#now its time for me to go sink back into the ground and only rise for the next leap year

[ritzy-reminiscence]

─♣️─ Lackadaisy : Snuggle Struggles

⸝⸝ tl;dr : after running dangerously close to death during a fight with a rival speakeasy, freckle, ivy, and rocky seek solace + slumber in an abandoned barn, wherein freckle and ivy have a moment and ... fight over the blankets ? ⸝⸝ note : inspired by what @avatarvyakara said in my previous lackadaisy post ! thank u so much for lighting this funky little idea in my brain ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

⸝⸝ note² : 3k+ words ,,, currently unedited as of posting this, so expect edits and little things to be added in the future ! also, i'd like to thank thesaurus.com for supplying my dried-up vocabulary with synonyms for 'smile' and 'laugh'.

It was an adrenaline-pumped Rocky that drove their car -- smoking, one of the tires ominously squealing -- into the sanctuary of an abandoned barn. It rumbled and swayed down the worn dirt path, once kept spotlessly clean but was now littered with dead leaves and rocks and tufts of grass that had crept up through the dry soil. The full moon gave Rocky at least a bit of visibility, however dappled and blurred it may be through a canopy of tall willow trees, their drooping leaves swaying like sickly fingers in the wind. Ribbits of frogs and hums of cicadas joined the car's squeaking song, culminating into a cacophony that only seemed to shatter the frigid night air.

"It's not much," came Rocky's voice, sticking his head out the window to peer at the broken-down barn, "but it should keep us safe for the night."

In the backseat, Freckle fidgeted with the buttons on his waistcoat. Ivy sat next to him, keeping a tight grip on the half-a-dozen whiskey bottles they managed to salvage from an earlier fight with a rival speakeasy gang. It was their only reminder of what they had gone through during the night -- if you didn't count the bruises, cuts, gashes, and pains all three rookie rumrunners nursed.

And by God, do those bruises hurt.

It was the only thing Freckle could feel as Rocky slowed the car to a stop behind the barn; as they all clambered out of the busted up vehicle and opened the barn doors with a creak that shook the whole place; as Ivy found a set of matches on the hay-strewn floor and lit up the rusting lanterns hanging from the walls. While there aren't any sheep or chickens in the barn, the smell of them still lingered in the haystacks piled up in the corners of the drafty building, and it made Freckle nauseous. Through pain-dazed eyes, he watched from his spot on the floor as Ivy and Rocky gathered bundles of hay up the rickety ladder to the hayloft. He tried to keep his eyes open, to stand up and help, but the rafters spun and the floor swirled and the blood rushed into his head as he felt his body fall forwards and --

-- land onto a ... surprisingly soft wood floor ?

Not a floor, he eventually realized, opening his eyes and seeing a lantern swing softly overhead. Seeing Rocky's and Ivy's faces, the former grinning down at Freckle and the latter scrunching her nose. A bed made of straw. He gingerly moved his body, and felt hay prick his sides and tickle his arms.

"See, Miss Pepper, no harm done!" "Rocky, I said gently lower him onto the straw, not drop him onto the straw like a bag of rocks." "Miss Pepper, you knew that I had spaghetti arms - it'll take me awhile to get my muscles stiffened up to be linguine. And besides, I got him up to the hayloft, didn't I?"

Freckle strained his ears to listen as their voices got quieter. Their mouths were moving, and he was sure they were speaking. So why couldn't he hear them? He could only see their muzzles opening and stretching and closing. Could only see their eyes widening in and then their brows furrowing in tandem as the world closed in on him and he knew no more.

✧ ‧˚₊ ° ♣️ ° ₊˚‧✧

The next time Freckle opened his eyes, it was to see Rocky balancing on precariously stacked blocks of old hay, rotting wooden chairs, and damp barrels, straining to reach a couple of quilts hanging from the rafters.

"Keep those haystacks steady, Miss Pepper!" "I'm trying!"

Freckle heard a triumphant whoop of glee from Rocky as his paws held onto the ends of the fabric, followed by a wobbling scream and a thunderous crash as Rocky, haystacks, chairs, and barrels fell to the floor.

Freckle sat upright -- and immediately regretted it. He pinned his ears back and released his breath in a hiss as a fresh wave of pain gripped him around the chest.

"Rocky! Are you alright?" Ivy's shrill question of concern. A chuckle that turned into a cackle, and a mussed-up paw holding up two grubby quilts. "Right as rain!"

Freckle coughed and tried to breathe steadily, but it felt like knives were cutting into his skin everytime he did so.

Rocky and Ivy turned their heads to look at him, their ears facing forward and their tails thumping the floor.

"Rocky," Freckle started, taking in the strands of hay clinging to his cousin's fur and clothes, "are you sure you're okay?"

Rocky blinked, his mouth forming a small 'o' before splitting into an ear-to-ear 'v'.

" 'Course I am, dear cousin!" he replied, erupting into raucous laughter. "Nothing ol' Rocky can't handle!" He threw the quilts in Freckle's direction, and they landed with a heavy thud on the railings of the hayloft. "Are you okay, though?"

Freckle thought about that for a bit. "Better than before," he finally muttered.

To this, Rocky's grin spread even wider. "Well, I'll be taking my leave to go check on the car, then. Miss Pepper, take care of Freckle for me while I'm gone, will ya? Will ya -- ? Good! I won't take long, I'll just make sure the car is alright, and in the meantime you two go on and rest and cuddle and snuggle and neck--"

"What?"

Rocky stopped, smiling sheepishly. "Did I say anything?"

And just like that, he was walking out of the barn with a bounce to his step before Freckle could respond, the barn door shutting behind him with a resounding boom. Freckle sank deeper into the bed with a sigh, as Ivy climbed the ladder and took the two quilts on the splintery railings into her arms.

"By 'check on the car', does Rocky mean sleep in the car or leave the two of us alone so we can 'rest and cuddle and snuggle and neck'?" Ivy paused, as if in thought about something. "But then again, Rocky probably meant both," she added with a small giggle.

In response, Freckle let out a chuckle, and then a wince as he put a paw to his bruised ribs -- bruised or broken? Ivy's eyes widened with concern and she scuttled towards Freckle and began to prop his head up with one of the quilts.

"N-no, it's fine, Miss Pepper," wheezed Freckles, and Ivy laughed and propped him up anyways.

"Don't be silly, Calvin, you need it more than I do. And I already told you," she added, moving closer and sitting next to him, pulling her knees to her chin, "to call me Ivy."

Freckle could only nod dumbly, feeling the blush creep up to his cheeks. Ivy laughed and slid down to lay on her back, turning on her side and propping herself on her elbow to peer at Freckle.

"You know, Rocky did the right thing, leaving the two of us in here," she said, her tone low, an intimate murmur meant only for him. "You're really cute when you blush like that."

And that sent Freckle into a flurry of blushes and stammers, much to Ivy's delight and to his embarassment (or was he really embarassed, though?). Ivy laughed again -- musical, bright, lilting -- and she wriggled closer, her bottom lip below her teeth. Freckle could almost see his reflection in her eyes.

She smiled again, softer and sweeter this time. Overhead, the wind blew and whistled, making the rafters groan. Noticing this, Ivy reached behind her for the other quilt. She grimaced at the state of the fabric, but then shook her head and pulled it with a flourish so that it covered both her and Freckle.

"We better be heading to sleep," said Ivy, snuggling next to him and resting her head on his shoulder. "Rocky would probably wake us up in the crack of dawn, and your bruises need time to heal before he starts bouncing the car down the interstate again."

"Rocky probably wouldn't sleep tonight, anyways," Freckle blurted out, more to just speak out of anything.

"Probably," Ivy repeated, nodding. She looked up at him, her expression soft. "Well, goodnight, Calvin."

"Goodnight, Miss Pep- Ivy. Goodnight, Ivy. S-sleep well."

The sides of Ivy's mouth quirked up. She lowered her head and closed her eyes, her breathing steady.

Letting out an exhale, Freckle turned his head to stare up at the ceiling. Outside, the frogs resumed their croaking, and the cicadas continued their humming. The wind joined in, rustling the leaves of the willow trees outside. Ivy's breathing syncing up with his. It rocked him like how a mother rocks her child, the sounds of the barn and the woods and their breathing lulling him to sleep like a gentle balm to his heart.

✧ ‧˚₊ ° ♣️ ° ₊˚‧✧

It was dark, so dark Ivy couldn't even see her own paws. The lanterns must've been died down, she thought. Squinting in the gloom, she could faintly make out the silhouette of the embers of the coal of their overhead lantern turning from red to black. A shiver ran through Ivy's body, rustling her fur. Dark, and cold. Why was it so cold? She reached for the quilt -- and found that it wasn't anywhere near her. Confused, she sat up, and in the thin rays of moonlight the boarded-up barn windows let in she saw Calvin's body, turned on his side with his back to her and the folds of the quilt all bunched up beside him. No wonder why it's freezing.

She moved closer to him, fitting her front to his back and pulling the quilt back over the both of them. She let out a small gasp at the heat from Freckle's body, and she tentatively wrapped her arms around his middle, avoiding his ribs. Then she snuggled her cheek against his back, and sighed in content. Pulling the quilt back over the both of them, she closed her eyes and felt herself returning to slumber.

Until sometime later a breeze ran through the barn and Ivy felt the tips of her tail stand up.

She opened her eyes, groggy with sleep, and peered through the darkness once more. Calvin had rolled farther from her, bringing the quilt with him. Her lips in a peeved pout, she took hold of one end of the quilt and tugged, covering herself with the sliver of fabric that she had managed to pull from Calvin. Relaxing, she closed her eyes again and was already feeling sleep taking over her body when --

-- the blanket rolled away from her again and she sat up, ever so slightly livid from the effects of the cold and her sore body and her tiredness all combined.

Frustrated, she crawled towards Calvin again, and was ready to go into battle for the quilt when she saw him curled up, shivering, his knees to his chest and his tail wrapped around his legs. In horror, Ivy gave herself a mental smack on the head. He's the one with the bruised ribs, not you! Chagrin overcame her, and she softly whispered an apology before tucking the edges of the quilt around his body and settling to lay beside him, softly hugging him from behind in an attempt to warm him up with whatever body heat she had left in her. After all, she consoled herself, the socks on her feet was thick and her jacket, regardless of how soiled and roughed up it is, was soft. She could handle being cold for a couple of hours.

