#lighthouse relief

[hostageofeurope]

📸 Owing to provisions scarcity at my refuge, and under an agreement with 'One Happy Family', I reluctantly began bi-weekly trips to their facility for meals every Tuesdays and Thursdays since October 06th, 2023. Nevertheless, they unreasonably terminated our agreement on October 31st, 2023, leaving me without food.

Despite limited time and resources, preventing recording and publishing every visit, one event stood out. On Thursday, October 24th, 2023, after procuring two servings and notifying a guard about my plea to the pertinent entities, I noticed a female MSF employee near the entrance on my way back to my shelter.

In light of countless ignored emails, I tried to obtain the 'MSF' director's contact details from the female employee present. Nevertheless, a guard unjustifiably interrupted our brief discussion, leading to an escalating situation thereafter.

Read more details here: 👇

👉🔗 https://chng.it/QyYqcwgTjY

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[prehistoricmancunt]

Doing a limited run of this print today! (in black)

$30, free shipping

Buy it here 🥰

[doortotomorrow]

JOHN MURPHY : wanheda ( part one )

[hey-august]

Negotiating with pirates | NSFW (Cross Guild x afab!reader)

Description: After accidentally ending up as a bargaining chip during Cross Guild negotiations, you eagerly accept the chance to protect your captain and end up between Mihawk and Crocodile.

Word count: ~2.6k

A/N: One shot smut. Reader has an established relationship with Buggy. Let me know if you see any errors or typos. ♡

Warnings: Not beta read. NC-17. → MDNI ← sub!reader, cuck!buggy, dom!mihawk, dom!crocodile. Threesome, PIV, oral m receiving, vaginal fingering, creampie. afab!reader, no use of Y/N. All parties are consenting adults.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

A Cross Guild meeting was getting heated, more so than usual. A contract that failed under Buggy’s involvement was construed as debt the figurehead clown owed. An increasingly panicked Buggy offered anything to assuage the anger of his furious “companions” and to reduce any debt that they imposed on him.

“What do you have that we can’t get ourselves?” Sir Crocodile asked disdainfully. Buggy floundered. His mouth was faster than his mind, but there must be something he could offer. Propose. Promise.

“I can think of something he has…or should I say someone,” Mihawk remarked. This was an uncomfortable observation. 

The trio rarely spoke about personal matters, and definitely never intentionally, however it wasn’t a secret that Buggy had a hook-up. A dedicated partner. This was a fact that the other two would say they didn’t care about. Truthfully, Mihawk had some thoughts. More like a passing interest in why - out of anyone else you could pick - were you with the clown. Maybe you didn’t know what else the world had to offer and this was his chance to show you.

The rest of the discussion, if you could call it that, happened in a blur. Buggy’s wavering voice was overpowered by the two former warlords negotiating on his behalf. When Buggy realized that he had become an accessory once again, he bounced in his seat, trying to alleviate the nervous energy flooding his body. The two commanding pirates set the place and time, which was not far from this moment. As the clown hurried out of the room, Crocodile called out a demand in a puff of smoke, telling Buggy to pick out your outfit. 

“When we undress her, I want to be pulling off clothes that you picked out for us.”

Buggy’s panic took on a different tone as he seeked you out. You both had spoken about his cuckold fantasies, but never did anything to make them reality. And now…well it was a classic Buggy mistake. When he finally told you what happened, he had tears in his eyes. Even he doesn’t know if they’re from worry about how you’ll react or fear of what Mihawk and Crocodile will do if you disagree. Or maybe the tears held hopeful anxiety that you might go along with the plan.

Relief washed over Buggy when you agreed. It wasn’t his tears or trembling grasp that convinced you, but your adoration for the pirate clown. For once, you had power that could help him. Not only could this garner favor for your captain, but the heat in his shaky hands told you that he had a personal interest in this idea. You could benefit your captain and fulfill your partner’s fantasy, all while getting intimately familiar with some of the most powerful pirates around.

When the appointed time arrived, Buggy walked you to Mihawk’s quarters. He didn’t guide the way so much as herd you. The clown’s jittery nerves had him flitting around, caught in your orbit. Buggy was a one-man surround sound system - apologizing for putting you in this position, professing his love,  telling you to not be nervous or scared, reminding you to say “lighthouse” if you needed to stop, calling you gorgeous, and whining about how hard he was already.

Buggy pulled open the door and let you step into the eagle’s nest first. Partly because you were the visitor they were waiting for, but also to watch how the skirt he chose flounced around your ass while you walked. Crocodile sat back on an ornate sofa, a hazy cloud of smoke circling his head. Mihawk stood nearby, closing whatever discussion they were having before you two arrived. The swordsman held out a hand, beckoning you to come closer. The atmosphere in the room was heavy. Intense. But the attention Mihawk sent your way felt lighter and inviting. When you placed your hand on his, it was the final piece of your confirmation to participate in this arrangement.

A pointed look from Mihawk and a dismissive wave from Crocodile sent Buggy slinking away to a seat on the far side of the room. You turned to watch your captain, but a slender finger on your chin stopped your movement. Mihawk turned your gaze back towards him as his golden eyes looked you up and down.

“Crocodile…” His companion grunted an acknowledgement, already aware of Mihawk’s thoughts.

“Clown, this is really the outfit you picked for us?” Crocodile said, clearly displeased with your attire. 

To be fair, it wasn’t particularly sexy or revealing. It was one of your normal outfits, maybe a little more composed than others. It fit well and flattered your figure. You chimed in before Buggy could speak, wanting to divert negative attention away from him.

“What’s wrong with it?” 

Following Mihawk’s hesitation, you grabbed his wrist and pushed his hand under your top, letting him graze your bare breast. He squeezed firmly, his touch cool against the heat you were radiating and sent chills through your body. Mihawk felt your nipple harden in response to his touch and gave it a gentle tweak, drinking in the sound of your feather-soft sigh and the intoxicating expression he extracted. Your eyes fluttered under your crinkled brows as you tried to maintain eye contact.

Your hand was still on his wrist and you wanted to show him the other positive benefit of this outfit. Mihawk tensed for a brief moment, reluctant to let you control his body before giving in. You moved his hand under your short skirt, slowly drifting it up the skin of your hip. Teasing both yourself and the pirate in front of you.

“I see,” he murmured while grabbing a handful of your ass, your skin soft and supple against his touch, “it’s not about what you’re wearing, but what you don’t have on. Is that right?”

“Hawkeye gets it! Now you’ll always wonder if there’s anything underneath,” Buggy called out proudly, pleased with his contribution. From this moment on, Mihawk and Crocodile will question what you are, or aren’t, wearing. And if this outfit survives, it will remind you and Buggy of how you were shared between the fierce pirates. It’s a win-win-win.

Ignoring Buggy’s remark, Mihawk kept his attention on you. He pulled away his hand and replaced it on the small of your back, guiding you closer to Crocodile.

“Tell us, did your captain adequately inform you about this agreement?” Mihawk questioned, wanting to be sure you were aware of your involvement here. You nodded and acknowledged that your role was to offset any debt Buggy owed the two men in front of you. Mihawk appeared satisfied with your run-down, giving you courage to share an additional thought floating in your head.

“I’d like to add an amendment.” You felt your small flame of courage flicker under the change in atmosphere as you finished this sentence. Crocodile, who seemed to have been looking through you, was now paying rapt attention. There was an uncomfortable stillness from the area of the room where Buggy was sitting - a bad sign, since he usually had trouble sitting still and containing his nerves. With one foot in the door, you pushed on.

“I don’t like seeing Bu- Captain Buggy get hurt. Whatever frustrations you were going to take out on him, I want you to use me instead.”

If you thought the quiet in the room a moment ago was oppressive, this was a new level. If it wasn’t from the smoke still drifting from Croc, you wouldn’t be sure if anyone was breathing. Despite having Mihawk’s hand resting on your back and Crocodile close enough to touch, you felt as though you isolated yourself. Alone and adrift in a dangerous sea, surrounded by danger.

“I don’t think you know what you’re asking,” Sir Crocodile’s deep voice finally broke the spell in the room. In the corner of your eye, Mihawk nodded in agreement. “I don’t think you can take it.” The Desert King spoke his piece as if it was the end of your bargaining. You were not ready to give up, even with his dominating aura threatening to snuff the remainder of bravery in your body.

“I’d like to try.” Four simple words brought a smile to Crocodile’s face. A dangerous look.

“You’re going to regret this,” Mihawk said quietly, with a sliver of hungry anticipation. For the first time since stepping into the room, you felt small. Fragile under the intensity required to become a former warlord of the sea. 

Sir Crocodile extended his large hand. Before you could consider changing your mind - not that they would allow that - you shook, sealing the deal. Before you could release his hand, Crocodile pulled you closer. The way his hand enveloped yours and the rough pull had heat pooling in your core.

“Mihawk’s right. You’re going to regret this deal. Unlike the others, I don’t care about you one way or another. I’m only here for my own pleasure.”

Spurred by false-confidence from your successful bartering, you firmly met Crocodile’s stare.

“If that’s the case, then why are you still talking to me instead of fucking me?”

Your boldness wavered as Crocodile leaned forward and grabbed your chin. Mihawk’s hands on your shoulders sent chills down your spine and made your knees weak. However, it was Crocodile’s cold hook pressing against your slick heat that broke you. A docile lamb at the mercy of two hungry predators.

Time passed in a blur. Hands, mouths, cocks, countless orgasms, kisses, bites, bruises, all of which left your mind spinning. Dirty commands and sweet praises went in one ear and out the other. Heavy moans, groans and whimpers, even periodic commentary from your kind captain filled the room.

“Don’t hold back, she likes it that way.” “Pretty girl, you look so good riding my cock.” “Squeeze your tits for me, dear.” “Cumming on my hand like that makes you look desperate.” “Tell me, does your captain fuck you like this?” “She loves the taste of cum, make her swallow it all.”

Only flashes stuck in your hazy memory. You recall one particular moment stuck between the pirates. Despite being on your hands and knees, you were barely able to keep yourself steady. Instead, you chose to lean into Mihawk’s hold on your hips as his eager cock bullied your dripping cunt. Your mouth ached as Crocodile languidly slid in and out, caressing your jaw and enjoying the vibrations from your endless moaning.

One poorly positioned thrust from Mihawk had him slam into you uncomfortably - nearly painfully. Your body rocked forwards, almost instinctively, trying to move away from the discomfort. Unfortunately, this pushed Crocodile further down your throat, which constricted around him as your gag reflex kicked in.

“Aw poor thing, you’d rather choke on my cock?” Crocodile rumbled as he wiped the tears from the corner of your eyes. “You know I won’t hurt you accidentally, hm? Unlike Mihawk, I know what I’m doing.”

His comments only served to spur on the swordsman, who directed all his attention to making you feel good. An accomplishment he felt satisfied with when you cried his name the loudest during your orgasms.

Eventually, you could tell that Crocodile and Mihawk were becoming worn out. Their movements were sloppy, far less intentional or calculated. They had trouble keeping their strength restrained as they grabbed you and maneuvered your weary body, leaving bruises that formed quickly. Each load they left in or on you felt less heavy than the last. The click of Crocodile’s lighter and the scent of tobacco filling the room were the white flags that signaled the end. Your body relaxed, sinking into the sticky sheets underneath you.

“You should tell your captain thank you,” Mihawk murmured against your ear in between soft kisses. 

He pulled his body away from yours as you tilted your head to face Buggy, who was already standing at the edge of the bed. Mihawk hooked a hand around your knee and tugged, easing your sore legs apart. The gesture pulled Buggy’s attention to your beautiful cunt. Cum trickled from your overused hole with each breath and heartbeat, a pool collecting under your body.

Buggy’s hand was furiously pumping his own deprived cock, which was weeping for you. His attention snapped between the glistening treasure between your legs and your face, which was flushed with lust and pride. Words poured from Buggy’s mouth as he poised himself to decorate your heaving chest.

“You did s-so good, you’re such a good little slut.” “I watched the whole time, my little star.” “Just lay there, beautiful, m’so c-close…”

His cum felt hot against your cooling skin, carrying the warmth of his passion and care for you. Buggy leaned in and captured your mouth in a kiss full of emotion. Adoration, appreciation, and a slightly bittersweet hint of an apology for spurring on these events, even though you both clearly enjoyed things.

Buggy expected Mihawk to be upset about the state of his personal belongings. His obviously expensive sheets were beyond saving and it’s very likely that some fluids leaked through to the mattress below. But there was a softness in Mihawk’s eyes as he surveyed your exposed body draped across his bed - a sensual, albeit lewd, work of art. Buggy let Mihawk commit this vision to memory before mentioning that you’d need help cleaning up.

Before Mihawk could tend to you, Crocodile’s hook stopped him. You could barely make out the enigmatic look on his face through your half-lidded eyes. He placed his hand on your thigh, which quivered under the weight. His attention traveled upwards until his fingers brushed against your swollen, sensitive folds. A careful swipe of two fingers scooped up some of the cum that trickled out, which he then eased back into you. You gasped at the intrusion as your body fluttered helplessly around Crocodile’s large fingers. Weakly, you grabbed Crocodile’s wrist as he curled his fingers, already knowing your body inside and out. It only took a few choice movements and a swipe of his thick thumb against your clit to have you shaking under his touch, succumbing to yet another orgasm. 

Satisfied with your encore, Crocodile took a towel from Mihawk and wiped his sticky fingers before moving onto your body. The pirates made quick work of caring for your worn out body, cautious of your aching muscles and tender skin. Finally, Buggy wrapped you in his embrace to carry you back to his quarters for a bath and additional tender care.

---

It seemed that everyone’s expectations were fulfilled. The two former warlords upheld the end of the bargain they struck with you, as Buggy rarely returned with injuries. For a time.

About a week later and even you could feel emotions rising. Agitation and tension carried through the air behind each of the three pirates, with a breaking point close behind. Once again, a meeting behind closed doors was escalating. Threads of an argument trickled through the closed door, a warning for others to stay away. A warning you chose to ignore.

A knock on the door interrupted the meeting and before Sir Crocodile could dismiss the unwelcome visitor, you stepped in with a tray of refreshments. You ignored the blush dusting your cheeks as Mihawk’s eyes swept your body, clothed in an outfit he was intimately familiar with, and placed the tray on the table.

“Perhaps we are due for a break. Why don’t you join us?” Mihawk disguised his command as a question. Choosing to take the statement at face value, you turned towards your captain and feigned innocence.

“May I?” Your request was quickly answered with a nervous but expectant nod, Buggy's hat nearly tumbling off his head from the movement. Following Buggy’s agreement, you chose to settle down on his lap before turning your attention to his companions. The bemused looks on their faces told you that they knew you were toying with them.

“Get the fuck over here.”

[eagerbby]

only you | e.m.

pairing| Eddie Munson x female reader

synopsis| You and Eddie were never meant to be just friends.

an| written in a world where Eddie was never accused, never died, and more importantly, finally graduated. not very canon, billy’s still alive and briefly mentioned. this was a quick break from a fix-it fic I’m currently writing and very much inspired by the song touch tank by quinnie. it’s eddies song and i’ll die on this hill.

warnings| oral (female receiving), PnV (protected), Eddie running his mouth, thats a warning in itself, 18+ only

[June 9, 1986]

The pitiless Indiana sun hung high in the cerulean sky, its uv-rays biting at your bare skin. The cool pool water lapping over your legs every time Eddie moved was the only relief at the moment.

“Have you ever been in the ocean?” He asked lazily, his long fingers flicking water across your bare thighs. The two of you lay opposite each other in the barely six foot wide and three foot deep blow up pool set up next to his front porch. Your feet floated next to his shoulders, grazing the freckled pale skin there every time he shifted or turned. Meanwhile, tall and gangly Eddie had his head propped up on the blue polyvinyl rim, his own feet hung over the side next to your head. He had bitched and moaned once the two of you had finally finished setting it up, “I don’t even fit all the way.” He’d complained. “Why’d you buy a damn kiddie pool?”

