn't like to wait, does he?” he says amicably, smiling at Cyran, who continues to grow confused. Clavis doesn't move from his place. “It's almost as if he wants to separate me and Belle like a villain in a tragic novel. I should be the villain, you know.”

“Prince Clavis?”

Clavis sighs theatrically.

Then your voice, quiet and decisive—and Clavis has a feeling about the words that will come out from your lips.

“Clavis. You should go.”

He stares at you, all dramatics gone.

“Should I?”

Your luggage has already been organized since a few minutes ago, but you pretend to arrange it still, just to have your hands occupied with something.

“Yes,” you say to your clothes, and it's silent after that. Once or twice: the sound of Cyran's boots tapping.

“Then this is goodbye.”

“Yes.”

One more time. One more time. He waits.

Nothing.

He's not surprised, but it's disappointing all the same.

“Goodbye, then.”

“Yes. Goodbye.”

He leaves the mansion without looking back.

◈

Chevalier orders Clavis to ride the carriage with him and give his report during the journey back to the palace. He follows with a fanfare that he's sure Chevalier will find annoying, but will just grit his teeth and bear the noise. Clavis injects all the ludicrous embellishments he can insert because he can, and because he knows Chevalier's already informed of the details, regardless of whether Clavis tells him the truth or not.

He tries a different tack.

“I do wonder how our former Belle found herself working in that mansion, though.” He observes his brother for any infinitesimal reaction, and all he gets is a set of closed eyes opening, an unimpressed glare beneath those eyelids.

Clavis has a feeling that Chevalier was involved in that little surprise, but he doesn't know how and why.

“The little cub has a debt, and she has finally paid her dues.”

His hands curl into fists. And he stomps the treasonous desire to unsheathe his sword and point it at the king.

“And what debt is that?”

“None of your concern,” Chevalier replies breezily, unperturbed about the growing animosity that crackles in the air.

“Really, dear brother? How cruel of you.” He lets out a frustrated exhale. “That's nothing new, though.”

Chevalier only snorts at that and nothing else.

When they reach the palace, the soldiers line up to greet the arrival of the king, and Clavis spies Sariel emerge from the main doors, his tongue clicking in reflex. Chevalier doesn't wait for Clavis and goes straight to the palace minister presumably to talk about the recent arrests. He's about to sneak out when Sariel's greeting catches him.

“Welcome back, hellcat,” Sariel says, his tone ambiguous enough to interpret his words as disappointed.

Clavis gives him his most infuriating grin. “Missed me?”

“We'll continue this at my office,” Chevalier cuts in, already heading inside, his cloak whipping in time with his movement.

“Well?” Clavis says later, when he and Chevalier are back in the office, with the familiar documents and books and pens. The smell of ink and paper permeate the whole room. 

Chevalier doesn't let him breathe before saying, “I'm assigning you to root out any potential rebels here.” He points to the capital city on the map.

Clavis almost throws the documents he's holding in Chevalier's direction.

“Care to elaborate?”

Behind the king, sunlight filters through the windows. It's late afternoon, so the shade of light has warmer and richer hues that paint Chevalier's silhouette into something more welcoming. Kinder.

Clavis almost gags.

“Merchants are not the only ones to harbor such thoughts about royalty. We constantly monitor the activities of nobles, but hidden among the common people are spies that could spread provocative notions. Just because we're stable at present does not mean that Obsidian will let things as they are.”

A point that he grudgingly accepts, but the question still remains:

“Is this my punishment for all the times I put spikes on your bed?” To have such an elementary mission—it feels like Chevalier's insulting him. And doing a great job at it.

“Fool of a brother,” Chevalier says, and presses his cheek against his waiting hand. His look can be interpreted as fondly exasperated. “What does it mean to spend more time in the city? I will not spell it out for you.”

It takes Clavis exactly twenty seconds for the implications to set in, and he shoots a disbelieving glare at Chevalier, who's back to his documents and is no longer acknowledging his existence.

So he tells him, “I hate how I'm beginning to understand you.”

“Thank the little cub for that.”

epilogue

In between commissions, you take a walk at the square, strolling around and admiring the always-lively people of Rhodolite. Times like this you miss Emma—the person you owe the most in your life. She's happily married to someone from Benitoite, and based on the letters she's sent you, she's having the time of her life there. When you're not too busy at work, one of her letters says, come visit me here! I miss you!

You try hard at planning for an extended trip, and Emma has promised to have all expenses paid—which is a nice thing to hear, all things considered.

You stop by the fountain, and as you gaze at it you're reminded of the fountain at the mansion near the Rhodolite-Benitoite border. The sky was clear during that time, still waters shimmering under the bright sun. How it illuminated the parts of Clavis that’s adjacent to the fountain like an inchoate halo.