She quieted down, her body relaxing and her eyes closing once more. Eventually her breathing steadied, and she was asleep.

✧ ‧˚₊ ° ♣️ ° ₊˚‧✧

Freckle felt like he was rising from a deep jar of very thick molasses.

Slowly, his senses awoke and came to life. His ears heard the soft chirp of birds; his eyes saw the few rays of weak sun slipping through the cracks of the boarded windows and the dust motes that danced and swirled in it; his hands registered the dirt-caked patchwork of the quilt and with it the sleeping figure beside him.

The sleeping figure ... curled up into a ball, arms folded across her chest, ears pinned back, tail as stiff as a board and eyebrows knotted together. His brain struggled to think. Why was Ivy sleeping like that? Hesitantly, he reached out to touch the tips of her ears -- they were freezing. Freckle frowned, trying to recall the night before. The night before was filled with pain from his bruised ribs ... and the unusually harsh bite of an autumn breeze. In dread, everything clicked into place. He looked at the quilt gathered around him, then at Ivy's body, then back to the quilt and back to the body, over and over again until he felt like he was going to throw up.

Ivy slept last night without a blanket.

Quickly, he threw the quilt over her, guilt flooding his stomach. He repressed a squeak as Ivy grumbled. As she wriggled under the cover of the quilt and peeked one round eye open, then the other. She blinked several times in the pale dawn as she zeroed in on Freckle's expression.

"Are you okay?" she asked, fully alert and sitting up. "Is anything hurting, Calvin?" Just then she seemed to register the quilt. She looked down at it in confusion, then at Calvin.

Calvin felt his tongue unstick from the roof of his mouth. "Y-your ears were freezing and you seemed cold so I put the quilt on you and -- I'm sorry if you were really cold last night because of me -- I didn't mean to, I just roll around a lot when I sleep so--"

Laughing, Ivy stopped him with a kiss. Before Calvin could react, she pulled away and wrapped the quilt around his shoulders.

"Well, it was cold last night," she said with a shrug, "but you seemed like you needed it more. You should've seen yourself, you were shaking like a leaf in a storm."

Freckle had a faint memory of waking up and finding the barn really cold, but he doubted that it was as bad as Ivy told him.

(It was as bad as Ivy told him.)

"But still," he started, his voice fading away into nothingness as he took the quilt and placed it back around Ivy.

"I'm okay, Calvin," she replied, shaking her head in bemusement. Her lips puckered up in a pout and she shut one eye, as if in thought. "How about this -- we try to get a bit more shut-eye before Rocky blasts the barn open with the car? But this time, we both get the quilt. How does that sound?"

Freckle couldn't help but smile. God, he liked her. He liked her a lot. Thank you for dragging me into the cafe during that one time, Rocky, said a little voice in the back of his head.

"That sounds fine with me, Miss Pepper," he found himself saying before he could stop himself.

Ivy's eyes enlarged and her eyebrows scowled in mock anger, drawing herself up to her full sitting height.

"I mean Ivy," said Freckle hastily, meeting her gaze with one of mock timidness. "That sounds fine with me, Ivy."

Ivy glared at him for a while, then her face broke out into a smile, so contagious and sunny it was that Freckle smiled as well. Giggling, she lay back down again, smoothing the rumpled spot of hay beside her and patting it. Freckle did the same, barely managing to not erupt into blushes when Ivy threw her arms around him and gently nuzzled the side of her face into his chest. Freckle stared down at the top of her head and -- he didn't know what possessed him to do it so boldly -- found one of his paws cradling it oh so softly, holding it like it was a fragile vase. The other found itself interlocking its fingers with hers, their paws fitting so perfectly within each other. Ivy looked at him, stunned at what he had done, then her eyes softened and she grinned.

"What a sheik you are," she teased, giving him yet another kiss. This time Freckle returned her kisses, pulling her closer to him and stroking the back of her head, weaving his fingers into her hair. In between kisses he found himself sighing in satisfaction, enjoying the sensation of Ivy's lips against his. Rocky could be back at any moment, and he could badger and taunt Freckle all he wanted when he caught him like this, but Freckle found that he didn't care. Well, for now, anyways.

✧ ‧˚₊ ° ♣️ ° ₊˚‧✧

It was a bright-eyed Rocky that drove their fixed car -- fixed being a subjective matter, with the trunk shut tight with several rolls of tape and syrup -- down the worn dirt path of the barn. Last night the whole place had looked forboding, like it'll drag you by the ends of your feet and swallow you whole; but in the pale autumn morning, with the skies the color of cotton-candy and the clouds painted pale gold by the waking sun, it seemed approachable, welcoming even. Even the willow trees were pleasant to look at!

He stopped the car in front of the barn. Stepping out, he whistled a merry little tune.

"RISE AND SHINE SLEEPING BEAUTIES," he announced, throwing the barn door open with an extravagant sweep of his paw. "THE SUN IS SOARING, THE BIRDS ARE SINGING, AND WE DON'T WANNA MAKE MISS M. TOO MAD - oh, what's this?" he added, fixing the hayloft with a curious stare.

Swiftly, he climbed the ladder and had to bite down on his lip to prevent himself from howling with laughter at what he's seeing.

"Freckle, you rascal," he choked out, wiping tears of pride from his eyes. "You rascal, you."

It was almost seven in the morning, and Rocky knew there'd be hell to pay once he gets the car back in the garage next to the Little Daisy cafe, but how could he possibly wake his dearest cousin and his sweetheart from such a saccharine slumber? So he decided to climb back down the ladder and exit the barn -- he needed more than five coats of syrup to keep the trunk closed, anyways --, leaving Freckle and Ivy alone in their makeshift bed in the hayloft, their arms wrapped around each other in a loving embrace, fingers locked, chests rising and falling in a synchronized rhythm.

[heizlut]

Closing the Distance

ꕀ cw: mention of blood/injury (nonsexual related)

ꕀ tags: fem!reader, inexperienced and possibly ooc!calcharo, oral f!receiving, first-time sex, breeding kink, creampie, mostly proofread

ꕀ nsfw under the cut

ꕀ m!list here

Calcharo didn't expect this at all. He only agreed to help you find and fight against the tacet discords that had sprung up from a particularly strong tacet field. But here you were, laying underneath him and looking up at him with big eyes, your chest heaving with heavy breaths and your lips looking quite inviting.

All he was trying to do was get you out of harm's way by practically tackling you to the ground and caging you in with his own body as the final tacet discord emitted an explosive energy as it was struck down. It wasn't anything special, he swears it's not.

You clear your throat awkwardly, blush evident on your cheeks, "You can uh... get off me now..." You avert your gaze, unable to properly look him in the eyes, not now, and not since you felt something particularly...hard brush against your stomach. Your words snap Calcharo out of his daze, heat rising to his own pale features, "Ah, y-yes. I apologize..." He moves off of you and stands up, extending his hand towards you to help you up as well.

You take it, pulling yourself up and let go abruptly, "Thanks for your help today." Calcharo looks down at his hand where the warmth of your touch still lingered, then curls it into a fist, "It was no problem." The air felt heavy and awkward. There was something bubbling up inside of him that felt wholly unfamiliar. He rolls his eyes at himself and he turns away from you. Why was he acting like this? As if he's never seen a pretty girl before... How pathetic.

He peeks over at you as you absorb the echoes, taking in your strong but soft form. Calcharo could at least admit he found you to be a strong fighter, you were part of the Ghost Hounds after all. He was familiar with you, so why was he feeling like this now. He's never had time to form a romantic relationship with anyone nor has he ever felt the need to. He had more important things to worry about than getting his dick wet and being all soft with someone.

You meet he gaze, noticing that he's staring at you again with his intense blue-grey eyes. You raise a brow as you walk back over to him, "What's the matter with you today? You seem off." Calcharo huffs, looking annoyed as he turns his face away from you and crosses his arms, his voice deep and monotone as usual, "I'm fine." You study him for a moment and then shrug, "Whatever you say. Let's get going." As you move past him, Calcharo notices your gait, "You're limping."

You freeze in your tracks, having hoped that whatever was bothering him would keep him distracted enough to not notice. He already did so much for you today, you wanted to handle your injury yourself. You feel his large hand on your shoulder as he stops beside you, "Why didn't you say anything?" You want to shrug off his hand, but you don't; instead you sigh, "It's not a big deal. Let's just-" "No", Calcharo cuts you off quickly, moving in front of you, "At least let me take a look."

"I don't think that's such a good idea...", you say a little softer than you had liked. Remaining stern and stoic as ever, Calcharo crosses his arms as he looks down at you, "And why would that be?" His question sounds icy and he must've realized it because he tone softens when he speaks again, "You're injured and I wouldn't be a very good leader if I didn't look out for another member." Thunder rumbles in the distance, a sure sign that a storm was on its way. You look down and then grab his arm, surprising him, "Fine. But let's not be out in the open..."

⌁ϟ༒︎ϟ⌁⌁ϟ༒︎ϟ⌁⌁ϟ༒︎ϟ⌁

If you hadn't been injured and limping, the two of you wouldn't be soaked from the rain you had gotten caught in. Slamming the wooden door shut of the run-down cabin you found in the woods, you immediately sink down onto the floor. "How did you know this place was...", Calcharo's voice trails off as his blue-grey eyes find the growing patch of blood on your upper thigh, immediately crouching down to your level.

His intense eyes take in your features, your face flushed red from a slight fever and a couple droplets of water run down your face to your neck. Calcharo's hand reaches for your wounded thigh before pausing, hovering right over the wound, "May I?" You grit your teeth and nod. With uncharacteristically shaky hands, he undoes your pants and helps you lift your hips off the ground as he lowers them. In his head, he repeats over and over that this is just to treat you. That's it!

But he can't help glancing at your cotton panties... There was nothing particularly special about them, but the way they hugged your hips, pressing close against your pussy underneath; it had him inadvertently licking his lips. Calcharo shakes his head and looks to the open cut on your thigh. He does his best to make sure his voice comes out even as he speaks, "It's not too deep. There's just a lot of blood from straining yourself." You point to your bag, "There's a first aid kit in there..."