You had laughed at him, his pale body laying stick straight in the cool water in only a pair of plaid blue boxers. You had begged him to let you buy him a pair of swim shorts but he had refused.

“It’s just you and me, it’s not like you haven’t seen my boxers all over my bedroom floor.”

“Yeah, but what if you go to the public pool? You’ll need them then.”

“Ha. Not likely you’ll ever see Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson at the public pool. The parent’s would probably gather pitchforks and torches and hang me at the gallows.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Eds.”

“M’not. And anyway, I don’t like swimming, I’m only doing this for you.”

“My parents used to take my little brother and I to the Outer Banks when we were younger. We’d go every summer, swim in the ocean or walk the dunes to the lighthouse.” You opened your eyes to look at him only to find he’s already watching you speak, his deep brown eyes hidden behind the lens of his aviator sunglasses. His hair is almost dry now except for the ringlets that float atop his shoulders in the water. “You should probably take those sunglasses off before you get too much sun on your face. Gonna get a weird ass tan line from them.”

He does as you tell him, taking them off and tossing them onto the porch. “I’ve never been.” He said. “The ocean scares the fuck outta me. All that never ending water. Do you ever think about how many bodies are in the ocean? Lost to the dark depths of the sea.”

You sat up at his words, a perplexed look on your face as you stared at him. “Well that’s fucking morbid. Jesus Christ, Eddie.”

He only shrugged in his usual unbothered way, his knuckles grazing the skin of your thigh beneath the rippling water.

“You’ve never thought about it before?” He asked.

“Not really, no. I guess I blocked the thought from my mind. I love swimming in the ocean.”

“You love swimming with dead bodies. Got it.”

You splashed him at this, laughing as the small tidal wave blasted him. The shock of the cold water hitting his warm skin caused him to shoot up, water dripping down his face as he wrestled you backwards into the water. You squealed when he grabbed your shoulders, his hand holding the back of your neck as he dunked you. The gurgle of the water echoed your laugh and as he pulled you back up you spit a fountain of water right into his face.

“Who would have ever imagined that you, The Princess of Hawkins high and valediction, was such a freak.”

“I graduated two years ago, Eddie! Now I’m just the queen of folding panties at Starcourt mall, and failing my English lit course.”

You watched Eddie’s expression shift at the word panties, your best friend's eyes now slightly wider, his grip on the back of your neck a little harder. He was so close to you, sitting on his knees in the small pool, completely leaned over your body. You didn’t see him shirtless often and you had never seen him shirtless and so close. If you reached up you could trace the dark ink of his tattoo that sat just beneath his collarbone. Scratch your fingers against the small splattering of hair on his sternum. That strange feeling stirred in your stomach, the same one you’d been getting for a couple months now. You didn’t understand it and what made it worse was that Eddie, your best friend, was the sole cause of it.

You felt it for the first time after Eddie had fallen asleep during your weekly movie night. His head was laying on the pillow in your lap, you hadn’t even noticed he’d fallen asleep until you heard him softly snore. He’d had a bad day at school, Jason Carver and his cronies spray painting ‘Freak’ in bright red letters across the windshield of his van. When you got to his trailer later that day you found him sitting on the hood of the van with a razor blade, slowly scraping the still wet paint from the glass. You had tried helping him but he only waved you off, telling you it was fine. But his eyes were red rimmed and glassy like he’d been crying. You wanted to kill those stupid jocks, which you voiced with indignation. But Eddie had only shook his head. He wasn’t a fighter despite what the whole town thought. He just didn’t have it in him.

“Lets go.” You said softly, your hand holding onto his forearm as you looked up at him.

“What?”

“To the ocean. Let’s go to the ocean, Eddie.” It was only a whisper as it passed your lips, your eyes searching his face. His furrowed eyebrows made him appear confused, but there was something else swimming in the chocolate brown of his iris’.

“What are you talking about, Crazy?” He lazily dragged you to sit up as he shifted from his knees to stretch his long legs out in front of himself. You waited for him to get comfortable before bouncing up onto your own knees, your fingers excitedly grabbing the wet fabric of his boxers on his leg. You don’t notice his cheeks flush as his eyes quickly flashed down to your hands and back up to your eyes.

“You, Eddie Munson, are a high school graduate now. You have a whole summer before you have to start thinking about what's next! And I have some vacation time and a shoebox full of savings from the past two years.” You rambled, your smile so wide it hurts your cheeks. “We could take your van, o-or my car, and we could drive to the Outer Banks. Rent a motel and just have fun.”

“Y-you want to waste two years worth of savings to go to the beach?”

“It wouldn’t be a waste, Eddie! It’d be… well it’d be like an adventure.”

He was silent, looking away from you, his eyes scanning the quiet trailer park. Your shoulders dropped a little when you realized he didn’t share the same excitement as you. He had an entire summer to do whatever he wanted, why would he want to spend it with you driving to somewhere he’s never been.

He doesn’t even like the ocean, you idiot.

“Forget it. It’s stupid.” He jumped a little as you suddenly stood up, rivets of water rushing down the expanse of your body. You’ve stepped one foot out of the pool before he’s grabbing your wrist softly.

“Hey, where are you going?” He asked gently, his eyes wide like he’d just gotten into trouble.

“Inside to change. I think I got too much sun.” You shook your arm until his hand slipped from your wrist, falling back into the water with a splash. You snatched your towel from the rickety lawn chair and escaped into his trailer, ignoring him calling your name. You grabbed your bookbag from the couch and all but ran to the bathroom, locking the door behind you with shaking hands.

You felt so fucking stupid. You already spent eighty percent of your time with him, practically attached at the hip as his freshman friend Dustin had pointed out, how could you think he’d want to spend even more time with you. Especially somewhere far from home. For fucks sake, he hadn’t even looked at you as you went on and on about it. He was too nice to tell you it was a stupid idea. The way he stared off, probably thinking of how to let you down gently, was all the answer you needed.

In hindsight, it probably wasn’t that good of an idea. You weren’t known for your extraordinary planning skills and both of your vehicles were pieces of shit. In fact the likelihood of making it across the Indiana border just to break down in some podunk town was terribly high. The thought of spending the rest of your money getting the car fixed just to turn around and go right back home, broke and without ever seeing the damn beach, made you a little nauseous. Because that would be your luck.

A knock at the bathroom door made you jump. "Hey, you okay in there?" Eddie, voice peppered with concern. You tossed your bathing suit in the sink and turned the shower on.

"I gotta wash my hair, be out in a minute." You yelled back at the door before stepping into the shower stall, the hot water easing the tension from your muscles.

You didn't want him to think you were upset so you hurried through your shower, using his old spice to wash your body and his shampoo and conditioner that smelled of citrus in your hair. It was a distinct smell, one that was all him, and it made your stomach whirl once again. Your crush on him was starting to become a nuisance.

Once you were clean and dried off, dressed in his Iron Maiden shirt you stole from his drawer a couple weeks ago and a pair of black jean shorts that were frayed at the ends, you slowly cracked the door open, peering out towards the living room slash kitchen in search for a puff of raven curls.

He wasn’t there, so instead you followed the sound of Ozzy Osborne down the hall and into Eddie’s messy bedroom.

He was in his bed, back propped up against the headboard and rolling a joint with idle fingers. He was still shirtless but with a pair of gray sweatpants hung low on his hips, the band of his now white boxers resting against his dark happy trail. A wildfire blazed in your stomach at the sight and you couldn’t help but clamp your thighs together.

Does he not realize how unbearably hot he is?

He didn’t, actually, which was why seeing him like this all laid out with his chest bare and that smattering of hair that led down his abdomen and under his pants made your mouth so dry your tongue felt like it weighed 110 pounds and your hands so clammy you had to wipe them against your shorts. You cleared your throat in an attempt to subdue your racing thoughts and took a seat on the edge of his bed, body turned towards him watching him roll with ease.

He looked up with a smile when he felt your weight dip into the mattress. “Are you feeling any bette-'' He paused, glaring at the long haired zombie on your shirt. His shirt. “Is that my fucking shirt?”

You glanced down and back up, imitating the causal shrug he always gave you.

“Maybe.” You deadpanned. Eddie spluttered.

“Maybe? Who else do you know listens to Iron fucking Maiden?”  

“I know people.”

“You know people?”

“A couple.”

Eddie’s eyes suddenly narrowed, a quiet disapproval in those deep brown eyes of his.

“Billy Hargrove?” He asked with a grating timbre in his voice you’d never heard before. He’d tossed the joint down into the ashtray and got off the bed, standing in front of you with his arms crossed over his chest.

“B- What?” You’re so exasperated you can’t even form a sentence. “Billy Hargrove? What?”

“It’s him right? I know you used to hangout with him. He’s totally not an Iron Maiden fan, by the way. He definitely listens to Foreigner and cries in his piece of shit Camaro.”  

“Hey! Don’t talk bad about Foreigner, I love them.” You stood up from the bed with your hands on your hips. “He’s a Guns N’ Roses guy anyways; completely idolizes Axel Rose.”

“Oh. Okay. So Billy Hargrove likes Guns N’ Roses and groupies for Axel Rose. Amazing.”

“I don’t hang out with Billy Hargrove, Eddie. Not like that, anyways.”

His nostrils flared and he nodded. “But you do hang out.”

“Maybe once or twice, I guess?” Your voice forms a question. You didn’t consider having a couple of the same friends and being at parties the other is at as ‘hanging out’. “What- What is this, Eddie? Why are you freaking out over Billy?”

“I’m not.” He said, blinking a couple times like he was trying to snap out of something. He leaned over your shoulder and grabbed the joint out the ashtray, lit it, and walked over to his cluttered table to search through a milk crate full of records. “Just figured the people you were talking about was him, s’all.”

“Eddie,” You said, coming up beside him to grab his wrist. He froze, his hands stopping their furious flipping of records, but his gaze stayed low. “I was fucking around, Eddie.”

“Fucking around?’

“Yes, Eddie. I was just joking.”

He turned to you at your words, staring dead into your eyes. The intensity of his stare made your heart stutter. “Were you trying to make me jealous?”

“Jealous? Wh- Eddie what the fuck are you talking about.”

There was a pregnant pause. Just you and Eddie staring into each other's eyes. Why would you want to make him jealous? You didn’t even know that was an option. You and Eddie were friends. Best friends. Friends don’t get jealous of their friends hanging out with other people. And Billy Hargrove? You had no idea where he pulled that one from. Not once had you ever even mentioned his name around Eddie. There was nothing worth mentioning. You thought Billy was stuck up and an absolute douchebag. Was he nice to look at? Sure. But you were nearly positive his heart was black with hatred and you believed being pretty meant nothing if your personality was shit.

“Uh, Eddie? Are you jealous?” He couldn’t look you in the eyes, instead he was flickering his gaze to anywhere but your face. “Eddie?”

“Would you hate me if I said yes?” He trailed his question off, biting at the skin on his lips as he waited for a response.

“I could never hate you, Eddie. You’re my best friend.”

He rolled his eyes. He rolled his fucking eyes. “Your best friend, right.” He said through a cloud of smoke. You snatched the joint sitting pretty between his fingers and dropped it in his other ashtray, the glass one shaped like a skull.

“Why are you saying it like that? You are my best friend.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be.” He said defiantly and your throat felt like it was going to close and your eyes burned from the prickle of your unshed tears welling in your eyes. He didn't want to be your best friend. Those words made you want to crawl into your body, to somehow vanish into thin air. Not too long ago you two were laughing together in the pool, discussing Steve Harrington's newest girl drama which was all supplied to you by Dustin Henderson. The night before you two made shitty Jiffy Pop while blazed out of your minds and sang karaoke so loud his neighbors came banging on the door, furious.

But now he didn’t want to be friends.

“Is this because I asked you to go on a roadtrip with me?” Your voice wavered and your chin started to tremble. “I know it was a bad idea.”

He strangely looked befuddled. “W-what? No. No, it’s not tha-”

“Well then what did I do?” You whined, tossing your hands about, unsure of what to do or what to say. What to think.

“You didn’t do-” He cut himself off, frustrated with his inability to explain himself. He looked at you, saw the tremble in your chin and shook his head. “You know what, fuck it.”

As soon as the words left his mouth he was surging forward, grasping your face in his hands, and pulling you towards him. His lips met yours with so much force you gasped, hands clutching his hips for purchase. You couldn’t form a single thought as you stood there, eyes squeezed shut, your chest so tight you couldn’t breathe. But then his hand smoothed over your cheek and grasped the back of your neck, his fingernails scraping over the sensitive skin there, and you finally kissed him back. Eddie moaned. The sound so loud it vibrated through your mouth and straight to the core of your being.

You kissed him with every ounce of power you had. Kissed him like you had daydreamed about so many times before as you watched him roll, or play guitar, or sing along to the radio as he drummed against the steering wheel. You kissed him for everytime he smiled and you felt your heart skip a beat. For every time he hugged you just because you looked like you needed one. For every smile he’d ever graced you with. You kissed him like you’d never kissed anyone before in your life, and it was messy and rough and probably looked horrific from a different point of view, but it felt perfect.

Eddie pulled away first, gasping for air in the crook of your neck, his body practically folded into you. “Fuck,” he drew out the word long enough to make you giggle, drunk off his lips.

“Eddie.” You soothed, combing your fingers through his hair. “Why don’t you wanna be my friend?”

He raised to his full height at your question. “Best friends can’t kiss like that.” He’s so out of breath, his words merely a whisper as he continued. “And every goddamn time I look at you all I wanna do is kiss your pretty fucking mouth.”

He left you speechless, looking up into his big brown eyes that you loved so much. He lets you take a second, think on it, all the while stroking his thumb across your cheek.

“How long?” Is all you can ask.

“Shit, since fucking middle school, baby.” He blushed as he said it, the pretty pink darkening to a cherry red as he watched your eyes widen in surprise.

“Middle school?” You whispered.

“I always have. But in middle school you showed up to the snowball in that cute purple dress with your hair all big and your makeup maybe a little too grown for a 12 year old and all I could think about was walking over and asking you to dance. Shit, I wanted to kiss your cheek so fucking bad.” You laughed at the way he scrunched his nose at the last part. You remembered middle school Eddie, his buzzed head and those horrible army green bell bottoms that he’d ripped up to look cool. You liked that Eddie as much as you liked this one, even back then.

“Why didn’t you?” You asked as you pushed up against his chest and wrapped your arms around his waist. In this position he had to look down his nose at you, his dark lashes fluttering across his cheeks.

“You were you and I was the freak.”

“I never thought that about you, Eddie.”

He sighed, kissing your forehead. “I didn’t know that then, baby.”

“Should have asked.” You teased, planting a kiss on his chest when he tried to act offended.

You two stood like that for a while, just wrapped up in each other, testing the waters of this new dynamic. One where you both knew where you stood with each other.

“I’m sorry I upset you earlier, you uh- you kinda surprised me.” He spoke into the crown of your head.

“It was a stupid idea, anyway.”

“No it’s not. I wanna go. I just don’t want to spend all your money doing it. Give me a couple months to save up and we can go.”

“I don’t care about the money, Eds.” You said as you took your head off his chest and gazed up at him.

“I know. Just give me a couple months, okay.”

“Okay, Eddie.”

Silence fell over the two of you. Eddie started swaying to the music at some point, humming along to a Black Sabbath song that was definitely not slow dance material. You kissed the tattoo on his chest as you swayed, looking up at him with your best version of puppy dog eyes.

“Hey, Eddie?” You asked softly. He hummed against you, kissing your forehead as he waited for you to finish your question. “Can you kiss me again?”  

~~

“Did you use my shampoo?”

