#might hold hand’s covered in the blood of your enemies

[infinityoftwo]

The inherent homoeroticism of being covered in blood together.

[wlntrsldler]

poisoned mercury | now you got me

ix. now you got me by inhaler

series masterlist | previous | next

the happy little bubble you and luke made for yourselves inevitably bursted a few days after you made it official– though if you asked luke, you rejected his advances, which always earned an eye roll from you followed by a long kiss to his lips that had him silent for the next five minutes. you knew he was milking the hell out of you saying no to his question until he let you listen to the song, but you were his and he was yours regardless of the title. 

you stared at yourself in the mirror, blushing as you ran your fingers down the marks on your neck. you added a turtleneck under your chb shirt, not having enough energy to cover up the marks on your neck with makeup, and you definitely didn’t have the energy to explain to people how you got them. thankfully, the weather cooperated with you today. it was unusually cold for the summer, a slight breeze entering your room from your opened window. as you continued to get ready for the day, your phone buzzed with a text from your dad. 

‘hey kid, can you come to my office real quick?’

you hadn’t spoken to your dad in weeks, not since he stormed out of the cabin after finding out what started the fight with your teammate. this was the longest you’d gone without speaking to him. you texted a thumbs up and made your way out of your room. 

luke was sitting on the coffee table in the middle of everyone, looking at you with wondering eyes, “where are you going?” 

“my dad wants to talk.” 

“do you want me to come with you?” luke got up from where he sat. you told him last night that you’d been avoiding your dad as much as possible, and he did the same with you. as much as you guys butted heads, luke knew that it was taking a toll on you. you shared that you were scared about what would become of your relationship with your dad. luke, being as close to his mom as you were with your dad, understood. he knew what it was like to feel like your biggest supporter was giving up on you. it wasn’t a feeling he’d wish on his worst enemy, and definitely not a feeling he’d ever wish on you. 

“no, it’s fine,” you clenched your jaw, shaking your head. 

luke’s shoulders slumped over as he stuttered in his actions to sit back down, “oh, okay–uh, let me know if you need anything.” 

you nodded and waved a small goodbye before exiting the cabin. your heart was pounding the entire time you made your way to your dad’s office. a lot of things had been weighing on you this summer– your probation, a possible dent on your record, your estrangement from your parents, luke– and it was a lot to handle. camp half blood was supposed to keep you away from the problems that existed in your day-to-day life, but it seemed to follow you. 

you entered your dad’s office to see him typing away on his laptop. his eyebrows raised when you walked in, motioning for you to shut the door. he closed his laptop and placed it in one of the drawers of his desk. he took a deep breath, “hey, kid.” 

“hi, dad,” you replied, suddenly feeling like a little kid again. you sat on the usual chair in front of his desk and leaned back, “what’s up?” 

“i, uh,” he cleared his throat, “i just wanted to say i’m sorry for how we left things. i shouldn’t have stormed out like that. i was just angry. but not at you, at myself for making you feel like you had to fight these battles for me.” 

he leaned across his desk to hold your hands, “you’re my kid, y’know. my job is to protect you, not the other way around. so i apologize if i ever made you feel like you had to come to my defense.” 

“and i’m sorry for being mia the last few weeks,” he chuckled, squeezing your hands, “i’ve been in contact with my lawyers and they’re working on making sure the charges against you don’t stick so i’ve been pretty busy with that.” 

“you think it’ll get sorted out?” you asked. 

“yeah, don’t worry about it. it’s finishing up and i think you might even be able to play this season,” your dad smiled. “but i have to deal with a pr crisis right now that sprung up on me this morning.” 

your shoulders relaxed at your dad’s words. at least your probation was getting sorted out. that was one less thing to worry about. you tugged on the sleeves of your turtleneck as you got comfortable on your chair, “what’s the pr crisis?” 

he sighed, pulling out his laptop, “something with the band.” 

you hoped your dad didn’t notice the slight widening of your eyes. because you hadn’t been talking to your dad, he didn’t know about the recent developments between you and luke. you two didn’t show much pda outside of the cabin, scared that one of the campers would break their nda and post a picture of the two of you. neither of you were ready to tell the world about you two yet. it’s too soon. you didn’t even have the “what’s going to happen to us after summer?” conversation yet. 

“what happened?” 

“some pap pictures leaked. it’s of this new actress in hollywood and a guy leaving her hotel room. the press is reporting that the guy is luke. it looks a lot like him and you know the media– they run any story that’ll get them clicks even if it’s not fully fact-checked as long as they add the word ‘allegedly’ to the article,” he rolled his eyes, turning his computer to face you. “nobody knows where the pictures came from, so we don’t know if it’s actually luke or not, but i’ve been on the phone with may and their team all morning trying to do damage control. she’s telling the guys about the pictures right now.” 

at first glance, your heart dropped to your stomach. the guy did look an awful lot like luke. the rational part of you knew that this was probably taken before the two of you met because you’ve seen him every day since and he was practically imprisoned at chb all summer, but then you thought of your impromptu trip to achilles’ arcade and it made you want to throw up. if luke could sneak away with you like that, it would’ve been easy for him to do the same when he was alone. 

were the nights he didn’t spend in your bed because he was “writing” just an excuse to sneak off to meet up with the girl in the picture? she was gorgeous, after all. blonde, tall, the perfect new hollywood star. they’d make such a great power couple. the two rising stars in their respective industries, the perfect pair. 

the boy’s face, who may or may not be luke, was covered by his hood, but you can clearly see that he was kissing the girl deeply, with his hand placed on the curve of her back. the next picture was them with their fingers laced together as she led him into the hotel, giggling at something he said. the guy had a similar build as luke and dressed the same way as he did when he was having a lazy day– sweatpants, hoodie, and converses. 

bile made its way up your throat as you continued to scroll through the pictures. you looked at the time stamp of the photos and closed your eyes, wincing, when you saw that they were taken two days ago. luke didn’t sleep in your room two days ago, nor was he in the cabin. he showed up the next day saying that he was in the studio, trying to finish up the song so you would officially accept being his girlfriend. 

you squinted at a close-up picture of the pair, zoning in on the guy's hand. you breathed out a sigh of relief, fingers immediately clutching the ring that rested on your index finger. you turned the laptop back to your dad, “that’s not luke.” 

his eyebrows shot up, looking between you and his laptop screen, “how do you know?” 

“look at his rings,” you pointed at the bands around the guy’s fingers, “luke doesn’t wear a ring on his ring finger anymore. and look, the guy has a ring there and it’s gold.” 

“how are you so sure? what if he just decided to wear it that day?” 

“trust me,” you waved off, “he’s particular about his jewelry. he stopped wearing one on his ring finger a while ago. and luke doesn’t wear gold jewelry.” 

your dad narrowed his eyes at you suspiciously, shutting his laptop, “i didn’t realize you were that close to luke that you had his accessories memorized.” 

“ah– well,” you cleared your throat, looking down at your feet. you felt caught. “s’your fault, really. you made us live together.” 

“is there something you need to tell me, kid?” 

you got up from your seat, quickly making your way to the door, “geez, dad, i didn’t realize the time! i promised clar that i’d help her with camp duties, so i gotta go. thanks for all your help on the probation and permanent record thing. you’re the best!” 

you didn’t bother to turn around to see your dad’s reaction to your excuse. you knew that he could see right through you. 

you dad called from behind you, his joking tone camouflaged by his “dad” voice, “tell castellan that if he does anything wrong, i’ll kill him and his career!” 

“love you!” 

your dad shook his head, biting back the smile on his face, “love you too, kid.” 

as you were rushing back to your cabin, you ran smack dab into luke who was frantic, worry evident on his features. his eyes widened when he saw you and he placed his hands on your shoulders, steadying you so you didn’t fall at the impact. 

“five star,” he sighed out, out of breath, “i don’t know if mr. d told you but those pictures aren’t me, i swear!” 

you had two options– you could one, tell him that you knew it wasn’t him and put him out of his misery or two, you could pretend to not believe him and make him sweat. luke looked like he was about to get on his knees and beg you to believe him. you wouldn’t be surprised if he made a powerpoint presentation listing the reasons why it wasn’t him in those pictures. 

you pursed your lips, “i saw the pictures luke.” 

“and they weren’t me!” he said, exasperated. his eyebrows knitted in anxiety, as he chewed on the nail of his thumb, “you gotta believe me, babe. i don’t know who that guy is but i can promise you it’s not me.” 

you tried not to swoon at the pet name that left his lips. “how do i know that? you weren’t home the night those pictures were taken.” 

“i know it looks bad, but look,” he ran a hand through his curls. “i finished the song the boys wrote and you can go listen to it right now, but then that night, i got caught up with a song idea about you and i stayed up all night to write it. you can listen to the demo right now if you want. you can listen to all the demos you want if that gets you to believe me. i think the recordings have timestamps too, so you’ll see i was in there all nigh–”

“down, pretty boy,” you couldn’t keep it up any longer. luke looked like he was two seconds away from bursting into tears and as much as you wanted to hear him yap, you didn’t have it in your heart to drag it on. you chuckled, wrapping your arms around his neck. you pressed a soft kiss to his lips and he instantly relaxed at the feeling. 

your lips moved in sync as his hands found your waist, pressing you closer to him. his tongue licked your bottom lip, asking for permission, which you gladly granted. it was the sound of clarisse and chris inside the cabin, tapping against the windows that pulled you and luke apart. you both turned to look at your friends who all had shit-eating grins on their faces. 

travis and connor were behind the couple, shaking their heads, “get a fucking room, you heathens.” 

luke flipped them off and pressed a softer, more innocent kiss on your lips before you spoke. “i knew it wasn’t you. just wanted to see you sweat a little bit.” 

“that was mean,” he pouted, but he couldn’t fight off the smile on his face. he always seemed to smile after he kissed you. it made you want to kiss him again, starting a never-ending chain of kisses that would surely lead the two of you to be unproductive for the rest of the day. “i was so scared, five star, you have no idea. the fucker looked so much like me.” 

you laughed, playing with the curls on the nape of his neck, “trust me, i know. my heart dropped to my ass when i first saw them, but i knew it wasn’t you.” 

“how’d you know?” 

“the rings,” you flushed, thinking about how crazy you must sound knowing these small details about him.

“shit, five star,” he whistled, surprised. there was a warmth in his chest that spread throughout the rest of his body at the idea of you paying attention to these things about him. “nothing can get past you, huh? i didn’t even notice that.”

“yeah, at least you know not to sneak around behind me because i’ll find out,” you teased, lacing your fingers together as you slowly made your way up the steps of the cabin. luke stood in his spot, pulling on your hand to get you to to turn around. you walked over to him, confused, “what’s up?” 

“y’know i wouldn’t think of doing that, right?” he asked, voice suddenly serious. “i would never do that to you.” 

your eyes softened as a wistful look appeared on your face. you kissed his cheeks, relishing in the feeling of luke wrapping his arms around your torso in a tight hug. you pressed your face into the crook of his neck, placing a feather-light kiss on his jugular, “yeah, yeah.” 

“‘m serious,” he pulled away, holding your face in his hands. he was staring at you intently, making sure that you were hearing his words. you never gave him an indication that you didn’t trust him, but luke knew that it was better to tell you these things straight up if he wanted to have a real relationship with you. he knew it takes a toll on the people he dates (not that he’s had any relationships like what he has with you) to see these bullshit stories online. if he was in your position, he knew the reassurance would help. luke placed a kiss on your forehead, “i wouldn’t do anything to mess this up if i can help it, five star.”

you let out a forced laugh, awkwardly shifting in his grasp, “yeah, given that my dad controls your contract, i know you wouldn’t.” 

luke frowned, “not because of that.” 

“uh huh,” you said, feeling too vulnerable right now. you didn’t know how to handle this situation, so you coped with humor, “he likes you so don’t worry, your contract extension is practically in the bag.” 

“y/n.” 

you tensed at luke’s use of your real name. he never called you by your name. he always called you by the nickname he gave you when he first met you. five star. you knew luke wasn’t in the mood to joke around. “luke, it’s fine.” 

“i don’t want to pick a fight,” he sighed, playing with the hem of your shirt, “but i just need to hear you say that you believe me when i say that. i wouldn’t cheat on you or do anything to make you feel like i ever would.” 

your voice shook as you spoke, “what if you’re just saying that because it’s still summer and we see each other every day? what’s gonna happen when i’m back in school and you’re out in the world traveling and living your rockstar life?” 

luke’s heart broke at your words. did you really think that he would forget about all of this once september rolled around? as if you didn’t consume his thoughts every day since he met you, as if he didn’t count down the minutes until he got to see you again when he was forced to be away from you because he had things to do, as if he didn’t have a sinking feeling in his stomach when you weren’t next to him. he was starting to think you didn’t understand just how deeply he felt about you even when you assured him that you did understand. 

“i’m not gonna lie, long distance is gonna be hard,” he said, “but we can figure it out. i know it.” 

“i never knew you were such an optimist, castellan.” 

luke laughed at that. if only you knew how many times he psyched himself out of making a move on you because of his own pessimism. it only changed recently, when he finally decided to say fuck it and go for it. “for you? always. i’d be stupid not to be. you’re a good thing, five star.” 

luke fucking castellan. you pressed your head into his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat against your face. he gave you a tight squeeze, placing a kiss on the crown of your head. he loved having you like this, all soft and cuddly with him like you didn’t want to let him go. he should be scared at how quickly he was falling for you, how attached he already felt. 

you kissed his lips again, pulling away with a smile, “so babe huh?” 

“babe, baby, sweetheart,” he mumbled, leaning over to kiss you again. “anythin’ you want.”

[changetyre]

Not like this II Charles Leclerc x Reader (Mafia AU)

SUMMARY: After losing everything you seek out your biggest and longest-standing enemy to finish it all.

WARNING: Violence, blood, mentions of death

A/N: I've always wanted to write a Mafia imagine and I've had this idea in the drafts for like 2 years now and finally decided to write it out so here it is ;)

Thud.

Charles's eyes snapped open at the loud noise originating from his living room. His hand immediately clasped the gun that rested under his pillow as he listened out for anything else.

The shuffling that followed was enough to have him getting out of bed silently as he made his way around his bedroom.

He could hear someone grunting. He opened his door, darkness enveloped the living room the only light being from the large windows which surrounded it.

"For fuck's sake." He heard someone whisper and he thought he recognized the voice but it simply couldn't be right?

He walked further into the living room, seeing someone's feet disappear behind the coffee table. He silently took more steps toward whoever was there.

"Before you kill me could you at least get me a drink? Anything with Whiskey will do." Charles heard as you spoke breathless from your spot on the floor.

He finally closed the distance standing by your feet in fact confirming it was you. His gun still pointed right at your head.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Charles asked annoyed.

"Ugh." you sighed. "Long story but your guards are really sh*t you know, killed them both in no time." You laughed, being stopped by a painful grunt.

Charles turned on the lamp on the table by the end of the couch providing enough light for him to see the trail of blood you'd left along with the pool of blood forming on his white carpet.

"You're ruining my carpet." Charles scoffed putting his gun away.

"Least I could do before letting you kill me." You shrugged, your breathing only getting heavier.

"What do you mean letting me kill you?" Charles asked as he moved away and around his apartment. You weren't able to see what he was doing from your spot on the floor where you'd decided to rest.

"We got attacked...idk who they are but- Fuck-" You grunted in pain again after moving slightly. "They are powerful Charles, they killed us ...every single one of us."

"Not you." Charles spoke from afar.

"Basically did." You laughed which you soon regretted with the pain it brought you. The gunshot to your stomach kept spurting blood despite you pressing hard on it.

"So why did you come here apart from dirtying my place?" Charles asked again, you could hear him opening and closing cupboards.

"Well you know...figured this ongoing battle we had going on, to see who would kill who first...Well, I'm gonna die anyway so I might as well let you win." You shuffled so your back rested on the couch and you could sit up slightly not caring one bit about covering the white couch with your blood.

Charles came back into view holding a bottle of whiskey, along with tongs, bandages, and a suture kit.

"Not my fucking couch!" Charles yelled annoyed.

"What's that for?" You asked but Charles didn't bother answering before he ripped your shirt from the side effortlessly allowing him to see your wound.

"Won't even invite me a drink first?" You joked, but your humor was short-lived as Charles pushed your hand away pouring the liquid over it.

"FU-" your voice was muffled as Charles put a rag on your mouth letting you bite down on it.

Charles didn't waste time as he disinfected the tools before sticking them in your wound looking for the bullet.

You writhed around in pain and despite this not being the first bullet you've taken somehow this one felt more painful.

"Stay Still." Charles demanded making you roll your eyes at him.

After what felt like forever he finally took the bullet out showing it to you before throwing it on the already bloodied carpet.

"I hate you." You spit the ragout and panted as you tried to steady your breath.

"Shut up." Charles's focus stayed on your body as he began sowing your wound shut.

"Why are you even doing this?" You asked.

Charles didn't answer you and you wondered what he was thinking about.

"Shit-" You hissed at the pain from the needle and thread going through you.

"Done." he avoided your eyes as he got up gathering everything up with him and moving away again.

"Charles-" you called out.

You still didn't have the strength to get up and go after him but a few seconds later Charles came back with water and a pill.

"Take this." He placed them both on the table in front of you before turning to walk away again.

"Charles answer me." You said more firmly this time.

He stopped in his tracks before turning around to face you. "If I'm gonna kill you...it'll be after a fair fight." He answered.

"Charles I have nothing left." You said, this time not caring how weak your voice sounded or the way your eyes watered in front of him. "Didn't you hear me? They killed all of my people." it pained you, truly did to think of all of the loyal men and women that were gone in a single night. "They think I'm dead too so just finish the job...please" you begged, something you'd never done before.