With a single nod, he grabs the bag and rummages through it til his fingers brush against the small first aid box. He grabs it and mentally prepares himself to give you stitches while also trying so damn hard to stop from popping a boner at the sight of you.

You were injured, for fucks sake! Now wasn't the time to suddenly sprout inappropriate thoughts that he had never had an issue with before. Sensing his hesitation, you practically snatch the kit from his hands, making him blink in shock.

Though flushed with a bit of a fever, drenched from the rain, and injured, you still have the nerve to narrow your eyes at him, "I can do it myself." His jaw hangs open for a moment but he quickly shuts it, returning to his usual cold demeanor, "Fine." He sits back, watching as you thread the curved needle and piece your own flesh as you stitch yourself up. Mentally he cringes on your behalf, but you barely react as your skin closes with the thread.

If anything, seeing just how strong you are, not just physically, but mentally, it makes things even harder for him, quite literally. His cock throbs in his pants and he presses down on it, willing it to just go the fuck away. After tying up the thread and cleaning off the remaining blood, you look his way, noticing his hands pressing down in his lap and you raise a brow, a weak smirk playing on your lips, "Are you seriously hard right now?"

Calcharo's eyes flick to yours, all wide-eyed as he looks at you, then he frowns and looks away, "No, I'm not." You breathe out a laugh that does nothing to help the ache in his pants, "Really? Then move your hands." Calcharo grimaces, his nose scrunched in what looks similar to a snarling dog, "I don't want to." You just shrug, looking amused albeit still a bit weak from your condition, "Suit yourself then. It just looks like you're having a bit of a rough time."

He turns his body away from you, not wanting to listen to anymore of your teasing. "It wouldn't be very nice of me to not show my gratitude to my leader for helping me so much today...", you trail off with a teasing lilt in your voice. Calcharo straightens up and peeks at your over his shoulder, "What do you mean...'show your gratitude'?" Hook, line, and sinker. You put on a more nonchalant look and sigh heavily, "I'm simply saying that since you helped me out..." You look into his eyes again, "I could help you out as well."

Too many thoughts race through Calcharo's mind. How could he even take you up on that offer, especially when you're injured. Especially since he shouldn't be having thoughts like this. Especially because you were special to him. Wait... You were... special to him? When did he feel this way towards you? I mean, sure he always went with you whenever you were itching for a fight and he did talk with you a little more frequently than the others, albeit not too much.

You can tell his mind is racing, so you lean forward, ignoring the bit of pain in your wounded thigh, and place your hand on his shoulder, "Just quit thinking, Calcharo." Your hushed voice and hot breath fan across his ear, sending tingles straight down to his cock. Fuck it. He turns around and faces you once more, his face close to yours as he speaks low and deep, "I don't want to hurt you." His eyes are on yours, but yours are on his lips as you speak again, "You won't."

Before he can protest again, your lips are on his in a soft, but demanding kiss. Calcharo is frozen for a moment, having never done this before. Hell, he's never done anything romantic or sexual in the past. But the plush softness of your lips on his has him beginning to melt. He returns the kiss hesitantly at first, but once he finds the right rhythm with you, he finds himself leaning into you more. His hands are on your flushed cheeks and your heat radiates into his palms.

Your tongue prods his lower lip, begging for entrance to which he allows, parting his lips as you tongue slips in and moves against his. It's a slippery feeling, but you taste so sweet.

Without having realized it, Calcharo has you caged in underneath him yet again, although this time is was special. Your legs are spread to accommodate his body between your legs and your fingers are tangled in his wet, but long silver hair.

Your lips brush against his, "As much as I'd like to help and take things over, my injury-" Calcharo cuts you off with a kiss, "I know. Tell me what to do and I'll do it." His voice sounds husky and breathless, needy for more of you. You grab his hand and place it on your breast, making his breath hitch, "You can touch me."

He looks down at where his hand rests on your breast, taking in the way it fills his palm so perfectly, and he squeezes lightly. Truthfully, he wants your shirt off so he can feel the soft skin against his own calloused hands.

Calcharo's eyes go to yours and his fingers hover over the buttons of your shirt, "May I?" You chuckle a little at his formality, "Please do." With your affirmation, he unbuttons your shirt, tugging the material gently down your shoulders. He takes in the sight of you under him in just a bra and panties. You truly were a sight to see. Without asking for permission again, he fumbles with the clasp of your bra before eventually unhooking it and sliding it off.

Calcharo licks his lips again when he finally sees your bare breasts, so round and perfect. His hand makes its way back to your breasts, gently palming them. His thumb flicks over your nipple, making you draw in a breath. His gaze break away from your chest and back up to your face in alarm, "Did I hurt you?" You smile tiredly at him and shake your head, "No, it felt good." Calcharo visibly relaxes and returns his attention back to your chest.

Leaning down, he captures one of your nipples in his mouth, his tongue sliding over the pert bud as you let out a soft sounding moan. His eyes flit up to watch your reactions as he continues with his ministrations. All he wants is for you to feel good even if he's not entirely sure what he's doing. But from the look on your face, your lips parted and brows knitted together, he can tell he's doing well so far and that's all he needs to know to keep going.

Calcharo presses little kisses from your breasts, to your stomach, then pauses above your covered cunt. Without a word, you shakily raise your hips, signalling him to remove your panties and continue on. He bites his lip, nervous as hell, but he didn't know when he would get an opportunity like this again. So he slides your panties down, ever so careful to not have the material rub against your wound on it's way down your legs.

With you panties off and your pussy now exposed to him, Calcharo feels like he's in a daze. You raise your hips yet again with a raised brow, "Well? Haven't you done this before?" Calcharo looks away from you, not wanting to confirm nor deny, feeling too embarrassed to say you were his first everything.

Your sweet voice pulls him back in, "You're so unlike yourself right now. Where'd my confident leader go, huh?" You were only half teasing as you spoke, just wanting him to move on from your first quip.

Hearing you call him your leader stirs something inside of him. Calcharo feels like he has something to prove. You were right, he did everything with a cold confidence, so he could certainly do this. Calcharo lowers himself to your pussy, his lips so close to touching. With a quick look back up to you, he lightly licks at your clit. It's experimental at first, just small little licks to test out your reaction. But once he sees how turned on you are, he dives right in.

It's sloppy and wet, but Calcharo has no intention of stopping now. His tongue prods and licks at your entrance, lapping up your arousal as it coats his tongue. His cock twitches as he mindlessly grinds against the floor. Your beautiful moans and shaky breaths only spur him on and make him feel even more brave. His calloused thumb rubs at your clit in time with his tongue lashing between your folds.

Your hands fly to his hair, pressing his mouth further into your pussy as you cry out his name, "C-calcharo! 'm cumming-ngh!" The taste of you flooded his senses and he simply could not get enough. He grips your hips, keeping his mouth latched onto your soaked cunt as though it was his first and last meal he'd ever have, groaning as if he were the one on the receiving end. You try to push his face away, "S-stop! Too much-ngh!- 'm sensitive!"

Calcharo knew he should stop, but your moans and the way your arousal flowed from you was way too delicious. His tongue flicks over you clit once more, making your legs shake as you moan loudly, releasing on his tongue once more. Finally being merciful, Calcharo removes his mouth from your pussy, your juices and his own saliva glisten on his lips and chin, but he doesn't have a care in the world right in this moment.

Your breasts move in time with your heavy breathing and you narrow your eyes up at him, "You're so lucky I'm injured right now..." Calcharo's eyebrows furrow, cocking his head to the side slightly, "But you liked it." You can't keep your glare when he's looking at you like some confused puppy, although quite the scary looking puppy... You look down, spotting the wet patch on his pants, "Just take your pants off. It looks like your cock is ready to burst."

Calcharo's eyes widen at your straightforwardness, but he immediately schools his expression, "...Right." He undoes his belt harness, letting it drop to the floor with a soft clank of the metal. Next, he pops open the button of his pants and lowers the zipper, tugging his pants and briefs down just enough to free his cock. His cock springs forward, large and veiny, twitching and leaking profusely.

You're in awe of his size and if you had known he was packing that much down there, you would've intentionally tried to get yourself in this situation much sooner. With one hand, he holds his aching cock and covers his face with the other, "Why are you staring so intensely?" Seeing the state he's in makes you laugh. The sound of it makes his length twitch and he peeks at you through his fingers, sounding a bit annoyed, "What's so amusing to you?"

You give him a genuine, yet cheeky smile, "I just... Never thought I'd see such an intimidating guy like yourself get so flustered." Calcharo groans at your teasing remark and lowers his hand from his face, his other hand absentmindedly stroking his cock, "Enough of your teasing."

You spread your legs a little more, careful not to strain your injury, "By all means, please continue. I promise I won't tease you anymore." "Hmph...", Calcharo does his best to look displeased, but there's too much longing and desperation in his eyes for it to be even remotely convincing.

He lines his leaking tip up with your awaiting entrance, but pauses, "Just tell me if it's too much, alright?" With a nod from you, pressure begins to build as he pushes his length slowly inside of your tight, wet cunt.

Cacharo's face scrunches with pleasure and he sucks in a breath, the feeling of being inside of you, inside of anyone for the first time has him struggling not to cum right then and there. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down to you, speaking softly, "It's okay. You can move now."

He whines at the affirmation and begins to thrust slowly, trying to keep himself calm so as to not cum immediately or hurt you from going too hard too fast. His muscular arms cage you in and his silver hair cascades over his shoulders.

His blue-grey eyes lock on yours as he keeps his steady pace. Calcharo's voice is strained when he speaks through gritted teeth, "This feels too good..." He groans as his hips make contact with yours, his cock pressing deep inside of you.

You press a kiss to the corner of his lips, whispering against them, "Then keep going." Calcharo's cock jumps inside of you and he starts thrusting a little faster, a little harder, "F-fuck..." He kisses you deeply, his tongue tangling with yours as his cock fucks into you. All you both can do is whimper and moan between relentless kisses as he comes closer and closer to orgasm.

His thoughts are only on how fucking good you tight pussy feels squeezing around his cock and how badly he wants to breed you with his cum. Gods, what he wouldn't do to see your stomach growing round with his kids.