Eddie’s voice raised up from the crease of your neck, a hint of amusement in his words. He had you laid out on his bed, slowly working kisses across your body. What had started as a soft little makeout session bloomed into something more when you had drug your nails up his spine the moment he found that sweet spot just behind your ear.

“Mhm.” You were too distracted to answer, focusing on the feel of his tongue laving against your neck and the way his hips shuddered against your clothed pussy every time you dug your nails into his skin.

“I like when you smell like me.” He mused. “Makes me feel like you’re mine.”

“M’yours, Eddie.” You whispered, guiding his face up to look at him. His lips were puffy and tinted red from sucking hickeys against your throat and his eyes were wide, searching your face for honesty.

“Promise?” He said after a quiet couple seconds and you nodded, leaning your head up to kiss the tip of his nose and the corner of his mouth.

“Promise.”

Eddie’s smile lit up his entire face, all dimpled and pink cheeked. It made your heart swell.

“Can I taste you?”

He asked in such a polite way, it caught you off guard. You couldn’t remember ever having a guy ask to eat you out. It was always something you hinted at and they brushed aside. One guy had even told you that eating a girl out made him soft and in the same breath forced your head down on his dick. But here was Eddie, looking at you so expectantly and yet so patiently.

“Yeah.”

Eddie didn’t waste a second getting to his knees on the mattress, fingers fumbling with the button of your shorts as he mumbled to himself. “Oh shit, okay. Fuck, I’ve wanted to do this for so fucking long, you don’t even understand. Pretty baby. So fucking pretty.”

You helped him shimmy the black fabric from your legs, Eddie tossing them over his shoulder with such force they knocked his acoustic guitar, that sat across from the bed, off its stand. He paid no attention to the instruments sharp bellow as it hit the carpet, instead he was transfixed on your purple lace panties.

“Christ.” He breathed, his index and middle finger tracing up the wet spot that had been steadily growing from the moment he kissed you. “You’re so wet.”

“Because of you.” You keened, Eddie suddenly adding more force in his stroking right against your clit. He flashed his eyes up to yours.

“Yeah?”

You nodded.

“Shit, I never thought I’d hear you say that outside of my dreams.” He seems to lose himself in his heavy caressing while you grip his sheets so hard your knuckles turn white.

“Eddie, please.” You couldn’t stop the whine that escaped your lips, dipping your fingers under the band of your panties and impatiently trying to take them off.

Eddie chuckled to himself as he watched you struggle. “Okay, okay. I’ve got you baby. Calm down.” He gave your panties the same treatment, peeling them down your thighs and tossing them over his shoulder. He bit his lip as he lowered his stomach to the bed, face to face with your weeping core. “So eager to be on my tongue, huh. Who woulda thought you’d be sobbing at the thought of me, The Freak, licking your sweet little pussy.”

“Eddie,” You were so touch starved, so desperate to feel his mouth on you, that you thought you might actually cry if he didn’t do something. “Shut the fuck up, please. Please. Just… Oh, Eddie, please.”

“Mm, okay.”

The second his warm tongue hit you, you cried out. Hands fumbling for purchase and finding it in his dark brown hair. You gripped the strands at the roots hard enough to hurt but Eddie only moaned and tightened his grip on your thighs, pulling them open even further to sink his tongue as far into your pussy as he could. His nose brushed against your swollen clit with each delve of his tongue, the muscle exploring every inch of your sensitive pussy. You trained your eyes on his nicotine stained ceiling, trying so hard to push back the fire rising in your stomach. You’d never felt anything like it before.

“That feels so fucking good, Eddie.” You loosened your grip on him to pet at his hair, unsure if it was to praise him or soothe yourself. Peeling your eyes from the ceiling you cast your hazy stare down only to find his big brown eyes watching you from between your thighs, mouth latched around your sensitive clit as he alternated from gentle sucks to fast flicks of his tongue. Your thighs burned as you rocked your hips against his face, fucking into his mouth for more friction, hands shaking against his cheeks. He looked so unbelievably pretty staring up at you with so much fondness and lust in his eyes, his mouth and tongue completely ravishing you like no man ever had before.. So you tell him…

“You’re so pretty like this, Eddie. You- oh fuuck- you’re always so pretty b-but-” You let out a wanton cry as Eddie slipped two fingers into your achy cunt. He finds that spot inside you that whitens your eyesight almost immediately, like he knew exactly where it was. Between his fingers and his devilish tongue you were seeing stars, tears slipping freely at how extreme the sensation was. “Oh god, Eddie. Eddie, I’m- I’m gonna-” You couldn’t even fucking speak anymore.

Eddie acknowledged you with a shuddering groan, quickening his movements to drive you over the precipice. His eyes never once leave your face.  

You came with a small scream, hips arched off the bed, your fingernails leaving crescent moons into the skin of his wrist. The feeling was all consuming, overwhelming in all the best ways. You let out a sob as he eased you through it, rubbing your thighs comfortingly as they shook with fervor around his head. You could hear yourself speaking but it was muffled by the roaring in your ears; it sounded like you were speaking in tongues. Eddie heard every word.

“Ohgodohgodohgodohgod. Don’t stop, baby. Never fucking stop. So good, s-so fucking good. You’re so fucking good, Eddie. Oh my god, I love you.”

Eddie kissed your thighs as your orgasm faded, your burning lungs gasping for air. When you could finally breathe again, he left one last lingering kiss before crawling up your body. You held his face with shaking hands when he reached you, the biggest shit eating grin on his cum soaked face.

“You love me, huh?” He pondered with a fleeting kiss to your lips. “Or do you just love the way I eat your pussy?”

“Both you fucking deviant. Both.” Each inhale rattled in your chest and every exhale burned the lining of your throat. Eddie chuckled as he kissed you again, pressing his hard cock against your still sensitive core.

“Who knew you were a fucking screamer, baby.”

“I could tell you that was all you but then you’d fucking gloat about it for the rest of eternity.”

“Still might.” He hummed, ghosting kisses over your eyes and nose and lips. “You look so fucking hot when you cum. Never seen anything like it. Coulda cum right then and there but I wanna be inside you.”

You reached a hand between your bodies, running a heavy finger over the outline of his cock in his sweats. “Do you have a condom?” You asked, still a little breathless.

Eddie nodded excitedly before bounding up from the bed and over to his dresser. He rifled through it aggressively. Cursing here and there as he tossed socks and a random cassette tape onto the floor in his frenzied search. When he finally finds what he was looking for he exclaimed to himself, “Fucking finally.”.

He leaves the mess he made, struggling to pull his sweats and boxers off as he makes his way back over to you, sprawled out and butt naked in his bed. Once he finally gets there, after narrowly avoiding tripping over his own boots on the floor, he crawls on top of you with the aluminum wrapper between his teeth. You watched with bated breath as he ripped it open, rolling it down the dark pink head of his cock. Once he’s done he positioned himself in the apex of your thighs, fisting his cock and smoothing the latex covered head through your slick covered folds.

“I, uh, I’m probably not gonna last that long.” He said, his eyes downcast, watching the way your hips rutted into him with every swipe of his cock.

“It’s okay, Eds. Just fuck me.” You grabbed his chin, forcing his face up. When your eyes met you smiled at him sweetly and added, “Please.”

Eddie wasted no time pressing into you, his thick cock stretching you wide as he bottomed out inside you. His cheeks were flamed pink, a bead of sweat bleeding from his hairline down the curve of his nose. He pulled out gently and plunged back in, the tip of his tongue poking through his teeth as he concentrated on his slow deliberate thrusts. You dug your heels into the backs of his thighs, hoping he'd get the hint to go faster. Harder. The slow drag of his cock against that sweet spot inside of you was agonizing. But he only ignored your pressing and not so subtle whines, folding himself over top of you with one arm wrapped around your back and a callused hand holding your cheek. He was being so gentle. It wasn’t something you were used to. Every other guy you’d been with just used you to get off as fast as they could. But Eddie was taking his time, having found a pace that kept you needing more. You found yourself giggling at a particularly languid thrust and Eddie’s round eyes, with his pupils completely blown black, shot up to yours.

“What’s so funny?” He asked, stilling himself inside of you.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just…” You giggled again and his eyes narrowed. “I just thought, who would have imagined you to be such a gentle lover. You know, with your bad boy–heavy metal image and all.”

“Don’t forget local drug dealer and devil worshiper.” His smile cracked wide as you giggled again. That giggle, however, turned into a sharp cry with a snap of his hips. “I can be gentle. When I want to be.”

You could only nod at this, your breath lodged in your throat at another hard snap of his hips. Your comment had urged him to go faster. To show you that, yes, he could be gentle. But he could also fuck you senseless.

“Imagine what they’d think of you, baby.” He whispered into your ear, forehead pressed hard to the side of your head, his hips building into a maddening pace. He had thrown your leg over his shoulder, allowing him to go deeper, to hit that spot inside your core that brought tears to your eyes. “You were always such a good girl. Hawkins number one girl. Do you even remember what they said when they found out we were friends?”

You shook your head, unable to speak with how hard and deliberate his thrusts were.

“They said I was corrupting you.” He released a breathy, dark laugh. His hand slotting through the strands of your hair to grip the roots. “But they didn’t know that you sought me out, hm. Followed me to the woods just so we could be alone. Made me laugh. Made me feel special.”

You remembered that day. Remembered watching him walk through the tree line all alone, that black metal lunch pail gripped tightly in his hand. You knew what he was doing, skipping class to go smoke up. You’d seen him do it before. But that day you followed after him, nervously gripping the ruched fabric of your cheer skirt as you went. You couldn’t help yourself, You wanted to know him so badly.

“Everyday after that, you found me.” His thrusts were starting to get sloppy and you could tell in the way he held you, in the way his words doubled as moans, that he was getting close. “I tried so hard to keep you from getting too close. People are shunned for being close to me. But you wouldn’t fucking quit. Always so fucking stubborn. It’s like you couldn’t stay away from me.”

“I couldn’t.” You cried out, wrapping your arms around his neck. His hair tickled your cheeks, his breath fanning over your lips as he held himself over you now. His brows furrowed in concentration as his cock throbbed inside of you. You clenched at the sight of him, looking so pretty and so fucked, and all yours. Because he was. He was it for you.

“Ah, shit.” He whimpered. He wouldn’t last much longer, but Eddie being who Eddie was, you knew he was gonna talk the whole way through it. “You fucking- You broke down every fucking wall I’d ever built. Smashed right fucking through them and straight into my fucking heart. I-I wanted to be good for you. Good enough that you’d want me like I wanted you. You corrupted me.”

“E-Eddie, I think I’m gonna c-cum.” That burning heat had returned but it was different this time. You felt it everywhere, from the tips of your fingers to the bottom of your toes. It thrummed every nerve like the string of a guitar, vibrating you to the bone.

“Good.” He said harshly, the word sounding almost mean falling from his red swollen lips, but the fingers stroking your face were still gentle. “I want you to scream for me again. I want everyone in this shitty trailer park, in this shitty fucking town, to know that I’m the one making you feel like this. Crying for my cock, desperate for me.”

You couldn’t handle it, couldn’t see through the tears falling, couldn’t feel anything but him and the white hot pleasure he was gifting to you. You were right there, so fucking close.

“I want them to know that you are mine.” Each word was punctuated with a hard, albeit sloppy, thrust and you came.

You came with a scream, wrenched from your throat so roughly it seared its way out of your lungs and into the air. You felt yourself clench down on him, hard, and his hips shuddered violently against you, succumbing to his own orgasm from your vise lock grip on his cock. He buried his face into the crook of your neck as he rocked his hips and moaned through it, your name and curses sounding like the sweetest song you’d ever heard.

“Jesus Christ.” He groaned before his body collapsed on top of yours. You could feel his thighs trembling against your own, mirroring the intensity of the feeling you both shared as you came.

The both of you laid there, shrouded in the warmth of each other's embrace, until finally he rolled away. Wincing as he pulled out and discarded the condom. You could only lay there and watch him rise from the bed on shaky legs to grab the half smoked joint from earlier. He placed it between his lips and lit it, standing there in all his naked glory, puffing on it till he could get a nice long hit. The slight skunky smell filled the room and you closed your eyes, relishing in it. But then, you were hit in the chest by something light and lacey.

“For your modesty.” Eddie smirked as you held your purple panties up in the light.

“Thanks.” You croaked, your voice hoarse and your throat sore.

Eddie crawled over you, flopping his sweaty body down next to yours. He handed you the joint, which you took gratefully, taking your own long drag and passing it back. The both of you laid in a comfortable silence, legs draped over each other and his fingers drawing lazy patterns on your bare thigh. But then something occurred to you and you turned your head to look at him.

“I didn’t corrupt you.” You said to him and he rolled his eyes, huffing out a laugh.

“Yes, you did.”

“No I did not, asshole.” You guffawed, slapping your hand playfully on his bare chest.

“I wear my seatbelt and listen to fucking Journey because of you. That’s corruption.” He teased with a cute little smirk, grabbing your thigh and squeezing the soft flesh there.

“That’s just safety and taste, baby. If you want me to corrupt you there are… different things I have in mind.” You watched his eyes widen and he laughed.

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time.” He said as he leaned in, his lips tasted of you and the weed he had smoked and you smiled behind the kiss, chest full and body sore.

“Hey,” He started as he rested his head on your shoulder, gazing up at you like a little puppy. “You wanna go watch a movie? I can make some Jiffy Pop and we can cuddle on the couch?”

“Who’s picking the movie?” You asked, fingers playing with the ends of his hair.

“I had Steve score me a copy of Poltergeist 2. Picked it up from Family Video while you were at the store earlier.”  

You sat up a little, an incredulous look etched into your features while he gave you those damn puppy eyes.

“Eddie, you literally told me two weeks ago that you'd rather be decapitated than watch that movie."

Eddie only shrugged, that casual slouch of his shoulder that you had become so accustomed to, and offered you a pretty smile.

“I would. But you wanted to see it. I'll suck it up, but only for you."

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

I request anything and everything Xaden Riorson please, fluffy or smutty or both! 🥰🥰🥰

Late night hours

It was late and Xaden knew that he shouldn't be dragging his feet through the quiet corridors but there was not a single part of him that cared anymore. His head was pounding and oddly enough his muscles ached. Riding never tired him out so much beforehand. But then the past couple of days had been filled with endless patrol. The first years weren't fit enough to help so the fourth years had to do double the work and if you added training and classes on top of that...

You're fusing like a baby. Sgaeyl spoke in Xaden's mind, sounding utterly unimpressed. She was in a mood too. Tairn had to stay back to train, meaning the two mates had to separate, and well, that was a receipt for a broody dragon. Xaden let out a breath of relief as he finally reached the floor his room was set. Starting to undo his flying leathers. The corridor echoed with his heavy footsteps. You'll wake the girl, you idiot. Sgaeyl snared and that was enough to make Xaden slow his pace and calculate his movements.

The thought of you had been the only thing keeping him up right in the saddle today. The only thing that made him want to come back. Xaden carefully unlocked the door, pushing it open. And all it took was one look for all the frustration to come to an end. The corners of his lips turned upwards on their own. Here you were. Sprawled out beneath his black sheets. Clinging to his pillow as you softly snored. Xaden never thought he could love something so simple so much but watching you sleep had turned out to be one of his favorite things to do when his mind grew busy.

He moved to sit at the side of the bed, fingers reaching out to you desperately as he carefully pushed some of the loose pieces of your hair away from your face. The scent of it. Light almonds and caramel filling Xaden sense. You're down bad, boy, Sgaeyl endearingly pureed in Xaden's head. Yet Xaden still rolled his eyes, Says you who fussed all day about breaking laws so you could snuggle with your man, Xaden bit back. He heard his dragon let out a huff as if she was trying to deny it but they both knew that Xaden's words struck true.