Charles didn't speak for a few seconds, avoiding your eyes again. "Drink that. I'll get the guest room ready since I can't ask my men to do it."

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part sixteen —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 3.2k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

"I can't believe I woke up early for this."

You loosen your muscles, turning to dead weight in Ghost's arms, before using the awkward position to slip away. 

"No one said you had to be here," Ghost throws over his shoulder before his gaze fleets back to yours. "Good. Again."

Blue groans as you reposition yourself for the basic defense maneuver. You can see why she'd find this boring— Ghost started you off with a move so basic it was almost insulting when he explained it. But you quickly realized his reasoning. Each time you do it, your pulse tampers down less and less while in his arms. He's had to remind you a few times to "Breathe, Twix"— the order so quietly uttered into the shell of your ear that Blue likely didn't even notice. Perhaps you have grown used to taking orders from him, or maybe having Blue close by is helping, because you've been able to ward off the threat of panic so far.

"Fine, I'm out of here," Blue rolls her eyes the second you've finished the move again. "Let me know when you—" she jabs a finger at Ghost, "—decide to make things more interesting." As she leaps off the log she'd been perched upon, she adds: "Oh, and don't get too close, Ghost. She might bite."

"So I've heard."

Heat rises to your cheeks. And then— you're alone with him. You take a swig of water from the canister Blue lent you to ignore the awkward feeling in your chest. "Again?" You wipe your mouth. "Or have I passed your test?"

"Test?" he repeats, the gravel in his voice rolling over the word as his brow lifts in question.

"Well, I haven't... had a repeat of last time, and it's been an hour. I think I've proved that I'm ready for something a little more..."

"More what?" 

More interesting.

"Hand-to-hand, I guess. Something harder."

He rubs his jaw, as if to feign consideration. "Right, then. Let's try another one."

The next one he shows you is still simple, except you fail every other time. Basically, he gets behind you and you have to sidestep to avoid the trap of his arms. Somehow, Ghost's movements are light as a feather even though he's built like a rock. 

But then you get better at it. The next two days pass in much the same manner until you start to react a bit faster. He teaches you a few more basic tactics. How to wriggle your wrist out of someone's hold. How to avoid being grabbed from the front by rolling to the ground. All defense. After hours spent with him, he doesn't even have to remind you to breathe anymore. Chopping wood in the evenings helps, too. You go to bed exhausted and wake up ready to practice before Ghost even touches your shoulder.

On the third day, he gets you up even earlier. You cram your wool-covered toes into boots, confine your hair in a hasty bun, and follow him to the clearing that has become your makeshift training ground. It takes you a moment to register that some things are different: his boots have been replaced by sneakers, and his jeans by loose, black gym shorts. The exposed skin is strange, making your eyes widen. If Blue were awake, she'd certainly comment. 

His calves mirror the strength of the rest of him, and on the left leg, swirling ink catches your eye, reminiscent of the tattoos you discovered when tending to his wound. Skulls and a dagger; perhaps corny, but fitting for him.

"Have you tried it?" His voice cuts through your thoughts.

"Tried what?"

"The bow."

A white cloud forms around your mouth as you nod. "Needed some getting used to, like you said."

Yesterday you had a hard time shooting a chipmunk you wanted for lunch, so you spent the early afternoon firing arrows at oaks until the new bow started to feel like an extension of your limbs again.

"Let me know if I need to adjust the string."

"Will do," you say, almost mumbling.

When you reach the familiar circle of trees, you bounce once on your toes and crack your knuckles. Ghost retrieves something from his pocket. A roll of gauze. It is tossed at you without warning, and your hands fumble to grab it. 

"Wrap up," he commands. "Your hands will thank you for it."

You look up at him, brows raised, but begin covering your palms and knuckles. When you're done, you throw the roll back to him. Ghost stretches his arms above his head and splays his feet into a firm stance, jerking his chin at you in a go-ahead motion. Your brows furrow as you try to understand what the fuck he's doing.

"Go on. Get ready."

"Um. Ready for what?"

"A little hand-to-hand."

Your mouth falls open. "What?"

He shrugs. "That's what you wanted, right? I think you're ready for it."

"That's not what I meant," you almost laugh, shaking your head. "I didn't mean I want to— to fight you. I just meant we don't have to stick to the basics."

"We won't." There is the slightest trace of amusement in his voice, so faint you wonder if it's even there. "You have ten seconds to get ready, Twix."

"I don't even—" you sputter, eyes flying open. If you weren't awake before, you are now. He seems completely serious, his hands in fists and his shoulders squared.

"Five."

"Oh, fuck me," you exhale, balling up your bandaged hands. Did he get you up at this hour so there was no chance of Blue joining? He didn't want her to watch him finally annihilate you? You don't think he would seriously hurt you, not after everything, but that doesn't mean your heart doesn't begin to thump wildly when the seconds are up. Neither of you makes the first move; you are focused on keeping yourself distant, and he is circling you like a predator, flicking his eyes along the length of you. 

"What the fuck is that stance? I could just tap you and you'd fall over." His amusement has faded. "Is that how I showed you to stand when chopping wood?"

You shake your head, teeth gritted, and fix it, spreading your boots against the soil. 

"Better."

Then, he's lunging. You forget everything about your stance and prance to the side like a skittish deer. There is a moment of relief when you successfully dodge him, only for it to abruptly end when he darts around your back and hooks an arm around your neck. Your heart skips over a beat. Holy shit is he fast. 

"Be aware of your surroundings at all times," he chastises against the top of your hair. His hold is not aiming to fully restrain you, so when you claw your nails into his arm, it loosens and you slip away, staggering three strides before facing him with your fists up.

"What's the point of raising your fists if you're not going to hit me?" Ghost circles you again, and you have to shift your feet to keep up with him. "Come on, nurse. Where should you aim?"

"You're too tall." Your chest heaves. "I... I can't reach your face or neck without you blocking."

"Use the height difference to your advantage. Reach places that I can't."

You pause to think about it, studying him.

Ghost almost growls. "Stop hesitating. I could have killed you by now."

A mix of annoyance and determination makes you leap forward, jabbing your knuckles at the part of him where you know his liver would be. He captures you by the elbow before the blow can land, and sends you stumbling to the side, a few wisps of hair cascading over your face.

"Liver. Not bad. I might've let you have it if you moved quicker."

A hiss leaves your lips as you whirl around and punch directly into his core this time. He allows the hit, but your knuckles ram into solid muscle instead of the vulnerable stomach you hoped for, and you recoil with a wave of your hand, cussing under your breath.

"You hurt yourself more than you hurt me."

"Well, should I just kick you in the dick then?" you retort without thinking, flexing your fingers. Luckily, the gauze absorbed most of the damage. 

"That's always an option."

His tone is serious, to the point that you almost give it a try, but then he's closing in on you again, sending you back to the defensive. He doesn't hold back. You run in circles and duck frantically, earning a few hits to your ribs. He doesn't use enough force to send you down to the ground, but enough to knock the wind out of you. Rapid breaths fire through your lungs and beads of sweat percolate your hairline. Ghost, on the other hand, appears unaffected.

"Fight back," he says in a mild voice; almost bored.

You nearly throw your arms up. "I would if you'd give me a fucking chance."

"You said not to coddle you."

"I'm aware. That doesn't mean you have to—"

Your spine suddenly meets something hard. A tree. He's backed you into it without you even realizing. When Ghost takes another swipe, you dip your head down and then use his recovery time to grab onto a branch and hoist yourself up.

You're barely perched upon it when a hand grips your ankle and drags you back down, an audible gasp reverberating in your chest as you land flat on your back with Ghost on top. His hand quickly cradles the back of your skull before it can crack on a hard tree root, while his other hand captures both of your wrists.

"You good?" Although he is the one who has you effectively pinned, his tone seems sincere. He scans your face from your forehead to your parted lips. 

"Just... peachy." 

His brows furrow. "What was your plan once you got up there?"

Labored breathing splinters your voice. "I didn't have much of a plan, really."

He speaks flatly. "I can tell."

"You had me cornered," you point out.

"You should have been—"

"Aware of my surroundings," you finish for him, exhaling deep through your nose. "I know."

Your eyes shift around, from his covered face to where his chest just barely presses into yours. It's all so close. Uncomfortably close. You can feel the steady pace of his heart against your sternum, and make out the faintest flecks of green in his eyes.

An ounce of fear and something else you can't quite discern balls up in your stomach, making you swallow. You've been pinned like this before and nearly had your face eaten. Ghost simply stares at you, as if waiting for you to make a move, but when you tug on your wrists, his grip doesn't relent.

"Could you... could you maybe get off of me?"

He shifts some weight off you, if only by a little. "Relax and think," he murmurs. "What are your options here?" The curve of his lips tightens before he adds, "Besides biting my nose off. I'd like to keep that for now."

With a sigh, your eyes slide up to the awakening sky. Hues of violet and orange stare down at you. "Do I... do I even have any options? You must weigh like a ton." The words are past your lips before you can shut your mouth. 

"You always have options." 

"Doesn't mean any of them will be effective," you say.

His eyes darken, and the green disappears. "Why do you do that?" 

"Um... do what?"

"Doubt yourself. After all that you have survived." He sounds irritated. 

"As if you haven't doubted me?" You can't help it; you scoff. "You told her I wouldn't come back that time I went on my own. I mean, I'm still weak, remember? No amount of chopping wood will make me as strong as you or those men who almost killed us."

"It's not about strength," he replies.

"That's easy for you to say," you wiggle your wrists for emphasis. "You have nothing to be afraid of. You were cut out for this shit from the start."

"I have everything to be afraid of." His eyes narrow, but his voice softens. "And so were you."

"Me?" Your voice slightly elevates, and a lick of anger curls within you. "I should be in grad school right now, or maybe I would've quit nursing and gone into something useless and hate my life, but I was never meant to kill anyone, let alone fight them. I was meant to be young and stupid and make mistakes. Now, if I make a fucking mistake, it will cost me my life." Your nostrils flare as you huff, sending a piece of hair flying up into his face, and you writhe beneath him. "Get off of me, Ghost."

But he doesn't.

Beats of silence linger in the small gap between your bodies.

You should feel embarrassed for saying all those things, but instead, you think about what he said:

Don't hesitate.

The ball inside you is a fiery mix of emotions that you usually try your damn hardest to ignore and break and shove away.

But now you let it spread through your body like a sizzling tide, from the tips of your fingers down to your toes and... to your knee. Before you can change your mind, you slam it upward as hard as you can into the apex of his groin. 

"Fuck," Ghost mutters, the only sign of any pain aside from the brief moment that he closes his eyes.

His hold loosens only by a little, but it's enough for you to slip out from under him and find your way back to your feet, your chest rising and falling.

He clears his throat after a moment and rises.

"Good." The two of you share a stare-off for a few seconds before he shakes his head, saying again: "Good, Twix. More of that."

You rip your gaze away from him, cheeks hot, and say nothing as you snatch the canister and bring it to your lips, but the water does little to cool you down. 

You shiver in the bitterness of twilight, your fingers red and numb, wishing for a pair of gloves. The fireflies are coming out, dots of luminescence darting around you. You swing the axe down again, throat raw as you grunt, and then you add the broken logs to the growing stack. Sudden light footsteps announce the end of your alone time. 

"It's me," Blue greets kindly. 

You drop the axe, hands feeling stiff, and turn to face her with a breathless smile. "Hey. What are you doing out here?"

"Checking on you. Ghost went hard on you this morning, huh?" she says with a sigh. "I could hear you guys. You were a bit... loud. Made it hard to sleep."

"Not too hard. I'm… I'm good." 

If she is unconvinced, she doesn't comment on it. Rather, she hugs you. A warm one. You return the embrace before she pulls away.

"I also came because I wanted to invite you to a bonfire."

"Bonfire?"

"Well, with all your..." her eyes flicker to the pile of logs you've conjured over the past hour. "...special workouts, we have a lot of wood now. I told Ghost to make a big fire outside and we can cook dinner over it. It'll be fun, come on. Ghost is making tea, too."

Soon enough, your sore fingers are tingling, holding a warm, ceramic mug of tea. Ghost chucks another bundle of wood into the fire, spitting out smoke and embers, and sits on a tree stump while Blue takes the folding chair. Your hair is down, tucked behind your ears, and a patchwork quilt Blue grabbed from her room lays across your lap. The mug burns pleasantly against your lips when you take a sip, the herbal taste sliding down your throat. Whatever plants he used to make it work together perfectly. It reminds you of the tea your mom used to make when you were sick.

"Do you like it more well-done or is this okay?" Blue asks, meticulously spinning the skewered squirrel meat over the fire.

"That's good, thank you."

Ghost cooks their dinner, and the three of you eat and sip in a comforting silence. You avoid looking at him, opting for the starry sky above your head, where bold stars beam even brighter than the fireflies. It's quite nice. When you're done, you toss the bones into the fire and listen to them splinter.

Blue breaks the silence. "Would you rather be burned alive or be attacked by a bunch of squirrels with rabies?"

You take another sip of tea. "How many squirrels, exactly?"

She taps her chin. "One hundred."

"I think if it were fifty, I could handle them. One hundred, probably not. I'll choose being burned."

She makes a face. "That is a terrible death."

"Most deaths are terrible."

"Fair enough. Ghost?"

For the first time since this morning, you steal a glance. His elbows rest upon his splayed knees, and the orange flames reflect in his eyes as if they were twin black, mirrors. "I could handle the squirrels."

She snorts a laugh. "Even you can't survive rabies, though."

He shrugs. "Takes some time to kill you."

"Let's play a different game," you interject. "Maybe something a little less... morbid tonight."

"Like what?" Blue chimes. 

You shrug indifferently. "What other ones do you know?"

"Not that many. You tell us one, Twix."

"Well, I know one good one. You have to act something out and then we'll guess what it is. But you can't talk."

"Oh, that's easy."

"Try it, then," you nod at her.

She leaps up from the chair, nearly spilling her tea in the process. Without hesitation, she puts on a stoic expression and begins shooting finger guns. Quiet laughter shakes your shoulders.

"Are you, um... Ghost?" you guess, making her throw her arms up.

"How did you guess so quickly?"

"It was a bit obvious."

"Not to me," Ghost murmurs. "Terrible impression, kid."

Across the fire, you glance at him again, and his eyes meet yours, reminding you of the events that took place and the words that you spat. Emotions pulse against your ribs, like a swarm of flickering fireflies, but you fail to catch and examine any of them. 

A tug on your arm ends the shared look. Tea splatters around the rim of your mug as Blue ushers you up. "Your turn now."

"Alright, alright."

You decide not to feel humiliated with both pairs of eyes on you. They've both seen much stranger things than you act out a squirrel, which must be a good impression because Ghost guesses it right away.

A sudden crack of lightning in the distance puts an end to the game before Ghost can have a turn, which you suspect he is pleased about. He puts out the fire just before clouds roll in, blocking out the stars, and a drizzle of rain begins. Back inside, you kick off your boots and sink to the sofa as Blue says goodnight. Once she’s in her room, Ghost pauses in the threshold of the hall and speaks over his shoulder.

"Get some sleep. You'll need it for tomorrow, even if it's raining.”

[cammys-imagines24]

°•Taking Care of Injured Mizu•°

It's not that Mizu is an unruly patient but rather, it's just that she's had to go it alone for so long.

So, to have someone care for her and nurse her back to health, hell, to have someone actually care whether she lives or dies, is such a foreign concept to her that she might never get used to it.

Of course she'll drink the medicine you brew for her, though she'll scrunch up her nose cutely at its bitter taste and of course she'll let you stitch her up.

If only because it's far more practical to have someone else sew up gaping wounds than when she does it herself. Your stitches are far neater than hers.

And, though Mizu will never in a million years admit it outloud, you stitching her up turns her on. Just a bit. Okay, a lot.

Your tender hold on her shoulder or hipbone to keep her steady, your look of careful concentration as you pull the thread through, say, a stab wound on her abdomen...

Sometimes you even gnaw on your bottom lip and furrow your brows as you practically straddle her to get as close as possible.

She'll find herself sucking in a breath and not from the pain. She'll find herself blushing a bit if you say the words "hold still," when she winces away.

If you'd let Mizu, she'd gladly pin you down to the ground and have her way with you. The fact that she's covered in blood be damned.

But, she knows better. You'd protest. You'd say she's too hurt for sex and though she'd vehemently disagree with you, she begrudingly accepts just being quietly turned on with you nonethewiser.

Good luck getting the stubborn Samurai to stay in bed though. She's unaware of the concept of bedrest.

She's always had to push through her pain and suffer in silence. Always moving forward, fighting through the ruined landscape of her body, battle after battle.

To have you gently push her back down onto the bed and force her to sleep, is odd.

It tingles a part of her heart as she's not used to being nursed back to health by someone who loves her.

It makes her feel all warm inside when you run a damp cloth over her forehead to cool her fever or when you knead out the knots in her tense back with your hands.

Being taken care of... it almost brings a tear to Mizu's eye when she sees you act as her protector for a change.

Staying awake at her bedside, keeping watch for would be enemies, attending to her and fetching anything you think might make her more comfortable.

She will get right back to training before she probably should, you've learned to accept it, albeit unwillingly.

You'll just be ready with your needle and thread for the inevitability that she opens her stitches back up doing something strenuous.

Often what gets Mizu to stay in bed longer is if you promise cuddles.

To her, there is no better remedy than you being in her arms. No better medicine.

Just the feel of you safe and sound in her embrace, your face pressed against her chest, a stray lock of your hair tickling the nape of her neck, the slow rise and fall of your body as you breathe...

There is no better balm and Mizu feels more grateful to you than you'll ever know.