You're reminded of the fountain, but you remember like a solid, sturdy thing, the memory of your kiss. The way you tried to deny him—resisted him until the last moment, when you thought to yourself, This is my last opportunity, at the very least let me take it.

The water doesn't reflect you sharply in this fountain as the one in the border, but you can still make out the longing in your eyes, the downward curve of your lips. It ripples due to a child throwing a coin into it, and you watch the way the child runs back to her mother, before returning to the reflection and discovering someone else next to you.

Clavis grins in the reflection.

“Your Highness!” you start, placing distance between you, which he decimates by taking another step your way.

“Oh my goodness—fountain inviting fond memories?” he says, goading.

“Shouldn't you be busy doing prince things?” you prevaricate, continuing to back away, and him continuing to move forward.

“'Prince things'? What a way to describe the role of royalty,” he comments, ignoring how you're readying yourself to run. “If you must know, I'm on duty today.”

You're almost close to an alley. “On duty? For what?”

“That's classified.” He's alit with glee saying that. “Why would a non-royal need to know top-secret information?”

“I don't know? Why are you talking to me when you could continue on your top-secret duty?”

It doesn't make any sense. You've already said your goodbyes in the mansion, and that was supposed to be the end of it. You went home biting your lip, suppressing your tears from bursting out of you. You've already accepted your prince-less life the moment you stepped out of the throne room, your signature fresh in that parchment that declared the next king of Rhodolite. Once, Chevalier had given you grace, and in time you've dutifully paid your debt. And in that act he gave you another: a final opportunity of committing Clavis into memory.

Clavis seems to read your thoughts, because he quirks his lips and takes your hand and raises them between you, entwines his fingers with yours.

“Why not?” he says, and you want to shake him. “Why do you run away?”

“Because—” you stammer, and Clavis takes this chance to tug you forward, bodies flushed against each other. You can feel his heartbeat racing, and it stops you from attempting to escape his hold.

His eyes are serious when you lift your head to look at his face. It's almost refreshing.

“I'm going to ask you again,” he murmurs; you can feel the rumbling of his chest as he speaks.

“And my answer will be the sa—”

“But is that what you really want?” he challenges. His free hand snakes around your waist, his grip firm and with conviction. “Is it truly that?”

“What else do you want me to say?”

“A 'yes'.”

“No—”

“King's orders, you know.”

That makes you pause. Clavis smirks at your confusion, so he elaborates.

“My dear elder brother doing something right for once.” He grunts. “That is vile. I'll never say something like that again.”

“You're not being fair. Why don't you give up?”

“Oh, my dear partner-in-crime,” Clavis says, and the hand on your waist moves up. The other he brings near his lips. “It's always the difficult ones that I'm drawn to.”

You let his lips touch the back of your hand. When he moves it to his cheek and his gaze pierces yours and he gives you the most dazzling smile you've ever seen, your resolve crumbles.

“Okay,” you finally say. “Okay. You win.”

Clavis's joyous laughter fills the air before he kisses you.

[divine-misfortune]

31 with raindrop for the dialogue prompts ;3

The tips of his fingers twitched despite the rest of him being motionless. Even the rise and fall of his chest was shallow and inconsistent, like he was scared breathing too deeply would break them from the moment suspended in time.

But movement was inevitable. Dew broke the stillness, he took a half step forward and Rain started to reach out to snatch his wrist but he couldnt make himself. The idea of wrapping his fingers around him, soil his pale skin an ugly shade of red, unsettled his stomach. Protest nearly fell from his lips, they moved in the shape of objection but his vocal chords refused the sound when Dew dragged the toe of his shoe through the blood pooling at his feet.

"Rain..." Dew didn't look at him.

His name sounded hollow, like Dew was addressing a stranger. Someone he didn't know. Someone he hadn't claimed to be his other half, his lover, his mate. Rain wanted to grab him by the shoulders and force him to look, to meet his eye, to remember who he was speaking to. The lack of familiarity in his voice was a knife between his ribs, a blade clear through his lungs. Rain felt like he was suffocating.

"Baby," he started softly and watched Dew's shoulders raise towards his ears much like an animal raising its hackles. The silence was growing and gnawing, and Dew continued to keep his back to him. "Say something..."

The fire ghoul wrapped his arms around himself. He looked smaller. Rain noted the way his nails dug into his biceps. Tense to the point of shaking.

"Why'd you-" he began but his throat seemed to tighten halfway through, almost pitching in the sound. Barely tempered outrage, maybe even disgust or horror, Rain couldn't tell. "Why'd you do that?!" It tore out of him like a shriek. A detonation in its own right.