"Hey", a quiet, sleepy voice made Xaden look down instantly. Your tired eyes watched him, the biggest smile painting your lips, "You're late. What time is it?", you frowned slightly, turning to look for the clock but Xaden beat you to it, "Past four".

You let out a gasp, shuffling to sit up, earning a growl from Xaden because he didn't want you to chase your sleep away. You needed to rest. "Did something happen? Why did it take so long", your eyes looked his whole body over. Light frown settling on your face. "I'm not hurt", Xaden said as his hand slipped under the blanket so he could run his hand over your bare thigh, "One of the riders got lost in the storm. I had to find him". You hummed at his words, leaning closer to him. The warmth of your fingers soothed all the aches in Xaden's body almost immediately.

"Go, take a shower", you muttered, leaning in to kiss his lips softly. It was too short. Too quick. But when Xaden leaned in once more you pushed away, "Darling, I love you but you stink", you giggled softly, making Xaden's head hang low as he too let out a chuckle. "You won't make an exception for me?", he questioned, pressing down on your thigh more firmly. But you shook your head, "I don't let stinky boys into my bed", Xaden huffed, "It's my bed, princess". You rolled your eyes at his words and Xaden quietly caught your face in his much bigger palm, crashing his lips to yours. It was messy. There was nothing sweet to it. He needed it like air. Like a lighthouse to guide him back home. You returned it with just as much passion because you knew that he needed it and when you broke apart the look in Xaden's eyes was less haunted.

He doubted he spent longer than ten minutes in his shower. Enough time to scrub off the grime but he had no desire to stand there when nothing warmed him more than having you in his arms. When Xaden stepped back into his room he, however, was met with you neatly folding his clothes. His sleeping pants already rested on the side of the bed. But that wasn't the only thing that Xaden's eyes fell upon. There was a full mean, steaming on the bedside table. "Where did you get that from?", he questioned as he dropped the towel, reaching for his pants. "I had a feeling you would come late with an empty stomach", you only hummed in return, ushering him to the plate. "Who told you I haven't eaten?", he tore the side of the bread off, nearly moaning at the taste. "You suck at taking care of yourself", you said simply, leaning against his back. That she is not wrong about a whisper. Get out of my head, Xaden growled in return. "Let me guess, Sgaeyl agrees", you chuckled slightly. "Don't start, sometimes I think she even scowls at me the same way you do", Xaden breathed, earning yet another laugh from you.

The silence fell after that and only when the plates were clean did Xaden mutter, "We're skipping today's classes". You watched him with big eyes, "Who said that?", "I did, they start in three hours and I..", he stopped mid-sentence to stand up before scooping you up in his arms, "Need you in our bed". You let out a giggle. "It doesn't work like that", you chuckled as the soft duvet hugged your body. "I'm your wing leader aren't I? So, that's an order", Xaden crawled onto your body, plopping down on your chest. Arms wrapping around your middle as he settled between your legs. "You didn't just pull rank on me, Riorson", you shook your head, fingers moving to brush through his hair, earning a hum from Xaden. "I did and you love it", he said lazily, eyes already closed as he listened to your heartbeat. You leaned over to kiss his forehead a couple of times before closing your eyes as well.

[pearlesscentt]

the starting point

riize (all members) + love tropes i associate them with, fluff

꒰ 🐛 ꒱ — shotaro : slowburn

lunches with friends. uncertain glances. anticipation. plant on your windowsill. book and music recommendations. a nervous invitation. long walks after midnight. hands brushing against each other. shy smiles. heart beats speeding up. changing of topics. holding back. a handwritten letter of all unsaid things.

꒰ 🐛 ꒱ — eunseok : [a] fell first, but [b] fell harder

basketball. playful teasing. charming smile. jersey numbers. campus crush. inside jokes. contagious laughter. late-night texts. one-on-one shooting competitions. game day nerves. electrolyte drinks. a text for good luck. unspoken feelings.

꒰ 🐛 ꒱ — sungchan : meet cute

dog park. tangled leashes. nervous laughter. doggie treats and snuggles. park benches. nosy neighbors. budding friendship. play dates. shyly asking for a phone number. sending each other animal videos. daily walks and paw prints. puppy love.

꒰ 🐛 ꒱ — wonbin : summer love

beach town. wind chimes. melting ice cream cones. sun-kissed skin. barefoot beach strolls. seashells. saltwater in your hair. dancing at the summer festival. sundresses. peach iced tea at the café. sunsets. climbing up the lighthouse. flip flops and tank tops. pretending to know constellations on starlit nights. summer rain. post cards and love letters.

꒰ 🐛 ꒱ — seunghan : fake dating

living room. dumb decisions over wine. ground rules. nervous introductions. a hand on your lower back. a sigh of relief. public displays. pretend dates. more wine. shared secrets. a photo on social media. a kiss in a crowded room. even more wine. knowing glances. confusion. sincerity.

꒰ 🐛 ꒱ — sohee : strangers to lovers

bus stops. the chaos of a rush hour. same route home. familiarity. polite nods. curiousity. accidental touches. part-time jobs and exhaustion. falling asleep on your shoulder. sharing earbuds and new music. unexpected friendship. comfort in silence. walking you home.

꒰ 🐛 ꒱ — anton : childhood friends to lovers

neighborhood playground. laughter. afternoons in the treehouse. homemade birthday cards. secret handshakes. teaching each other how to ride a bike. band-aids. being apart during summer camp. doing homework together. hot chocolate on sleepovers. teasing each other about crushes. high school prom. promise rings. graduation day. growing up.

riize masterlist | navigation ── reblogs and feedbacks are highly appreciated !

© 2023 PEARLESSCENTT. please do not steal my works.

[gureumz]

are you mine? (are you? part 2)

rating: explicit

members: sunghoon, heeseung

notes/warnings: fem!reader, INFIDELITY, angst, bf!heeseung, reader cheats on heeseung (again), university setting, dirty talk, unprotected sex, creampies, mentions of degrading words in a non-sexual manner, i reiterate again: THERE IS CHEATING IN THIS STORY

a/n: i didn't intend to write a part 2 for 'are you?' but a lot of people wanted to know how it would turn out so here it is! this is much shorter than the first part and is mostly just vibes but with the events of the first part, what else is there to say? 🧍🏻‍♀️

read part 1 here

"do you want to meet my parents?"

you tense under heeseung's touch, hand midway down his bare chest. he's laying on his side, facing you, your legs tangled underneath the blanket. the warmth of his body fades away when a silent chill runs down your spine.

"yeah," you let out uneasily, chuckling in an attempt to mask your nerves. "but, not anytime soon."

heeseung's face remains the same, eyes unreadable as he examines your features. he brushes your hair behind your shoulder, running his fingertips down the flesh of your arm.

"why not? it's been almost four months since we started going out," heeseung replies softly, drawing circles on your elbow.

you move your arm away.

"i just don't think i'm ready," you say with an air of finality, hoping that heeseung would drop the subject.

you don't think you'll ever be ready. not after...

heeseung watches you for a few moments. to your surprise, he nods, lips spreading into an understanding smile.

"okay," heeseung chirps. "that's fine."

your chest feels like it's been caved in, relief and dread filling in like heavy sand.

"thank you," you say, smiling up at your boyfriend's face.

heeseung moves closer and plants a chaste kiss on your lips. you respond, endeared by the gentle pass of his mouth on yours, a contrast to how rough he was with you merely minutes before.

"if anything's bothering you, you know you can always tell me right?" heeseung whispers, placing slow, loving kisses on your face.

your heart seems to stop, then picks up beating ten times faster. heeseung isn't very vocal, and this sudden display of affirmation has you reeling.

he knows. he must know.

you laugh, a nervous shake in your voice. a half-baked joke enters your mind.

"anything?" you attempt playfully. heeseung takes the bait and pulls back, an eyebrow raised in suspicion.

"what if i was secretly a serial killer?" you deadpan, narrowing your eyes at heeseung. a smile tugs at the edges of your lips.

heeseung chuckles, pulling you against his chest. he presses his lips one more time to your forehead.

"then i would gladly be your victim."

---

"i'm yours."

you whimper at these words, pulling him closer to you, face buried in his sturdy shoulder. he moves passionately against you and your whole body erupts in invisible flames.

"all yours," sunghoon reiterates, tongue running along the line of your jaw.

"you don't mean that," you argue weakly.

your cheeks burn up as you realize just how loud the two of you are being. his dorm bed creaking, headboard banging against the wall. you knew it was safer to meet him here, less of a chance that your boyfriend might find something that isn't his.

"i do," sunghoon replies gruffly. "a slave to you, to this—god—to this fucking pussy."

you sob at his words, a mix of arousal, elation, and remorse rising in you. with sunghoon, it just felt too good, too alluring to refuse. he was a lighthouse, standing out in a sea of darkness you didn't even know you were stranded on.

with him, you were, you are shameless.

sunghoon finishes inside you, but not before you reach the finish line first, sans condom this time, as he had so many times since that night in his car.

the thought makes you feel filthy all over, in desperate need of a shower, to scrub all sin from your skin.

"spend the night," sunghoon says once he hands you a towel for you to use. you hold it to your core, wincing when you feel the simultaneous ache and squelch of his release dribbling out of you. you catch it before it stains his sheets.

you've never spent the night here before. you check the digital clock on sunghoons desk and it reads 1:13 a.m.

"i can't. heeseung's coming over early to walk me to class," you inform, twisting the towel in your hands.

sunghoon watches you from where he sits on the edge of his bed. you meet his eyes and you know he can see right through you.

heeseung's not really coming over.

"fine," you finally concede. you pretend not to notice the brief twitch in sunghoon's mouth.

"i kinda want to shower though," you add, eyes flitting over to the bathroom door.

sunghoon grins, leaning close. you wrap your arms around your knees protectively. he stares at your face for a second before kissing you softly, so soft you barely feel it.

"whatever you want," sunghoon says.

---

sunghoon holds you close under the shower now. a million thoughts are racing through your mind. in this space, at this time, it seems like the world has stopped and only the two of you are living beings in existence.

"text me tomorrow," sunghoon reminds, deep voice echoing against the bathroom walls.

you sigh, lifting your head from where it rests on his chest.

"you know i can't do that."

and you can't.

all your exchanges have been through brief, curt phone calls. sunghoon was smart enough to punch in his number on your phone after you were done in the parking lot that night. since then, you've labored over deleting every call log your phone creates after each conversation.

heeseung was none the wiser.

"then call," sunghoon corrects himself. "i love hearing your voice."

ironically, you don't say anything more to that.

---

"i can't believe i've been assigned on a project with him!"

your ears perk up.

the restaurant you're in is empty at this hour, with the rush of lunch ending some time ago. you pick up a french fry from the bowl you and heeseung are sharing, popping the greasy treat into your mouth.

"who?" you question.

"sunghoon."

the initial reaction you have to your boyfriend mentioning the guy you've been fucking behind his back has grown weaker over the past few weeks, but with how often heeseung references sunghoon, it's a surprise you haven't thrown up all over yourself in sheer guilt.

"oh, him again?" you throw out nonchalantly. you busy yourself with your phone, ignoring the way heeseung looks at you quizzically.

"what do you mean 'again'?"

you look at heeseung, trying to portray the perfect mix of exasperation and cluelessness.

"it's always sunghoon this and sunghoon that," you explain. "if i didn't know better, i'd say you were in love with the guy."

ha ha. what a funny joke.

and much to your surprise, heeseung finds this absolutely hilarious. he lets out a genuine, hearty laugh, slamming the table with his palm.

"he wishes," heeseung responds with a snort. "he's always trying to one-up me, copying everything i do, following me around like a puppy. i'd say he was in love with me."

wrong.

you laugh along, finishing off another french fry.

---

"you're trying to steal my boyfriend's life, is that it?"

sunghoon stops typing on his laptop, turning to you from where he's seated at his desk. you're sprawled over his bed, wearing one of his shirts.

"excuse me?" sunghoon says, as if fighting off the urge to laugh.

you slide off the mattress, sauntering over to him. you throw a leg over his lap, sinking down until you're straddling sunghoon. his large hands hold you by your waist. looking down at him at this moment, you feel every fiber of your being light up with a sort of giddiness you've never felt before.

"heeseung told me about how you're always trying to one-up him and 'beat him at his own game', so to speak," you explain.

"and now you're banging me, his girlfriend, every chance you get," you add cheekily, kissing the corner of sunghoon's mouth.

sunghoon exhales, hands traveling up your back, cradling you, holding you close.

"i don't want to steal his life," sunghoon says, voice low.

"even if i came with it?" you question, tilting your head to the side. sunghoon grins, kissing you so suddenly, you fall back against his desk.

"such a clever, clever girl."

you're trembling now.

anticipation. want. need.

"my clever girl," he adds.

---

the first cracks start showing the day you ask sunghoon about his wanting heeseung's life.

you promised to meet heeseung for dinner later that day but not before you rid yourself of sunghoon's shirt, of course. he sent you off with a long, heady kiss against the door of his dorm.

you were distracted for the entirety of the meal. heeseung could tell. you know heeseung could tell. something was eating at you from inside.

it didn't help when heeseung made a mindless comment on the way back to your own dorm room.

"you smell different," he had said.

you surrendered to the idea that you were irrevocably fucked at that point. you made a sorry excuse about borrowing a friend's perfume, nonetheless.

the cracks are spreading, spiderwebs of destruction in the walls of your relationship.

sunghoon is a proud man, not unlike heeseung. he's greedy, selfish, controlled by his desires.

you aren't as careful as you used to be. first, a hair tie, a black one, like any other hair tie. you left it at sunghoon's dorm one day. to this day, he wears it like a badge of honor.

a shirt next. a considerable jump from a hair tie, but sunghoon lent you one, and delirious with sleep, neither of you noticed when you waltzed right out of his room still brandishing the white tee that was obviously too big for you.

you made it under your own covers on your own bed when you finally realized.

lastly, a hickey.

you've done it now. you've fucked up so bad you can already see heeseung razing both heaven and hell as he finds out.

"fuck," you mutter under your breath, staring daggers at your reflection, at the red-purple mark just above your collarbone.

"fuck!"

how could both of you reach this point? practically gallivanting your affair under heeseung's nose. it sickens you. you're disgusted with yourself.

but you know you're only this appalled because you're a hair away from being caught.

you jump when you hear the door to your room slam shut. of course. of course. heeseung has a copy of your dorm room key. you gave it to him a few weeks ago as a sort of milestone in your relationship.

you think to yourself with much irritability that you shouldn't have done that.

the ceiling is caving in. run. run now.

"_________?" heeseung calls out. you hear him approach the bathroom door. he knocks and you feel like screaming.

so polite. heeseung's always so polite.

"i don't feel good, hee," you manage. you definitely feel sick and you want to pass out.

"what's wrong? do you need to go to the hospital?" heeseung asks, voice growing loud with concern. he tries the doorknob.

"no!" you yell a little too loud. "it's just—i just need to be left alone, please."

silence.

you hold your breath, staring at your reflection in the mirror.

you don't even know who's looking back at you.

"okay," heeseung finally says after a few moments. "let me know if you need anything, please?"

you call out a reply, collapsing to the bathroom floor once you hear your door close once more.

---

you ignore him for a week.

he tries to come over but you shoo him away with one excuse or another. your conversations are contained in dry texts and obligated phone calls. he asks what's wrong. he pleads with you.

nothing's wrong, nothing's wrong, nothing's wrong!

heeseung seems like a far-off memory now. you haven't properly looked at his face in days. you haven't held him in much longer.

today, he's waiting for you outside your dorm. he looks like shit. dark circles under his eyes, hair disheveled, clothes unironed.

"baby, what's happening?" heeseung asks, not even sparing you any formalities. no 'hey', 'hi', or 'hello'.

he holds you by the arms, still gentle as ever and only now do you see the damage in his eyes. damage you've inflicted.