Your love heals her beyond the limits of her body. You've healed her heart.

[loeyparker]

safe - e.m. 1/3

summary: you and eddie see eachother for the first time after you broke the friendship to protect him from the upside down

pairing: eddie munson x f!reader

word count: 4.7k

warnings: mentions of drugs, strong language, mentions of violence, throwing things

tags: no s4 spoilers, friends to enemies to lovers-ish, angst

a/n: i would die for each and everyone of u who supported this, no joke

(  NEXT CHAPTER  )

Eddie Munson sat on a lounge chair by the pool, unlit cigarette hanging by the corner of his mouth. His metal lunchbox stood by his boots, on the stoned ground. His right leg bounced up and down with quickness, his fingers fiddled with the rings on his right hand.

Strands of uncombed, curly hair fell in his face, covering a portion of his darkened eyes. He sat slouched, elbows resting on his knees.

His eyes were locked on the crowd inside the house, which could be clearly seen through the glass double doors leading to the pool.

“Man, what you dressed as?” A dull voice drew out, approaching the boy.

Eddie pursed his lips in annoyance.

From inside the house, Michael Jackson’s Beat It played loudly and unforgiving of the neighbors who might had been trying to sleep.

“Just a guy on business, man. You want something?” Eddie monotonously asked, already bored of the entire ordeal. While he was used to parties, used to the motions of attending them just to sell his stuff for an easy buck, on that particular night Eddie was annoyed.

“Yeah, lemme see how much cash I got. Hold on.”

Eddie wasn’t sure what had annoyed him exactly.

Maybe it was the simple fact that he was attending a party of ’85 graduates – he was supposed to be one of them, but fate wanted him to go through the motions of senior year for three years in a row instead of two.

Or, maybe, it was the call he’d gotten a few hours prior from The Hideout’s management, canceling his band’s performance of the week for another stupid event. It wasn’t as if missing a week of performing would realistically damage his band in any way, but Eddie hated when his plans were derailed.

But truthfully, what had annoyed Eddie Munson the most that night was seeing you in the crowd of the party, dancing to Michael Jackson with Steve Harrington – and Robin Buckley, but Eddie honestly hadn’t seen her.

Eddie grabbed his stash, opening the box with a screech of the rusted metal. “The ounce is 50.” He spoke, glancing at the jock ahead of him.

“Ah, man. How much is half?”

“25.” Eddie sniffled, the cold of the night getting to him.

As the jock dug around his pockets more, Eddie found his eyes drifting back to the crowd – back to you.

Despite there being about ten other people crammed around you, Eddie’s eyes found your shape with ease and quickness. But, to Eddie’s defense, it was hard not to spot you.

A strapped white dress laid tight over your body, its satin fabric shining slightly in the lights of the living room. A diamond diadem was on top of your head, over the now straight locks of hair. From the crown of your head, blood traced over the sides of your face, past your nose and over your lips, all the way down your neck. Some trickles of blood went into your exposed cleavage, others stained over your dress completely.

Eddie knew immediately that you were dressed as Carrie.

His eyes could only seem to focus on the way your hips swayed to the music, on your hair wildly flailing around as you moved, on the way you leaned with each beat.

Beat it, and you were leaning backwards, head thrown back, neck on display – Steve Harrington leaning forward and closer to you.

Beat it, and you leaned forward, chest down, shoulders moving, lower lip in-between your teeth, biting back a smile – Steve leaned backwards, head thrown as he laughed.

Beat it, and you leaned back again, this time laughing. It seemed as if you and Steve had an entire routine down, and Eddie couldn’t help but scoff. The way you danced was effortless and mesmerizing – but Eddie expected no less, especially since he’d seen you dance in his trailer countless times before. You had also been a cheerleader in high school, so it was not surprising that your moves managed to get the attention of everyone in the vicinity.

His eyes met yours after you’d been spun by Robin and it felt like the world ceased to spin for a moment. The song faded from both your ears, Eddie couldn’t hear the jock trying to buy half an ounce from him, you couldn’t feel Tina bumping into you on the dance floor.

Eddie wore a black hoodie with a jean vest on top. His bangs covered a portion of his eyes, along with a couple of loose strands falling out of the hood. He was brooding and he was far from you, but when your eyes met it felt as if he was breathing down your neck. Your chest tightened, your knees buckled and he didn’t tear his gaze away from you.

Sweet Dreams began playing throughout the house, its imposing bass bringing your feet back on the ground.

With his eyes on you, Eddie then rose his left hand to his shoulder, tapping it lightly with his index finger. Instinctively, you touched your own right shoulder, feeling it too bare, all of a sudden. With your thumb resting on your collar bone and the rest of your fingers gently brushing over the exposed shoulder, you realized the strap of your dress had slipped down.

Eddie smirked – a small, almost unnoticeable movement of his mouth and yet, a motion that made the apples of your cheeks to grow slightly hotter. Quickly, you pulled your dress back up, broke eye contact with Eddie and pushed your way out of the dance floor and towards the kitchen – you were in desperate need of a drink.

Steve Harrington followed you.

“Got the money, man?” Eddie mumbled, the cigarette pressing against his lips. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled a beat-up lighter and lit his cigarette. The lighter clanked when he shut its lid.

“Yeah, yeah, right here.” The jock handed Eddie two bills – a 20 and a 5. Eddie shoved them in his pocket, then handed the blond guy a bag, no words exchanged. “Thanks, man.” The bag was snatched out of the metalhead’s hand, and the jock disappeared back inside the house.

Eddie rubbed a hand over his face, cigarette butt between his fingers. The smoke veiled his nose and burnt the back of his throat, but he didn’t mind it. He was used to it – loved it. Glancing at his watch, he tried to justify his sudden need to leave the party. He’d only been there for half an hour; it was crazy that he was already bored.

But maybe seeing you with Harrington was enough to push him over the edge.

Deep in thought, hand over his face, Eddie didn’t hear heels clanking against the pavement, approaching him with determination.

“You okay?” Your voice made him freeze. Ash from his cigarette hit the ground and he could feel his heart beats making the veins in his neck pump harder. His hard trailed down his neck as he supported his head, glancing up at you.

He scoffed. “Yeah, just, uh,” he trailed off, a bitter smile on his lips. A short sizzling sound filled the air as he took a drag out of his cigarette, blowing smoke up in the air.

“What?” Your lips parted and a chill ran down your spine. The October air was unkind to your Halloween attire, but you refused to go back inside.

Eddie raised his eyebrows comically, the corners of his mouth turned down, he shrugged. With a head shake, he looked away from you. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” He finally asked, tone condescending.

“I come with a peace offering.” You smiled softly, holding up two cans of Eddie’s favorite beer. Again, he puffed and looked away from you in disbelief. The beer was an olive branch he was unsure of grabbing, especially after what happened the last time you two spoke.

“Thought you wanted me to leave you alone.” His voice was stoic, low.

You pursed your lips, taking a slow step closer to him. “I’m sorry, I was…” you switched your weight from one foot to the other. “I was young, and stupid, and,”

“Power hungry?” Eddie bit back. “Conformist? Fake?”

You looked away, eyes pointed towards the starry sky. There was a hollow feeling in your chest, only becoming deeper as Eddie spoke. You didn’t blame Eddie for viewing you that way. From his point of view, you stopped being his friend soon after making the cheer team and becoming friends with Steve Harrington and the popular crowd.  

You went from hanging out on a daily basis, to Eddie not seeing you for almost a month. You had stopped answering his calls and he was sick of your mom answering the phone and telling him some phony excuse – oh, Eddie, darling; she’s at Nancy’s, you just missed her. She’s at the Byers, poor them. She’s got cheer practice today, won’t be home ‘till late.

He was sick of it, especially because he knew it was all bullshit.

On the day you were supposed to be at practice, he saw you in town buying bear traps with Jonathan Byers and Nancy Wheeler. When he was told you were at Nancy’s, he saw you in Byers’ car late at night, driving through the town.

And then school was closed for a week due to a gas leak, and you had dropped off the face of the Earth. He sometimes drove past your house in the hope of seeing you, but your curtains were always shut, light never on. Unbeknown to him, you had spent the entire week either by Will’s side at the hospital, or with Mike, who was upset over Eleven “dying”. Being Will’s babysitter, you felt personally responsible for the boy’s disappearance. You had been with Eddie that night, at a concert in Indianapolis – how could you not feel guilty?

But Eddie didn’t know any of that, and you decided you were never going to tell him. The Upside Down, the government’s involvement – it was all too much, too dangerous. Unmarked cars had followed you for a month after the entire ordeal, secret agents watching your every move.

And you couldn’t have Eddie involved in all that.

So, you avoided him for as long as possible. You started sitting at the jock’s table with Steve and Nancy, your spot at his table remaining empty. Jonathan started driving you to school and you spent your free time in the library or at practice. You avoided his eyes at lunch and turned from him in the hallways.

You called him a freak and told him to leave you alone on the day he tried to confront you about your behavior.

“The fuck is up with you?” Eddie frowned, letting go of your arm. You backed away, heart racing.

“I just think we should just focus on our social groups and status.” You spoke after taking a deep breath. “We’re different people now, we’re not kids anymore.”

“You wanna stop being friends, is that it?” Eddie frowned, rising up to his feet. He towered over you with ease, and you straightened your back, keeping his gaze.

“Yes.”

Both your stomachs dropped at your words.

Your nose and throat stung as you watched Eddie’s gaze turn sour, his lips settling into a scowl. He had never looked at you like that, in all the years of knowing you. In his eyes, in that moment, you saw nothing but disgust.

“Fine.” He had simply said.

You gave him a sharp nod and quickly turned around, eyes focused on Jonathan waiting for you in his car. He had seen the entire interaction and watched you with concerned eyes – but he also understood. “Don’t think for one fuckin’ second I would want to be friends with the new mean, popular conformist sheep of Hawkins High, anyway!” Eddie yelled after you, his voice becoming higher and croaky.

You got into Jonathan’s car without sparing Eddie another glance, and tears spewed down your cheeks the moment you were out of the school’s parking lot.

You had managed to last two years without talking to Eddie.

Two years during which your anxiety worsened, your popularity increased and the Upside Down became more threatening.

“Yeah,” You gave a weak chuckle, eyes back on Eddie. “I guess.” Music still blared from inside. You could only focus on the way the pool lights danced over his features. He had matured since the last time you’d seen him up-close. His jaw was more defined, cheeks more sculpted.

A moment of silence passed between you two as he took another drag. There was a slit in your dress, he noticed. It allowed his eyes to wonder up your barely exposed thigh – and you watched him look.

“What changed?” He asked, eyes snapping up at yours.

The gate closed, you thought. And you missed him. But, quite frankly, you were also exhausted. Exhausted of running away from your feelings for the boy and from the anxieties of your new reality and you needed an escape.

“Suddenly gained back consciousness?” Eddie continued – which actually pissed you off. He was condescending and mean and yeah, you might have hurt him two years ago, but you did it to save him. You saved him and you suffered and he thought you were some mean, brainwashed girl.

And in that moment, your exhaustion and stubbornness overpowered your lingering feelings for your once best friend. You placed the beer cans on a small glass table by the chairs. Your arms folded to your chest, fake blood smearing off your hands and onto the white, satin dress. “I wanna buy.” You spoke, clearing your voice. “Not weed, something stronger.”

Eddie frowned.

Bending forward, he pushed the cigarette into the ground, putting it out. “No.” He spoke, looking up at you through his fringe.

Your eyes widened slightly, lips parted. “What?”

“I’m not selling you shit.”

A bitter laugh left your mouth. Your tongue ran over your bottom lip and Eddie watched your every move. “Wow, you hate me that much, huh? Did I hurt your ego so bad that you can’t let go of a fight two years later?”

With a sharp move, Eddie got up on his feet.

He towered over you with ease, despite the heels on your feet. His eyes were stoic, harsh. One step, and his chest almost touched yours. Your feet remained plastered on the ground, not being intimidated by the man in the slightest.

On the contrary, you were comforted.

His presence was something you had missed, his proximity craved. Having his cologne and smoky breath filling your senses once more was a high you didn’t know you longed for until then.

“Do you even know me, at all?” Eddie whispered, eyes studying your face. Since last seeing you, a scar appeared on the left side of your temple, your eyes darkened. Your lips got plumper, your perfume sweeter.

“Better than I know myself.” You replied, chest rising up and down with more intensity.

Eddie tutted, shaking his head. “I don’t think you do.” His tongue ran over his lips. “I think you have me confused for Harrington.” He spat, bitterly. And then his right hand cupped your face, thumb and index finger pressing into your cheeks, holding your face in place. You tried to move in annoyance, but he didn’t let you. “If I hated you, I would’ve taken you to my place, sold you my strongest shit for easy cash. But I don’t hate you, do I?” His fingers pressed harder, eyes stuck on yours. “That’s the problem, Y/L/N. I don’t hate you.” He let go of your face with quickness, taking a step back.

He bent down to pick up his lunchbox as you took in a deep breath.

“I need the drugs, Eddie.” You pleaded, watching his every move. “Don’t make me beg.”

Eddie sucked in a deep breath. “Go back to the party, Y/N.” He walked past you without a second glance, and you found yourself reaching out for him. Upon the contact he paused, back turned to you.

“Just this once, and then you’ll never see me again. Please.”

“I can’t.”

You let go of his arm, taking a step back. “Great.” You laughed bitterly. “Great. You won’t take my beer, won’t sell me drugs…I’m out of options here.”

“Y/N, what’s this about?” Eddie frowned, turning to you once again.

You laughed.

He grew worried.

“I don’t know.” You shrugged, the movement exaggerated, comical even. Your arms flailed sideways, then met in a clap. “I guess I just need something to fill the big, black hole in my chest.” You laughed again, finding the situation genuinely funny. "Drugs seem like the only option at this point, and you have 'em!"

Eddie, on the other hand, was worried. He’d never seen you like that. And while you hurt him deeply two years prior, he couldn’t stop caring about you. No matter what he did, you were always on his mind and part of him always believed you’d return to him.

He just never thought it’d be like this.

“Wanna come with me?” He found himself asking. He couldn’t tell if you were drunk, or high on something – or genuinely upset. He just knew you couldn’t be left alone in that moment.

You took his hand with no hesitation, and he walked you to his van.

Inside, you almost sunk into the seat. You had spent so much time in that seat before, that just being inside Eddie’s van felt like home. Tears stung your eyes as Eddie revved the ignition, and so you had to turn away.

Eddie didn’t know what to say.

He just couldn’t believe you were in his van again, and you were wearing the prettiest dress in the world, looking breathtakingly gorgeous.

"Sorry I'm acting crazy." You mumbled, eyes on the view outside. "I'm just a little bit overwhelmed, you know? Still mentally stuck at Starcourt."

Eddie pursed his lips. He also felt stuck there, to some extent.

Eddie had been close to the mall that night, dealing out of his van to some jock.

He watched as three firetrucks rode by, followed by around five or six ambulances. He saw the helicopters in the sky and the large, army-looking trucks passing just moments after the emergency vehicles. The jock ran to his own car and drove off, scared by the commotion, by the army presence and the weed in his possession.

Eddie, on the other hand, followed the vehicles out of nothing but morbid curiosity because – what now? What could cause such a scene in the small, quiet Hawkins, less than a year after the disappearance of the century?

Arriving at Starcourt, he couldn’t believe his eyes.

The large mall stood burning, covered in the flashing lights of emergency vehicles. There were soldiers surrounding the outskirts of the place, with firemen and paramedics rushing among them. 

He saw Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Byers getting into an ambulance, he saw a bloodied Steve Harrington clutching a blanket over his shoulders, protectively standing by someone’s side – by your side, more specifically.

You were sitting in an ambulance, feet dangling over the wet ground. Eddie remembers the feeling in his chest, the hollowness and panic that overcame him at your sight. A paramedic was checking your wounds, another placed a deep blue blanket over your shoulders. Eddie left his van with quickness, feet carrying him towards you mindlessly. His hair was dampening in the rain, his socks got wet as his sneakers stepped into puddles.

He couldn't understand what you were doing there, couldn't understand how you sustained your injuries. You looked like hell - exhausted and covered in blood.

Eddie was desperate to get to you that night, but two soldiers stopped him before he could get close. And all he could do was watch as you spoke to Joyce Byers, then burst into tears. Steve wrapped his arms around you in an instant, and you sobbed into his shoulder, hands clutching onto his shirt.

The sounds of your sobs along with the sirens and the helicopters flying up above were sounds that hunted Eddie to this day.

Back in the van with you by his side, Eddie sighed. "I get it." Was all he could mutter. "It's okay to act crazy sometimes, though." He added after a brief moment of silence.

"Is it?"

"Hell yeah. It releases tension." The boy glanced at you quickly, eyes meeting once again. He felt short of breath. "I act crazy all the time, and aren't I carefree?" Eddie joked further.

You puffed. "Very carefree." Eddie nodded. "Never angry."

"Never." He frowned jokingly, looking at you again.

You smiled.

"I might be biased, though." He spoke back up, not looking away from you. The van had stopped at a red light, so he could focus on you entirely. "You know how attracted I am to craziness."

Pursing your glossy lips, you looked down at your lap. A blush threatened to form on your cheeks as you felt Eddie's gaze on you. Time had caused you to forget just how intoxicating his gaze was, and now that you had it once again, you felt strange. Nervous.

Giddy almost.

“Do you still listen to Blondie?” He changed the subject when the light turned green.

“Yeah.” You quickly cleared your throat before turning to Eddie. “But, can I tell you a secret?” You asked, biting your lip.

Eddie glanced at you quickly, before looking back at the road. “Of course.”