Dew whipped around, pale hair falling loose from where he'd let Rain tie it up that morning. His cheeks were splotchy and pink, streaked wet with tears, strands of hair stuck against the stains. He itched to tuck them back into place but kept both hands firmly at his sides. He'd stain him bloody just like every other beautiful thing he'd touched. Dew jabbed an accusatory finger into his chest in demands of an answer, Rain steeled himself, forced himself to remain rigid instead of flinching away. Undeserving of his touch in any form.

"Look at him! He didn't, you shouldn't-!" The little ghoul stammered. He always had a habit of tripping over his words when anger reared its ugly head.

Dew gestured in the direction of a body. Twisted and mangled, barely recognizable. Rain hardly remembered the sensation of claws tearing through flesh like it was paper. He could only recall a white hot rage that burned itself into his blood. Things weren't clear, gaps in his memory punctuating his fury.

"B-Because I promised you I'd do anything to keep you safe...You didn't hear the things he said about you, I couldn't, I wouldn't, let him get the chance."

Every word, every syllable, had seared irreversibly into the walls of his veins and carved deep into his skull. It turned his stomach to think about. He can't stop himself from grabbing for Dew's hand, clutching it desperately in his own. Pleading for a sense of understanding. Rain needed to hold him, couldn't restrain himself a second longer, not when that filth continued to echo. Not when he came so close to failing him.

It eased the knots in his stomach knowing Dew didn't pull away.

"I'd never let anyone hurt you, firefly, I'd sooner die. Sooner tear this world to shreds and burn what remains."

[huntersoatharchive]

one shot, one kill

@fromspina

In a strange sort of way, storms had always been... comforting. Perhaps it was due to her affinity for Electro, but the swirling canvas of dark gray and occasional flashes of lightning would provide a sense of serenity that Clorinde had been unable to find elsewhere. The thunder's roar could easily function as a lullaby to send her into sleep; a highly uncharacteristic trait, considering the fact that the Duelist remained on high alert at all times. The slightest sound could wake her, hand already reaching for the pistol she kept carefully placed on her bedside table. That changed, though. The storm of fury evident in the depths of Navia's eyes had suddenly culled her love for that weather, and she had come to despise it-- a bitter reminder of the choices she grew to regret, wishing that she had never left Navia in the wake of Callas's death. Those sky blue eyes felt so foreign bearing such a negative emotion. They were meant to convey love and support for all those around her, and it wasn't right to see them clouded with.... A sharp intake of breath interrupted Clorinde's thoughts as a gloved hand clenched tightly into a fist, brows slanted downwards into the very beginning of a subtle scowl. The flood of memories from a darker time would do nothing to support her in her current endeavor: she had impulsively extended an invitation to the Spina's President in hopes of gaining an audience over a nice dinner at Hotel Debord. Impulsive... hah, another trait she'd never attribute to herself. It was funny how Navia always managed to bring all of these inconsistencies out in her. While it had sounded like a good idea in the moment, the horror of reality quickly set in. Clorinde spent a majority of her afternoon clambering about in an attempt to make herself presentable, rehearsing her words over and over in her mind in order to make sure that she successfully got her sentiments across-- in the end, it never sounded quite right... and the Duelist finally accepted the fact that she was going to make a fool of herself, no matter how long she spent preparing. Somehow, some way, this was turning out to be far stressful than any duel she'd participated in.

That's how she found herself here, seated at their reservation... alone. A glass of wine remained situated in front of her, completely untouched as her foot quietly tapped a disjointed beat against the carpet underneath her. The invitation had stated 7pm sharp, and the fact that Navia wasn't here yet twisted a knife into her gut... What if she had declined? What if she didn't want to come, what if she didn't want to talk to her...? Clorinde wouldn't blame her in the slightest if she changed her mind in the long run. After all, she had abandoned her when Navia needed her most. A blunder that was seared into the depths of her memory, and a burden she'd bear until her dying days. Fate had a strange way of inflicting unto yourself the pain you've given to others; Clorinde wondered if this was the atonement for her past transgressions. But, then again... Navia did always run late. Perhaps a spark of hope could stay, and her teeth dug into the inside of her cheek as violet eyes remained on the singular entrance into the restaurant.

[get-wr3ckered]

| Cuyan- (Mandalorian!OC) |

Summary: Iliana awakens in unfamiliar surroundings, and a familiar face delivers grim news.

Warnings: Angst?, SW cursing, canon-typical violence, mentions of injury and blood, panic, mentions of child death.

Wordcount: 1600+

Notes:

At this point, I'm just bending the SW timeline to my will. If timeline inconsistencies aren't your thing then I apologise in advance but it all makes sense to me in the grand scheme of Iliana's plot.