"i—," you begin. what are you going to say? sorry, i've been fucking sunghoon behind your back for the better part of four months, i let him call me his and i agree when he says he's mine?

"i can't do this anymore," you whisper, head hung low.

"do what? what can't you do?" heeseung demands, voice rising into a desperate whine.

"baby, please," he continues, sinking to his knees. he looks up at you and he's crying.

"what did i do?"

you watch heeseung sob at your feet and it's the most difficult thing you've had to watch thus far. you ball your hands into fists, confused, angry, regretful.

where's that ego now, heeseung? why aren't you mad? be mad! yell at me, blame me for something, tell me how much better off you'd be with someone else! make it easier for me to tell the world that you hurt me!

"you didn't do anything," you say, tears now falling from your own eyes.

heeseung just looks at you. looks at you for what seems like hours. his face, previously crumped up in despair, morphs into an expression of clarity.

he knows.

heeseung pulls himself up from the ground, letting go of you and stepping back, as if shocked by electricity.

"i hope you're happy."

you know what that means.

go fuck yourself. fuck you and whoever the guy is. you're a whore, a bitch, a waste of my time!

you look at heeseung one final time, shoulders shaking as your whole body is racked with sobs.

"i love you," heeseung declares.

he brushes past you, down the stairs, out the lobby, out the exit.

out of your life.

---

you truly are sick. you're vile. you're the worst.

sunghoon knows even before you can say anything. he pulls you into his room and into his arms, whispering nonsense to you as you cry into his chest.

and then you're kissing, hands pulling at clothes, tongues dragging against skin, blood rushing in your ears.

you know this makes sunghoon feel better about himself. you're not stupid. you carried out a secret affair for weeks. of course, you aren't.

you realize now that it's sunghoon who has an ego.

he relishes in the way you cling to him so desperately, basks in the sounds you make, mixed with his name.

"i've got you," sunghoon reassures, arms braced on either side of your head as he fucks you down on his bed.

"please," you whimper out, holding sunghoon's face in your hands. he's going so deep, abusing your hole and it feels so good.

sunghoon kisses you and it's forceful and needy and everything you need at this moment.

"you're mine," sunghoon grunts, your bottom lip caught between his.

you mewl as he lets go of your lip with a tug.

"i'm yours," you say.

sunghoon leaves kisses all over your chest, neck, and jaw. he's getting you closer to your release. you want it, you want it so bad.

"and i'm yours?" sunghoon questions, kissing behind your ear.

"all mine," you confirm.

---

you wake up the next day, limbs heavy and a colossal headache bursting through your head. you feel arms tighten around your midsection and it's a tidal wave of memories of the day before for the next few seconds.

you bury yourself further into the pillows and covers.

sunghoon kisses the nape of your neck and you drift back into sleep.

[boytoyhalo]

Contrary to what you might expect, Fit isn't the one who ends up finding Pac's pelt - it's Ramon. He finds it tucked into it's usual hiding spot while he's looking for Richas during a game of hide and seek. Pac is with Fit when it happens, taking in the view from the top of the lighthouse in companionable silence while he works on some simple repairs. There's only maybe 10 minutes between the initial, violent wave of shivers that wrack his body as his skin is touched for the first time in years and the moment Ramon runs in, calling shakily for fit through wet sobs, and Pac spends all 10 of those minutes fighting to maintain his composure through the panic attack that tries to overtake him.

By the time Ramon bursts in, clutching the pelt tightly to his heaving chest and babbling an explanation to his concerned father (who of course abandons his work the minute he hears his son's distraught voice) He's managed to calm himself down a bit - but he's barely managed that, let alone come up with a plan. And despite his initial relief that it's Ramon whose found it instead of any of the many worse things that could have, his panic returns in full as Fit gingerly take the skin from his crying child and he realizes that it's already too late for him to salvage this; no matter what he does, his cover is blown. There's no way he can ask for the pelt in a way that won't raise suspicion, and he certainly can't steal it. His only options are to submit and accept his fate of being Fit's property forever, or to explain what he is and pray that he's kind enough to not only believe him but grant him his autonomy, instead of doing what any reasonable person would do and using his "discovery" to his advantage.

Pac.... he trusts Fit, as much as can trust a human, but that's just it: at the end of the day, Fit is human. Pac knows humans, he knows their greed and their cruelty and their innate instinct to hoard anything that gives them advantage over their peers - to capture and poke and prod and kill. He thinks, a bit deliriously, that maybe the best way out now is death - he'd much rather die than surrender his autonomy and deal with the relentless itch of his human form forever, or see his friend become everything he's feared he would be.

The feeling of somebody touching the pelt is. not painful exactly, nor exactly pleasant, but it's..... invasive. intimate. It feels like somebody reaching into Pac's chest and physically touching the deepest parts of his soul, parts that are meant to stay hidden and protected - like having every single painstakingly crafted layer of defense stripped away from him at once.

The few humans (ones that he tries not to remember) who have held Pac's skin before had bled enough of their motives through to leave a gross, sticky residue on his violated conscience, one that only got worse and worse as his captors fully realized and utilized their power. He had fought hard to escape those people, had sacrificed so much for his freedom, he can't go back to that - But Fit is carefully stroking the dark fur along his spine with gentle melancholy, eyes sad and brows furrowed; it sends an icy cold fire through Pac's nervous system, viscerally uncomfortable in a new way that he doesn't know how to deal with.

"Who did this?" Fit mutters, curiosity almost evident enough to completely drown the hint of sorrow in his tone. "It's well preserved..." he brushes a thumb back and forth absentmindedly as he inspects the skin on the inside of the pelt. Pac has to lock his whole body in place to suppress the gasp that tries to escape him. "This has to be one of those seals from that one pod that likes to hang around, right? That's a real shame, I like those guys a lot. But, we saw them all together yesterday didn't we...?"

Ramon's whimpers wobble their way back into sobs, and Fit takes his eyes off the grey fur to focus on comforting his son with soft whispers, promises that he'll find whoever skinned the animal and make sure it never happens again. He places the pelt behind him, out of sight from both him and Ramon as he takes the poor kid into his arms; Pac can finally breathe just enough to speak, and he jumps on the opportunity before it can disappear again.

"Can I- Can I take it?" He chokes out, distress far more evident than he would like. Two faces swivel to look at him with twin looks of confusion, Ramon's features still quivering in an attempt to reign themselves in. Pac swallows, doing his best to dislodge the knives in his throat before trying again. "Can I have the pelt. Please? Fit?" He looks at the ex-soldier, trying not to let his desperation bleed into his eyes.

"Uh." Fit hesitates, bewilderment visibly growing by the second as he studies Pac. The selkie sends a prayer to every god of every religion he can think of. "Why?" He draws out the end of the word slowly.

"I just- I mean it- I'm just..." Fit's eyes would be completely invisible if his brow were furrowed any deeper. Deep breath. He turns his gaze to Ramon. "I'm going to return it! There's a seal out there somewhere missing it's skin, he's probably- probably cold, you know?" He knows the wide smile he puts on is completely see-through, probably even more so than it feels from the way Fit is staring at him. He's a few seconds away from cracking his voice open pathetically on another "please" When the unsure twist of his friends mouth softens into a small smile; a little bit more real but equally as see through as Pac's own.

"Okay. Yeah," He says simply, looking back to Ramon. "See, everything's gonna be okay! Pac is gonna give the seal his skin back! Hey, maybe as reward for getting it back to him he'll let you ride on his back, yeah?" Pac is frozen in shock, speechless as his plea dies in his throat. What? Ramon glares at his father, deadpan.

"It's dead, Fit." Fit sighs, letting his joking face fall away to look at him seriously.

"I know baby boy, but- these things... they are what they are, y'know? we can't change them we just have to- we have to make some space between us and our emotions." The last sentence is slower, sounding almost rehearsed in its meticulousness. Ramon's sniffles have softened a bit, and he's looking at his dad tiredly. "I'll tell you what, why don't we let Pac take the fur away and go find Richarlyson, we can go back to the house and I'll read to you guys, or you can draw or whatever you need to do. And when you feel a little bit better you can decide whether you want to keep it, or do something with it, or throw it away. But until then, it'll be out of sight out of mind, ok?" Ramon sighs and nods, burying his head in fits shoulder and wrapping his little arms around him. "That's my boy. Come on, let's go find Richas- thank you so much Pac."

Pac startles as he's acknowledged, brain still stuck on Fit agreeing to give him his pelt back. "Wait, really? I mean- uh- you're sure?" There's still skeptical curiosity behind Fits gaze as he looks over his shoulder at him from the where he now stands in the doorway, an arm under Ramons legs where they wrap around his waist - he still doesn't buy it, Pac can tell. But he just gives him a single nod - he's really letting me take it? Just like that? "I- I mean. Yeah, no problem! Thank you!" He's too stunned and too relieved to pay mind to his own awkwardness. Fit grunts an acknowledgment and turns back to the door, continuing to walk.

"We'll see you later, then. Meet us back at the house when you can."

"Sounds good! Bye fit, bye Ramon!" Pac is glad Fit's back is turned so he can't see how hard he's shaking. The minute the door closes he's on his knees scrambling over to his discarded pelt, gasping as his fingers clutch it and his world finally settles back into place, lungs filling with air for what feels like the first time in hours. He had fully, wholeheartedly expected to be trapped or to at least - well. whatever he was expecting, it certainly wasn't that. To be set free, no questions asked. He drops his head down to sigh into the soft fur, feeling like every drop of energy has been wrung out of him. He can agonize over Fit's choice and the wrench it's just thrown into the knowledge of humans that he thought he had later. Right now, he wants nothing more than to slip into his skin and dive into the cold comfort of the water; the itch that usually starts slow after a full day of wearing his human one has come early and at full force. He prepares himself to ask Forever to cover dinner with Fit tonight, not sure he'll be able to stomach walking on dry land for the next few days.

-

Some time later - around 19 days later, not that Pac had been counting - he finds the courage to ask Fit the question that's been tormenting him.

"Why did you let me take it?" Fit glances at him, idly flipping the smooth, flat stone he'd been weighing in his hand. The last strokes of sunset paint the horizon in soft purples and pinks. Ramon and Richas are asleep in a pile that's just visible to where the two men stand on the shore outside Ramon's bedroom window, tired after a long day of insisting on helping Fit with his work.

"What do you mean?" He asks genuinely. The selkie takes a second to steel his nerves, willing himself not to back out.

"The seal pelt. You let me take it - Why?" There's a beat of silence as Fit studies his face before turning back to the ocean, expression unreadable.

"You asked for it," he says simply, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"But-" Pac sputters. "But I didn't give you a reason? I-" I was on the verge of tears. I was scared. I was lying. You knew there had to be a reason. Fit shrugs lightly, finally tossing the stone. Pac watches it skim across the surface of the water.

"Made Ramon stop crying. That's reason enough for me." The stone skips 1, 2, 3 times before it sinks into the water with a plop.

"Fit..." Pac's voice breaks a little bit. He's pleading, though he's not sure what for. Fit looks at him for a few second, concerned. His face grows serious before he turns back to the water.

"You've been keeping secrets from the beginning, Pac." Pac's heart stutters, and a small, terrified sound almost slips out of him before he's blessedly cut off. "I don't fault you for that. I've got plenty of my own- plenty of other people's too." A beat. He crouches down to find another flat stone. "I don't need to know. You're a good friend and a good father. I-" He stills, swallowing as his eyes pierce into Pac yet again, pinning him in place and stealing his breath with their raw earnestness. "I trust you, Pac."

Pac.... Pac isn't sure what to do with that. He isn't sure how to react to the warmth that floods his face or the way his stomach swoops- Fit trusts him. Fit is a grizzled soldier that doesn't know anything about him, that's only known him a few months, that could've kept him or sold him out or done any number of things that would've benefitted him but instead... he trusts him. The weight of that isn't lost on Pac, though he's not sure what he did to earn it, and he - he's completely lost on where to go from here.

"Whenever you do want to tell me what you wanted it for though, or what you ended up doing with it, or where..." Fit trails off, staring out at the ripples in the water. Pac stares at the gnarled scarring on the side of his face. "Well. You don't have to. But I won't judge."

And for a long, long second Pac considers it - considers throwing caution to the wind and taking Fit to his current hiding place, stripping down and donning his skin and slipping into the water in front of him, answering all his questions - because Fit trusts him and despite every part of him knowing he shouldn't, he trusts Fit too.

...But, Fit trusts him under the assumption that he's human. Once he learns he's been lied to - well, that's a level of vulnerability that Pac can't afford. He's not ready to put his fate in Fit's hands again, no matter how gentle they were last time. Not yet, at least.

Besides, Mike and Cellbit would kill him. And if he tried to explain or justify why he trusted Fit, that strange fluttery feeling would come back and then none of his family would let him hear the end of it. So instead, he just nods.

"Okay." his voice is barely audible. Fit nods back.

"Okay." Pac stares at him, trying to commit his profile to memory. He grins.

"Thank you." Fit's mouth curves into a smile - a real smile, small but genuine.

"...yeah, no problem.

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

I'm seeing a lot of hate in the tags today so let's just go ahead and take all the bitching over the ads campaign to its natural conclusion.

Ignoring that the ad campaign raised over ten thousand dollars to be donated to charity and we have the receipts proving that happened, come on a little thought experiment with me.

A bit ago, I finished saving up 300 dollars and I spent it on a Lego kit I'd been wanting (the motorized lighthouse, if you're curious). That's the kind of purchase I usually don't have the disposable income to make responsibly, so it took me months of putting money aside for it. It was a responsibly-timed purchase; I made sure my bills were paid and grocery needs were met before I bought it. It also brought me many hours of happiness as I assembled it and I love looking at it displayed now in my home. Obviously, because I bought this thing from the Lego company, none of that money went towards charity. Was this purchase morally wrong of me because I chose to spend what is, to me, a fairly significant chunk of change on a selfish purchase instead of donating the money I'd been putting away little by little?

If your honest answer is yes, then honestly that's a pretty online take and we've got nothing more to say to each other. There are many terrible things happening in the world right now, but the idea that someone is morally reprehensible for spending money on something that matters to them instead of donating is wildly out of touch. Yes, I think you should absolutely donate to many of the excellent charities providing relief if you can! I've been running charity drives through my university for months, it's very important to me! But making the occasional selfish purchase is not morally wrong, and harassing people for doing so is not activism.

Renewal campaigns for cancelled shows are not new. Fans of other shows (I think Shadow and Bone?) have also been collecting money to put up ads recently. OFMD is an incredibly important show to many people - it's the first time I've ever felt so seen and respected by a TV show, and the first time I've ever seen a brown, gay man like myself as a romantic lead. It's a fucking good show, there's nothing wrong with us for wanting it back, and honestly if you donated to the ads campaign who fucking cares. That's no worse than me choosing to put money aside for a Lego kit instead of donating it. People making selfish purchases, whether towards a renewal campaign for a show they love or an overpriced cup of coffee, are not your enemy.

[ace-of-zaun]

You (And I):

Silco x f!reader - 2.6k words - SFW

cw: best friend!silco, fluff, banter, mutual pining, idiots in love, mentions of cat-calling and harassment (not silco), mentions of poverty, soft silco my beloved, a little bit of angst in the form of reader being anxious about not knowing who is climbing through the window, but it's just the boy

summary: Your best friend misses you, so the only logical solution is for him to climb through your bedroom window at three in the morning, without telling you beforehand… It’s a good thing that you love him (and it’s an even better thing that he loves you too).

It’s taking you a little bit longer than usual to drop off to sleep as you lie in bed, curled up under the covers, trying to keep as much warmth in as possible. Your room is right at the very top of your parents’ bar, The Last Drop, which is also where you’ve just started to work full-time instead of just the odd job you’d helped out with growing up.