“I started listening to Black Sabbath, too.”

Eddie almost crashed the car into a couple of trashcans on the side of the road. “You did not!” He exclaimed, wide eyes looking at you.

You laughed. “I did!”

“And?” He drew out, expectantly.

“And they’re not half bad.”

Eddie drummed his hands on the wheel, causing your grin to widen. He was also smiling and for a moment, it was as if nothing bad had happened between you. “Not half bad?” He exclaimed theatrically. “They’re one of the greatest bands of our generation!”

“Eh, they’re no Beatles.” You teased, head leaning back into the seat, eyes on Eddie.

“I’ll crash the car right now.” He joked, making you laugh. And he couldn’t help but allow his eyes to linger on you for a second too long because man, you were pretty. And his heart only ached, knowing that you were probably in love with Harrington and you had only talked to Eddie to get drugs.

His mood soured at the thought and he was suddenly glad your house was close to Tina’s. The drive from the party to your home hadn’t taken longer than ten minutes, and he decided this would be the last time he’d be in your vicinity. Because within ten minutes, you managed to have him wrapped around your finger again and he knew – he knew that once you sobered up the next day, you’d go back to your pristine life and forget about him again.

He couldn’t go through senior year again, again and again. It was enough that he had to repeat the damn year at school, he didn’t wanna do it emotionally as well.

"Why are we at my house?" You asked, confused.

Eddie sighed. "You're upset, and messed up. I couldn’t exactly leave you at the party.” He gripped the steering wheel as he pulled onto your driveway – something he used to do so often long before.

“Wow, thanks.” You snapped, then opened the door.

Eddie was quick to lean over you, shutting the door back up. “What the fuck?” You retorted, feeling his chest against your thighs.

“Why did you come up to me tonight?” He asked, sitting back in his spot. “Was it really just for drugs? I have to know.”

“Maybe I missed you.”

“That’s bullshit.” He puffed, rolling his eyes.

“What? Is that so hard to believe?” Your voice rose slightly.

“Uh, yeah, since you were the one who dumped me!”

“I didn’t dump you!” You grabbed a cassette off his dashboard, chucking it at the man. He dodged with ease.

“You threw me to the curb because, what? You found out Harrington was better? Popularity tasted better than being associated with the freak?” His voice boomed.  

“Steve has nothing to do with this!”

Eddie laughed bitterly. “Right, go ahead, defend him.”

“You’re such an asshole.” You scoffed. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am messed up, since I thought talking to you would be a good idea.” And again, you turned towards the door.

“That’s right, go. Run, as always.”

Your hand froze on the handle as anger bubbled in your chest. “For the record, I don’t run. I never ran from anything in my life.”

“Yeah, only from one thing.”

It seemed as if Eddie had a firing shot for everything you said – and he did. Because the fight had been brewing for two years, along with the tension caused by unspoken words. There were many things on Eddie Munson’s mind, and he wanted to say them all. “From me.”

Another cassette flew his way.

“I didn’t run from you! I saved you!” You shouted, angry.

“From what? Having to attend your cheer competitions? Meeting your popular friends?” He shouted back, equally angry.

“Oh my God! There’s more to life than high school shit! This isn’t about social status, you asshole! I saved your fuckin’ life!” Another cassette. “Saved you from death!” Another cassette was in the air, when Eddie grabbed both your wrists into his hands.

“What are you talking about?” His face was inches from you, hair unruly from the hood that had slipped off.

The cassette fell out of your hand and onto his lap.

“I don’t wanna fight you, okay?” Your voice became quiet all of a sudden – yet, your chest still moved with quickness. “You gotta understand that all I wanted was for you to be safe.”

“Safe from what?” His hands then let go of your wrists, instead moving to hold your face, thumbs resting by the corners of your mouth. With free hands, you placed them over his wrists, overwhelmed by the proximity. "Talk to me, Y/N. Just for once, talk."

“From bad stuff, okay? Safe from life threatening stuff.”

“You’re involved in life threatening stuff?” His thumbs gently went over your bottom lip as you nodded. “You don’t have to protect me, Indiana Jones.” You let out a short laugh at his nickname, causing the inkling of a smile to thug at his own lips. “If you’re involved, I’m simply involved by association. There’s no you without me, remember? And vice versa.”

You shook your head. “Not with this. I can handle myself, but you’re just a nerd with a guitar.” You joked, sly smile on your lips.

He chuckled. “And you’re a dancer with pompons.” His eyes moved from your eyes to your lips, then back up.

“Who kicks ass.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Oh, you do?”

“Mhm. I’m sort of a…Wonder Woman out in the field.”

The right corner of his mouth turned upwards. His thumbs still stroked over your lips, pressing onto them ever so slightly. His eyes, as they traced your features, landed on a scar that stood on the left side of your temple. It had yet to heal and suddenly, Eddie felt the hidden heaviness of your words.

His mind flashed back to Starcourt, then to Hopper’s funeral for a brief moment, and he remembered the bandages on your right arm, the busted lip, the bruises and scars on your face. Most had healed by Halloween, but they still lingered on his mind.

“Tell me what’s going on.” He asked.

You shook your head, hands leaving his wrists.

“Please, I wanna help.”

You shook your head again, pulling away from his touch.

“Who hurt you last summer?” Eddie asked as his hands fell off your face.

“I can’t, Eddie.” Your voice cracked as you opened the passenger’s door. “Just, forget we talked.” You spoke as you left his van, rushing up the stairs to your house, without sparing him another glance.

And Eddie could only sit and watch you run from him again, just as you had done two years prior, after breaking your friendship.

Only this time, Eddie wasn’t going to let you go.

[domnamewoman]

what would shang tsung, syzoth, smoke and rain be like with a gn!witch? who do spell with more natural things, like crystal, herbs, etc... imagine them being like "I found this little rock, maybe you'd like it" and their s/o picks it up like it's a goblin lol. I love your work, u are amazing 🌟

Characters: Rain, Shang Tsung, Reptile, Smoke

Warnings: Witch!GN!Reader

Masterlist

Requests Are Open

“Can you hand me the duck feathers?” You ask, reaching out your hand to Syzoth.

Syzoth picks up the feathers from the table and walks over to you, placing them in your hand.

“Thank you.” You grab the feathers and stir them into the brewing elixir.

“It amazes me that all these random ingredients can be mixed together to create magic,” Syzoth says in wonderment.

“It’s not so much the ingredients than it is the intention of the person mixing them.”

“Hmm, so the real power comes from you,” Syzoth contemplates as he wraps his arms around your waist and rests his chin on your shoulder.

“Yes, I guess in a way.” You nod, “But I can’t enchant someone without them being exposed to the potion in some way.”

“You seemed to do a pretty good job of enchanting me,” Syzoth mumbles into your cheek as he places a kiss there, “Making me fall for you.”

“You are so cheesy,” You grumble, loving every part of it.

“I think I might pass out…” Zeffeero pants as he hovers over the toilet.

“I’m so sorry, baby.” You apologize as you rub comforting circles on his back.

“Why”–heave–”Why would you even need a p-potion that induces vomiting?”

“It can be useful to demobilize an enemy during a fight,” You reason sympathetically.

“Except I’m not an enemy who's trying to fig-” Zeffeero gets cut off by more contents getting expelled from his stomach.

“I mean it is kind of your fault. Why would you drink a random liquid you haven’t seen before?”

Zeffeero turns his head to you and glares, “M-My fault? I was thirsty. Why was your potion in the refrigerator?”

“The ingredients had to be cold in order to fuse together properly,” You sigh as Zeffeero is hit with another bought of vomiting, “Okay, I should have labeled it. I’m sorry.”

“H-How long is it s-supposed to last?” Zeffeero pants out.

You cringe, “Two hours…”

“Two hours!?”

Shang Tsung stares at the potion you were brewing with repulsion. He leans over and takes a sniff before quickly covering his nose and holding back a gag.

“You know, I would be most delighted to teach you my sorcery. It is more sophisticated than creating vile concoctions like this.”

“Oh shush, there is more than one way to do magic, Shang. This is mine,” You say as you add five drops of toad’s blood to the cauldron.

“It’s tedious and ineffective in an emergency. You have to spend time brewing potions and then have someone consume it for it to work,” Shang Tsung argues.

“They don’t have to consume it, I can also put it in a bottle and throw it at them like a Molotov. Also, making potions isn’t tedious, I actually find it rather relaxing.”

“What could be relaxing about this horrid smell?”

You roll your eyes before turning to Shang Tsung and raising an eyebrow, “Well if your sorcery is so sophisticated, why don’t you zap away the smell?”

You and Shang Tsung stare at each other, your smile growing by the second. Shang Tsung pompously waves his hand before turning around and walking away.

“I thought so,” you chuckle as you turn back to your potion.

You’re standing in your spell room, organizing your crystals and taking stock of potion supplies when Tomas excitedly bursts through the door.

“Baby, I got you something,” Tomas sings as he walks up to you with his hands behind his back.

“What is it?” You excitedly inquire as you try to peek around him.

“Something almost as beautiful as you.”

“Show me already,” You impatiently demand.

“Ta-da!” Says Tomas as he brings his hands in front of him and extends his fingers to reveal a rainbow-colored crystal sitting in his palms.

“Oh my gosh, Tomas-”

“It’s pretty isn’t it? I knew you would lov-”

“No, it’s dangerous.” You snatch it out of his hand and jog to the front door, throwing it as far as you can away from the house. “That is a lifeforce-draining crystal.”

“I-I just thought it was a pretty rock… I’m sorry.”

You shake your head lovingly at Tomas as you comfortingly rub his arm, “I appreciate the thought, anyway. Just leave the crystal scavenging to me.”

[jomamaofficial]

The Chronicles of A Hero's Daughter pt.2 (Father!All Might and Daughter!Reader Angst Oneshot)

A/N: SO, THIS WAS ASKED IN MY ASK BOX. BUT I STUPIDLY REPLIED TO IT SO I DON'T KNOW WHICH ANON ASKED FOR IT SO I'M JUST GOING TO TAG EVERYONE WHO LIEKD THAT POST HERE AND HOPE IT'S THE BRILLIANT ANON WHO WANTED ME TO WRITE A PART 2. @dark-magic-phoenix @crystal-freak24 @observaureium @justtovi3w62. As always, my Ask Box is open for any requests or just a conversation. Please remember to take care of yourselves, and enjoy. As always, I would love to see your thoughts in the comments :). TW: Graphic descriptions of blood (coughing blood), graphic imagery of crushing a heart (doesn't happen, just explained) CW: difficult father-daughter dynamics. Taglist: @thatcatladywrites @smikys-stuff @kimberlyfletcher @dawnwriterimagines Masterlist Word Count: 1951. Summary: One argument led to another– the foundation of your family was built upon suffering and sacrifice. Secrets were unveiled, revealing the true intentions of your father, the lingering wounds of the past stinging harder than any cut has ever. With tension reaching a breaking point, what happens when you confront your father, searching for the harsh truth, even if it leads to a devastating decision– you will never be the same again. He will never be the same again. 

——————————————————————————————————

Toshinori’s chest rose and fell. 

“You don’t mean that…” 

A pang struck through your heart as your father’s laboured breaths increased, tailing off in steady wheezes that only grew louder. 

“Dad…” you whispered, closing your eyes. “Dad, I didn’t m-”

Your voice cracked, succumbing to the hot tears which burned against your cheeks. Emotions flooded your head, as though they had been waiting to escape from the dam of truth that you had to silence to protect the peace in your family. The pressure had built up and that dam had finally broken in the most irreparable way possible. 

Shame hammered your mind, delivering blunt throbs as you watched your dad clutching his frail chest in agony. 

Guilt drilled poison into your veins as your father struggled to stand up– his sickly body unable to bear this pressure. His airways had been restricted, thus his once strong and proud chest had nothing to show but a vacant cavity, struggling to hold itself up. 

This living room had always been small– enough space just for the two of you. Dad and his little hero. It had always been you two, but today, this room was longer and narrower, as though mocking your sanity which had become a battlefield. 

Would you protect your father and carry on living in this dollhouse family, of which the  foundations were built off of your suffering.

Or would you protect yourself and destroy your relationship with the only family that you ever had.

The struggle had refused to forsake– silence had become your greatest enemy. It had left you alone with your screaming thoughts of doubt that deafened your conviction, leaving you straggled, naked, and vulnerable in the vast depths of your fears because what if. 

What if Midoriya truly was better than you? 

What if you truly were not worth it?

What if you had lost your rights to call yourself his daughter. 

Forever. 

You had lost everything to the ravenous beast which ruined everything you touched, and it wanted more. It wanted more, so it began making more noise, howling over the whispers of the wind, it howled over the ticking of the clock. It howled until nothing could be heard. 

Silence. 

Silence. 

Silence.

It had become silent. 

As though you were the only person in the room. 

A sudden thud drew your attention to the floor. 

Toshinori collapsed on the ground, and his eyes had gone blank, jaw slack. His ribs stuck out from under his skin, showing through his thin white t-shirt as his brassy cough filled his mouth with blood.

He urgently covered his mouth with his hands, forcing it shut but to no avail. It had already slipped past his hold, travelling down his neck, staining his shirt. A constant offender.

Your father began developing bloody coughs over three years ago. Yet every time you saw his chest heave and bleed, surges of nausea would creep up your veins, forcing you to leave. 

“Dad!” 

This was too much blood. It wasn’t meant to be like this… The doctor said a few drops or so, maybe a teaspoon, but that was ‘highly unlikely’. You watched as his white shirt became saturated, dizziness threatening to blur your vision.  

But you could not see him like this. You didn’t think twice before rushing to help him– but you were stopped. 

Toshinori raised his shaking hand immediately. You were halted, frozen in disbelief. 

He put his hand back on the floor, taking a few breaths before pushing himself, warranting another step forward from you, another cry, but he just stopped you again. You could only watch as your father relied on his bony wrists to push himself up. 

You could hear his shallow gasps for air, and his repressed coughs– and all you could do was watch your father’s face contort in fatigue and ache. Toshinori had finally gotten up, but that look had not left his face as he pushed past you. You watched the limp in his leg as he hobbled towards the couch, slowly lowering himself onto the cushioned couch. His head slumped onto the head rest, limbs unfurling in exhaustion. 

You were suspended in your head, unable to move past the questions which rung bright sirens. 

You shouldn’t have raised your voice at your own father– the doctor had told you. He’s injured, he’s getting older. He can’t process such shocks like this anymore.

What was wrong with you? 

But it couldn’t have been just your fault… right? But then he pushed you– maybe he didn’t just notice– but what if he did it on pur-

“Y/N”, your father had called for your name, but his eyes did not meet yours. 

Instead, they looked past you. 

Toshinori Yagi adopted Toshinori Y/N when she was five years old. 

A decade after the first quirk was discovered, many adoption agencies in Musutafu began sorting children based off of a ‘ranking system’. 

Official documents stated that this case was first brought up in the Supreme Court due to an incident that had occurred in an orphanage near Musutafu, 26 years ago. It was a heartbreaking case of manslaughter that had taken place when six year old Chihiro Onodera– Quirk: Lava, accidentally murdered eight year old Honoka Sugo– Quirk: Bubbles, during lunch time as they were play-fighting. 

It did not take much convincing as this case had reached international news, thus the court immediately passed a bill on the separation of quirks preliminary based off of their strength and danger levels, which were to be evaluated on a scale of 1 to 5. 

Nevertheless, this bill had struck a controversial match, becoming the largest contemporary topic that was disputed over in the past years. 

Demonstrations, protests and violent public outrage reached its peak when leaked intel revealed that a lot of children began to go missing from Adoption Agencies under the radar– they no longer had papers, as if their identities had been erased off of the face of this Earth. 

Nanami Tomoda, Sae Ojima, Makoto Kanezaki– these were some of the household names that had garnered petrifying national and international headlines: 

Heartbreaking Tragedy Strikes Japan: Devastating Attack Leaves Communities Reeling 

Japan in Shock: Deadly Assault Rocks Nation's Sense of Security 

Aftermath of Brutal Assault Leaves Nation Grieving Chaos and Carnage

Not much was known about these young adults. 

Apart from two things. 

First. 

They were not independent contractors. All of them could be traced back to some of the very few established, powerful, underground organisations. 

And second.

They were all orphans, rated 5, who had been declared missing for ten or more years.

Toshinori Yagi adopted Toshinori Y/N when she was rated 5. 

Toshinori Y/N lost her quirk at age ten. 

You are rated 0. 

Zero.

Toshinori took a deep breath before he spoke. 

“I have raised you since you were five years old.” He still did not meet your eyes. “I raised you in hopes that you would become a strong, and powerful young lady.” 

He drew a breath in– it was laced in disappointment. 

“But why does it feel, as though it has had no influence on you?”

Toshinori shifted both of his arms onto the couch rests, sitting tall. 

“One does not become a hero by winning every fight. Not everything is about a hero’s physical strength. A hero is made when they understand that retaliation only makes them the real villain.” 

Your father’s voice had deepened, and so did the dreadful pit in your stomach that sunk your resolve. 

“A true hero understands that strength lies in the ability to rise above the pain. Because those who focus on what has been lost”, he continued, lips twitching, as a faint, uncontrollable tremor laced his words in indisputable venomous contempt, “are either insane, or desperate for attention they know they will never get.”

Small muscles in your face began to twitch despite the heaviness that had been pulsed through your body, holding it in place, as you just stood there. Your eyes, once red and exposed, had no inhabitant, no focus. 

A ghost town. 

“A true hero is grateful. And recognises every bit of effort someone else put in order to get them to where they are now.” 

His gaunt eyes found yours, casting an unfamiliar chill in your body. They were sunken in, casting his gaze in dark shadows– an abyss impenetrable by light. 