Eventual oc x Omega (parental relationship obviously) 

Any Mando'a will be translated at the end. 

I think I've added all the appropriate warnings and tags but if I've missed something or tagged it incorrectly feel free to let me know and I'll fix it asap!

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-Chapter Two: A Familiar Face-

Pain. Red hot, searing agony. It was the first sensation her slowly waking mind became cognisant of. Through the slowly lifting haze of unconsciousness, Iliana couldn't focus on much else aside from the deep-seated burning that tugged at the base of her ribcage, a feeling akin to having a hot poker plunged into her flesh repeatedly setting her every nerve aflame.

With every passing second small fragments of her faculties returned and with them so came her ability to comprehend each and every ache and pain that her mind had blocked out during her sleepless rest. The twinge of overworked muscles, the ache of joints having been overextended without reprieve, the tenderness of new and old bruises festering upon her skin. All were not sensations new to Iliana and yet they assaulted her dulled senses simultaneously and without mercy.

Then came the familiar sensation of bandages wound taught over fresh wounds. The telltale tugging of haphazard stitches that forced torn skin back together. Signs of rudimentary aid intended to keep her alive littered her battered body. As the last fragments of awareness slotted back into place, the dam holding back a tidal wave of memories finally crumbled.

Bombs falling. Blaster fire raining down on civilians and warriors alike. Her father wheezing out his final breath. Each shard of memory was more gutwrenching than the last as they battled it out for the forefront spot in her hazy mind.

Her eyes remained screwed shut and yet Iliana could see with terrifying clarity the falling debris, could feel wave after wave of aftershock. She could taste the rising bile in her throat as she clung to the tiny, motionless hand peeking out from beneath the shattered remnants of the nursery.

With unimpeded clarity Iliana Byrnne could remember the fall of Mandalore.

Despite the pain thrumming within the confines of her skull, Iliana forced her eyes open to find a worn wooden ceiling staring down at her. Pushing herself up with her left arm, the right being restrained and bound across her chest, the young woman attempted to force herself upright to no avail. The movement brought about new waves of pain, each expanse of her lungs set the raw flesh along her abdomen ablaze once more, muscles tensing and spasming against the small exertion.

Her throat felt raw, and painfully dry as a hacking cough tore through her chest. The metallic tang of blood danced mockingly along her tongue as she tried and failed to force oxygen into her protesting lungs.

Over the loud coughs tearing through her, Iliana barely recognised the throwing open of a door, or the shuffling of feet. It was only when a hand came to rest upon her shoulder did she comprehend that was no longer alone.

Agony be damned, Iliana wrenched herself from the foreign touch, hasty movements throwing her from atop the rickety table she'd been laid upon and onto the floor with a harsh thump. She scrambled for her weapon, the knife kept within her vambrace, only to come up empty, the icy realisation that she had been stripped of her armour washing over her.

Breath quickening, panic closing its jagged claws around her heart, Iliana grappled with her aching limbs in a bid to push herself away from the stranger, forcing her broken body into the corner of the room in a vain attempt to gather some feeble sense of defence. Without her armour, without her weapons and in her weakened state liana had all the defensive capabilities of a newborn.

"Easy," A gentle voice tried to soothe, drawing the frantic searching of Iliana's eyes to focus on the kneeling twilek woman who'd come to kneel an arm's length in front of her. The woman's face bore the gentlest of smiles as her hand slowly moved to extend a carafe of water out to Iliana. "I'm not going to hurt you."

The woman's words brought little comfort, actions eliciting only suspicion from Iliana. In a single jolting movement she smacked the offered drink from the twilek's hand before shuffling impossibly closer to the walls at her back.

In spite of Iliana's actions, the woman's smile never faltered. Instead, the twilek slowly moved away, offering Iliana the space she couldn't put between them alone.

With slow, deliberate steps, the woman moved back toward the door she'd come through, a gentle offering to go get more water slipping past her lips as she went.

Alone once again, Iliana scoured her surroundings for something, anything.

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"She's awake."

Those two short words sent a flood of relief through Rex's veins. He may not have known the Mandalorian well, if at all given the small handful of short conversations they'd shared, but that didn't diminish the weight that her survival had lifted from his shoulders. He had refused to lose anyone else so soon regardless of how minimal their connection to one another was. He didn't think his already bruised heart could've withstood another strike.

"Good," Cut breathed out, eyes shifting to the two shallow graves that had been dug in the passing days. Jek and Shaeeah sat by the foot of them, quietly braiding together flower crowns to adorn the poorly erected wooden markers. "How's she doing?"