But now, with money for food tight and the threat of closure even tighter, you’ve found yourself doing pretty much anything to help keep the bar afloat, from running errands and setting up during the day to serving customers all evening and cleaning up after a long night. 

Your first proper job; you’d think with how exhausted you were you’d drop to sleep the very second your head hit the pillow. 

Not tonight, it would seem. Tonight your mind appears to be far too preoccupied to let your body relax. 

Your train of thought easily wanders to what you’d usually be doing on a Friday evening. More often than not you’d be holed up in the corner of a tiny café, trying to read your book while Silco asked your opinion on every little detail of whatever scheme he was working on at the time. 

Or you’d be forcing Silco to give you a piggyback through the streets after raiding the market for the cheapest items you can find, Vander in tow carrying all the loot. 

You can’t help but smile at the memories, a fuzzy, warm feeling spreading through you at the recollection of your best friend. Just the thought of him calms you; your lighthouse even in absentia. 

And it seems to do the trick, eyelids just starting to feel too heavy to keep open, a sure indicator of incoming sleep, when a scrabbling noise outside your window causes you to frown.

…you really hope you don’t have rats again.

Of course, the sensible thing to do would be to get up and investigate. But you’ve only just gotten warm and sleepy, and not only is the window on the other side of the room, but you’re laying on your side with your back to the glass, and honestly who in their right mind would want to get up in the freezing cold just to have a staring contest with some rats?

Scrunching your eyelids even tighter closed, as if it would block out the sound, you attempt to lull yourself back into that bliss you were so close to achieving, vowing to deal with the little rodents in the morning.

Almost like magic, the scrabbling stops and you sigh in relief.

Until you hear the unmistakable sound of the window creaking open.

Your eyes shoot open and your blood begins to pump urgently around your body. 

Fuck, why didn’t you lock the window before getting into bed? You must’ve forgotten in your sleep deprived state. 

One hand slowly inches towards the knife you keep under your pillow as two, almost-silent thuds resonate across the floorboards. 

Your heart practically leaps in your chest when you hear a series of soft footsteps approaching your bed, but you manage to keep yourself as still as possible, your only movement hidden beneath your pillow as you grip the knife handle tight.

A beat. Then another, as you wait for the exact right moment with bated breath. 

The intruder pauses by your bed and you inhale sharply, preparing yourself to strike.

Without warning, you abruptly swing your body around, throwing off the covers as you blindly leap towards them.

But they’re faster, shoving you back down against the bed with their lithe body and clapping a hand over your mouth before you can even think to scream out.

The knife slips from your hand, leaving it to clatter to the floor while you thrash about in your assailant’s grasp. 

“Stop it, it’s just me!” a familiar voice hisses down at you, halting your movements instantly.

You gaze up at the figure in bewilderment, slowly but surely recognising those jet black waves and hooked nose with every rapid heartbeat. 

It’s just Silco. 

He must spot the very moment that recognition sparks in your eyes because he’s soon grinning down at you, boyish, slightly crooked, and entirely too cheeky for his own good.

“Hey,” he says smoothly.

You push him off you with an unamused scoff, aiming to send him tumbling off the bed as you sit up and try to calm your erratic breathing. 

No such luck though, he just stumbles to his feet and quickly drops down next to you on the bed while you plant your feet on the cold wooden boards, running your hands through your bedraggled hair. 

Silco’s hand rests gently against your lower back and you glance up at him from your hunched up position of elbows on knees, palms against your forehead. 

You’re filled with the sudden urge to yell at him. Loudly. 

But your parents are asleep and they’ll be positively furious if they discover Silco in your bedroom in the middle of the night, so you settle for hissing at the ridiculous boy like an angry cat. 

“What the fuck are you doing climbing through my bedroom window at half three in the morning?”

Silco appears completely unfazed. 

“I left my lockpick at home, so I couldn't get in through the front door,” he replies, swiftly dodging the smack you try to deliver to his arm and instead catching your hand to press a chaste kiss to your knuckles. “And I missed you.”

You roll your eyes and snatch your hand back, but you’re unable to prevent your heart from swelling in your chest at his sweet words. Damn that natural charm of his. 

Luckily, a glance down at the knife by your feet distracts your wandering heart. 

“Why didn’t you say anything? I could’ve stabbed you.”

“Nah, you couldn’t,” he says dismissively until you shoot him a murderous glare. He returns it with a nonchalant shrug. “Thought you were asleep.”

“So why even bother climbing in?” you ask with a frown. 

And then, from the corner of your eye, he begins to look the tiniest bit bashful, gaze dropping to the floor as he starts to draw random shapes on the material of his trousers with his nails. 

“I, uh… I was gonna wake you up and ask if you wanted to go skip stones in the river.”

Your expression drops as you slowly turn to stare at him, which he meets with a dorky little grin. You groan and flop back down onto your bed, swinging your feet up so you can lay your head against the pillow, completely and utterly exasperated. 

Your best friend has been possessed by a five-year-old boy, you’re sure of it. 

Silco watches your dramatic display with clear amusement. 

“I’m gonna take that as a no, then?” he asks. 

“How do you have so much energy?” you whine, throwing your arm up to hide your face in the crook of your elbow. “Didn’t you have work today?”

“I had some work today,” he says, eyes quickly darting away from you. “Just not at the mines.”

Now this causes you to frown, peering over your arm at his trying-too-hard-to-look-relaxed body language. 

“What kind of work?” you question, which he promptly ignores, so nudge him with your foot, concern growing by the second. “Sil… what kind of work?”

He lays down next to you, propped up on his side with one elbow, and starts absentmindedly playing with your hair. 

“So, how was your day? You didn’t get any creeps trying to feel you up again, did you?”

You sigh heavily, knowing you’re not going to get an answer to your question. To be honest, you wish you didn’t have to give one to his. 

It had only happened once or twice since you’d started working late shifts in the bar, and it hadn’t been as bad since your parents had begun to shut it down everytime a patron got a bit too touchy. 

But it still didn’t make it right. 

“No, just the odd comment,” you reply, suddenly overly-interested in your nails. 

Silco wraps his arm around you and pulls you onto your side so he can hold you against his chest, chin resting on the crown of your head. 

“I’ll hang around during your next shift and kill anyone who even looks your way,” he declares, with a ridiculous amount of conviction. 

You roll your eyes even though he can’t see. Dramatic boy. 

“Don’t be stupid,” you say, lightly tapping your palm once against his back as a half-hearted scold. 

“You’re right,” he agrees with a resolute nod. “I’ll let you kill them yourself, you deserve it.”

Your sigh is laced with exasperation but you still shift to cuddle him properly, arms wrapped around his midsection. You just want to enjoy his presence while you have it, even if he is a pain in your ass. 

“I missed you too,” you say quietly after a peaceful silence, recalling his words from earlier. “It sucks working so much, I feel like I never see you anymore.”

“I know,” he hums soothingly, hand now rubbing tiny circles into the small of your back. “Just means we gotta make the most of the times we do.”

Snuggling him even tighter feels like the only appropriate response, so that’s what you do. 

You could honestly stay here forever. No responsibilities, no stress, just Silco. 

“You free tomorrow lunch? We could grab something to eat and then climb up to the roof of that factory by the river, if you want?” Silco asks. 

A warm smile tugs at your lips.

“Yeah, I’m free.” 

Your parents had been kind enough to give you the afternoon off tomorrow, but you were still expected to help out in the morning and evening as usual.

“Is Vander coming too?” you ask.

Silco shakes his head above you. 

“Nah.”

“Oh,” you respond, surprised the third member of your ragtag trio won’t be joining you. “Why not?”

“I thought it could just be a you and me thing, you know?” Silco reasons confidently, although you do spot just a hint of insecurity in his voice, like he’s nervous you’ll interrogate him further. 

Butterflies twirl through your stomach at the phrasing. You and him. You and Silco. A duet in this city of lonely hearts. 

“Okay. That sounds nice,” you say, trying to keep the smile out of your voice. 

He squeezes you once before he sits up a little, twisting around to pick the duvet up from off the floor. The covers are soon pulled over you both, where he tries to wrap his arms around you once more only to be met with you aiming little kicks at his legs. 

“Oi, shoes off, you heathen,” you demand, ripping the duvet away from him. “I just washed these.”

Seriously, you didn’t spend all morning washing, drying, and ironing all your clothes and bedding just for him to muddy them with his filthy shoes. Janna knows where he’s been in them or what he might’ve stepped in (especially considering you’ve never seen him clean them in all the years you’ve known him).

“Alright, alright,” he grumbles, muttering a sardonic little,“Bossy boots,” under his breath. 

Surprisingly, he does actually take the time to unlace them and even places them carefully under the bed, instead of just lobbing them across the room like you expect him to. 

Only then do you allow him back under the covers, shifting about until you’re both comfortable in each other’s arms, legs tangled together to ensure you’re as close as possible. 

“You know, you should really lock your bedroom window,” Silco comments after a few moments. “You never know who could be lurking about this time of night.”

You huff an amused breath through your nose.

“What, like you?”

“No, like some weirdo with nefarious ideas,” he insists, annoyed that you’re not taking him seriously.

You pull back in his arms to look him square in the face.

“...so, you?”

Silco pouts so adorably, you have to hold yourself back from just kissing him right there and then. 

“You’re mean,” he says, looking like a little boy who has just had one of his toys stolen in the playground.

In lieu of kissing him, you boop him on the nose with your finger and give him a cheeky, affectionate grin.

“You love it.”

But your heart sinks in your chest when Silco’s face drops, gazing at you intently as if he’s searching for something. Then his gaze darts away, the tips of his ears turning red, and you start to panic that you’ve said or done the wrong thing.

Instinctively, your hands hold him a little bit tighter, scared that he’ll just get up and go. 

“You know, my parents are going to kill me if they see us in bed like this,” you whisper over his shoulder, desperately trying to lighten the mood before he scarpers. 

“Well, as long as they don’t kill me, then that’s fine,” he whispers back, and you can tell by his timbre that he’s smiling through the words. 

You smack his shoulder, relief flooding through you in abundance. 

“Idiot.”

There’s a pause. 

Then, he says tenderly, (almost too tenderly for your poor heart).

“...Yes, but I’m your idiot.”

Patterns are happily traced against his back until you finally notice just how tired you are, leaning back to twist your head away from him so you can yawn into your hand. 

Silco watches you quietly, stroking your cheek with his thumb like a slow, soothing metronome. 

“You should get some sleep,” he says softly, his expression etched in quiet adoration. 

Your eyebrows lift at the sheer audacity. 

“Bitch, you’re the one who woke me up,” you protest sleepily.

He makes a show of turning to look over his shoulder and then back at you, pointing at his sternum with a quizzical frown. 

“Who? Me?”

So, you sneak your cold hands up against the back of his warm neck until he yelps. Silco wrestles your hands off his neck, clasping them in between his palms until he lets you tiredly wrestle them back and smoosh your face into his chest, giggling into the front of his shirt. 

He gently runs his hands through your hair as you both settle down once more, his own quiet laughter feeling like a blessing.

You almost don’t want to sleep now. You don’t want to miss any more time with him. 

“Sil?” you murmur. 

“Yeah, Squidge?” he replies.

Your nickname, from the time he threw a leftover tentacle at you from Jericho’s, named after the absolutely ridiculous noise it made when it slapped against your face. You love to hate it, which of course only makes Silco love it more. 

“We’re always gonna be best friends, right? No matter what?” you say, deep down hoping you don’t sound too clingy. 

You just can’t bear the thought of drifting apart from him. You honestly don’t know what you’d do without him. 

Luckily, he soothes your worries without even a hint of the usual teasing.

“Absolutely,” he affirms, carefully running his nails along your scalp in a calming, repetitive motion. “You’re stuck with me now, come rain or smog.”

“Good,” you nod happily. “Just checking.”

Basked in Silco’s warmth, you’re far too exhausted and cosy to fight against closing your eyes, drifting off to sleep while the boy presses a delicate kiss to your head. 

And right before you fall, he mumbles, oh so gently, into your hair.

“As if I’d want to be anywhere in this world except right here next to you, my perfect girl.” What a coincidence. There’s nowhere you’d rather be than right here, next to him.

[insomniac-dot-ink]

I am trying to find a purpose for regret. Shoving it into my spinal cord to see if it will straighten it. Feeding my ego one spoonful at a time to see if it will poison it. Jimmying it into the place behind my teeth in the hope it softens my tongue and weighs down the endless ugliness of language.

The God of Small Punishments is not merciful. This too feels purposeless. 

Shame rots my throat, a blackhole dimming the light behind my eyes. Like reverse-lighthouses, broadcasting to the world a person drawn inward, inward, inward. “But I’m right!” I cry. “I’m different.” I’ve sinned in ways you can hold, failures with grippy-shoes and their own radio stations, playing all the hits. Needless little cruelty and ignorance and things I can’t take back. 

The God of Small Punishments is also the God of Ambivalence. So you do it yourself. Yet,

Your spine refuses to straighten. Shame only makes spirals. Stuck in your memories, round and round. The only relief a re-living: This time, this time, this time. One last replay. One last poisoning and you’ll be whole again. Down on your knees, high on your pain, you go to the God of Domestic Martyrdom and they dub your efforts immortal. Forever unfinished. 

The God of Small Punishments is listening.

You ask to be prisoner and offered only antidote. Forgiveness, not a mercy, not a superlative or asterisk or wasted like some finite medicine. On the altar you sacrifice your purpose, your familiar, your glorious mission, your hurt. Open is the door, given is the words. Forgiven. The door to a sky too-large, light too-bright, burning in your eyes. You are forgiven, and this too you must bear.

[legally-allowed-to-slime]

It was damp.

The wind blew her stomach into a hollow carcass, rib cage like thin and lonely bones in the desert. A limp, dead glow from the anglerfish took the place of any twinkling stars, and two fish circled her lighthouse in a silent and eternal dance.

Gem shivered and allowed a fixed smile to materialise.

She could feel it, tingling in her bones every time she stepped on a dock or flicked out a rod, running through her in unsteady cracks that spread into flashes.

Electricity and water didn’t mix. Rather, they mixed too well, and she had a feeling she was the conductor of this jumbled orchestra.

Her skin felt numb, night air stinging her. Even Grian had advised her against staying up for nights on end, at least not to the point where her flesh felt like ice even in broad daylight. And the man himself had casted his rod thousands of times in just weeks.

She had to admit it was taking its toll on her.

Trembling, Gem grabbed her rod, moving methodically, like she was the dead left alive. Her heart rumbled around, refusing to give her relief. She felt suffocated. Need air.

Need water.

She gasped, and clung onto the railing to stabilise herself, lungs twisting in pain. Gem grabbed the canteen at her side and exhaled in frustration after finding it empty.

Something lurking inside, spurring her on made her lean over the side of the boat and scoop up the seawater, bringing the canteen to her mouth in one fluid motion, before gulping the whole thing down. It didn’t taste salty. Just refreshing.

Um. Okay.

The air was cold.

Gem forced herself to relax and began to pull up the net, the seawater that dampened the ropes warming her hands. The water sloshed and creaked around the hull.

There was a sudden splash a few feet away, and she startled, watching the spot carefully. A purposefully moving shade rippled in the waves and disappeared.

She’d been seeing more of those recently, though she wasn’t sure if it was just sleep deprivation-induced hallucinations, or a trick of the dark. Maybe it was both.

Gem gripped the sword at her waist, waiting for any signs of disturbance.

The clouds creeped across the horizon.

Silence. Nothing but the ocean glinting under the muted moonlight.

A minute passed, then another. She started to relax. Maybe the fishing really was just getting to her head—

—was what she was thinking, as something, some thing’s gaping jaw revealed too many teeth growing from slimy gums, grey and green and every other colour on the spectrum and beyond fading into an abyss that threatened to consume. She couldn’t see anything, blindness taking over her, erasing everything that ever existed.