Fuck, what the hell is even thinking right now. He can't even own a dog, let alone raise a kid, it was too dangerous. But your pussy and your hold on him was way more dangerous to him. He had to keep going.

Calcharo growls out a low groan, "I'm gonna cum -fuck- take it all. Please, please take it -ngh- all!" With a harsh, deep thrust, he releases his warm seed inside of you. His cock throbbing as his cum pours from his tip and the excess drips down to the floor.

He presses his sweaty forehead against yours, the heat from your fever seeping into his skin. Fuck, you had a fever and were injured... He pulls out of you, making you whimper at the feeling of emptiness.

His eyes flick over to your stitched wound, eyes wide as he sees some of the stitches had popped open and fresh blood was trickling down the side of your thigh, "I-I apologize. I shouldn't have-mmph!" Your lips on his shuts him up and when you pull away, you only smile tiredly at him, "I'm fine. Quit worrying about me." Calcharo's expression shows just how much he's struggling with all of this. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt you or make anything worse.

You tug a strand of his long, silver hair, bringing his attention back to you, "If you really feel that bad then I guess you'll have to make it up to me another time." Calcharo's eyebrows furrow, but then his expression softens slightly, "Of course. As your leader, I-" You cut him off quickly, "No, not so much as my leader. But as my partner. How does that sound?"

He's stunned for a moment but then clears his throat, trying to keep his typical brooding expression, "We can't. I don't want you to get hurt." You roll your eyes and look up at him, speaking in a resolute tone, "This is different. I'm not just some civilian, I'm part of the Ghost Hounds just like you. I can handle whatever danger comes my way or else I wouldn't be here right now." Calcharo processes your words for a second, then sighs, "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you."

Your expression brightens, "I'm pretty sure that's similar to what you said to me when I first joined." Calcharo rolls his eyes as he gathers your clothes and his, "Whatever. I meant it as much then as I do now." You just breathe a small laugh, "Of course. I think we'll be just fine."

⌁ϟ༒︎ϟ⌁⌁ϟ༒︎ϟ⌁⌁ϟ༒︎ϟ⌁⌁ϟ

a/n: calcharo is a cutie patootie under that tough exterior, i just know it🥺

[writingthroughmyass]

Service Animal (Part one)

My mans Logan Howlett X Reader (afab)

Part two here

WARNING: This is soooo self insert it's not even funny. I get weird migraines that present like absent seizures and thought it would be nice to get a warning beforehand by my favourite babygirl Logan (like my own personal service animal). This is gonna be in three parts, it's mostly finished and ends in smooshing so be ready for that ;)

The after effects of using your power was kicking your ass.

In a daze, you made it to your private room and went straight to your bathroom. You felt the nausea rising up in your throat and quickly opened the toilet lid to throw up. 

The multiple alternate realities of what could have happened tonight flashed before your eyes. Ororo, Jean, Scott, Logan, all collapsed on the floor, dead. Their screams played in a relentless loop in your head; you were dissociating badly. Your surroundings melted away until there was nothing but the countless ways they could have died if you hadn't bent reality to avoid it. 

Always. It's always like this. 

Gradually, you begin to return to your body, only to realise there was someone in the room with you, holding your hair back. 

Terrified, your body snapped up from its kneeling position to face the intruder. 

“Woah, hey, it's just me. Calm down.”

“L-Logan?” you slurred, suddenly feeling self conscious of the smell of your breath. 

“I knocked and called out but you didn't answer. So I came in to check on you.” 

You eyed him, feeling suspicious of how out of character this was for him. 

“Why are you looking at me like I'm lying? I'm not totally heartless,” he said defensively.

“Why'd you come in the first place to see me though? I thought you were pissed with me,” you grumble.

When you'd overdone it with your powers, Logan threw a hissy fit and yelled at you for going too far. While you knew it was out of care, it still rankled you that he was acting as if you were a child. You knew what you were doing. 

“I… just had a bad feeling,” he said quietly. “Y'know how I've got my heightened senses. I could tell something was off with you.”

“I'm fine. Just need to rest. This is normal for me.”

You turned around to the bathroom sink and grabbed your toothbrush. You gave your teeth and tongue a quick clean, wanting to just wash all the blood off your body so you could sleep. 

It felt like you had a raging hangover from drinking Everclear all night. 

When you turned from the sink you noticed Logan was still there. 

“Uh… need something? I wanna get ready for bed and pass out.”

“Yeah, I need to know you're okay,” he says.

“I told you, I'm fine. I'm going to shower so please leave.” 

Your patience was wearing thin. But you were also aware that some of it was nervousness coming out as aggression. You couldn't deny the attraction you felt towards him, although his attitude left much to be desired. His behaviour tonight was quite frankly really sweet and it was psyching you out. You were already in the midst of losing touch with reality and his actions were so contradictory to his usual self that it was causing you a psychotic break. 

“You're not listening to me,” he ground out, losing some of his own patience. “I'm telling you that something is wrong with you.” 

You stared silently at him, mouth slightly hanging open. 

“Okay, that came out the wrong way.” He was ruffling his hair in agitation. Cute. “What I'm saying is- I'm… ah…”

“Please, Logan, I just want a shower so I can go to bed…”

“Look, I'll just wait in your room and I'll leave once you're in bed safe, ‘kay,” he says, turning to the door and walking out, shutting it behind himself. 

Fuck. 

You just wanted to be alone so you could have a good cry. You were incredibly confused about what in the world was going on but now you were really getting scared. And Logan's words were not helping. 

What if he's right and this time your connection with reality has been completely severed? But what else were you supposed to do? Let them all die? Even with your special training with Charles, your power was so unruly and chaotic that it was terrifying. You had to be careful or there would be no way back. 

You got undressed and turned on the shower, stepping inside. It was only once you were under the hot stream of water that you realised you'd left your pyjamas in your bedroom. You groaned aloud. Fuck, now you'd have to walk in front of Logan in nothing but a towel. Why the fuck was he here? You wished he'd just leave. 

You watched the dried blood wash away from your skin, turning the floor of your shower a bright red. 

You felt your stomach drop and your head turned fuzzy. The sound of your shower disappeared. The safety of your surroundings melted away. 

Scott, his eyes gouged out from his head. Ororo’s limbs crumpled every which way, her eyes clouded over not because of her powers but because she was lifeless. Jean, her neck holding on to her body by a thread, her cranium blasted open and her brain dripping down her face. 

Logan, on the ground, ripped to shreds, his Adamantium bones showing through his torn flesh. And the wounds weren't healing. 

It was always like this. As if you were being punished for playing god. It was as if all the horrible realities you prevented from happening still lived on but solely in your mind, driving you insane. It left scars of trauma on your psyche, Charles had told you. So you had to be careful in how you used your powers or you may become completely untethered from reality. A fate worse than death. 

Vaguely, you could hear yourself mumbling and gasping and swallowing loudly, trying to find some kind of equilibrium in the mess of your mind. 

You were trying desperately to connect back with your body but at the same time you didn't want to because it only meant having to fight this same battle over and over again. 

Seeing your friends die before your very eyes in hundreds of thousands of different ways, experiencing each traumatic story to its conclusion. Only to have it all unravel into a reality where none of it happened, but the whiplash makes you doubt this reality too. It's always too good to be true. You feel it in your bones that you don't deserve this. That the way you twist reality is wrong and one day it'll catch up to you in the worst possible way. 

You feel water running down your face and remember that you're in the shower. You try to ground yourself and come back to your body. You hear the water splashing, feel the ground beneath your feet, the solid embrace around you. 

You try to move but you can't. Finally, you snap fully to your body. Your mind is groggy, feeling like you'd been hit by a truck. But there's the unmistakable warmth surrounding you, dense and as unyielding as brick. 

Your face is roughly yanked upwards and you open your eyes.

“Fuck, finally! Are you alright?” 

You stare blearily, mouth open and dry from the adrenaline that had been pumping through your body just moments ago.

Bright hazel eyes. Huh. So pretty. You'd never noticed. 

You realise you're not supporting your own weight. You're finally aware that Logan has you in an embrace, holding your body up, one hand around your waist and the other on your jaw as he looks into your face. The water on your face isn't from the shower, you realise. It's your tears. 

“Bloody hell, please say something,” he says angrily. You feel some of your own anger flare up in response. What's his problem? 

“Fuck,” you croak. 

You feel his chest vibrate against yours as he laughs, suddenly aware that you're as naked as the day you were born and this man is fully clothed standing in your shower, getting his white singlet wet. Giving you a bear hug…

Your brain short circuits as you try to come up with words, feeling your whole body heat with embarrassment. 

“W-what are you doing in here?” you manage to slur.

“Helping your ass,” he says roughly. “Can you stand?”

Fuck, good question. Can I stand??

“C-close your eyes first,” you demand. 

“Bit late to be feeling shy now don't you think?” he teases with a wink. 

“Just close ‘em!” you yell at him. 

He laughs before complying. 

You extricate yourself from his arms, turning off the shower, then navigate carefully around him to exit the cubicle. You grab a towel and cover yourself, making a mental note to grab a clean one later since this one was definitely dirty now. 

“Okay, open your eyes and get out, please.”

He turns to look at you.

“Don't think that's a good idea, bub.”

“And why is that?” you huff impatiently.

“What if you collapse in the shower again?” he says matter of factly.

“I've been having these things for a long time. I've managed to survive so far so don't stress about it.”

“It's different now though, isn't it? You've been having these for a long time, you said so yourself, and they're only getting worse instead of better.”

You sigh heavily in frustration. You hated that he was right. 

“So what exactly are you suggesting?” 

Your heart was beating like crazy. He better not suggest what you think he was going to suggest.

“I'm sure old Chuckie boy wouldn't mind lending you his shower chair for the night,” he smirked. 

You laughed out loud despite the tension in the room. He always managed to make you laugh. 

“Yeah, I'm just going to wake up an old man in the middle of the night to ask if I can borrow his shower chair,” you joked, lightly slapping him on the shoulder. 

He laughed along with you then you both shared a few moments of comfortable silence. Only for him to break it with-

“My other suggestion is to shower with me so I can make sure you don't faint and hurt yourself.”