“You got your quirk stolen, Y/N. But you cannot get that back anymore. But it’s been years, I expect at least some gratitude considering I did you a favour by adopting you.” 

He had left a clot that blocked your heart.

“Because no one else would have wanted you.”

It is always the one closest to you that hurts you the most. 

The man you called your father had waited until the last second to take the satisfaction of crushing your heart, flesh against flesh. 

Humans evolved to gain resistance and immunity against everything that threatens their survival.

Therefore, living with this man only meant that you had to gain immunity against pain and humiliation, because that was the only thing that could guarantee your survival. 

So when you shook off the heaviness in your lid and focused onto your father’s face, you could only lift the corners of your lip.  

“If you didn’t want me. Someone else would have adopted me instead. Like you did. No papers, no nothing– I’d slip under the radar, at least I’d still have my quirk, and end up on those headlines.”

“How dare you?” he uttered, face contorted in malice.

“I was five. That’s why you adopted me. Don’t deny it” 

Toshinori stiffened, his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. His shoulders, broad and hubris, had become small and meek. You watched him contemplate: his eyes, vindictive and daring, were cast down, hiding amongst the Tatami flooring. 

“My child…” he began, his voice softer. “After your quirk had been stolen, I could not risk making you the target again. That’s the reason I don’t come to your events. It’s because you’ll become the target everyone goes for because they know you’re my daughter”.

“They’ll know?” your lips had pressed into a thin line. “Like how Midoriya knew I was your daughter? Like how the media knows?” 

In the stifling air, your dry laughter bounced off of the discomfort. 

“Don’t act like you aren’t ashamed of me.” 

Your face had settled into a stone. 

“It’s not about me being a target. It’s about protecting your image.”

“My daughter-”

“You have lost the right to call me your daughter. If I was such a disappointment after my quirk was ripped away from me, why did you keep me? You could have sent me back. Why did you keep me, dad, why did you keep me!”

Those closest to you, leave irreparable wounds. 

But there was a reason they were close to you. A reason that subsided in love, care, and hope. 

Your crushed heart was surviving on its last breath, waiting to hear something that could revive it. 

Toshinori lifted his head again, his eyes flickering behind you. 

It locked onto an object that somehow gained more attention than you ever had in your entire life. You risked a look over your shoulder, only to see the picture of your father and Midoriya, smiling–almost mockingly– back at you. 

You knew what the answer was going to be. 

“I’m beginning to question the same thing.”

A flat-line. 

“Well if that’s how you really feel, I have no obligation to stay here anymore.”

You drew your breath in, words suspended at the tip of your tongue. 

“I wish you and your student the best of luck, All Might.”

[semisolidmind]

Ok I have a question and if I asked this before sorry my memory sometimes bad.

So you said peach's died on the journey with her husband's. How did she die? And did they get revenge for her. Also at this point you would think peach's is there soulmate but peach's not liking it.

And dose she have a Mark of how she died as a brith Mark?

And what was Macaqa and sun frist meating with peach's like?

I really love your work

(tw, slight mention of blood and gore)

went on a bit of a tangent :)

reader was killed during a demon ambush. everybody was busy fighting the demons, and while reader was hiding, one of the demons escaped the warlords' notice. she didn't even have time to scream. it killed her, and then took and ate her body.

macaque was the first to realize her absence, of course. reader wasn't able to make much noise as she died, so he just thought she was scared, but... imagine his horror when he can't hear her heartbeat. he quickly dissapears into a shadow, leaving the fight behind. he checks where reader was hidden, and finds only a small puddle of blood. his breathing quickens as he follows the blood a ways further into the woods. he can feel his rage and anguish growing.

there, in a clearing, a rogue wolf demon seems to have just finished its meal, it's tongue licking the excess gore from its teeth. shreds of reader's clothing lay scattered at its feet, along with her satchel and book.

macaque bears his teeth in an enraged snarl and roars at the stupid beast. struck by grief, he falls to his knees, pressing his hands to his face as tears gather in his eyes.

the sound of his anguish echoing against the trees was enough to summon his brother; wukong, covered in the gore of his slain enemies, appears at his side. the king takes quick stock of the situation, and comes to the same heart-shattering conclusion as macaque.

she's gone. she's gone and this wretched creature destroyed her.

reader is dead.

the rage he feels rivals the burning of the stars.

the two bring down the full fury of their combined might upon the wolf demon. the warlords drag out their dismantlement, tearing the stupid creature apart peice by peice. once the offending beast is little more than a visceral stain on the ground..

...the brothers hold one another, attempting to ground each other through the torrent of their pain. they've lost their one, their only.

their dear reader, their beloved peach....she's dead. all because they took their eyes off her for a second, all because they were made to come on this cursed journey. were they not charged with protecting that blasted monk, they could have prevented this. wukong and macaque come to the same conclusion; they will not soon forgive the ones who brought them here.

the monkey demons gather reader's things, holding them as gently as glass...it's all they have left of her. not even a body to bury back home on their mountain.

the other pilgrims need only see these items and the baleful, enraged, tear-stricken looks on their companions' faces to know what must have happened. wukong and macaque say nothing as the monk says a prayer for her.

the two leave for a while.

they don't come back for three months.

when they do return to the journey at the behest of the heavens, they are reserved. withdrawn. they keep to themselves, only intervening when the pilgrims are in danger they can't solve themselves.

———

the monkey king and the six-eared macaque complete the journey. they refuse their new titles; the rage that simmers in them is far too great for the roles they've earned.

the monkey warlords go home. they grieve, properly this time, alongside their subjects.

the next few hundred years are especially brutal for any enemies of flower fruit mountain and it's king. without his queen, he forgets what it means to be merciful.

———

many centuries later, wukong finds a little monkey demon boy, seemingly sprung from the same stone he did. wukong adopts him, names him xiaotian, and teaches him to become a ruthlessly efficient warrior.

the child grows up hearing the occasional story about the mountains' queen, a once-mortal woman who held his father's (and uncle's) heart in her hands. his caretakers can't bring themselves to speak about her often, but they speak softly and fondly when they do. he hears stories of her adventures on the mountain; how she made friends with her subjects, worked in the kitchens and orchards, and cared for the mountain's children.

both wukong and macaque tell xiaotian that reader would have loved him dearly.

the small shrine in the palace temple (a satchel, a heavy book with nothing written in it, a few scraps of bloodied cloth displayed next to daily offerings of peaches) and furniture in his father's room (the combs, hairpins, and perfume bottles untouched but lovingly dusted) don't tell him much about who "reader" was—but the stories from the people who knew her do.

he wishes he could've met her.

———

when the boy reaches a certain age, he asks to go stay in the mortal world. his father reluctantly agrees.

xiaotian goes to the city, battles the dragon girl mei, befriends her, and allows her to teach him how the city works. she takes him to a noodle shop belonging to one of her friends, a gruff but earnest pig demon named pigsy. there, he meets mei's other friends; a gentle blue giant named sandy (and his cat, mo), a studious yet freeloading human named tang—and a friendly human woman who works at the shop...

...who happens to be nicknamed reader.

[burnednotburied]

Chapter 2: First Kill

AO3 Link  |  Chapter 1 Link

Pairing: Abby Anderson x fem!reader

Fic Synopsis: Abby goes looking for Owen and ends up on the wrong end of your knife.

Tags/CWs: angst; slowburn; enemies to lovers; animosity between WLF and Seraphites; blood/gore; cutting (not to self, but still); descriptions of being hanged; religious/cult-like ideas; brief allusion to transphobia

Note: I know I’m not the only one who wanted to be the one holding the knife in that scene…

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

The earth beneath Abby’s knees was wet. Rain cascaded all around her. When she was able to pull her eyelids open, she found that she was staring at the ground below her. It was dark, save for dim firelight.

Very slowly, she came to, her senses awakening one by one.

It took her far too long to realize that she was being dragged forward, toward a larger fire, with her arms tightly bound behind her back.

She was barely conscious when the arms that were carrying her suddenly let go, sending her crashing onto the ground with no way to cushion the fall. She let out a pained grunt and shifted, trying to get a better sense of where she was.

When she looked up, she found three bodies, hanged and gutted and very very dead.

Panic set in as she quickly got her knees beneath her, trying to get up. Instantly, the hands returned, roughly forcing her back on her face and holding her there, unyielding.

All too quickly, a noose was pulled over her head and tightened.

“No—” Abby pleaded, but the rope tightened further and she struggled as she was lifted off the ground.

She dangled and continued to struggle until something was pushed beneath her feet, just tall enough for her to stand on the tips of her toes and relieve some of the pressure on her throat.

Finally, she saw her attackers. She knew they would be Scars, but looking at them standing around her, watching…

She knew she was about to die.

There was a man and a woman directly in front of her, mutilated faces silently staring at her from beneath their hoods.

The woman removed hers and tilted her head, eying Abby.

She spoke. “It is time.” And then she took a step back. “If it is your will, Prophet, yield your righteous blade. Free this wretched Wolf from the evil within her.”

You stood in the shadows, unseen, previously unnoticed by the dangling girl. When the woman spoke to you, you stepped into the light, slowly moving toward them.

Where the other Scars wore trench coats, you were covered entirely in a long black cloak, your face concealed beneath a larger hood. Your movements were smooth and intentional. Self-assured.

In your right hand, there was a dagger, loosely held but steady in your grip.

As you stepped closer to Abby, she tried to focus. Tried to analyze you. But her airflow was severely restricted and any small movement from her could result in her losing her footing and falling off the bucket beneath her feet.

The two others stood on either of Abby’s sides, ready to intervene if she were to try anything… Not that she could do anything if she did try.

You were standing directly in front of her now, but she still couldn’t see anything beneath the hood through the rain and her faintly blurring vision.

She wasn’t sure what she expected. That morning when Isaac told her you existed, she hadn’t thought about what you might look like. She had seen the murals of the original Scar Prophet, and she always thought she looked like a regular woman. Just some random lady who became the leader of the worst cult ever.

Nothing could’ve prepared her for when you reached up with your free hand and pulled back your hood. Her eyebrows raised involuntarily.

You were beau—

You… You didn’t look like a Scar.

Your eyes met hers for just a moment before they swept downward, taking her in. You eyed her curiously, like you weren’t sure what to do with her.

Or maybe that was Abby just being hopeful.

The look on your face hardened, becoming determined. Your grip on the knife tightened. If any part of you had been hesitating, you’d just made up your mind.

Shit.

Fuck.

Yeah, she was definitely going to die.

“They are nested with sin,” you said, voice low. Your eyes were on Abby’s face, holding her gaze.

The other Scars watched as your eyes again went lower. You reached your hand toward Abby’s abdomen, lightly grazing before gripping the bottom hem of the shirt and pulling it up, exposing her bare stomach.

Abby knew that the lack of oxygen must’ve been making her lose her mind. She had to be sick. Because when she felt your fingers on her skin, she shivered. And she wanted to lean into the touch…  

Until you pressed the blade there, harshly enough to emit a trickle of blood.

Abby hissed and looked away, gasping for breath and closing her eyes against the sharp sting of the knife.

You pushed the blade further.

“Free them,” you continued, “That they may know My—”

You were interrupted by the sound of a whistle, and you instantly paused.

Abby opened her eyes to watch as you breathed out. You were – what – relieved?

The other two ran off to respond to the whistle. You remained in place, dagger still held firmly against Abby’s stomach. You stared at it, and she stared at you, waiting for you to either finish the job or pull away.

You did neither, frozen in place. It seemed like you were also waiting for something.

Abby didn’t dare to move in the meantime.

The other Scars returned with two more, another man and a younger girl who was struggling against the men as they held her forcefully on both sides.

“Yara,” the Scar woman said smugly. You visibly winced upon hearing the name, still not turning around.

“Where is the other apostate?” the same woman asked. She leaned closer to the girl, who responded by spitting in the woman’s face.

There was a moment of silence before the woman uttered the words, “Clip her wings.”

“No!” You spoke out immediately, turning quickly and bringing your dagger with you. Abby gasped and took as deep a breath as she could, still struggling against the noose and her binds.

“Don’t.” Your voice was authoritative, causing the men who were holding the girl to pause.

The woman looked quickly at you, surprised at your outburst, before turning back to her henchmen. “I am your direct superior. Do as I said.”

“But she’s the—”

“Do. It.” She seethed.

“No,” you insisted again.

The men threw the girl on the ground anyway.

You ran forward, but the woman grasped you and forced you back. You were too preoccupied watching the girl on the ground to prevent the woman from taking the dagger from your hands. She tossed it aside, far out of reach.

“I knew it!” she said through gritted teeth. “I told Elder Constance you weren’t ready.”

It happened quickly.

One of the men pulled a hammer from his belt and violently smashed it down on the girl’s left arm as she screamed.

“Yara!” You tried to push past the other woman again, but again she held you back.

“They’re apostates! Traitors to your people and your cause. You should be giving the order to have them killed!”

The man brought the hammer down three more times.

“Stop! Please stop!” you cried, fighting against the woman.

No one listened to you.

The hammer was passed to the other man. He raised his hand, ready to shatter her other arm too, when two arrows from an unseen archer stopped him short.

One through the face. The other in the chest.

Everyone turned to look for the unknown assailant, except for the girl.

She grabbed the hammer from the dead Scar’s grasp and slammed the claw of it into the other man’s throat, killing him.

The Scar woman pulled her gun to shoot the girl, but another flying arrow drew her away. She faced the surrounding forest, shooting blindly several times, not knowing where the archer was hiding.

The girl stood, left arm mangled and limp at her left side, hammer firmly grasped at her right.

This whole time, Abby could do nothing but watch.

But the Scar woman moved just close enough for her to wrap her legs around her neck from behind. She squeezed the woman’s head between her thighs until she dropped her gun.

The girl ended the woman by ramming the claws of the hammer through the side of her head.

As the woman went limp, she fell from between Abby’s legs, sending her swinging through the air by her neck, unable to regain her balance on the bucket.

And Abby began to choke.

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

The Elders referred to it as your “first kill”.

It was supposed to be the last trial before you fully stepped into your role as the Prophet.

You still weren’t sure of all that would entail, but after eight years in limbo, you were ready for something else. Quite literally anything else.

Years of memorizing the scriptures, learning to fight with multiple weapons (and without them), improving upon any and all skills the Elders deemed necessary for you to master, each one seemingly more arbitrary than the last. Hours upon hours upon hours of prayer and meditation. And a whole lot of nothing.

You could kill a Wolf or two if it meant your life would become anything more than what it had been for nearly a decade. If it meant things would be different.

And if it meant you could help your friends.

You knew everyone was searching for Yara and L. Hunting them down.

You’d heard through the quiet whispers of your servants at Sanctuary that he had cut his hair and told his mother that his name was Lev.

He had no choice but to run, and Yara went too.

You were so afraid for them.

And yet part of you wished they had taken you with them.

You weren’t sure if you still got to call them your friends. You hadn’t been permitted to spend time with anyone informally or without purpose since the morning of your scarring ceremony, so you hadn’t spoken to them since then.

You should’ve been able to be there for Lev. And Yara. You shouldn’t have been locked away.

But maybe once your training was complete and you were officially the Prophet – in authority, not just by name – you could protect them.

Maybe something good could come from your circumstances after all.

That would make it all feel worth it.

Emily had taken on training you in hand-to-hand combat some months ago.

You had a strange relationship with her.

On one hand, she was the only person who didn’t treat you like you were some mystical, cosmically-chosen goddess. She usually treated you like you were just another person.

But, on the other hand, she was an ass. So that was frustrating to deal with.

Still, there had always been a greater sense of normalcy between the two of you than there had been with anyone else in Haven.

The Elders decided that Emily would be the one to take you to the mainland for your first kill.

There were some disagreements about how large the hunting party should be.

“The people need to see Her as a conqueror. They need to know that she’s a capable fighter,” some of the Elders argued. But it was ultimately agreed upon that a smaller group would be safer. It would draw less attention from your enemies.

So Emily chose two of her best men, and your group set out.

The mainland was not what you had expected, and nothing like the island, but you were able to navigate it well enough.

Emily brought you to see Martyr’s Gate for the first time.

Prayer had long since become a mindless chore of yours. You rarely did it in earnest.

Today, you did though.

You prayed for strength. Because the closer you came to the killing, the less sure you were that you would be able to go through with it.

The idea of killing while fighting, either in your own defense or to defend another, was one thing. You were sure you could do that if the time came.

But this was different. It wasn’t necessary. It wasn’t fair. And it wasn’t a true display of combat skills or strategy or anything else you’d been training for.

Emily explained that the plan was to “catch a wolf, string ‘em up, and cut ‘em open.”

The thought made you sick.

In a rare moment of compassion, Emily put a hand on your shoulder and squeezed lightly. “They would do the same thing to you, Prophet,” she said, looking into your eyes, “the second they got the chance.”

You tried to steel yourself, knowing that, just like everything else in your life, you didn’t have much of a choice.

When the time came, you weren’t even the one who “caught” the Wolf. The men had her pinned down and Emily knocked her out while you just stood off to the side, blinking, trying not to vomit.

As she laid still on the ground, you couldn’t help but to examine the girl whose life you would soon be taking.

She was big. And very strong. Strong in a way you honestly didn’t know a woman could be.

You wondered if all Wolves looked like this. You doubted it.

She wore a black sleeveless shirt, so you could see her arms, and they were incredible. Your eyes lingered for longer than you should’ve allowed yourself to.

Her dark blonde hair was long and braided.

She was covered in cuts and bruises. Definitely a soldier. Probably a very good one.