Gem bit her tongue so hard she tasted iron. Hands shaking, she barely managed to fumble her sword out and blindly swung it, shutting her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see anything as she died.

The thing growled, and Gem’s feet were glued to the deck.

Silence hung in the air, time agonisingly ticking.

Then there was a low swish, a shake, a splash, and then nothing.

A soft drizzle started, pattering onto the water’s surface and settling on her shoulders.

Gem forced herself to pry her eyes open. The water crinkled innocently at her, and somehow, she had the feeling she’d been let go.

(For now.)

The ocean rocked beneath her, and not too far away, lightning struck.

[dreaming-medium]

Animals Without Direction

Chapter Twenty Nine - Between Two Walls

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Masterlist

It’s a numb ride to Fort Mire. 

The only experience you had with riding a horse was with Jeongin– but the memory doesn’t manage to put even the smallest of grins on your face.

The barrage of emotions that hit you in the throne room are still simmering in your brain. 

A large part of you is screaming to turn around, to walk back into your bedroom, strip all your armor off and cover your head in blankets until everything is over.

No. You need to do this, this is what needs to happen.

And there is no time to waste.

Wind whips past your face with each gallop. The horse’s hooves make such brief, heavy contact on the stone road as it tears through Miroh and towards Erbus’ border.

Left alone, your thoughts run wild– each of them morbid and gruesome. Slaughtered armies and burning flags, screams of the injured ring in your ears and you have to shake your head to get them out. 

The bridge leading over the Amvista river comes into view with the sunset.

What were you going to do? What sort of plan can you hope to come up with to keep Miroh safe? 

Night was falling on the seventh of December. 

There are five days to prepare. Five short days to ensure that Miroh is ready to face one of the largest attacks they’ve ever encountered.

It will be four by the time you arrive. 

If the Mercy Division did those sort of horrible things to civilians, what do they do to enemy soldiers on the battlefield? What sort of evil weapons do they fight with?

There was no way they would fight cleanly, that was for certain. You need to be prepared for every dirty war tactic in the book. 

How was Miroh going to make it out of this? And with the attack on the northern border your forces will be split even more. 

It’s an attack on all fronts. It’s fucking brutal.

It’s war.

By the time you make it to Fort Mire, the sun has not yet risen on December eighth.

Miroh’s flag blew proudly in the wind, you were able to see it from a distance. Like your own lighthouse, it drew you in and guided your way.

Even though you knew the attack was not for another few days, you could not help but to heave a sigh of relief upon seeing it wave so strongly at the top of the fort. 

You’ve only been gone about two weeks; why does it feel like it’s been an eternity since you’ve seen this place?

You’re not the same person you were when you left. New scars and lessons litter your life story. Several chapters have been written in the book of your life. 

Only a few guards patrol the top wall of the fort as usual– it’s the night shift. Guards would often bet their shifts in poker when they had no more money to wager. 

Everyone hated the night shift. But you never minded it. Hyunjin was always there to keep you company, despite the two of you only sharing a few words every now and then.

As soon as the guards spot you riding in from a distance, the gate is cranked open for your– Chan’s– horse to gallop through. 

The poor thing, you pushed its stamina for hours without giving it a proper rest. 

The gate shuts behind you as quickly as it’s opened. 

A neat head of blond hair greets you as you hop off the saddle.

“The mercenary returns,” Hyunjin says slyly. “And on the Jarl’s horse nonetheless.”

When you snap around to look at him, his teasing smile falters for a moment. Clearly, he was expecting one of your usual dry retorts.

But, when he’s met with a frazzled mercenary, his entire demeanor shifts.

His eyes widen. “What is it?”

“Where is Changbin?”

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

The excitement of your arrival is quickly stamped out by the weight of the news to come. 

But, your sullen energy doesn’t stop Changbin from wrapping you in one of the tightest, warmest hugs you’ve felt in quite a while. 

As soon as you stepped foot in the now heavily decorated office, his eyes lit up and his strong legs carried him to you in under three seconds. 

Your feet almost lift off the ground, he's hugging you so close. Like second nature, your arms close around his hulking figure.

“She returns!” Changbin cheers in your ear. 

You giggle but it’s hollow. Of course it wouldn’t slip by your commander. 

He releases you from the bone crushing hug and holds your shoulders, studying your face. 

“What is it, Y/N?”

You swallow. “I bring news of the war. And you are not going to like it one bit.”

Not one detail is spared when you tell Changbin and Hyunjin the events that have happened since you left only two weeks ago. 

From the Dove Waltz to the assassination of Lord Tybesin. 

Well, one detail is left out: your leg. You keep that to yourself. 

Yes, you tell them about the ambush, but your injury is conveniently left out of the story. 

You go through the masquerade and everything you learned in Inuin. 

Both of their faces fall when you speak about the letter you found in Tybesin’s office. Changbin grows pale and has to search for a chair behind him as his knees threaten to buckle. 

He shakes his head and puts it in his hands. 

Hyunjin runs a hand through his hair nervously, missing up the kempt ponytail. 

“All at once?” the mage asks. “They plan to attack every one of our strongholds at once?”

“According to the letter, yes.”

“How do they have enough soldiers to do such a thing? The Mercy Division is a special unit, not its own army.”

You shake your head and brace your hands down on the table. “I know not of their numbers. I only know of their strength; they are highly skilled and equally as sadistic.”

“They’re spreading themselves extremely thin, we just need to be ready to intercept the attack,” Hyunjin states, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Will that even be enough?” Changbin asks, picking his head up and rubbing at his face. His fingers massage the skin under his eyes.  

After a second, he finds his footing and stands up from the chair, walking up to the map spread out on the grand table. 

“We do not even know if the attack will come from the north or south. With Erbus’ relationship with Bewaes, it could be either.”

He points downwards at the country to their north. 

“Erbus did not mention Bewaes in their letter?” Hyunjin asks you. 

“Nay,” you answer confidently. 

“They would not reach out to Inuin unless they needed it. I wager Bewaes is not providing assistance.”

Changbin’s head moves side to side, weighing his words. “We cannot rely on that speculation.”

“Erbus has never requested assistance from Inuin— why now? Because they most likely have no other option.”

“But when has Bewaes ever gone against Erbus?”

“When has a hold of Olera ever committed mass genocide against a race of people?”

The two of them go back and forth about the hood to the north while you stare at the map. 

Every single stronghold that Miroh has set up is marked. They’re all over the northern border of Erbus, a few linger to the East closer to Miroh’s border. 

“Can you send scouting groups out to look along the north and south? If the Mercy Division is planning an attack from the north, then their camps would be seen there,’ you suggest.

Changbin thinks for a moment, his arms cross over his chest. Back and forth he paces in place, his eyes looking down at the map.

“I could,” he says slowly, still thinking. “But if they are caught, it would take away our one advantage in this. Erbus does not know we are aware of their plans.”

“It is not an advantage if we do not know where they are coming from,” Hyunjin adds.

Changbin thinks carefully for another few moments before nodding. “Aye, that is the best course of action then. Hyunjin, go gather a small group of soldiers– I want you to go out with them. Be back by sunrise tomorrow. Additionally, have a messenger ride out alerting our other strongholds to be on guard, a detailed plan will be sent before the attack hits.”

Hyunjin nods and turns to you before leaving. “Shame,” he says slyly. “I was looking forward to having company by the campfire tonight.”

A soft smile pulls at your lips.

“Tomorrow is another night,” you tease with a sideways glance. 

The mage brushes his shoulder against yours gently as he walks behind you with entirely too much grace for one person. 

“I will look forward to it.”

The door shuts behind him. 

Changbin looks up from the map and directly into your eyes. His features soften.

How can someone built like a brick wall look so… gentle? The man’s biceps were larger than your head and yet he reminds you of a giant stuffed bear that used to sit on your bed as a child.

“I did not take you for a harbinger of bad news,” he laughs. 

You scoff and roll your head around your stiff shoulders. Hours and hours of continuous riding took its toll on your body. 

“I wish I was not.”

Changbin waits a moment and then looks back down at the table and shuffles a few papers around. There’s a certain stiffness to his movements that rings a tiny alarm in your mind. What is he looking for?

“How was your journey back to Miroh?” he asks without looking up.

Your heartbeat falters for a half-beat. “I told you, it was uneventful until the ambush– smooth nonetheless.”

Changbin’s nose twitches and he sniffles. He hums and nods, as if unconvinced. “Nothing else happened at the ambush?”

Shaking your head, you shuffle your weight from foot to foot. The hair on the back of your neck stands up, goosebumps rip down your arm.

He knows, doesn’t he? He always knows. He used to do the same thing when you and Jeongin would try to skip out on laps during training. 

Finally, he finds a piece of parchment and unfolds it. The official court seal of Miroh on the back. 

“I was excited when the first letter arrived after your departure,” he tells you, flipping the paper around in his large hand. “Finally, I was going to be able to read correspondence from Chan without the aid of another. Thanks to you, of course.”

Changbin makes a great show of unfolding the paper and looking down at the words in front of his face. 

Slowly, he begins to meander towards you, coming around the table to take tiny, lazy steps in your direction. 

“Changbin,” he reads, putting on a voice to sound like Chan. “I am pleased to hear of your success in enemy lands, it brings me great pleasure to hear about Miroh’s victories.”

Pride rips through you at how easily he’s reading the letter. You only taught him for a month and he picked up on it so quickly. He’s obviously been practicing every day. 

It’s an evil concoction of emotions that you’re feeling: pride and fear. 

“There’s a bit more about war plans here, advice on where to strike next, blah blah blah.”

Closer and closer he walks to you. Eventually, your legs begin to act on their own and you back away from his approach.

“But then we get here.” He smacks the paper with the back of his hand. Changbin clears his throat once and continues reading. “Y/N arrived back in Miroh yesterday with Jisung. With the state that she arrived in, I regret to say that the contents of this letter were almost entirely different. The two of them were attacked by a scouting party of Erban soldiers just over the borders in our lands.”

You bite the inside of your cheek and continue to back away from your commander. Step by step he saunters towards you. 

“During the ambush, Y/N was stabbed in the leg with a poisonous dagger– the injury was near fatal and we almost lost her before my very own eyes. Luckily, with Felix’s skill, we were able to bring her back from the Void. I implore you to keep an eye out for this poison that coats Erbus’ weapons, it seems to stunt the body’s natural healing abilities.”

Eventually, you run out of floor to back away on; your shoulders come in contact with the wall. Changbin crowds your space more and more until he’s directly up on you. 

“The wound will take longer to heal than she is accustomed to, Felix suspects. We will keep a close eye on her and ensure she is well before returning to her normal duties.”

Changbin finishes reading and looks down at you with wild eyes. He holds the letter up like evidence.

Shit.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips and then the bottom lip pulls between your teeth nervously. Unable to keep his searing eye contact for more than a few seconds, you look off to the side.

“Does not seem ‘uneventful’ to me.”

Huffing, you cross your arms. “I should have never taught you to read,” you grumble.

Changbin laughs humorlessly and grabs your chin with his free hand, turning your face back to him.

“Did I not command you to stay safe? It was not a suggestion, it was an order.”

You roll your eyes. “You think I purposefully defied that?”

He clicks his tongue. 

“How did it happen?” your commander asks you.

Clenching your jaw, you gulp. “I took care of the entire scouting party, the last soldier went after Jisung. I was disarmed in the previous scuffles and had no choice but to attack weaponless.”

“So it came down to a test of brute strength then?” Changbin’s voice dips to a lower register.

Suddenly unable to find your own voice, you only nod in his grip. 

“It seems we need to work on that, no?”

What? Work on your strength?

Changbin reads the confusion on your face, his nose scrunches. 

“No time like the present, aye?”

Within a blink of your eyes, both of your wrists are snatched from your side and pinned next to your head. He moves so fast that by the time you register the movement, you can hear the letter hit the ground with a delicate crunch.

Your eyes flit all over his face.

Warmth radiates off his body and surrounds you like a blanket. 

Words stick in your throat like molasses. 

“Come on now, Y/N.” His face dips down to be level with yours, a challenging glint shines over his dark eyes. “Get out of my grasp. You should be able to handle this easily.”

His weight leans on your wrists, keeping you thoroughly pinned to the surface. It seems that you’re stuck between two walls: one of stone and the other of muscle.

Get out of his grasp? Why doesn’t he put you in enchanted cuffs instead, that might even be easier than fighting against his brute strength.

Humoring his command, you push forward, trying with all your might to move him even an inch away from you. He doesn’t even budge.

A breathy chuckle comes out through his crooked smirk. 

“I need you battle ready, Y/N. Come now.”

Harder and harder you shove against him, the grip on your wrists only continues to hold you like iron. The veins in your forehead pop from the exertion, your skin flushes.

Changbin’s face grows more and more amused at your efforts. 

His head dips down towards your neck. 

Warmth envelopes your flushed, sweaty skin when his lips press to the skin exposed at your collar. You gasp and forget all about your original goal of pushing him off of you.

Another low chuckle rumbles from within him, you feel each exhale on your neck.

“I am still here, Y/N.”

The strength is sucked from your body with each press of his lips on your skin. They start out so gentle, but with each kiss, they become firmer, moving up your neck millimeter by millimeter. 

Another shiver zips up your spine. 

“Fight against me, mercenary.” Changbin’s boot knocks your feet to the side from the inside, spreading your legs a bit. His knee comes up to rest on the wall right in between them, further pinning you there.

Your eyes slide shut, the sensation of his mouth taking over each one of your senses.

God, you missed his smell. Two weeks doesn’t seem like that long in any other circumstance, but when each day feels like five, your sense of time becomes warped. 

Up, up, up his mouth moves. The kisses become wetter, his mouth opening more and more before each point of contact. Just underneath your jaw, you feel his tongue poke out to lick at your skin.

A breathy moan shakily leaves your lips.

Your chin tilts back, head softly hitting the wall.

Changbin snickers. “What happened? Do you not want to escape?”

Swallowing a thick knot of arousal, you shake your head.

“Words, little girl.”

You bite back a moan. His deep voice paired with that nickname sends your brain into a spiral. Unconsciously, your hips jolt and roll. 

The smallest bit of pressure from his thigh rubs against your clothed arousal.

“No,” you whisper. It’s so quiet, you worry he might not have heard it.

“No?” he repeats into your neck. “No, you do not want to escape?”

Finding a bit more strength, you say it again. “No,” you hush firmly, keeping your eyes closed. “I do not want to escape.”

His tongue pokes out and licks at a patch of your skin, lips then closing over it to suck softly– not hard enough to leave a mark but enough that you shiver.

“And why is that, mercenary?”

“Because– fuck .” 

Teeth bite down where your neck meets your shoulder before you can answer.

“What was that?” he teases.

A tiny whine comes from your throat. “Because it feels fucking good.” It comes out more confident and more even than you thought you were capable of in that moment. 

He hums and mouths up your neck once more, but he doesn’t stop at your jawline like the last time.

Changbin pulls back and brings his face level with yours again. 

He releases one of your hands to grasp at your chin once more, bringing your face back down to look at him.

A blush of his own mirrors yours across his cheeks. His full lips already look a bit swollen just from running over your neck.

“You came back,” Changbin whispers.

“I told you I would.”

Changbin’s lips swoop down and capture yours. Your now free hand comes up to wind through his curled, black hair. You always liked it more when it sat naturally on his head.

You allow yourself to be consumed by him; you let Changbin take over each one of your senses. He’s everything around you at that moment. 

Truly, you hadn’t realized how much you missed his entire being until that void was filled once more.

His tongue pokes from his lips to lick at yours, your own coming out to tangle together in a wet dance. 

His hand trails down to grab at your waist. 

With all your armor still strapped to your body, you’re unable to feel his touch as much as you’d like to. The small flash of needy desperation causes you to roll your hips again. 

An insatiable itch picks at the base of your spine and shoots to your groin. 