Suu let out a dejected sigh. "Wary, she did not care for the pain she caused herself in trying to get as far from me as she could."

"It's to be expected," Cut tried to reassure his wife, hand raising to rub soothing circles between her shoulder blades. "Maker only knows what she's been through to get here."

The man's words rang true but offered little comfort. The news of Mandalore's falling had spread quickly, reaching eve the most remote corners of the galaxy. The three of them could only begin to guess what the woman had been forced to endure.

"Perhaps a familiar face would help ease her?" Suu glanced toward a silent Rex.

A beat of silence washed over them. After a moment of contemplation, Rex pushed a hand through his hair and forced himself to stand. The possibility of clones playing a role in the decimation of Mandalore remained uncertain to him, the chance his presence may cause more harm than good tauntingly circled within his mind. "Maybe."

Cut and Suu watched, each wearing their own looks of concern, as the former captain stalked off toward the very barn he himself had once been sheltered within.

Approaching the barn's side door with tentative, almost cautious steps, Rex's knuckles rapped against the worn wood in slow succession. Barging in unannounced would do no good, he knew as much and so he waited for some form of response no matter how minute it may be.

A crash came from within, the sound seeping out through the slivers of space between the door and its frame. A pained grunt followed shortly after, only to be muffled far too quickly- as if it had been forcibly stifled in a bid to hide it.

Waiting for an invitation was thrown out of the proverbial window. His Mandalorian acquaintance hadn't been in any condition to be moving the last he saw her. For all Rex knew she could've torn her stitches and be bleeding out as he waited, he wasn't about to let anything of the sort happen.

Slamming his entire weight against the door, the rusted hinges protesting loudly, the old door gave way all too easily, swinging open from the force and smacking harshly against the adjoining wall. Boots scuffing against the ground, Rex all but dived through the open doorway, moving to the fallen woman's side as she lay motionless beside the now broken table. He didn't offer the splintered wood a second glance as he gingerly placed his hand on her shoulder.

That had been his first mistake.

A sudden harsh blow struck him in the side of the head. A broken leg from the table, his dazed mind realised as his body slumped down beside the not-so-motionless Mandalorian. Rex's limbs refused to move, senses numbed by the unexpected hit.

Then came his second mistake.

The weight of his blaster disappeared from its place within its holster. Pressure against his chest, over the very spot where his heart resided within was all the confirmation he needed that his own weapon had been turned on him. His senses returned to him, the predicament sobering in a way and he forced his open palms up slowly in surrender.

Rex met Iliana Byrrne's gaze, a storm of molten rage swirling amongst the dulled vermillion of her irises. It was the look of a woman with nothing left to lose, sympathy swelled in his chest despite the weapon so intently trained upon him.

"Easy Soldier," Rex saw the spark of recognition as he spoke but his words did nothing to soften the heated glare boring into him. Her finger flexed around the trigger for a singular moment before the pressure lifted ever so slightly. "'m not gonna hurt you, just wanna help."

Iliana didn't relinquish her hold on his blaster but she did pull it back, still pointed his way but no longer directly over his heart. Voice raw, the brunette bit out a response. "Not like you could."

There was a tense silence as Iliana inspected the blaster in her grasp. Then the four walls around them. Finally, her sharp gaze settled on Rex once more.

"Where are the foundlings?" Her finger twitched over the trigger once more, a warning hanging unspoken over them. "Where the kriff are my foundlings?"

Four words. Four measly little words were all it took to shatter the warrior's resolve. Four words and her facade of strength fizzled out.

"They didn't make it."

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Additional Notes: Not proofread, I refuse to suffer my mistakes alone. Mando'a: Cuyan- survivor Taglist: Feel free to drop me a message to be added to the taglist!

[readingstufffff]

Honey Eyes

Chapter 1

TWD Story - Michonne x OC

TW: Mentions of blood

I told ya'll I was Inconsistent, but hopefull this partially makes up for it :)

Enjoy <3

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36 days. Today was the 36th day I had spent alone, surviving in this rundown world. No food, no water, no…no one to keep me company or at least sane as the days passed. At the moment, my stomach Dios mio, my stomach, it feels as if it’s consuming itself slowly, and it brought me a great deal of anguish with every second that passed by. I could barely walk straight. The sun shining through the trees blinded me as I pressed forward with the little strength I had. My small frame and stature made it harder on days like this. I couldn’t fight as it was, and right now, if a corpse were to attack me in the state I was in. I wouldn’t live to see another day. Even now, I have no idea if I will see the light of tomorrow with how weak I am. I need food. Now.  