You stared at him distrustfully.

“Hey, look, I'm not being a pervert, it's just the only solution I can think of on the fly,” he placates, hands raised as if to say I'm innocent and unarmed. 

“Right…”

You stopped to think for a second, your muddled mind trying to make sense of the situation. 

It made you especially uncomfortable that you didn't exactly have your full mental faculties about you. 

But Logan was a good friend. You'd fought beside him many times before and you saw that you could trust him. But… he was still a man. A man much bigger and stronger than you. 

“Can I trust you?” you asked falteringly. What a stupid idea to ask the opinion of someone fully in power over you. 

“I promise I won't do anything without you wanting it. This is entirely your choice.” 

You looked him in the eyes, trying to find a trace of falsehood in them. But you only saw honeyed eyes, dripping with conviction. The same conviction you'd seen many times before when he was protecting those he loved. 

You felt yourself feel a little calmer. 

“Okay… but you better not break your promise. Or I'll sick Charles and his shower chair on you.” 

“I won't. I just want to keep you safe,” he said in a low, serious voice. 

You felt a fluttering behind your ribs. Fuck… I'm about to shower with this incredibly attractive asshole.

“Okay… you get in first,” you said. 

“Yes, ma'am,” he said a little too cheerily. 

You turned around to give him privacy to undress. You heard the rustle of his clothes then a thump as he dropped them on the floor of your bathroom. 

Should've known he'd be a slob…

You heard the shower turn on and you braced yourself for what was to come next. 

You turned towards the shower, keeping your head down and eyes averted. You removed your towel and stepped into the shower, still not looking at Logan and ignoring his presence, which was hard to do in your little shower. Thankfully he was turned away respectfully.

You stood behind him, turned away from his body. You took your soap and began to lather it over yourself as you usually did when you showered. 

“Would you like a hand with your back?” Logan spoke up. 

You paused as you weighed up the question in your mind. 

“Sure,” you said quietly, trying to keep yourself calm. 

This is totally normal. We're just friends having a shower. Together. 

You turned your back and heard him applying soap to his hands. Slowly, gently, as if you were made of glass, he began to rub your back, starting with your shoulders. You felt yourself give an involuntary shiver.

“Are you cold? Do you need the water a bit hotter?” he asked you. 

“No, it's fine. The temperature is okay with you?” 

“Yeah, bub, just perfect.” 

His hands felt massive against your back. He massaged your neck for a few seconds before moving down your shoulder blades towards your middle back. 

“Did-did you want me to do your back too?” you asked, trying to hide how nervous you were. 

“Since you're offering, sure,” he said gruffly. You turned towards him at the same moment he turned away from you, unfortunately catching a glimpse of his insane fucking abs, but thankfully managing not to make eye contact. 

You soaped up your hands and began with his neck, trying not to notice how thick and muscular his traps were. 

God… this is hell but also heaven. 

You ran your hands across his ridiculously broad shoulders and down his middle back, avoiding going too low lest you caress his stupid, tight ass. 

“I'm going to wash my hair, okay?” you told him, unsure of why you were asking permission. 

“Don't know why you're asking my permission.” Fuck. You were being weird. “But I can do the same right?” he responded, holding in laughter. 

You felt your face go hot.

“D-do what you want,” you said petulantly. 

You took the shampoo bottle, squeezing what you needed for yourself before handing it to him over his shoulder, which he thankfully kept turned to you in respect. 

You both washed your hair in silence. You already felt a bit better. You dreamily thought of your bed as you rinsed the shampoo from your hair. 

You then grabbed the conditioner and squeezed some into your hand. 

“Need the conditioner?” you asked Logan.

“What for?” he asked, confused. 

“For your hair, duh.”

“Nah, I'm good. Haven't had to use it so far in my life, won't start now. Need a hand with washing your hair?” 

You knew he was trying to be helpful. But it felt so, so wrong. Like overstepping your relationship as friends. But then again… would you ever get the chance again to have an incredibly sexy man wash your hair for you? 

“Sure,” you said stiffly.

Silence, then his hand moved around you to grab the bottle from you. 

“Ah-” you already had some conditioner in your hand. You were about to tell him but decided to keep quiet as he worked on your hair. 

His fingers… so thick and strong yet gentle through your hair, over your scalp. You couldn't help but to close your eyes and enjoy the sensation. 

It was over too soon and he stepped away from you again. You tipped your head to rinse your hair, giving your face a quick scrub with water while you were at it; fuck your skin routine, you were going straight to bed. 

“I'm going to step out first,” you informed him. 

He grunted in reply and you stepped from the shower, grabbing two clean towels from your bathroom cupboard. You covered yourself with one and half turned your body to Logan, gaze still averted from his direction. 

“Here ya go,” you tried to say cheerily, offering the towel to him.  

“Thanks,” he said and grabbed it from your hand. You quickly moved to the door. 

“Wait until I say you can come in,” you said before closing the door behind you. 

Fuuuuucccckkkkk.

This was not helping you to relax at all.

You dried yourself quickly and threw your pyjamas on. 

“I'm done!” you called through the door. 

He stepped out with his towel wrapped around his stupid, slutty waist. You could see his happy trail adorning his abs. His enormous pecs, his dog tags resting in the dip of his gorgeous chest. 

“Hey, bub, my eyes are up here,” he teases. 

You swallow thickly and glare at his stupid, smirking face.

“Have I ever told you I hate you?” you retort, only succeeding in making him laugh. 

“How are you feeling now?” he says softly, suddenly serious. 

“I'm… exhausted. I usually sleep a lot after an episode.” 

He nods in understanding. 

“You'll be okay if I leave?”

This gives you pause. If you were being honest to yourself, you'd say, “Please stay. I don't want to be alone tonight.” 

But you weren't honest with yourself. 

“Thanks for looking out for me, Logan. I really appreciate it and sorry for putting you out. I'll be okay. You can go to bed now if you want.” 

He looked at you in silence. He stepped towards you, so close that you had to look up to keep eye contact. You could feel the warmth radiating from him. Fuck he runs hot. 

“You mean it, right? You're okay to be alone?” 

You stared at him, a little bit dumbfounded. Was he able to read minds or something? 

“Yes, I'll be fine. I'll be in bed so I can't exactly fall,” you chuckled. 

He didn't laugh with you. Only watched you carefully. 

“Okay. I'll respect what you say you want,” he says carefully. 

Again, this is so out of character for him that you second guess yourself whether you're in reality or not. 

You watch as he turns to the bathroom and grabs his clothes from the floor then goes towards the door to the hall. 

“Hey-w-wait-y-you're not going out like that are you?” you stutter in disbelief.

He turns back to you. 

“What else am I going to do?” he asks incredulously. 

Clueless.

“Put your clothes back on,” you retort.

“Ew, you're a bit of a slob, aren't you? They're dirty and covered with blood and who knows what or who else.”

You deadpanned. 

“What if… what if you stayed here for the night?” you blurted out without thinking. You flinch at your own words.

Logan pauses with his hand on the door knob. 

“I don't exactly have my pyjamas here with me,” he says slowly. 

“I've already seen and touched you naked. What's the difference?” you hear yourself say.

What the fuck am I saying?

“I-I mean, surely I have something that can fit you,” you amend quickly. His face seems to go slack in surprise.

“Wow. You really want it, huh?” he smirks at you. 

You ignore the heat that overtakes your whole body. 

“N-never mind! Fuck off already,” you say sourly. 

“Hey, I'm just joking,” he laughs. “I can definitely stay if it helps you feel better.” He smiles at you and you feel yourself melt a little bit. 

“It… it would. Help me feel better, I mean.” 

Having him near you would help remind you that this is real, you justify. 

“Alright then,” he nods to you. “Some clothes would be great.” 

“Ah, sure, give me a second.” 

You quickly go to your wardrobe to locate the loosest pair of pants you own. He'll just have to sleep shirtless, there's no way you have a top that will fit over his broad shoulders. 

You find a dark grey pair of trackies and turn back to him. 

“Try these.”

“Thanks,” he says as he takes it from your hand.

As he moves back to the bathroom you jump into bed to wait. Your bed never felt so fucking good. 

You've barely settled under the covers when Logan reappears from the bathroom, his hair still wet and dripping down his neck. You do your best not to stare. 

He moves towards you and lifts the covers to slip into bed with you. 

This is just a sleepover, you tell yourself. Like when you have a friend over for the night.

Logan slots himself into your bed alongside you and you become suddenly aware of how small your double bed is. The frame creaks loudly from the weight of him and his Adamantium bones. 

“Comfy?” you ask.

He turns in the bed so he's facing you. A smile slowly makes its way to his face and you find you can't breathe for a second. 

“Yeah, definitely,” he murmurs. 

“Alright, sweet, g’night then,” you say quickly, turning away from him to still your beating heart. Fuck, I hope he can't hear my heart right now.

“Are you sure you're ready to sleep? Your heart is beating pretty fast,” he points out cooly. 

Mother fucker.

“So… you have heightened senses right? Kind of.. like a dog?” I'm not thinking straight, why am I trying to piss him off? 

“Thought you were going to sleep,” he grunted. The sound of his gravelly voice did something to you. But you ignored it. 

“It just kind of reminds me of those service dogs, y'know the ones that can sense when their owner is going to have a seizure? I mean, I know I don't have seizures exactly, but I guess it presents sort of like one.”

“What are you trying to say?” he asks gruffly. He doesn't like it when people compare him to dogs. You're just grateful you can't see the look on his face right now. 

“I'm just wondering how you can tell? What is it exactly that you're sensing? It's always interested me,” you say honestly. 

He grunts again and goes quiet before answering.

“I can smell it. Can't even explain what it actually smells like. But that's how I know, although it isn't always accurate.”

“That's really interesting.” And you mean it. It really is interesting… although the implications concerning his sense of smell have you a little bit paranoid… 

“So that's why I'm telling you to listen to me when I fucking tell you to stop with your powers. You could've killed yourself tonight,” he grinds out, anger in his voice. 

“Logan… you need to understand where I'm coming from. You all died tonight. Like literally, right before my very eyes, you were all dead. What do you expect me to do?” 

You feel tears pricking your eyes, the lump in your throat is choking you.