Like always, Changbin picks up on even the smallest of signs. 

His knee lifts up to rest higher on the wall.

With only a flimsy pair of trousers on, Changbin’s muscular thigh presses against you, igniting an even hotter inferno.

Your own travel trousers were nothing but a thin layer of cotton. 

The sinewy muscles of his quads ripple through the trousers while his hand on your hip pushes you down against it.

An involuntary moan is swallowed by his mouth.

The pressure from the grind against him brings more relief than you can even begin to describe, but at the same time, it makes you crave more .

Over and over again, you begin to roll your hips around on his thigh, wave after wave of delicious pressure washes over you. 

At the same time, his kisses become hotter and heavier.

The smug joy that blooms in his chest at your actions inflates Changbin’s ego tenfold.

Your fingers wind tighter through his hair the more you ride against his thigh.

“Missed you,” he murmurs on your lips before diving back in to taste you again.

“Gods,” you answer breathily. “I missed you too.”

He releases your other hand, grabbing your waist with two hands. You grab at his tunic, knuckles turning white from how hard you’re gripping it.

His own breathy exhales go right through you. It almost sounds like he’s getting off just from feeling you rub against his thigh like a bitch in heat. 

Can he feel how wet you are through the layers of fabric?

With how good each stroke feels, you wouldn’t be surprised if his trousers had a wet patch on them after you were through.

“Thought of you,” Changbin says in between kisses. 

“Mmm?” 

“Regretted not doing this earlier.” His hand on your waist squeezes tighter.

Faster and faster your hips pick up speed on his thigh. Just the right amount of pressure is hitting your clit, each rub feels so good.

Tiny moans come from your throat; they sound more like whimpers.

You’re so exhausted from the back to back journeys, but the sudden need to reach your release energizes you more than any mug of ale ever could.

“Who would have known you could be this dirty, little girl.”

That nickname again. It makes you keen and roll your hips faster. 

The familiar coil of an orgasm winds up tighter and tighter in your lower stomach. It pulls at the base of your spine and tenses all of your muscles.

“ Shit, shit, shit, ” you murmur against Changbin’s lips. You’re no longer able to keep up with his long, wet kisses. Your mind is too focused on chasing your high.

It’s just out of your reach, dangling in front of your face.

Just a bit more. Just a little more. 

“Read something somewhere,” he grunts.

You’re only able to respond by moaning a ‘uh-huh?’

He read something somewhere?

He nods against your mouth, those lips pulling into a sinful smirk once more before one of his hands slides up your body.

It crawls up your side, over your shoulder, up your neck, up your face until his fingertips gently caress the shell of your ear.

The second his touch gets as close to the point as your piercings would allow, he ever-so-gently, pinches the delicate skin and your orgasm rips through you like a wildfire through old trees. He presses his mouth against yours to swallow the cry you let out.

It’s different from the orgasms you’re used to. Your walls clamp down over nothing, electric shocks shooting down your spine into your toes.

Strained grunts pass from your throat after a few seconds while you try to catch your breath.

Changbin pulls away from your lips to rest his forehead against yours. His strong hands keeping you up and steady while you come down from your high.

Your head falls back against the wall again. 

“By The Six,” you pant.

Changbin snickers. “I did not think you had it in you.”

Your hand comes up and smack his arm, he only laughs more. 

“You read about Elves’ ears somewhere?”

“There are some interesting books littered around the fort, I have to say.”

You laugh in disbelief, your heart rate finally beginning to calm down and return to somewhat of a normal rhythm.

“Give me one moment and I can–”

“Nay,” he cuts you off. “You are going to sleep.”

Your eyes snap open. “What? No, I can–”

“You have been traveling for almost an entire day, you are going to sleep.”

“Changbin–”

Before you can answer again, he leans down and hoists you up over his shoulder. You yelp and cling onto his tunic.

“Sleep.”

“Fine.”

[lost-in-lamentation]

may I humbly request an MC that has panic attacks and tries to hide it from Lucifer? 🧎🏻 can be romantic or platonic, I don't care, I just want some good old comfort, thank you 🧎🏻

a/n: i got you, anon!

content: your panic attacks become increasingly difficult to hide from the avatar of pride.

warnings: the reader has a panic attack; heavy description of how someone might feel physically.

important! everyone experiences anxiety attacks differently, and this is loosely based off my own experience.

lucifer × gen!reader. comfort.

leave it to MC to do it, let MC take care of it, MC can do it.

the words repeated like a broken record in your head, spinning your thoughts and leaving you dizzy. truth be told, you were getting tired dealing with everything all at once; RAD assignments, RAD council, and just the regular everyday tasks of reeling in a certain group of brothers. you sat in the common area of the house of lamentation with your head in your hands, fingers rubbing harshly against your scalp as you tried to drown out the yelling from the kitchen. you were at your limit and in no mood to deal with any sort of shenanigans. when silence fell throughout the house, you sighed in relief, only for your last shred of sanity to snap when the brothers abruptly crashed through the door, quite literally knocking it off the hinges. scrambling to your feet, you glared at the group of them. at the thought of being yelled at for not stopping the fight in the first place, tears unwillingly pool in your eyes. distant and muffled shouts from the brothers clogged your hearing, and you couldn't handle it anymore. with your hands covering your ears, you ducked out of the room, not wanting to be caught crying over something you weren't even involved in.

you stumbled through the hallways, blurred vision and muted voices not registering as you fought to get back to your room. when you were finally inside your own space, you collapsed onto the floor, bringing your knees up to your chest and burying your face into your arms. your skin felt like it was on fire, but your lungs insisted that you were drowning. unknowingly, your hands clawed at your forearms, leaving them red and irritated as you tried to shut out the voice that echoed from inside your own head. as you fought for air, your body shuddered with the effort, chest heaving while it searched for an anchor.

your anchor came in the form of a low voice, cutting through the wall you had built around yourself. it came in the form of gentle a hand pulling on your wrists, coaxing you to unfold yourself. garbled words eventually became clear, bright red eyes starting to pierce into the darkness as though it were your lighthouse, guiding you back. another hand came to rest on your chest, rubbing it soothingly until you finally see clearly and hear him calling to you.

lucifer released your arms from his grip, blinking at you slowly. his hand lingered on your chest, just above your heart. your breaths were shallow, unsure, and he hated how he hadn't seen the signs before you nearly crashed into him on the staircase. with a sigh, lucifer lowered himself onto the floor behind you, pulling you in so your back rested on his torso while he leaned back onto your bedframe. his hand fell down from your chest to circle your waist, and the other moved up to cover your eyes. you noticed then that his gloves were off, and that his palm was cool to the touch. you exhaled softly, relaxing into his hold and trying to regain control of your breathing.

"MC," lucifer began quietly, voice rumbling as he spoke. "you are supposed to alert me when these things happen." you shook your head, attempting to push lucifer's hand away from your face. "i don't advise you do that. i've enchanted my hand so that it stays cold. i would imagine you'd like to avoid having a swollen face after this."

you sighed in defeat before nodding. "i didn't want to make a big deal of it," you muttered.

"you will tell me next time." lucifer dropped his head into your shoulder, leaning it against yours. "i'd much rather i'm already with you when it starts, instead of finding you in your room like this."

"... alright." despite not being able to see him, you tilted your face towards his, trying to feel where he was through the hand the rested on your eyes. in return, lucifer removed his hand from your face, red eyes meeting yours briefly before he turned away and pressed his cheek to your forehead.

"i do worry about you," lucifer breathed out, his arm around your waist shifting to hug you tight. "i'm aware of the strain my brothers might- or, will, cause. so please, MC. indulge me, and allow me to take care of you like this."

you nodded slowly, your fingers ghosting across the arm that was wrapped around you. it felt just a bit easier to breathe with him here. "only if you'll let me take care of you too."

behind you, lucifers shoulders bounced lightly with laughter. "i'd be alright with that exchange."

"it's a deal then," you murmured, eyes falling shut as exhaustion took over. lucifer hummed in response, waiting until your breathing had finally evened out.

"deal," he repeated to himself before hoisting you up in his arms and placing you on your bed. lucifer gazed at you tenderly, affection sparkling in his irises as he positioned himself next to you, tugging you close. "rest well."

a/n: love a good comfort prompt

[klbwriting]

Surface Tension

Chapter 10 - Somewhere Only We Know

Fandom: Aquaman

Pairing: Ormxfemale!Reader

Warnings: some violence

Summary: Orm comes to terms with his past, and Y/N puts the plan into action

Notes: almost done! Just a couple more chapters! I want to thank everyone who has read, liked, commented, etc on this work. Its hard writing anything and it feels so nice when someone says they like it, so thank you! song is 'Somewhere Only We Know' by Keane

Taglist: @hyperagitatedcydonian13 @gabrieleskywalker @philiasoul @duchcess

This could be the end of everything So, why don't we go somewhere only we know?

Orm was standing on the beach, watching something floating towards the shore. His heart sank as it got closer. It was a body, Y/N’s body. He moved, picking her up and carrying her up to her chair on her porch, setting her down.

“Y/N?” he said, shaking her gently. She opened her eyes slowly and looked at him.

“Why did you do this?” she asked. Orm frowned. “Why didn’t you save me?” She closed her eyes, and he knew she was gone.

“I tried…I tried…I tried,” he repeated, falling into her lap as he sobbed.

“Orm, wake up!” Atlanna said, shaking her boy. He woke, sitting up from the bed he had in the lighthouse. He was pale, stomach turning. Aria was standing in a corner, eyes fixed on him. “It was a nightmare.” His mother held his face, leaning her forehead to his like she did when he was child.

“I can’t save her. I can’t do anything,” he whispered. Atlanna shook her head. “Mother, is this what it felt like? When you had to leave here? Everything feels like its ending.”

“Yes, that’s what it felt like to leave Tom and Arthur…but that’s also what it felt like when I was forced to leave you,” she said. Orm looked at her. He knew her banishment to trench was forced by his father, but he always figured she hated being in Atlantis anyway, hated his father, hated him, so death might have been a relief. He never imagined leaving him had hurt her like this. He took a breath.

“Did you talk to her?” he asked her. She nodded.

“She told me to tell you she would see you again, but not just on Halloween?” she said, not sure still what Y/N had meant. Orm smiled. She planned on coming back to him alive and well. Her confidence made him feel better. “I’m glad you know what she meant.”

“What are you doing about actually freeing her?” Aria asked from her post by the window. “Or are you just leaving her there to stew for awhile?” Atlanna frowned and looked at the girl.

“Why would we leave her?” she asked. Aria swallowed. “I know that in the past the royal family have not treated those they deemed below them well, but Arthur is not that kind of king, he is a better king.”

“Ya, that bar was really low…” Orm said to himself.

“Be that as it may, we have put in the evidence that she was not involved with the assassination, and that it was Hendrix looking alone. We should not only be able to clear her name but the rest of the Atlantis for All members that are currently in prison still waiting punishment. And you Aria, will also be cleared,” the queen explained. “There is one final piece we need. Y/N is going to talk to Hendrix and get him to confess.”

“Why would he even talk to her?” Aria asked.

“He will have to, she is going to be put to death and her last request will be to speak to Hendrix,” Atlanna explained. Orm’s eyes widened.

“What do you mean she’s going to be put to death?” he demanded, the dream coming back to him. Her body, cold, lifeless, him just standing by as she passed on.

“It is the only way to force Hendrix to speak with her. He must answer her last request. Her death sentence is not official, but he doesn’t know that. We are going to record him. She says she learned from Aria how to get him to say things he shouldn’t,” Atlanna explained further. Aria smiled, proud of her friend. She looked up, hearing AJ crying from his room. “I will be back, don’t worry my son, you will see her again.”

Aria watched her leave the room before looking at Orm. She was trying to figure him out. He wasn’t like she expected, how was this guy, a crying mess at the thought of a single woman being in danger, the same man who had killed hundreds just a few years ago without batting an eye?

“You can say it you know,” Orm whispered. “You can say it should be me, that I’m a coward and I should be going back to Atlantis, demanding her freedom in exchange for my head. I don’t deserve her; I don’t deserve to be free after what I did.”

“I have thought that many times since she was taken, but that’s not what I was thinking now,” she said. She moved to sit next to him, playing with her rings. “I was thinking that she saved my husband on the day of that tidal wave. She used her power, exposing herself to possibly any Atlantian that could have been around, someone who could have reported her, but she saved him because she knew I loved him. And now she’s in love with you, the person who caused all that pain. I was thinking, I should be watching you hurt with joy but I can’t.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Because she loves you, and she’s happy with you. You haven’t redeemed yourself for your crimes but you’re starting and that is important,” she said. “She will be back with you soon and you better spend the rest of your life showing her that you can be better than you were.”

“Don’t worry, I’m never going to be less than she deserves,” he said. Atlanna came rushing into the room.

“Hendrix is gone. Aria, go back to the house, see if he goes there, I’ll find him in the water,” she instructed. They were gone and Orm had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Hendrix arrived at Y/N’s cell, ready to grant her last request. He had no idea why she would ask for him, but he couldn’t refuse. He was ready, the letters and the video made him look bad and he had started planning his escape as soon as he left the king’s office. He was going to break Arthur by killing his family, before returning to the throne room with Orm’s body, proving the king was a liar and hid the tyrant. Then Hendrix would be king, and things would change.

Y/N was humming to herself when he arrived. Poseidon’s blood, he hated her obsession with music. She sounded terrible and she didn’t care. How could she not care?

“What did you want terrorist?” he asked, standing before her. She stood and looked at him.

“Is this what you wanted? The death of anyone who would actually stand up for the rights of the lower city?” she asked. He rolled his eyes.

“You are such an idiot, no one cares about you, this is about me. You are just a pawn in this game, a sacrifice to be made. Once you are dead I will find Aria now that I know she’s alive and…” he stopped talking. This wasn’t right. She looked smug, like she knew something he didn’t. She was trying to trap him. He stormed forward, hands padding over her clothes. She cried out in surprise, but he found what he was looking for, strapped to her back.

“What are you doing?” she asked as he ripped the recorder from her skin. She cried out in pain, and then again when he hit her with it. Her cheek started bleeding and he smirked.

“You think you are so clever, trying to trick me into saying something I shouldn’t” he taunted. “I am not an idiot Y/N.”

“You’re not as smart as you think Hendrix. Everyone can see what you’re doing. You are sloppy, you’ve always been sloppy. Mailing letters to people without checking who is receiving it? Not disguising your pulsar enough so I didn’t see it before you killed the king? Now even, you openly show your hatred for the king, rumors spread that you actually tried to poison Orm several times when he was ruling. You are an insignificant little person who thinks he deserves to be king…” she stopped when he hit her with he recorder again. She was knocked to the floor, staring up at his enraged face.

“I AM GOING TO BE KING!” he screamed. “My plan to kill Orm was perfect. I got you to tell me the parade route using sweet words, because you have always been craving someone to be a good daddy for you…and maybe I would have done that if you had let me kill that bastard. None of you knew because I was so good at hiding it! And poisoning Orm? Would have been simple if he wasn’t so paranoid of his stupid brother coming to usurp him. Then Arthur…what a joke. He thinks his family is safe in that lighthouse? Just wait until you’re dead, then I’ll kill them all and I WILL BE KING.” He stormed out the door and Y/N smiled as she called the guard.

Arthur took the holodisk and went to the council. The confession was enough to get the guard out to arrest Hendrix on not only one count of treason but several. Y/N was released and taken to Arthur’s office where a doctor cleaned up and bandaged her cuts.

“I can go home now,” she said. Arthur nodded. Guards came running into the office.

“He’s gone, Hendrix escaped,” one said. Arthur moved to get his armor on to search for him, sending word to the queen about the escape. Y/N paled. The lighthouse. Hendrix knew about the lighthouse. She took off herself, hoping she was in time to warn them.