Luck didn’t come easy these days, and with what has happened to me i’d have to say I was one of the unluckiest motherfuckers left on this earth, but as I took another staggered step a light consumed my vision It felt like a damn miracle to me. I took my hand and covered the shine to focus on what it was coming from, thinking maybe a can or a wrapper from a granola bar was being hit by the sun, but to my surprise, the blinding light was from a car’s side view mirror. And as my vision continued to focus on the car, I continued to look further, only to find what could be my last chance at survival. A store. 

For the first time since I’ve been alone, I smiled. 

I slowly walked towards the store. I imagined all the things that could be inside. All the food, the water, a place to rest…that’s all I wanted. Some form of peace or escape from the pain I have been in. 

Much to my disappointment, life always had to put obstacles in my way and make things harder than they had to be. 

As I began to reach the car that had pointed me in the right direction, I heard it, those damned groans from hell. The gargling of decaying blood stuck down one’s throat. The air that created those sounds reeked of death. A corpse was coming after me, and I had no way to stop it. No weapon. No strength. All that I was left with was a means of escape. A direction in which to run. 

So, I ran. I ran to the door of the store. I was panicking, adrenaline was keeping me moving, and every step left me dizzy and weaker by the second, but it was all for nothing because as I was merely a few feet away from the door, my foot slipped on the edge of the sidewalk. Not expecting the sudden loss in stability, I landed face-first on the pavement below me. 

There were only a few seconds to process the stinging pain I felt on the left side of my face before I had to roll over and face death itself. Its rotting face came falling on top of me. Teeth, ragged and wretched, trying to take a chomp at my face. I stopped the act by harshly attempting to shove it away, but it was no use; I had no fight left in me. 

Then, to make matters worse, because, of course, how could it not get worse, there was a sharp and searing pain at my side. The corpse had a knife hanging from his belt, and it had stabbed the right side of my body. Panicking wasn’t a good way to describe how I felt; I was terrified. Terrified that the same thing that happened to her would happen to me.

I tried not to scream, I couldn’t deal with any more of these things. I reached down, being careful not to let the thing bite me, and I pulled the night out of its belt. It sliced through me again, but I was able to bring it underneath its head. 

I aimed up at the jaw. And stabbed all the way through, rendering it motionless. The corpse dropped its body weight on top of me, and I lay there with my hands still clutched around the handle of the blade. 

I took a moment to breathe and stared up at the sky. If I wasn’t tired before this, which I was, getting up and moving around was going to be horrible after this. 

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath in, groaning as I shoved the corpse off of me. I tumbled as I got up, unable to ignore the pain I felt at my side. And once I was on my feet again, I lifted my shirt, revealing just what I had expected: two large lacerations to my side that were covered in heaps of blood, which spread down my torso.

Puta madre.

As if starving wasn’t already a petrifying way to die, let’s add bleeding out to the list. I sighed and put my shirt back down before leaning down to grab the knife from the corpse’s head, whimpering with every move I made. 

I took a minute to look at the knife and cleaned it with a bandana I had in my back pocket before slowly taking my leave and heading to my first target. The store’s entrance. Thankfully, it was open, and I stepped inside. I limped so I could ease the pressure on my side, and as I walked further into the store, I realized…this was a hardware store. 

I huffed. Exhausted, but I headed to the storage room I saw in the back. The store didn’t seem to have corpses inside, or at least that’s what it sounded like. At this point, I didn’t care. I limped to the entrance and opened the red door in front of me. Inside, there were rags that I used to press against the wound. The fact that I wasn’t out cold on the floor was incredible. I wrapped the rags with duct tape and continued to look around the store for food. 

Behind counters, in the lunch room, even in the bathroom, but there was nothing. No food. No water. Nothing. 

My eyes began to burn, and tears began to stream down my face. I wiped them. Shaking my head slowly, I backed up to a wall and began to sob softly. 

“No. No… I can’t die like this.”

I gripped my side in pain. The sobbing made the wounds ache more. I pushed myself off the wall, holding back the remaining sobs that threatened to leave my throat. I slowly walked into the storage closet again, closing the door behind me. I leaned on the wall to my right, letting my back slide down until my hands felt the cold of the floor tiles. 

The room was dark, but it was safe. I will just take a nap. Then I’ll keep going. 

I repeated that to myself, but I knew I wasn’t taking a nap because I wanted to. I just couldn’t do it anymore. I needed to rest. I know I could die. Hell, I probably will, but I need to rest.

I passed out, but I was peaceful. For a few minutes. It didn’t take long for the memories to seep through. 

They started as soft recollections of laughter and shared comfort. Whispered promises and an undying love. It was warm and filled with love.

That was until the screams started. 

After that, everything felt cold, and it was dark. It was that night.