Your eyes traveled over her lightly freckled face, down her long nose—

Emily interrupted your train of thought. “I think I’ve heard of this one before… Never come across her myself though,” she said, joining you in eying the newly unconscious Wolf. “She has killed countless Seraphites. Numbers of Your people, dead at her hands.”

You felt a flash of anger upon hearing this and berated yourself for having been looking at her so… admiringly.

How many people did you know whose role of soldier was chosen for them, just as your role of Prophet had been chosen for you. They hadn’t asked for it any more than you did. And they had been killed for it.

Many of them by this woman.

Suddenly, the idea of killing her didn’t seem so impossible.

“It will be our honor to take care of the dirty work on your behalf, Prophet,” Emily said. “The only thing you need to worry about is this…” She handed you the dagger as the men dragged the Wolf away, into the forest.

You followed behind, pulling your hood over your head as it began to rain.

One of the two men split off, saying he thought he saw something and wanted to investigate. Emily nodded and took the Wolf’s arm from him, taking on half of her weight.

Once in the clearing, you watched as the Wolf regained consciousness, just in time for Emily and one of the men to put the noose around her neck and lift her off the ground.

You watched as she struggled to catch her breath and balanced on the bucket that Emily had shoved beneath her feet.

You watched, hidden beneath your hood, as she saw you for the first time, standing in the shadows, and her eyes widened.

You listened to her gasps and grunts as she struggled against her binds as you approached.

You pulled back your hood and looked into her eyes. Saw a living, breathing human being who had done nothing to you and could do nothing to defend herself against you.

And once again you weren’t sure if you could actually do it.

But you pushed ahead, just as you always do, and did what was expected of you.

Until the whistle had cut you off.

Yara had been captured, and you weren’t able to stop them from destroying her arm.

In the fight that ensued, you were useless, standing off to the side in utter shock as arrows, bullets, and hammers flew, everything happening too quickly for you to be able to react.

When the Wolf grabbed Emily with her legs and crushed her between her thighs, you couldn’t help but note the fact that you had been standing much closer to the Wolf, and for much longer…

But Emily was dead and the Wolf was choking, now dangling freely with nothing to stand on.

“Yara!” You heard him before you saw him.

He came come running out of the of the tree line, pausing when he saw the hanging Wolf.

And then he saw you, still frozen. Still useless.  

“Prophet,” he breathed, bowing his head. The genuine sincerity in the gesture disheartened you, but you were glad to see him alive and unharmed, so you gave him a small smile and a nod.

His eyes stayed on you for just a moment longer before he went to check on Yara, quietly whispering her name. She waved him away, her arm limp and face pained.

“The Demons are coming,” he said, loud enough for you both to hear.

For some reason, that was what got you moving. You found the dagger on the ground where Emily had thrown it and rushed over to rope that held the Wolf.

“What are you doing?” Lev asked.

“Cutting her down.”

“She’s one of them,” he said.

“Lev,” Yara said, shaking her head.

He went quiet, watching as you quickly cut the rope.

The Wolf fell to the ground with a loud, painful thud and immediately began coughing and gasping for air.

You walked over to her, hesitant. You had been seconds away from disemboweling her just a few minutes ago. Maybe she would turn around and kill you the second she was free.

But you had already cut her down and Demons were on the way, so you knelt on the ground behind her and carefully cut away the ties that held her hands.

The moment she was able, she used her own hands to loosen and remove the noose, sitting up quickly and looking around for something.

Her eyes went to Emily and she crawled over, grasping the hammer lodged in her head and yanking it out.

With one hand to her throat, she stood.

You couldn’t believe she was standing so quickly after what just happened to her, but she was. And you knew that if she decided to attack you, you would not win that fight. Even now, in her weakened state and despite your years of training, you wouldn’t stand a chance against her.

But she didn’t come after you.

A twig snapped in the surrounding forest. She turned towards that, ready to face whatever came out first.

Yara stood, grabbing a knife that belonged to one of Emily’s men.

Lev had an arrow notched in his bow, ready to fly.

You gripped the dagger tighter in your hand and tried to remember everything you’d been taught about fighting Demons.

“Watch your backs,” said the Wolf.

You supposed you’d get to have your first kill tonight after all.

[klaustozier]

uniform ; miguel o'hara

SUMMARY: you and spiderman 2099 are arch enemies, but when you capture him things are different.

warnings: miguel o'hara x fem!reader; you are archenemies; light knife play (there will be NO injuries being done, the knife is for taking off part of his clothes); angry sex; bigcock!miguel; nipple play (in both); light mask kink; again he will swear in spanish; mention of blood (he will bite you a little 😳); choking; degradation kink; fingering; pet names (princess); spanking and slapping; i think i might have a fang kink idk

word count: 2k

english is not my first language, so i'm sorry for any mistakes

the villain is invented for this story, okay? you don't exist in marvel universe, at least not that i know of

have fun ^^

Miguel was trapped. He had appeared in your lair to try to capture you before you destroyed more lives. But he didn't imagine it was just an ambush to capture him. He was in a dark warehouse, bound with chains, mostly on his hands, not wanting to give his claws a chance to help him break free.

"Oh…", you said approaching, wearing a tight black outfit, the beautiful makeup adorned your face, with sparkles on your eyelids and a star under the eyeliner, "You always think that you will be able to defeat me, but we know that is not so, uh?", you approached with knives in hand, your face getting close to his, the mask and a small distance separating them, "You have to remember that I will always, always be one step ahead… Miguel."

His eyes widened, his mask moving in astonishment, "What?"

You laughed, "You don't have to hide from me, I know a lot more than you can imagine…", the tip of the knife passed gently across his cheek, cutting through the mask without difficulty, making him pull back his face, "Calm down, mi amor", you whispered, "Miguel is a beautiful name…"

"How did you find out?", he asked, feeling the cold wind of the warehouse lit by computers cool the skin on his cheek that had been exposed.

You were good with knives so you hadn't cut him because you didn't want to draw blood, and something inside him responded to the thought that you could do as you pleased with him.

"Ah…", you chuckled, "I have my tricks, Mr. O'Hara", the knife slid gently across his chest where the chains didn't hold him, horizontally, the uniform opened, revealing his strong chest. You sighed seeing the delicate nipples prickling, his breathing seemed uneven not out of fear, or out of anger, but for another reason, which made your eyebrow rise, "Oh…", you smirked, positioning the flat part of the knife on his nipple, making him suck in air between his teeth as the cold metal made contact with his hot skin. He groaned and shook his head trying to get rid of that feeling when the thin sharp tip of the knife played with his skin, "What a shame, Miguel. ¿No tienes vergüenza de eso?", you laughed seeing his erection showing in your tight clothes, "You like to be dominated by the enemy, Miguel?"

Your mouth was positioned on his, still covered over the mask, not much contact, just a slight proximity.

"You will pay for this", he whispered.

You laughed, your knife being placed in its holster on your thigh, leaving you free to slide your finger across his nipple, "How? Are you going to lock me up, 20-9-9? You'll never get it and you know it", and you ran your tongue across his lip, the tip of the knife in your other hand playing gently with the skin of his chest, only teasing the delicate skin, not cutting it.

"Shut the fuck up."

"Come on, Spider-Man."

You, again, licked his lip, then biting it, still covered by the thin cloth, your finger pinching his nipple. Abruptly, he grabbed you, grabbing your arms, pushing you toward the center of the room, slamming you against the computers.

Pulling the mask off, baring his massive fangs at you, earning a wry smile, "So pissed off."

"Carajo", he cursed.

And he kissed you. First you were startled, then you allowed it to continue. Your mouth opened to allow his tongue in, kissing him angrily, feeling his fangs rub against your lower lip, scraping as you kissed him. Your hands went to his soft black hair, stroking as you kissed him angrily.

The older one held your face tightly, his lips red from the kiss, panting hard, "You have to learn to shut your fucking mouth."

"If I don't learn, will you teach me, Miguel?", the way you said his name filled him with anger. You took the knife in your hand and started ripping his clothes off, from his neck, down his chest, until your hand was grabbed and the knife was positioned under your neck, "Are you going to kill me, O'Hara?"

"In a little bit", he promised.

And he kissed you again. His hands went to your ass, squeezing through the tight pants you wore, devouring your lips. One of his hands went to your chest, its claws scratching at the tight-fitting black turtleneck you wore, ripping through the material. With the hand that previously ripped your clothes off you, he grabbed you by the neck and squeezed, pushing you against the computer screens, looking at what he had done.

Your chest rose and fell, your lips red from the kiss, your breasts showing through the torn fabric. His free hand went to your breasts, scratching the soft skin over the nipple gently before sliding his thumb over the hard spot making you moan.

"Such a sweet moan, fucking slut", he grinned, letting go of your neck so he could grab both breasts at the same time, pinching the nipples, your back arching in the direction of his touch. Your legs tightened together making him laugh, "Carajo… tan increíble…"

"Miguel", you whispered.

You groaned loudly as you received a slap across the face after he held it, making you look at him, "Don't call me that."

"What do you want me to call you? Daddy?", you mocked, getting another slap on the face.

He laughed, bringing his face closer to yours, "I want you to shut up."

"Whatever you want, cariño."

He smirked and gave you a soft peck, lowering his lips to your neck, scraping his sharp teeth over your skin. Even though it was smooth, a little blood escaped, instinctively, he ran his tongue over the área, tasting your blood, before continuing his way down.

You held your own breasts and offered them to him. The brunette smiled and looked at you as he licked at your nipples before scraping his fangs over them. You moaned and took a deep breath feeling his strong hands tearing your pants, he didn't even use the claws, it was brute force, and that alone made your pussy throb.

He knelt down between your legs, picking one of them up and placing it over his shoulder. His intention was to provoke you, to just lick your thighs, kiss your pussy and lick the wet delicate lips, but you didn't have the patience, so you squeezed his hair and forced his handsome face against your pussy.

His lips sank into your wet pussy and he sighed as he began to lick you with so much lust, his mouth getting all wet. His experienced tongue going up and down with no rhythm, making you squirm and whine, while holding his hair. Miguel's claws were positioned over his thighs, holding them while he sucked your clit.

"Tan dulce", he whispered.

The brunette gently bit your thigh, making you moan and tremble, "Harder", you asked softly.

"Puta", he chuckled.

He bit the thigh a little harder, kissing the área, and soon after, started licking it, moaning low as he felt the taste of your blood on his skin again.

Miguel retracted his claws and took the gloves off one hand just so he could fuck you with his fingers, he needed to feel you, you were just begging for him to fuck you while you moaned disconnected words and begged for absolutely nothing with your mind completely blank. His mouth was experienced, licking you with such precision, making you squirm and moan, gripping his dark hair.

When O'Hara sensed you were close to cum, he pulled away, getting up, lips all wet with your pleasure, the pretty lips glistening, he licked them tasting a little bit more of you.

"No", you whimpered, "I thought you were the good guy."

"You thought wrong, princess", he sighed looking down, "Come on, take off my pants."

You nodded, taking a knife from your boot and sliding the shiny blade down the happy trail area, tearing his uniform, taking his cock in your hands and sighing thinking you could finally suck him off and have your jaw hurt from the effort to suck that thick cock.

Miguel had other plans. He flipped you over on the table, leaving you with your face pressed against the computer screen, your ass facing him. He slapped your ass and positioned the tip of his cock at your entrance. Your legs shook.

"Miguel", you whispered, "please."

"Oh", he chuckled, "are you polite then?"

You wanted to respond, to be rude and smart, but there wasn't time. Miguel sunk his cock all the way into you, his cock filling you completely, stretching you.

"I'll leave you all loose…", whispered the brunette, his body leaning against yours, biting your earlobe, "You'll stay days", and he thrust hard, pausing, "and days" , lunging once more, "thinking of me."

"Miguel."

O'Hara smiled and continued to thrust, making the table move with his movements, the monitors moving with the force he exerted. You whined softly and he moaned low, against your ear, feeling your insides crush him, press on his cock.

He didn't think he was going to end the day like that, fucking his archenemy in your hideout, but he wasn't going to complain, it felt so good. They kissed, the movements didn't stop. At first, as you went, he came back, but time passed and the rhythm was out of step with their desperation, each moving how they saw fit to sick for their own pleasure. His hands caressed and pinched your nipples, which were erect and hard against your digits.

You came first, moaning loudly in agony, your lower lip being bitten as you felt your body being overcome with pleasure.

You didn't have time to compose yourself, Miguel picked you up and put you on your knees in front of him. The thick cock in front of your face, glistening, the tip flushed and oozing pre-cum. One of your hands held the thick base, helping you to suck it while the other went to his ass, squeezing the soft flesh. You had to do it, you had looked at his ass on his uniform far too many times not to feel the need to grab it.

His hands held your hair, moaning low, feeling his cock hitting your throat, "What a loose throat, uh, princess?"

You smiled and licked the base before swallowing all of it again, your hand and mouth making twisting motions, going back and forth to give him more pleasure. His moans made your pussy ache, it was so good to hear, so low and dark, his fangs gleaming in the delicate light.

He pulled you by the chin and forced your mouth open with his hand, his thumb holding your tongue and the other fingers under your chin. He jerked off looking into your eyes, pausing only to watch his cum fall onto your tongue. The brunette held your mouth open for a few seconds, absorbing the image of you like that, the cheeks flushed, the eyes watery, the lips red and the tongue marked with his cum. And after that, he finally released it so you could swallow.

"Puta madre", he whispered as you got on your feet.

"I agree", you laughed while kissing him.

Miguel kissed you desperately, tasting his cum on your tongue. For a second, he wondered what he would do now, with his clothes torn like that, how would he get out of there like that? He needed to change clothes, but what clothes would he put on? Without being able to think of a solution, the brunette felt a thin needle in his neck, letting go of your lips, and soon after his body went limp, fainting.

Miguel woke up in his home, scared. He was wearing his own pajamas and lying on his bed, in the empty space next to him, his uniform was folded delicately with a card and a note on top.

Lost, he took the note and read it, chuckling afterwards.

"2099,

I hope you can pay off the damage with this credit card. We can't let you fight evil with your cock out. It will scare the old ladies.

Next time, you'll end up in a coffin, not in your bed after I blew you oh so gracefully. So be careful.

Signed,

Your #1 fan."

...

well, i hope you liked it <3

please reblog and leave a like if you enjoyed it! and leave a comment with your thoughts, i would love to know!

see ya next time.

(´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

♡masterlist♡

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Brave [6 of ?]

Pairing: Orc!Steve x Reader

Summary: The pass takes its toll on the pack.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Genre typical violence, Warlord Nomad AU, Dark Fantasy AU, Enemies to lovers, Eventual smut, References to past abuse, Fighting, Monsters, Animal Death, Violence, Mildly described gore

A/N: i’m having a ridiculous amount of fun with this story, can you tell? as usual, reblogs and feedback are appreciated and always welcome.

The storm rages at your backs as the pack travels west. Wind rips at the furs you have wrapped around yourself, a makeshift shield for the freezing rain. The water stings your hands and face like little needles, and you hunch down over your horse. The rolling hills of the grass sea crest higher and higher until they are hills no longer, but great cliffs that begin to rise darkly in the distance. You swallow a nervous lungful of air, and taste ozone and horse-sweat on your  tongue. 

The Orcs ride close together now, forming a tight shape as they move through the grass sea. What did Carol call it? The zikaegina. Lightning cracks overhead, and for a moment, your eye is drawn to movement—but darkness crashes down too quickly for you to make sense of it. 

A bird? Above the storm? You grip the reins tight, remembering the stag. It’s wild yellow eyes, slavering jaws. 

“The sea is where chaos reigns free, where Halith’s light cannot reach.” That was what they had told you in the chapel. “The further you go, the more godless it becomes.” You shiver. You know only the falsehoods you have been taught by king and country—and the land has been savage, yes, but also beautiful. Halith’s light had never reached you in your father’s house, when you had prayed and begged for it, so why should you care if her indifference cannot reach you here? You look up at the sky, riven into pieces again with a burning bolt—

There are different Gods here, you can feel it. 

The cliffs jut up before you like jagged teeth, spearing the clouds above them. Fog rolls out of the mouth of the pass, so thick you fear you might choke on it. Carol rides up beside you, her back ramrod straight. With one hand she tightly grasps the reins, while the other rests on the pommel of the great-sword at her hip. At the front, Steve silently holds up his hand, forming a tight fist as he slows his horse. The tension is as thick as the fog. You know the horses feel it too as they shift, their ears flicking about nervously. 

I wonder if they hear something we do not. 

“Eyes up, little human. Eyes up.” Carol whispers, her voice barely audible. Though the rain stings your eyes, you do as she says, staring upward into the dark fog. The sounds of wind and rain echo off of the slick rocks, but the air feels eerily still as the storm rages far above you. 

We are not alone here. 

You are reminded of Carol’s warning—other things used it too—and you hunch lower. One of the horses whinnies, the sound echoing up the quiet cliffside. The rider silences it as Steve turns, his hand held up as a sign to stop, to wait. 

The screech echoes all around you, the horrible, piercing noise of it making you clap your hands against our ears to block it out. Trembling, you cast a terrified look at Carol. Slowly, she raises a finger to her lips. Quiet. Above you, somethingskims low through the fog, something dark.

Something big. 

No one moves. The horses stand stock still, and when you look down at your own, his eyes are bright with fear, rolling back and forth in his head. An answering cry pierces the storm, and this time when lightning illuminates the sky, you see it. It clings to an outcropping of rock, crawling silently down the slick stones. It is covered in, dark, wiry fur, with leathery wings that tremble excitedly as it reaches a horrible talon down toward Steve—

Quicker than you’d thought he could move, Steve grabs for his axe, swinging it upward in a clean, bright arc. There is an awful wet, tearing sound as he cleaves the screaming creature in two, black blood spraying his face. His horse whinnies, rearing up as Steve rips the axe clean of the thing’s body. Its carcass falls to the ground, steaming in the cool night air, and for a moment there is silence. 