“I… I can't talk about this right now okay?” you tell him, trying to keep your voice steady. 

“Okay… okay, I'm sorry,” his voice softens. “Please, just get some sleep, okay? Guide dog’s orders.”

And just like that you're laughing again, feeling a tear running down your cheek to your pillow. You were so grateful to have him in your life. You were also grateful he couldn't see you crying right now. 

“Alright, g'night, puppy,” you tease.

“‘Night,” he says softly. 

A minute passes and you can already feel yourself starting to drift off. You smile to yourself, knowing that you have your own personal “service animal” to keep you safe tonight.

[absolutelynotsanebaby]

100 years AU

someone’s missing....

AU info under cut

Basically, do to destiny shenanigans, the ninja get pulled back into thier element (seabound style) but due to the circumstances it goes...not super well. Starting with Nya, they wake up 100 years later.

I’m still working out the kinks and shit of this au so this is all a little shaky, but here’s what I imagine what everyone’s doing during that 100 years.

- Nya’s traveling around the sea and ends up a....sort of sea monster myth. she sinks a lot of boats. In the order of who was dragged away to [gestures] its cole --> jay ---> zane ---> kai ---> nya ---> lloyd. So by the time it hit Nya, she was already full of grief so that manifested in the whole...sinking boats and shit. shes lightly inspired by Umibōzu. 

- Kai has a similar thing going on with Nya actually, all that unchecked rage and grief manifested in him basically being a very scary, very fire-y warlord. 

-Skipping Lloyd for now, Jay is basically the equivalent of a trickster god lmao. spends his year terrorizing villages and zapping bitches. The order of who turns human again is Nya ---> Kai ---> Jay ---> Cole ---> Zane ---> lloyd (its just backwards) and I like to think Kai and Nya where like “he’s gonna be hard to find, he’s in the sky.” and the nearly get zapped by his ass lmao.

- Cole...he was the first to go so he spent a lot of his time just. in the ground. at one point he came back up and holed up in a small cave near his dads home and slowly made a very intricate cave system of his own. Nya, Kai, and Jay nearly die just trying to find him.

- Now I like parallels so Zane here is like...if the ice emperor was okay almost. He just holed up in an ice labyrinth and the locals just kinda dubbed him an ice king. King of a snow queen thing. 

- circling back to lloyd...the reason he’s not there is cause he wasn’t. really whole. He kinda spread into the winds as energy. So to bring him back they kinda....pulled it all together again. 

- Wu, Pixal, and Garmadon are still around. 

- no I have not watched dragons rising or whatever its called so considering this AU canon divergence or whatever lmao.

- Bruise and Pixane are the only ships here. Screw me I love Bruise they’re too sillay.

[urhoneycombwitch]

in sickness, to cherish

foreword: so excited to release this lil’ babe into the world. PTSD and trauma healing is of special interest to me, I hope you enjoy 💖 (p.s. from my limited research I don’t think they would have used a heart monitor for low-risk patients but it is literally integral to my plot so I’m breaking my anachronistic purity rule. soz)

wc: 3k

cw: descriptions of seizure, PTSD + hospital/medical trauma for the whole gang, brief mention of non-consensual drugging, R is referred to once as “Mrs” & “girlfriend”, angst w/ comfort

___

The mounted clock on the wall of the dingy Hawkins Memorial waiting room ticks over to nine PM, a brutal reminder that time (for everyone else, at least) has not, in fact, stopped.

Nine o’clock. As you pace from one end of the plastic chair-lined aisle to the other, you run the numbers in your head, fingers spastic at your sides- it’s nine right now, and Steve was admitted just after six, which means they’ve been running tests for three hours, even though the charge nurse said it should only take one…

”You wanna step outside for a smoke?”

Eddie speaks up from his seat at the end of the row, catching your bleary gaze before you’re turning on your heel again to complete your looping track.

His voice cuts smoothly over the buzzing fluorescents, the old television in the corner droning with last week’s news cycle; it’s enough to disrupt Robin from her half-sleep against Eddie’s shoulder, blinking into consciousness and stretching her stiff limbs as you respond.

“No, thanks.” Your hands slip to the inside of your elbows, squeezing through layers of soft cardigan in a near-bruise, feet continuing the rhythmic pacing. “You can go, though- I’ll make sure Robin comes to get you if anything happens.”

Eddie clears his throat, sinking back into the hard plastic, rings clicking at the armrests. “Nah, I’m good without one. Just thought you’d want a change of scenery, maybe some fresh air would calm-”

“I’m staying here.”

There’s a sharpness to your voice, a rarity- Robin winces, fingers in her lap twisting and fidgeting as she tries to change the subject. “God, Steve’s gonna be spitting mad when he wakes up. He’s the most doctor-adverse person I know.”

Eddie latches on to this with a humorless chuckle- “Stubborn bastard. Wouldn’t let those lab goons go near him, even after last year-”

“Fuck.” The swear comes from the bottom of your toes, even as you swivel on the balls of your feet to loop back in front of your friends; their faces snap to you, a blur of motion as you pass them again- “You’re right. Steve fucking hates doctors. I should’ve-”

Your next breath comes stilted, fingers a vice-grip on your own arms as you pace, pace, pace- “I should’ve treated this like taking a dog to a vet. Crushed up some pills in his food, or something- he never listens to me when I nag him about his hearing getting worse- do you know how many meals, how many glasses of water we share, every day?”

From the corner of your hazy vision, Robin’s gone still and pale, her voice tremulous- “I didn’t mean to imply- this isn’t your fault, you know-”

But you’re not ready to hear that, guilt surfacing like a sick wave, tears pooling, moments away from spilling over, voice trembling with anguish- “Could’ve been so easy, tell him we’re going for a ride, load him up into the passenger seat, he goes to sleep and I could’a passed him right off to a doctor, to someone who could have prevented this-”

Eddie rises from his seat to stand in the middle of your path, hands lifting to soothe and appease, but you’re still in flight mode, like a bird beating its wings against the confines of its cage.

You flinch away from his touch, standing with your back turned to them both, staring out the dark window, unseeing. “You know what Steve said to me? Right before he hit the ground? He said, ‘Don’t panic, I’m gonna pass out, try not to let my hair get too messed up.’”

An edge of misplaced humor draws a dry laugh from your throat. The dark window reflects your own face back- tear-streaked, red veins encroaching on the whites of your eyes- as you shake your head in disbelief. “He made a joke. To try and distract me from the fact that he was about to hit the ground and go all… all spastic-”

Unbidden flashes of memory surge to the forefront of your mind: victims of last spring. Twisted forms snapped at the bone, Max’s arms and legs bent at horrifying angles, plaster casts from head-to-toe, freckled face still and sallow against the starch-white hospital sheets-

A leather-jacketed form in the reflection behind you, Eddie’s hand solid on your back against the shuddering breaths wracking all the air from your lungs. You don’t flinch away this time.

Your beautiful boy. Steve. With his eye-crinkling smiles and sharp wit and gentle heart, stiff as a board in the middle of your living room, eyes rolled back in his skull like a downed deer, unreachable, just three hours ago.

“I thought it was Vecna. It’s been so long but I thought he’d come back, somehow, I was this close to running upstairs and grabbing our Walkman-”

”But you didn’t.” The hand at your back is joined by another at your arm as Eddie pulls you to face him, his gaze locking on your own, brown eyes full of grave compassion. “You heard the nurse. She said tipping him on his side was the best call you could’a made, sweetheart- you saved him.”

”But I didn’t know,” you insist, “I didn’t know that’s what would help, I just did it ‘cuz I was worried he was going to choke on his own tongue-”

“Semantics. You intuited it, then.” One of Eddie’s hands leaves your arm briefly to make a dismissive gesture through the air- “Which, in my book, is all the more impressive.”

Unconvinced, your voice small and tightening along with your chest- “What if this happens again, and he’s alone, this time? What if he’s working one of his three closing shifts a week, without Robin- what if he’s driving?”

You can’t help the spiraling of your thoughts, what-if scenarios jumping in line, each one more horrifying than the last.

Robin rises to stand beside Eddie, opens her mouth- to deny, to comfort, it’s unclear- but is interrupted by a new nurse who’s just appeared in the doorway.

“Mrs. Harrington?”

This snaps you back to earth, a bit, another watery laugh as Eddie takes a step back, allowing you to swipe at the mess of tears on your face before turning to the nurse- “Yeah. As good as, I guess. How’s he doing?”

With a last look at your friends, the nurse leads you down sickeningly-bright corridors while reading from a clipboard- most of it’s medical jargon, your foggy brain struggling to keep up as you stay on her heels.

What you gather, as you’re led to his room, is nothing new- Steve’s had a seizure, likely due to the trauma his brain incurred from the ‘earthquake’ of ‘86, and it’s unclear what triggered it, or if it’s likely to happen again.

“We’re going to keep him overnight, just to monitor his condition.” The nurse stops at a door labeled Room 202, hinges squeaking as she pushes it open. “He was really lucky, this time. Must’ve had a good guardian angel looking out for him.”

Heart thrumming thick in your throat, you almost ask the nurse to wait, to give you a second- maybe a quick bathroom break to splash some cold water against the tear-tracks, or even an extra few seconds to pretend at being stoic- but she’s already ushering you in with a kind smile.

The nurse pulls the door shut, and you’re left alone with the boy in the bed.

He looks exhausted, dark circles pulling at the soft skin below his eyes, which are full of relief, trained on you as you approach.

“Hey, there’s my girl.” There’s a scratchy quality to Steve’s voice, on its way to being lost.

You were doing really well, no crying or anything, before he spoke. But hearing him, paired with the awful sight of a medical cord wrapping around the width of his broad chest, has your face crumpling in an instant.

“Oh, shit. Aw, honey. C’mere-” Steve reaches for you, halfway to sitting up off his supporting pillows, and you quickly close the gap, sitting near his hip on the bed.

“No, hey- stay down,” you chide through the tears, pushing at the shoulder of his white hospital tee. “Don’t put any stress on your body.”

“Cut the stress, she says,” Steve grumbles, leaning back against the stack of pillows but compromising by pulling you in closer. “My baby’s crying, and she tells me no stress?”