In the darkness, a hand took hold of my shirt. My eyes shot open. A gasp escaped my throat as if I had been brought back to life. If it wasn’t for my coughing, I would have heard the shuffling around me, but the voice of a man is what got me to focus. I looked up at him, my mind hazy, but I could see the crossbow he was pointing at me. 

I mustered out weakly. “What?” It took me a second to gain control of my senses again, and when I did, I finally noticed the girl who was with him. 

“I said, what’s yer’ name, girl?” His voice was gruff and deep, but man, was he dirty. I made a face when he got close, but I didn’t wanna be disrespectful, so I disguised it as a wave of pain. I was in pain after all.

“Valentina…and as much as I want to go through a… formal introduction…Can I get some food?” Yeah, maybe it was rude because they are my only chance of survival, but I’m dying here, so I think I get to be rude.

The dirty man looked at the girl next to him, and she nodded, seeming to have understood the unspoken words the other had said. She slid the straps of her backpack off her shoulders and took a granola bar from the side pocket, handing it to the man and taking out a bottle of water.  

“Here.” The man gave me the granola bar, and I took it without hesitation. If I weren’t so weak, that granola bar would’ve been gone in seconds, but instead I took slow bites. Savoured the taste in my mouth before the girl handed me the water bottle she had been holding. I spared her a look before I grabbed the bottle, thanking her quietly as I did. 

“What happened to you?” I stopped chewing and looked up from where the bottle was in my hand. I made eye contact with her and swallowed the food in my mouth. 

I sighed, and I told them everything that had happened today before they found me. I watched her expression as I finished talking, and it turned into one of sympathy, but his face was more stern. It was as if he needed something more from me. 

“How many Walkers have you killed?” 

Walkers? What is that? Is he talking about the corpses?

“You mean the corpses? I don’t know, stopped counting after twenty.” I responded honestly, recalling my last encounter with one of those things and pressing against my wounds.

“How many people have you killed?” 

I froze. I knew what the answer was, and yet it felt as if I said it out loud…then…it meant she was gone. 

I didn’t know why I was answering their questions anyway. They could kill me for all I know, but of course, I answered anyway.  

“Three.” I avoided any eye contact and let a painful tear leave my eye. 

“Why?”

Why? Why had I done it? Or why them? Just…why?

“...I couldn’t save them.” My voice was getting shaky, and my throat was dry. I drank a sip of the water, but it barely helped. I cleared my throat with a quiet cough, and I gained the courage to look them in the eyes again. “Are you done with your questions?” 

He stares at me for a few seconds and nods. Both to me and the girl. “Yeah…let’s get ya’ outta’ here.” Without arguing, I let them both lift me by the arms, and they were careful not to affect my injured right side. As they walked me out, I could feel my head start to pound again; that wasn’t good.

“What…what are your names?” I smirked to myself because, in a way, I found it funny how I was asking them now, even though I was still on the brink of death. 

“Sasha,” The girl answered as she opened the door to the store and pushed it open for me and the man. “And that’s Daryl,” Sasha answered for him. Yeah, he doesn’t seem like much of a talker. 

As I felt the sun hit my face, I was blinded, but I could see the blur that was the car they were putting me into. The seats were soft, and for a moment, they distracted me from my pain, and I closed my eyes. I heard the door close and their muffled voices outside, I didn’t care, I just wanted to rest, and to get these damned cuts on my side fixed up. 

The door to the store opened and closed again, and so did the front seat doors. 

“Daryl went in for some things. We’ll get you patched up when he gets back.” Sasha spoke to me from where she sat; she let concern seep into her words, but I could still hear how cautious she was with what she said. I simply nodded, not opening my eyes, slowly losing consciousness. 

I woke up to the sound of the engine starting, but from then on, I was in and out of it. 

I was still in throbbing pain, but I couldn’t explain why seeing the trees as we sped by them made me feel at ease. And as we slowed to a stop, all I could see was a tower, tall and worn down. After that, I passed out for good. Hoping and praying these people could save me.

—---------------------------------------

As the car came into view at the prison, both Carl and Rick went into action, pulling open the red gate that kept the entrance clear and then opening the main fence.

The car pulled in, and Rick walked up to the driver’s window. He smiled at Daryl before quickly picking up on the expressions both of his friends sent his way. That was when he looked in the back seat to find a girl passed out and bleeding from her side. He turned to Daryl and Sasha, sparing glances at the girl. 

“Who is she?” He asked sternly, his demeanor changing from one of comfort from seeing his friends alive, to one of caution from seeing a potential threat. Even if the girl was bleeding out and unconscious. 