“Zhut! Ride!” Steve’s bellow trembles in your bones. “Make for the city!”

Chaos erupts around you, but it is as though time has slowed to a crawl. You watch, horrified as more dark shapes drop from the sky above you, descending on the scrambling pack in a flurry of hungry claws and teeth. The rider in front of you loses his head in an instant, the bat-thing slamming into him as its jaws open unnaturally wide. You blink, feeling his warm blood on your own face as it bites down with a sickening crunch, its snout and chest covered in sticky red. It turns those big, hollow eyes to you, a long tongue darting out to lick at the blood staining its face. You have no time to reach for the bow at your back as it lunges for you, talons outstretched—

The beast’s black blood joins that of the Orc rider’s on your skin, stinking and acrid as Carol’s blade lands with a dull thunk. One of its claws lands in your lap, and you scream as it twitches. You sweep it to the ground, and Carol grabs you by the shoulder, shoving a short, curved blade into your shaking, bloody hands. 

“Ride!” She screams the word into your face, pointing forward into the mist. You snap the reins, holding on for dear life as the horse rears back, hooves fiercely pawing at the air. You and Carol take off, with her swinging the sword around your heads, trying to fend off the screaming, hungry swarm. The blade in your hands would be little more than a dagger for Carol, but for you, it is a short sword, light enough for you to wield with a single hand as you cling desperately to the reins. 

Claws clip your cheek, your shoulder, your horse screams—you don’t realize you’re airborne until you hit the ground, the breath knocked out of you. You scramble up to your feet as your head spins. There are three of them, attached to the writhing body of your horse not twenty feet away. Your ears ring with the sounds of battle around you, and the sour tang of blood burns in your nostrils. Others, your own.

“Run! You must run!” Carol beckons you forward, and your thighs burn as you run toward her horse. You can hear another of the creatures behind you, its wings beating against the wind as its claws narrowly miss the skin of your back—it crashes into you, sending you sprawling into the mud for the second time. It lands on top of you, it’s bloody jaws frothing as it snaps at your face. You grab for the sword, straining as its rotting breath rolls across your cheeks—

The creature squawks in pain and then goes still and limp on top of you. Its blood leaks down onto your hands from the hilt, your sword buried in its chest.  Numb and dizzy, you stare up at the seething sky above you. 

“Up, my brave warrior,” Steve replies, rolling the body off of you. He swings you up into his arms, seating you firmly on his horse in front of him. “Eyes forward.” He hands you the reins, brandishing his axe. “I will do the rest.” You do as he says, keeping your eyes focused straight ahead. You don’t stray, not when the axe whistles through the air above your head, or when the narrow pass widens out back out into the grass sea, the creatures screams echoing behind you. 

to be continued…

next

[grandlinedreaming]

Soft

Sir Crocodile x gn!reader. Sfw. Fluff.

“ You’ll get gray hairs, fretting over paperwork like that.”

Crocodile didn’t need to look up to know who had dared to speak to him in such a way. Only two persons dared and one was far more caring in the way they did it. Y/N leaned in the doorway, their arms crossed. They wore one of the green robes with fluffy edges he’d bought them, once. Without even looking at them, he could tell just how annoyed they seemed to be with him. “ Not that it wouldn’t look good on you, you could make rags look good but, you haven’t left your office since yesterday. Have you even slept?

- I’m not tired, dear. And these reports aren’t going to write themselves, are they?”

The cruel and ruthless pirate that is Sir Crocodile found himself soft in Y/N’s presence. He toned down his barks, kept his threats for later and held back his hook and sand-sand powers when they were near, always careful to keep them away from the blood and grime of his real work. They knew of his identity as warlord. Only, just like most citizens of Alabasta, they ignored the existence of the monster hiding in plain sight. He almost felt guilty, almost. He made sure they wanted for nothing, not a single expanse was spared for them. He covered them in gold, jewels, high-end products and everything they even hinted at wanting. He treated them like his own personal royalty. Sometimes, he wondered if they had placed a spell on him.

Y/N approached his desk and sat on the edge, trying to get his grey eyes to meet theirs. They sighed loudly and stood. They spotted a whiskey bottle in a case of one of his tall built-in bookshelves. They took two glasses and poured each of them a small drink. Heading back to him, they placed the drink in front of him and sat sideways in one of the chairs opposite him. They sipped quietly whilst mindlessly reading a book they had swiped from the bookcase. It was no good. If he wouldn’t go to sleep in their shared bedroom, then they would stay here until he was done. Now it was his turn to sigh.

Silence took hold of the room, only the occasional turning of pages and pen scribbles disturbing the settled calm. Moments like these, where they could be in each other’s company without being bothered were few and far in between. Even in such quiet, the air wasn’t heavy on them. It was rare they got to be so close to him without someone’s interruption, Mr. 1, miss all-Sunday, guards, citizens, calls or, like tonight, important papers needing sorting or approval. To Y/N, it became hard, some days, to love such a man and never getting to see him. They knew how important he was to Alabasta but, they also knew he was the reason he needed to be. After all, the problems in the kingdom began with baroque works, and who also coincidentally arrived at the same time? They weren’t that daft. Although they did have a nudge from miss all-Sunday.

They knew some of who he truly was, but the purpose for his actions still escaped them. They often wondered if the gift-showering was part of the disguise; keeping them occupied and their mind away from his affairs. Who knew? Certainly not them. They just knew that when they looked in those ashen eyes, almost the same shade as the ash from his favorite cigars, they couldn’t help but forget the blood that may cover his jeweled hand and golden hook. When they heard his gruff voice, they forgot they might be, at night, lying next to the kingdom’s worst enemy. They knew that he might be a living nightmare but, if he wanted the throne of their kingdom, they would carve it out the finest marble and cover in as much gold as he liked. In a way, they weren’t any better than him.

Crocodile sighed and let his gaze rest on his partner; their eyes were closing on their own, no page from their book having been turned in minutes. He grabbed their glass just as it slipped from their fingers. Surprised, they looked back at him. He placed the drink back on his desk and offered his hand: “ Let’s go to bed, dear.” They smiled and took hold of his extended hand, almost skipping to catch up with him down the hall. How they could make him so soft remained a mystery for the powerful Sir Crocodile.

[safely-in-vhagars-belly]

''Fight and Die'' Slightly darkAemond x AFAB Reader 18+ MDNI PART 6!

Aemond x fem oc/reader

Tags: Show setting, abusive brother (but its not aemond) mentioned of forced marriages and duels, mentions of parental loss.

🔷Summary: Your ancestors once betrayed the Targaryens and paid a high price. Now you are back at court with your brother, who hopes to sell you in exchange for his freedom.

🔷Author's note: It might still be a little darkish but not as dark as usual. I think this is the closest to show aemond I ever got. So he still is not a unicorn yall but he is at least imo he is decent and nice.

🔷Wordcount :3347 

Warnings below the cut

WARNINGS: Gore, mentions of assault (but it doesnt happen, and its not aemond who wants to do it) mentions of blood, gore, and violence as well as miscarriages (oc's mother)

Blood does not scare you. It once did, but not anymore.

It is liquid, water in a way. And there is nothing more natural to you than water.

Just funny coloured water that comes pouring out of your body if you are injured.

You came into this world, covered in blood as your mother bled out on the sheets, according to Fyrand. You were screaming and crying, kicking and alive. Despite Maesters feared the worst, despite your enemies hoping the worst, you came out alive. 

And you did just that.

Time and time and time again.

Whenever you see blood, it brings you back to a distant but fresh memory. Not your birth. You don’t recall what your own mother looked like. You never saw a portrait, or anything. You never dared to ask Fyrand either. Your mother is a wound that never healed.

So, another memory surfaces from the dark instead. A dark memory of you, standing on a ship, during a storm. Your brother close to you, his fingers holding a crown. Your family’s crown.

You recall how badly the ship and the men smelled. Like piss, like beer, like all unpleasant unladylike things. Like hell, if you are being honest. You never had any man eye you with desire, but in that very moment you had. The captain of the pirateship couldn’t keep his eyes off from you.

Fyrand had made a deal, selling the crown for passage to Westeros. But the Captain had decided he wanted more. He wanted you. ‘’Westeros is a boring place. It would be best to have her stay here.’’ You remember the way his crew laughed, that sickening, twisted laughter.

Fyrand has never been kind to you. But he was not stupid either. He would not give up his pawn to a mere pirate. Not when he already offered the crown of his mother.

It is funny how the gods have a sense of humor, as that man that wanted to marry you, too missed an eye. And his teeth were almost falling from his mouth, caused by rotting.

Fyrand huffed, took the crown and left the ship, dragging you with him. But you were denied access and grabbed. The captain placed his dagger against your throat. He hissed that you needed to be quiet and that Fyrand had to make a choice. ‘’Either your sister gives me her hand, or you do.’’ You weren’t sure what you ever did to that man. But you noticed a golden sealion that day. A few weeks after the attack, you found out your house tried to destroy that house. He was taking revenge for a crime none of you were even alive to remember.

You remember how you screamed when Fyrand took a sword of a crewmember and placed it at his left wrist, and just chopped. The flesh teared, blood poured and the captain finally released you as you sobbed on the deck, hearing Fyrand’s roar of pure pain and agony. The hand wasn’t off fully. It remained, tangling by pieces of flesh, as a leaf dancing in the wind. You felt your stomach turn and whatever meal you had would soon come back up. The captain approached Fyrand, grabbed his hand, and just pulled, tearing the flesh fully as Fyrand threw his head in his neck and screamed. 

After that, somehow, you were both allowed to stay. It was a uncomfortable journey for you, but no incidents had happened aside from people calling ‘’doll’’ and smirking whenever you passed. 

You and Fyrand shared one room aboard, and in that room, you stitched close his wound with a needle and ripped threads from one of your dresses. You never had stitched a wound before and Fyrand didn’t have anything to soften the pain. You were afraid at first. But you knew he would die if you didn’t get over it. So you pierced his skin and started stitching, bringing the wound flesh close, and tied it close.

It is strange.

Many years and moons have passed since that night but you can still hear your brother scream and picture his hand, the way the blood sprayed out of his hand, coloring the deck red as the pirates cheered.

Aemond does not seem to notice that you are not there anymore, but your feet become quicker as if you are a dancer that takes the lead and your breath increases. Aemond, Aemond doesn't notice. In truth, Aemond seems happy. Almost dazed, enchanted or drugged. He can't seem to stop smiling as you drag him with you, faster and faster as memories plague your mind.

You think back of the conversation the two of you had earlier. How Ser Criston was allegedly a good sword fighter. How good can he be, if he injured the Prince? “I thought you told me that Ser Criston was an excellent swordsman?” Your voice sounds snappy, angry and furious.

Aemond barely hides his chuckle. You turn around to look at him, so he can see the pain and worry in your face. The moment he sees how much this hurts and worries you, the smile dies. He steps forward. You back away at first but he bumps into you anyway. Clumsily he grabs you gently and kisses your forehead. “He is, Revaera. It was a small cut and my own fault. I got too impatient. I am many things, patient is not one of my qualities.”

You smile, mischievously and play with the pins on his shirt, touching his chest. “Someone should teach you patience. I don't want you injured.” You tell him, kissing his cheeks. 

He breaks into a grin, a stunning bright grin that lights up your entire world. You feel your cheeks warm and are pressed against his body. “Maybe you can teach me.” He whispers, seductively. You like the way he has you where he wants you to. You feel safe and relax, until you see that the wound still drips with blood. You stare at it, as the world seems to fade.

“We need a maester.” You hear Aemond say, but you don’t react. This time, he needs to drag you with him.

You and Aemond soon find the maester in his room. It is nicely decorated and as you assumed, it has dozens of books. You wonder if the Maester himself wrote anything. The maester in question is a bald man, wearing classical robes and a chain, as you suspected. He is reading a big book that lies in front of him on the desk, not paying the two of you any attention. 

That is until you speak, pushing Aemond in his direction, surprising the young prince, who stumbles on his feet, his good eye widened in surprise. ‘’He is hurt. The prince is injured.’’ You speak, your voice clear and calm.

You expect perhaps some urgency. Perhaps a worried glance. You don't expect what happens.

The maester slams his book closed, his eyes full of fear and terror as he looks at Aemond. ‘’What? Where? Show me!’ He cries out. The chair he was sitting on falls on its back and you watch, a bit flustered.

Even Aemond seems shocked.

That was perhaps not a good idea.

You feel terrible when the concerned and dutiful Maester looks at the tiny cut in Aemond’s hands. You really scared the poor man and avoid his eyes for now on. 

Aemond chuckles, smiling at you as if you are his whole world. You don’t understand why, you scared a poor man, and you also made a scene. Yet he seems to appreciate it. 

You think back of his words. Earlier, he mentioned that his father wouldn't even notice if he did not attend the supper you two skipped. What was that supposed to mean? 

The maester allows himself to calm down, sighing with relief as he takes in Aemond's injury. He looks at the cut. ‘’O. A small cut.’’ The maester says, after studying it. “Luckily it looks like a clean one. Did you injure yourself when fighting?” He asks prince Aemond.

Aemond turns his head away, so that is a yes. “It was just a scratch, but Revaera insisted.” Aemond should be annoyed or fed up with your behavior but instead he smiles adoringly at you, holding your hand in his free one as the maester looks closer at the wound.

‘’You have a protective wife, my prince.’’ The maester comments kindly. “It is Princess Revaera, is it not?” He asks you, and you can tell by his piercing glare that he knows all too well who your family is.

You nod. The maester does not say anything but his look says it all. Disapproval.“To have a Marthyralys back in the castle. Your ancestors left a colorful mark on Westeros's history books.” You know he is right. You know your ancestors killed a lot of people. But is it really the time to have that conversation? And is it really up to him to judge you for the crimes of your ancestors? 

Any other day you might have reconsidered: This man has a story, same as you. Maybe he is a family member of someone killed. Or maybe he simply wants to keep the castle and the royal family safe.

But you can't stop the words rolling off your tongue. You can’t stop the fire that burns in your veins. “So did any family worth their salt.”

The maester makes a disapproving grimace. Next to you, Aemond nods approvingly as his wound is cleaned, smirking proudly.

The Maester turns to Aemond, tying the bandage over his cutted hand. “A fierce wife. You do best to muzzle her. I'm not so sure Westeros is ready for such a free spoken woman.” You wonder instantly if the Targaryens knew you were hiding in Pentos. You told Aemond, you assume the court knew but why does a Maester know this? A maester, who knows everything about curing a illness….

And causing one.

You look at Aemond and he seems to know you caught on too, quickly scratching behind his ear and turning his head away once more. You will talk with him about that. But you have another problem. The Maester is right. 

You embarrassed Aemond. You spoke out of line. You threw a tantrum like some little girl. You disappointed him beyond words.

Aemond speaks, and you can't even look at him. You really aren't cut out to be a Princess. “She has become quite fierce. I don't mind it one bit, however. She can speak however she wishes.” He says, fierce and protective. He kisses your knuckles as a token of appreciation and love. Then his gaze hardens when he looks at the Maester. “Westeros might not be ready for her, but she is ready for Westeros. Whether it likes it or not; Here she is and here she'll stay. Am I understood?” You beam, pleased as the Maester visibly cowers, afraid of the temper of the Prince.

You see the Maester gulp and know that Aemond has made his point very clear.  “Yes, my prince.” The maester mutters.

Aemond smiles, barely hiding his pride, that you are his wife. ‘’I am truly blessed. My princess has enough worries on her mind. She does not need this as well.” there is a barely hidden warning there. The maester must not disturb you.

The maester does as he is told, and you and Aemond soon leave his rooms. You walk back with him, your left hand into his injured right one. You try not to think of how your brother lost his own hand. But that is difficult.

You two walk in a peaceful silence and when Aemond speaks, you nearly jump out of your skin. “How has your day been?” You think back of your talk with Fyrand. A baby must soon be made. A child. A heir. And you hate how your memories keep haunting you, whenever you see blood.

And there’s something else.

On your wedding day, Princess Rhaenyra said something that haunts you still. She said she had her ‘’own’’ maesters. Is that a good thing? Or a bad thing? And can you even trust them? And why did she tell you, of all people?

Aemond is unaware your thoughts are gathering and forming a storm in your head. “What hobby did you pick?” He asks Excited to know your answer  as you remain silent.  You freeze. You had forgotten all about that. You would try to find something to entertain yourself. To bring him joy, rest, and so that he doesn’t have to worry when doing his duties.

Some wife you are.

“Uhm, well…I…” You laugh first then you become nervous, as the walls seem to close around you and your breath quickens. 

You laugh, begin to breathe harder and eventually you become dizzy. You sway on your feet and begin crying as the air is taken from your lungs, as you collapse to the ground.

Aemond is shocked at first. He kneels down by you right away however. “Calm, my love. I am not mad. Calm.” He whispers, holding you by your wrists, gently so you may be free any moment you want. He also allows you room to breathe and takes deep breaths with you. You follow his example and soon you feel better and calm and stand back up, with his help.

He kisses you after you have stopped crying too. “I had a change of heart. If it truly makes you that anxious to be outside of my rooms, if it truly upsets you so much…” He swallows and looks at the tiles, clearly ashamed he encouraged you.

That's all he did. Encourage you. To be free. To be happy. To let your trauma go. To live your life. Maybe he is right. “No, maybe you were right. Maybe I need this push.” You speak.

He shakes his head. “I don't want to become someone you fear or worse, hate.” He whispers. 