His left palm slips over your cheek, thumb swiping away tears, while his right hand- IV taped flat over the back of it- slides to rest on your waist.

”Gonna tell me what’s wrong, hm?”

Under different circumstances, you’d laugh at his question- christ, where did he want you to start: but with that amber gaze so full of empathy, desperate to fix what’s making you sad, you’re stripped raw with sincerity.

”I was just- I was so scared, Steve-”

Steve pulls your face towards his, needily, a breath away from begging for a kiss before you lean in for one.

He tastes salty, like sweat and tears, lips plush and softly seeking against the seam of your own. Between the kisses, he’s mumbling apologies, “sorry, so sorry”, broken by the need to be as close to you as all the medical gear will allow.

There’s a soft noise from the back of his throat, and you pull away just enough to bump your nose into his, hands running up to push through the soft strands of his hair.

Steve practically purrs under your touch; you’re careful not to disturb the tubing wrapping around the length of his chest, leaning your weight into his shoulders instead.

A vein of hilarity spikes as you remember Steve’s last words before he went under: and here you were, fingers pulling at his dark roots, breaking his one request. When you start to giggle, Steve’s eyes pop open, baffled, hair sticking up at the ends when your fingers leave his hair. Both hands now squeezing at your hips, he feels left out of the joke- “What?”

“I just- nothing. Never mind. I’m really glad you’re okay.” It’s the truth. You frame his lovely face with your hands, kissing his forehead once before sitting up fully. “I don’t wanna fight about it here, okay? Let’s just focus on you feeling better, and then-”

“See, now, wait a minute-” Steve holds up a finger to interrupt. “You don’t get it. I’ve been hoping and praying for hours now that my pretty girlfriend would come in here just so we could have a good fight.”

He tweaks at the skin of your hips (with the IV-hand, so you can’t just smack it away, dammit), smiling up at you far too dreamily for someone reclining in a hospital bed.

Settling against the length of Steve’s torso, your arms cross over his stomach just under the tubing as you start, carefully- “You know, Max had one of these- when she was in the hospital?”

”Yeah, you’re right.” Steve’s hands worm their way under both your cardigan sleeves, seeking out the comfort of skin like a magnet- “Think it tracks heart rate. Or something.”

“Mm-hm. And… you know how she had to go to physical therapy three times a week? For, like, half the school year?”

Steve’s thumbs swipe absently at your wrists, a line pinched between his brows, trying to piece together your angle. “…yeah?”

“Takes a lot of time, to heal from something like that.” Your eyes drop to his chest, throat swelling with the effort of holding back a sob. “And I’m just- just thinking of all the times you might be alone, and how we could have prevented this, and-”

“Hey, hey, hey- shhh…” Steve soothes, shaking his head. “Honey, it was inevitable, okay? Nothing we could’a done. The doc told me this shit can happen, like, years after a big event. I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I promise.”

Fighting against the wall of emotion that makes speaking harder, you return his head shake, desperate for understanding- “But you can’t promise that, baby. You had a seizure- an actual, medical emergency, and… we don’t know if it’ll happen again.”

With a purposeful straightening of your spine, you state, resolutely: “I want a different promise.”

Steve presses the crown of his head back into the pillows, melodramatic, resurfacing with a tsk. “So stubborn. What promise you want, then, huh?”

”I want you to promise that you’ll see a doctor- a real one. A head guy. Not some… family medicine quack.”

Steve grins, charming even while unusually pale- “I love it when you talk medical, really gets me going-”

He decides to bail on the rest of that sentence when he sees the flare of irritation on its way to real anger in your face, raising both hands in appeasement- “Okay. Hey- I promise to see a real head doc. I don’t intend on putting you through this again.”

WIth a sigh, you surge forward again, mumbling “Thank you” into Steve’s lips, a kiss of relief and gratitude. Best news you’ve heard all day.

His groans vibrate through you, hands running down the length of your side, near the bottom of your cardigan; you squeak at the intrusion of his cold palms on the bare skin of your waist but they warm quickly, and you’re willingly distracted as his tongue presses against the seam of your lips.

Perhaps not exactly hospital-appropriate, but as it’s been an evening full of adrenaline-filled panic and heartache, you figure some making out might be a good cure for the both of you.

“Won’t scare you like that again,” Steve says, lips already pink and spit-slick, intense and breathless as he clings to you between kisses- “Gonna be okay. You saved me, angel. Love you s’much…”

Your hand, previously resting on Steve’s knee, automatically slides up at his words, notching into the soft expanse of his inner thigh over the thin sheets- “Love you too, so much…”

A bright, electronic noise jolts into frantic beeping- the monitor that Steve’s hooked up to is loud enough to startle you into sitting up.

There’s no time to process or even rearrange yourselves before the nurse from earlier bustles into the room to glare at the machine’s screen; best you can do is a swipe across your mouth, hopefully hiding any evidence of moments-ago spit-swappage as you stammer out, “Um, yeah, sorry- h-he was trying to sit up and that set it off, I guess…?”

Steve lies placid and amenable against his pillows, giving the nurse a gold-medal grin, which unfortunately does nothing to allay her suspicions.

“Uh-huh.” The monitor alarm is stopped short with the press of a few buttons, and she gives Steve a sideways look, clipboard tucked under her arm- “You ready for your other visitors, Mr. Harrington, or should I give you a few more minutes?”

“Bring forth the party, Patricia.” Steve folds his hands behind his head, wincing when his IV gets bumped but covering it with a wink.

Nurse Patricia leaves. You cover your heated face, mortified- “Oh my god. She probably thought I was giving you a handjob or something, jesus, Steve-”

He’s outright laughing at you now, unable to help it- “Come on, no she didn’t. And even if she did…”

Steve is momentarily distracted, frowning down at his chest, following the monitor’s line to the machine; you watch through cracked fingers, his face lighting up, triumphant. “See, I bet if we unplug it from the wall same time as disconnecting it from here, we might be able to fit a handy under the radar, after all!”

Robin and Eddie enter the room just as you’re swatting Steve’s shoulder; over your subdued and mildly horrified laughter, he groans in faux-pain: “God, you two got here just in time. She’s beating me up for no reason.”

As Eddie settles into the plastic chair under the opposing wall’s window, you scooch down the mattress, patting the side closest to Steve with an encouraging smile at Robin.

She takes the seat, appreciative, her clammy hand slipping into yours for support as she addresses Steve: “Y’know, if you did this to get out of doing inventory this weekend, you could just say so.”

“You caught me, Robs,” Steve says, thumbing over her knuckles fondly. “Finally gonna join my conspiracy to make Keith’s life hell?”

You’re about to cut in, emphasizing that no one else should be making any hospital visits, when a metallic screech has the three of you on the bed whipping around.

Eddie’s managed to crack the barred window- judging by the sound, it hasn’t been opened since the 70s. He freezes with all the attention, then speaks around the cigarette clenched between his lips, suave again- “Pardon the interruption. Anyone else care for a smoke?”

Everyone in the room blinks at him, in various stages of disbelief; Steve starts laughing, first, which gets Robin going, and eventually you, too, until Eddie’s grinning around the cigarette, lighter halfway to his mouth as he chuckles- “Well, can’t say I didn’t offer…”

Robin makes a comment about nicotine fumes, which quickly devolves into her and Eddie fiercely bickering.

The elevated chatter of your friends fades into the background as Steve takes your hand atop the sheets, head tilted to get you in his line of sight again- love you, he mouths.

Love you, too.

[alexa-fika]

Guide in the Darkness (Smoker x f!blind!child!reader x Fujitora)

A/N This is for the Anon that asked for toph!reader and I completely butcher the request so bad that I deleted it within the hour. Also sorry for the lack of uploads, got off a plane and have been unpacking since, and I start work tommorow but I will try to still upload daily!

Dividers by @/saradika

The muscular man sighs as he hears another crash coming from his daughter's quarters, opening the door, he glances at a vase smashed on the floor.

“Thought I told you to stop breaking things on purpose,” he grumbles, blowing out the smoke from his cigars in a thick cloud

“This is so stupid! I can’t do anything, Dad! The moment im on a boat, I’m so useless! “She screams, slowly sinking down to the ground and sobbing

A heavy sigh of irritation escapes Smoker's lips as he drops to his knees before his daughter, kneeling to the same level as her. A heavy hand touches her shoulder in a reassuring manner. A warm and kind gesture, but his face remains straight.

“And destroying your furniture will fix that; how?”

“Shut up! Shut up, just shut up!”

Smoker lets out another sigh as his cigar puffs out more smoke, and a heavy eyebrow raises at her harsh tone. His face is stern, but a certain tenderness behind his eyes is revealed when he speaks to his daughter

She pushes his shoulder away, but Smoker just grabs her with his other arm again.

"Is that so?" Smoker responds simply. Silence fell after he spoke those words, neither of them saying anything nor moving from their positions.

“I’m sorry…” she mutters

Another gentle sigh escapes his lips as she does this. His rough exterior fades for a moment as he speaks to her. His eyes no longer piercing through her own, now much more warm and kind.

"It okay,” he grunts

“Come with me; I have someone I want you to meet.”

She dries her tears slowly, standing up

“Who is it?”

"Just follow me." He rises back to his feet, the same look in his eyes once more as he holds out his hand for her to take.

He guides her off the boat, where they walk for a while until they reach an office within some Marine headquarters, closing the door behind them once she is inside.

"My, my, what a young beauty she is, Smoker..." Fujitora said kneeling in front of Reader.

“You must be around ten right now aren’t you”, smiling as a small affirmation leaves the girl.

“Last time, you were but a baby." The blind admiral grins, tapping the end of his cane against the ground.

"I am Issho; many people call me Fujitora; however, you may do so too if you so desire.”

“Umm, hi,” she mutters, hiding behind her father’s legs

“She’s just a little timid” Smoker remarks as he turns to Issho, nodding slowly at him.

A small gesture, as always, placing a hand on her daughter's shoulder.

“Why are we here?” she mumbles

The tall man sighs once again and moves closer to his daughter.

He crouches down to her level again and takes hold of her shoulders with both hands.

"Reader, the man standing there, he is a Marine like me. And he is also blind.”

Reader stills at that and turns around towards Fujitora, using her devil fruit to locate him easily

“You’re also blind?”