“Trust me. I’ll explain everything inside.” Rick was still guarded, but he trusted his brother, so he nodded and let him through. Daryl nodded back and drove to the courtyard, where Beth let him in through the next gate. 

Rick watched the car as he followed behind it, calling Carl over and letting him know that they needed to get Hershel out to the courtyard. Carl, like any normal kid, questioned why, but he was only met with a short explanation and a pat on the back to get him to hurry. 

The others from the group came out on their own when Carl made it inside the prison to tell Hershel there was a girl who needed his help. Herschel told Carl to tell the others to bring the girl into a cell and that he would be waiting there for her. 

Daryl did just that. He got the girl carrying her quickly inside, bridal style, many of the others watched, asking Sasha questions about who she was and what had happened to her, but none of them were answered because she too followed Daryl. 

Inside, Daryl had set her down on the bottom bunk of one of the cells, letting Hershel know what her injuries were and how malnourished she was, although that much was obvious. Herschel worked quickly to remove the bloody rags, and he cut through the shirt she wore to get to the continuously bleeding cuts. He called Carol in to help and sent out Maggie for supplies to suture the wounds. This task on its own took a couple of hours. Hershel determined the cuts weren’t deep, but they were long, and that’s what took time to cover. Not to mention that the girl had several remaining injuries in different areas of her body, no bites, but several cuts that could get infected. 

Once everything was done, Rick cuffed her to the bed. He could see she wasn’t a threat, and judging from what Daryl told him about her, she was alone, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

By now it was night, people slowly went to sleep as the minutes went by, leaving only Hershel, Rick, Daryl, and Michonne by the cell. Hershel turned in pretty soon, Rick and Daryl talked to Michonne about what happened to the girl, and Daryl offered to stay up and watch her just in case.

“No. You’ve been out there all day, you should get some rest…Michonne?” She had been looking at the cell where the girl was, and she turned to look at Rick, her locs following the movement, after hearing her name. “Do you mind?” 

She nodded, and her posture stiffened as she looked at the cell again. She felt a sense of unease when it came to this new arrival, but she agreed to look after her because of that feeling. “Yeah, get some rest.” Michonne spared them a glance before slowly walking to the cell. “I got this, “ she breathed out, more to herself than anyone else. 

Walking in and sitting down on the stool next to the bunk beds, she set her katana down next to her feet, within range. She sighed, pushing to the side the locs that fell towards her face as she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, fingers intertwined as she analyzed the sleeping figure lying in front of her. She could tell the girl had been through a lot; her weak figure told her everything she needed to know, but not everything she wanted to know. Like, why the hell was she out there for so long, all alone, and what had happened for her to end up that way? 

There was something about this girl that put her on edge; something was missing, some big secret. She wanted to know, and that want was beginning to feel like a need, but she wasn’t impatient, and she knew she’d have to wait till the girl woke up to get her answers, so she would wait. That did not ease the feeling of apprehensiveness she felt; it only made her more curious, more inquisitive. 

They hadn’t run into anyone new since people of Woodbury had moved into the prison, oh, and Bob, nonetheless, Bob had more strength and ability than this girl, so it was a wonder how she had lasted longer than he had out there alone. 

Michonne’s eyes scanned the girl head to toe; she was smaller than Michonne. Not by much, but she was. Weak, but not fragile. Slender, but not thin. If she thought about it long enough, Michonne could think of ways she could’ve survived this long, but her thoughts were cut short. 

Michonne watched as the girl began to twitch. She raised an eyebrow, confused as to what could be happening, then the girl began to groan. Not in pain, not in physical pain anyway, then she noticed the shiny sheen of sweat that began to cover her body. Followed by whimpers and soft sobs. Michonne got up from her stool and held her body down, careful not to touch any of the wounds, but with enough pressure to keep the girl from hurting herself. 

“Hey. Wake up.” Michonne put a hand on the girl’s cheek, grabbing her face and shaking it slightly, but the girl wouldn’t wake up. It was clear she was having a nightmare because she wasn’t convulsing as if it were a seizure, but it took a minute for Michonne to wake her up. 

When she did, the girl’s eyes shot open and she shot up, gasping for air, as if she were drowning. Coughing as she gripped onto the bed sheet under her. 

Michonne helped her back down onto the bed once she calmed down, and they simply stayed where they were in silence for a few minutes, but the girl eventually looked over at Michonne. Michonne did the same, and they maintained eye contact. Both cautious of each other, one more than the other. 

However, Michonne kept her guard up and decided that if the girl was awake, then she would get those questions of hers answered. So, she opened her mouth and with unwavering confidence asked her first question. 

“Who are you?”

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Yeah, so I wrote A LOT, but hey let me know how ya'll liked it. And i'll update when I can. Byeeeeee<3