You could never hate him. “You were only worried for my own wellbeing and safety. You were right, Aemond. I can't stay cooped up in your rooms as some chicken.” No matter how safe you feel there. “No matter how comfortable your bed is.” You add, to jest. He takes it well and laughs, grinning.

Aemond helps you stand, testing if you can remain on your own two feet before letting you go. “How about we try to find something fun to do tomorrow? I never showed you the city. We can do that, should you wish for it.” King's Landing.

You have never seen it. Only heard stories. Stories of fierce men and dangerous dragons and treason and loyalty. “Your ancestors built this city side by side with mine. I know my family wants to erase you from our accomplishments. I know your ancestor was a great traitor. But he is not the only Marthyralys that lived. There are dozens before him that advised and counseled my family…” He is right. You know he is.

But…

Seeing your own history…

You aren’t sure you are ready for that.

Your ancestors might have build this city…

But they build it over the grave of millions.

Is it truly something to be proud of?

But Aemond doesn’t seem to know shame when it comes to history. “So, you could learn your history and ancestry, should you wish it.” He finishes a bit shy, and that makes you understand how important this is to him. He wants to show you the city he grew up in. He wants to spend time with you and to hold your hand as you walk through stinking streets as two ordinary people in love.

“Is that even allowed?” You ask. You doubt his father will approve. The king hates you, you are certain of it. And to have a Marthyralys wonder the streets, learn about Targaryen secrets and plots…

He chuckles. “I'm the Prince. You are the Princess. Asides, how can we learn from our mistakes if we do not acknowledge them?” He asks, and there he makes a good point.

Still, you aren’t sure. “That is true.” You mutter.

He breaks into a grin, victorious at last. “It stands then.” He kisses your cheeks and you are reminded of what you and Fyrand discussed. His baby. Aemond kisses increase as he leaves a trail of kisses on your collarbone, his smile something between a smirk and a smile as he softly pins you against the walls of the hallway, quickly looking around for servants or any other witnesses.

You tremble. And just like that, the spell is broken.

Aemond's good eye closes suspiciously, and the sweet kisses end. “What is it?” It is terrifying how well he can read you already.

You know he wants a baby.

You know so.

And you can’t say that you don’t want that. That you can’t want that. That you are terrified of dying like your mother. “Nothing.” 

He scoffs, concern written all over his face as his body language changes from excited to worry. “There clearly is. Tell me what is the matter? I do wish us to discuss this.” You nod, and Aemond allows you to leave the wall. 

You go to his bedchamber, tears burning in your eyes and you hear his footsteps, never that far behind you.

Aemond closes the door and waits for you to explain yourself. You sit down on his bed, sniffling.  “Fyrand has been pressuring me about a baby.” You admit.

At first he is confused. “A baby?”

You wipe away at your tears, furiously that this makes you so upset. Giving Aemond a child, an heir, making princes and princesses, it should be the highest honor. So why does this terrify and hurt you so deeply? “Yes. A heir for you. For your father too.” You blurt out.

Aemond raises a brow.

“You want to carry my father's heir?”

You would rather die. Disgusted, you shake your head. “No! I meant, I'd give you a son, and him a grandchild. According to Fyrand that will disincrease the hate he has for me.’’

Aemond scoffs, and you can tell he does not agree with that idea. He scoffs at Fyrand, not you. “My brother thought the same thing for a while. But nothing will please that old buffalo.” You keep crying. No matter how eager you are to stop.

Aemond sighs, and he soon joins you on the bed, sitting next to you. He grabs your hands, where you are pulling your skin, to stop just that. “I know it is expected of both of us to soon present our child at court.” You nod at his words.

But he grabs your hands tightly and kisses your knuckles. “But I want us to have that child, when you want to have a child.” You are shocked. 

He continues, storking your belly through your gown. “I want you to glow, beam of pride and joy and to stroke and caress your belly and to love our child. I want you to be ready for it.” He says. 

You can’t believe this.

And so you won’t. “But what of your legacy? The Targargen line? Don't you want my baby?” You ask. You can’t imagine Aemond being fine with his line dying out. You just can’t.

He grins, and you can tell he is hiding something from you. He cares. He cares so badly, about having his legacy, about having this child with you. He is hiding his own darkest desires, his own insidious thoughts. ‘’I want you. I married you. I didn't marry your title. I didn't marry your bloodline. But you, Revaera.’’ You tear up, lips trembling as you wrap your arms around his neck, burying yourself in the safety of his arms. “It's alright, my love. Just let it out.” He whispers, holding you. ‘’We will find a way. I just know we will.’’ You nod, and you wonder just how much he believes his own lies. 

/TRAILER CAME OUT

so uh

IM SCARED xD

[starlostastronaut]

DAY 16 | YOUR SWORD AND SHIELD

PAIRING: lee minho x reader

GENRE: spy au

WC: 1.14k

CW: blood and injury, reader is shot, brief crossfire (nothing is too graphic but its there)

PROMPT: "this is going to hurt like a bitch but i have to stitch up that wound"

soft minho hours! well, kinda lol (you'll see what i mean haha). he fits the spy au so much, i'm honestly happy i have one more spy au with him to do, because spy!minho is my new favourite thing. anyway, second post of the day, enjoy <3

title from meet me on the battlefield - svrcina

general masterlist here

<< previous | mctc masterlist | next >>

"Fuck!” Minho yelled, ducking back behind the wall. He gripped his gun tighter, pressing as much of his body into the wall as he could. He looked to the side, where you were in a very similar position. He immediately noticed the grimace on your face. “Are you hurt?” he whispered, looking at your hand that was pressing on your other arm unusually strongly.

You swallowed a curse and shook your head. Minho shrugged and didn't question it further, deciding to check how many bullets he had left.

Once he turned his head away, you let out something between a sigh and a moan. Your arm was on fire, and Minho couldn't know. He would worry too much, and you wouldn't complete your mission. You had to just suck it up and not let him know you were injured. Which was easier said than done when there was a bullet in your upper arm, but you would manage. You had worse injuries. After making sure Minho was busy, you checked your bullets too, hoping you didn't smear too much blood over the gun.

Next to you, Minho stood up again, firing back at your opponents. You joined him, and after a successful hit that incapacitated two of their shooters, you saw a chance to run. And Minho did too. He looked around for any snipers, but it seemed nobody was there. “Let's go before they start again,” he said, grabbing your arm and dragging you away, retreating to an empty office building nearby. You had to bite the inside of your cheek to not cry out in pain because his hand wrapped around your arm exactly in the place where the bullet was. You couldn’t hold a pain hiss, but you convinced Minho that he just grabbed you too strongly. He loosened his grip but kept his hold on you. You knew he just wanted to make sure you were with him and that he hadn't lost you when you were running, but your anxiety worsened with every second. You prayed to everyone who would listen to not let him discover the wound.

Once you were inside, he let go of you, and you sighed in relief, both at the pressure being gone and at being safe. Or, as safe as an agent hiding from their enemies can be. Minho eventually turned on his flashlight as he led you further into the building to the basement. It wasn't accidental that he chose this specific building. One of the many tunnels had an entrance in the boiler room. You stayed close to Minho, covering him from behind, your uninjured hand ready to pull out your gun at any moment.

Inside the boiler room, Minho locked the door behind you, letting his guard down a little. He hid his flashlight and turned on the light in the room. And then he froze, looking at his hand. You looked over to see what happened, and your whole body tensed. On his palm, there was a smear of red. Minho turned his head toward you.

“They got you, didn't they?” he asked, phrasing it more as a statement than a question. You knew there was no point in denying it now, not when there was clear evidence all over his hands.

You nodded. “In the crossfire. I didn't duck fast enough,” you murmured. “But it's fine, it's not even bleeding that-”

“Sit.” Minho pointed to an iron table pushed next to the wall. The room was old and no longer in use, so the agents brought in several things, such as medical equipment, weapons, spare gear, and all other sorts of things, using it as storage for everything they might need when using the tunnels. You rolled your eyes; you were perfectly fine to make it back to the base, where you could get proper medical care. But you knew that arguing with Minho was pointless, so you hopped on the table, waiting for him to find what he needed.

As your center of gravity moved, though, your head spinned. Oh. Maybe the wound was worse than it seemed. Minho came back soon, setting a few bandages and a bottle of alcohol next to you. He carefully took off your jacket, exposing your arm. Blood was smeared everywhere, drying with sweat mixed into it. Out of the darker spot, fresh blood was coming out, but there was less of it than before. Minho took a good look at it, cursing under his breath. He was running high on adrenaline and worry, but he still touched you with the utmost gentleness, being very careful with your arm.

“I need to get that out,” he decided. “It will hurt like a bitch, but I can't have you bleeding out on the way back to the base.” You knew he was right, though you were pretty sure you wouldn't bleed out. Either way, more blood loss only meant more complications. Minho reached for the bottle of alcohol, pouring a bit of it on the surgical forceps he found in the medical supplies kept in here. “I'm sorry,” he said, and then, without a warning, he poured at least half of the bottle onto your arm. Unprepared, you cried out, immediately covering your mouth with your other hand. You were safely locked in here, but the other agents could be scouting the building, and you couldn't let them discover the tunnels. Biting on your fist to keep yourself from making any sounds, you let Minho carefully take out the bullet stuck in your arm. He was as gentle as he could, but it still hurt. Closing your eyes, you let him work, focusing on your breathing to keep yourself occupied.

“It's done,” Minho announced after a while, finishing wrapping a bandage around your arm. He wiped his hands on his trousers, then looked at you, cupping your cheek with his hand to swipe his thumb over the single tear falling down your cheek. You let your head fall forward on his shoulder. Minho let you stay like that for a moment, but then he helped you back down on your feet. You still had a long way to the base, and you weren’t safe here. 

You found it sweet, the way he worried about you. It was sometimes dangerous out in the field because Minho would drop everything the moment you were in life-threatening danger, but it also made you stronger as a team because you knew you could trust him with your life.

He pressed a quick kiss on your temple. “You'll be okay. Let's get you back to the base where Seungmin can take care of you properly,” he said, placing one hand on the small of your back to support you, ready to catch you if you fell. Together, you made your way towards the entrance to the tunnels.

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[chaethewriter]

Voices Of The Nights

(OPLA!) RORONOA ZORO X READER

A/N: I wrote this for a writing assignment— but I imagined it was Zoro while writing this. Might not be accurate to lore but enjoy!!

Word count: 1,8K

she/her pronouns, fluff, enemies to lovers?

This was the worst idea ever. Taking on a job with this asshole was one thing, but also sharing a room with him after spending an entire day of misfortune was another. Everything about him annoyed her. An entire day of his mocking and insults was enough– getting on her nerves until a vein on her forehead was close to bursting. She was looking forward to an entire night on her own, in her own space, without seeing that menace of a swordsman for even five hours.

Was that too much to ask for?

Just peace and quiet?

Whatever.

12:00 am. Her gaze moved to the way his body stumbled through the hallway. It made her blood boil. He had blocked an attack to save her, resulting in a large cut from his left shoulder to his abdomen. His clothes were all torn apart from the sharp of the weapon cutting through his skin. It smelled like iron. The hallways were starting to reek of it. Not surprising with the way the blood gushed out of his wounds like a waterfall. He was far worse off than her, after all.

But why did he do it?

Why did he save her?

Did he think of her as weak?

The way his hand shook as he pushed the key into its lock annoyed her. Everything about him annoyed her. She locked the door after she entered after him, her eyes following his movements, his blood basically leaking everywhere and covering the hotel's furniture.

"Stay on the floor. You're gushing blood everywhere." She threw her satchel from her shoulder as she pulled at his arm to stop him from falling into the comfort of the bed. The pull was so hard, resulting in him falling on his back on the cold hard floor. He hissed out a cuss her way, but she ignored it as she basically gripped onto his top and ripped it in half. Revealing his torso, she had to fight the blush that was tempted to show itself.

"Like what you see? Take a picture it lasts longer... argh fuck.." his face was husky as he spoke, soon growing horse and not soon after coughing fit leaving his throat.

"That's what you get for being annoying, now hold still," her hand made way to his chest, touching around the area as her other hand dug into her satchel. Her fingers danced around his pecs. Only to see where it hurt, of course. No other reason. Her fingers lingered a little too long against his skin, and he seemed to notice the gesture. His lips parted as to say something, but she shut him up by pushing a cloth into his mouth.

"This is going to hurt, big boy.." That wasn't a lie. It's going to hurt like shit. And that much was clear from the way he groaned and moved when the alcohol hit his wounds. He had a hard time staying still, moving on top of his lap to keep him down, "Aren't you used to alcohol in your system? Stay still, you're annoying. I'm trying to be gentle." And that also wasn't a lie, as she carefully tended to his wounds– her touches soft on his skin.

2:30am. He was passed out on the bed, the blood that pooled under him seeping into the wooden floor and drying into his skin. Bandages securely wrapped around his torso with the blanket keeping his warm. It's drying up. They will notice. The water is no use.

How to clean this mess?

At least he will be fine.. her eyes looked from the now red cloth she tried to rub the blood with to the unconcious man on the bed. She huffed out in annoyance.

Why did he need to be such a drag?

Always causing problems for her. Yet she would always be ready to care for him.

Why did she even bother?

She didn't understand how she felt. She walked from the bathroom to the bedroom a few more times with old cloths in hand, wetting them and putting them down on the floor– making her way to his bedside. She took a seat on the bed, more like leaning since she barely had any space to properly sit down.

"Why did you block that attack, stupid? Now I need to take care of you. It's all just a pain in the ass!" Her lip shivered as her hand made its way to his torso, pressing around on the bandages to feel if they're still secure, "wake up, you're not weak, are you? You're delaying our mission..!"

That's just it, right? It's all about the mission. It always was. But her eyes said something else, as they softened everytime she glanced his way. Even if she didn't notice it herself.

4:00 am. She was sat on the floor, her back leaned against the side of the bed– that if she looked to the right, he would be in her sight. Not that she would want to. Only glancing his way to see if he was still breathing. At least four times every ten minutes. Just the right amount of times to check.

That wasn't weird at all.

She just had to make sure he wouldn't leave her here all alone on this mission. Occasionally checking on his wounds to see how the wounds were healing, still telling herself she doesn't care and that she will never care. And so she sat, sitting and waiting wide awake– secretly praying to the gods that he would wake up.

In the meantime she couldn't fall asleep.

She wouldn't.

Not with him unable to defend himself. She didn't want them to judge her for being weak, which is stupid since it's his own fault for bleeding out enough liquid to drown the lands. He would flinch from time to time, the bed creaking underneath him as she felt it dip against her back. She would turn around in an instance, her eyes widening as she slightly shook his arm– but to no avail.

8:00 am. Her eyes were stone cold, staring at the wall in front of her. The same wall she had been staring at for the past hours. If you would cover her eyes and ask her what her surroundings looked like, she could tell you in an instance. Sitting cross-legged with his precious sword in her hands, keeping it safe until he woke up. Her grip was tight, fists balled up into the material, ready to pull the blade out of its sheath. Her head would slowly roll back, finding comfort for her neck as her eyes would flutter shut– this wouldn't last long as she would jolt awake.

She had no idea how much time went by, not until the sun shone bright in her eyes and a voice whispered in her ear, hot breath tickling her skin, "been waiting for me, pretty girl?"

The hairs stood straight as her eyes widened, turning around and basically knocking the handle of his own sword into his face.

He groaned loudly, immediately falling back onto the bed with a loud cough, "what the hell was that for!?" She watched him with a shocked face, dropping the sword (not without him scolding her how she had to be careful with that) to grab at his shoulders, "you can't just- just up and go ahead and whisper like that in my ear?!?!?" She was basically burning up, face growing red.

The heat was radiating off her. Incredibly flustered and speechless, she went and smacked him on his torso, right on his healing injury. "Why did you block that attack for me, you asshole?!" She basically screamed into his face, eyes teary (from exhaustion, of course) as she remained eye contact with him.

He just looked up at her while covering his chest with his hand, an attempt to relieve the stinging caused by her slap. But he didn't answer. He kept his mouth shut and stared into her eyes. This made her blood boil even more, but she didn't know the exact reason. "Answer me!! Don't just shut up like a coward! You blocked me from an axe attack, so act like the man you think you are!"

Was she even making sense?

Calling him names to convince herself that she could care less about him.

Calling him names to make it sound like she doesn't care about him.

Calling him names all along to try and create enough distance to not come to terms with her feelings.

Her true feelings.

"You're so fucking stupid! Mindlessly jumping in front of weapons like you're made of steel?!? Is that head of yours empty?!" She bumped her fist into his head, punching his temple to see if it sounded as hollow as she thought.

"Cut that out." He grabbed her wrist to stop him from knocking at his face, also using it as leverage to pull her on top of him. She quickly put her hands on the bed, on either side of his face, careful not to wound him any further than he already is.

"You're such a nuisance, running that pretty little mouth." If it was possible, her cheeks grew even redder at that statement, "w-well! You're at fault here! Always commenting on anything I do! Then throwing yourself in front of me?! Do you think I'm weak?! Is that it! That's what you think, right?!" She leaned in closer to him, their noses touching as her voice grew louder by the second.

The thought of him thinking she's weak upset her.

Didn't she show how capable she was?

What more could she do?

"That's not it, it's-" but she cut him off, like she did too often. "Then tell me! Why do you mock me? Make fun of me everyday? Think I can't protect myself? Why are you pulling at my heartstrings! It hurts, you know?!"

He was right.

She ran her mouth too often. And he had to shut her up by putting his hand on the back of her head– at least he tried to with the pain shooting through his entire body and pushing his mouth into hers. Sharing a kiss as the sun illuminated their faces.

Let me know what you thought with a comment! <3 thank you sm for reading!