Issho smiles widely, putting his cane down on the ground as his eyes shine.

"Yes, I am."

The admiral's smile fades as an eyebrow arches. A small hand finds its way into his and is immediately swallowed into his hand like a grain of sand.

"I don't believe I've ever met a child with a devil fruit, let alone a logia type." He chuckles softly

“Mind telling me what you are capable of?

“I...I use it to sense everything around me,to ‘see,’ but I can only do that when im on land; when I go on the ship with Dad, I become useless.”

Smoker's face softens once more as she explains herself to his coworker

"I am sorry to hear you feel useless when you cannot sense anything. However, I can assure you that you are not. It is simply a limitation that you have, but I believe you can overcome it. Do you want to know a secret?" Fujitora asks her

She nods timidly but remembers that the man before her had the same affliction as her

“Y-Yeah”

"You are more than just a devil fruit. No matter what you may lack, you still have feelings, a will of your own, and loved ones. Those things are the most important part of being human. Never forget that, young one. We should meet up later so I can discuss your training a little more in-depth. I promise you that we will find a way to make you feel more confident in yourself. Just don't give up, and never lose sight of the truly important things. I know it’s scary to be truly blind in an already dark world, but I promise you, you will get through this; I will help you.”

She stares at the man before her for a minute, tears starting to fall from her eyes as she sniffles, nodding her head

“Thank you,” she cries hugging him

Smoker smiles as her daughter embraces Fujitora , finally finding a mentor she can relate to

“Thank you,” he grumbles to Fujitora

Fujitora nods his head, his expression remaining stoic despite the kindness and affection being shown towards him

"No need to thank me. If I can do anything at all to help her overcome these struggles, it is my duty as her mentor, after all. I must prepare her to be the very best marine that she can be, even if that means I have to make some special arrangements for her."

“Mentor?”

“Fujitora is gonna teach you how to use and master Kenbunshoku Haki,” Smoker said, blowing smoke from his cigars once again

“…I have not mastered the use of it; it will help you ‘see’ even without your devil fruit, so you will be able to find your way even when you are not on land,” he finishes, taking another puff

She grins, turning around towards her dad and jumping into his arms

“Thank you, Dad! For always helping me and not giving up.”

Smoker remains silent for a moment, as if surprised by his daughter's sudden affection toward him. He then wraps his arms around her and pulls her in tight. It’s the fondness for her was clear, although his usual reserved and aloof demeanor din’t really allow for much overt affection

"You're welcome. Should we head out? I think you’ll have a busy day tomorrow.”

She nods, turning her head back to Fujitora

“Bye-bye Fujitora! I’ll see you tomorrow!”

Funitora nods, smiling at her genuinely way before saying goodbye

"Farewell, little one, you were a pleasure to meet. Rest assured that you are in the best of hands."

This is much better, sorry y’all it was killing me inside that I made such a bad piece to the point of having to delete it and deleting a request by doing so.

Taglist:

@imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

[intynidad]

The cult leader yan fic is so @#*")-/_+&-?! I can't explain it but *eats fic from how good it is*

Also, I would like to know what does the deity think about the influx of followers, but not for him but for them?

-teacher anon (am I really an anon if I don't ask anonymously LMAO anyways)

I hope my fix tasted well lol

I’m glad you like it so much! Welcome teacher anon!! Also have anyone play cult of the lamb? Because this is inspire by it lol

Yandere cult x cult leaver reader x yandere deity pt2

You sink to your knees, your hands clasped in prayer, as your consciousness begins to drift away, transcending to the ethereal realm of your master.

In the depths of this mystical connection, a resounding voice booms around you, its source elusive yet all-encompassing. It speaks with a commanding presence, echoing from every corner of your being, as if the very fabric of existence is alive with its words.

"Little lamb..." the voice reverberates, its power resonating through your core, drawing you deeper into its enigmatic embrace.

“Master, may I speak freely?” You said still looking into the ground

“You may, my little priest…” Only when your master gives you permission do you dare to rise from your feet, no longer in you cabin but in a dark void where you feel the very fabric of darkness crawls and grabbing your body, not in a malicious way but in a way of making sure you don’t fall.

“You did what I asked you…?”your master say with difficulty

“Yes master, your flock is growing and many people have done the oath in your name”

“Yet they do not follow me” your master booming voice rise in volume

You get to your Knees again and put your hands together.

“They are-are just mindless lambs that do not understand the magnificent of your presence my lord, give them some time and they shall learn” you say not fearing for your life, yet for the ones of YOUR followers

You felt an invisible hand take your cheek delicately

“Make them understand, little lamb and i shall reward you with pleasures and salvation that your human mind cannot comprehend yet”

And with a movement of the same hand you were gone,back into your cavin with a small tear falling down your face.

Meanwhile, in the ethereal realms of your master, a powerful figure gazes upon the chains that bind their form. The once unyielding iron seems to have weakened, but its grip remains firm and unyielding. Despite the exertion and relentless struggle, every attempt to break free is met with the unrelenting resistance of the chains that hold them in place.

However, your master is a patient and tenacious being, having endured the weight of captivity for what feels like an eternity. The longing for freedom courses through their veins, fueling their determination and resolve. They refuse to surrender, even in the face of imminent liberation. The shackles may hold them for now, but the spirit of liberation burns brightly within, ready to seize the moment when the chains finally yield.

When he amasses a multitude of devoted followers and receives the offerings and sacrifices needed, the barriers separating the mortal realm and his ethereal existence will weaken. With each loyal disciple and every sacrificial act, his power grows, edging closer to the coveted goal of manifesting in a tangible form. The anticipation of that transformative moment fills him with an intoxicating mix of anticipation for when he finally gains a physical presence in the mortal realm, he will unleash his divine influence upon the world…

And claim you as his rightful spouse, he dreams of the day he might finally claim you and hear you scream but not from pain but from the pleasure he is planning to give you.

Once he get a physical form he will not let you go,his little lamb

[northsoulss]

2.30am - alessia russo

(a/n : recycled this from one of my older fics lol)

tossing and turning, alessia rolls around, trying so hard to get comfortable before realising she is wide awake. she shakes her head, hoping its just a momentary thing before closing her eyes again, forcing herself to fall asleep.

we all know how that will go. it doesn’t work and alessia finds herself frustrated, wishing so badly she could sleep as soundly as you.

she peels her eyes open, finding it difficult to adjust to the darkness that surrounded her. she turned over to see your back facing her, small movements of your head, and the rising and falling of your chest was telling that you were in deep sleep.

alessia's lips quirked upwards, hand reaching out to caress your cheekbone, the only part of your face peeking out of the blanket. you sighed contently from her touch, sinking further into the blanket, shielding your face entirely from her.

she giggled silently, giving you a light peck on the top of your hair before moving to the edge of the bed, feet lying flat on the cold floor. “what time is it,” she whispered to herself, rubbing her eyes in an attempt to make herself fully awake.

looking over to the clock that was on the bedside table, it read ‘2.30am’ with a red glow. she was lucky she was off the next day, if not she would rather knock herself out with the closest object on your desk.

creeping her way to the kitchen, she flailed her hands, moving them haphazardly to try to find the light switch. when she turns it on, she wishes she never stepped one foot out of the bed. she could be cuddling up with you right now, but instead, she decides that baking would be a better option.

“shit, it's so bright.” she grimaces, rubbing her eyes once more, trying to get rid of the fuzzies in her line of sight.

she walks to the kitchen island and squats down to get a tray, still unsure of what to make to pass time. unfortunately, she got distracted, thinking about what she would do on her off day, causing her fingers to slip, making the tray crash loudly.

“fuck.” the harsh metallic ringing caused her to freeze like a deer in headlights. she quickly picks it up and sets it on the countertop, and freezes again when she hears the bedroom door creak open.

you creep out of your room groggy as fuck, armed with your physics textbook, fully expecting to see masked men with bags full of your items; but instead, you see alessia with her hand pressed firmly onto the kitchen countertop, a sheepish grin on her face.

“what the hell are you doing? it's late.” grumbling, you clumsily make your way to her, taking her hand and trying to drag her back into the room. instead, she stays rooted to the ground, a pleading look in her eyes.

“what?” you question, knowing fully that she wants to do something, but since she woke you up, a little bit of teasing ain’t gonna hurt anybody.

“let’s bake?” she waves the tray in the air enthusiastically, eyes sparkling. you caved despite how your warm bed was calling for you, wordlessly reaching up to take the flour from one of the cabinets.

“alright, what are we making?” she lights up even more, like the human version of the sun. she breaks out in a huge smile before pulling you to her and squeezing you in a bear hug.

“thank you, baby! also, we are making choco chip cookies.” she presses multiple pecks to your lips, muttering another quick thank you before taking all the necessary items to bake with.

“can you pass me the chocolate chips?” you stretch out your hand without looking at alessia, only to feel her chin on your palm instead, a cheeky grin plastered on her lips. you couldn’t help the amused smile that crept onto your face — she was just so cute, you wanted to squeeze her face.

you gave in to your cuteness aggression and squished her cheeks together, earning a grunt from her.

“okay, okay. have your choco chips.” she hands you the packet before going back to mixing the cookie batter, a love-sick expression creeping on her face the moment she had her back turned to you.

the night went on with the cookies nearly getting burnt, nearly burning your hand taking out the cookies from the oven, and spilling flour nearly all over the kitchen that alessia promised she would clean the day after.

you both collapse onto the couch with a glass of milk in hand and freshly baked cookies on a plate at the coffee table. “thank you.” you hear from her, turning to your right to look at alessia, her eyes curved and dimples showing.

“what for?” she pretends to think before capturing your lips in a sweet kiss, rubbing small circles on your knee. she pulls away too quickly, kissing your forehead and stuffing a cookie into your mouth which you gladly accept.

“for everything.”

©️northsoulss 2023, all rights reserved.

[nomie-11]

Chapter 1 - Chains of Starlight

masterlist! | next part ->

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The faucet drips into the rickety sink she stands in front of. The hollow plop, plop, plop of the water drops in the basin are a constant reminder that this basement is her reality. There is no escaping the humidity of this dungeon, not without a compromise she isn’t willing to make. There’s no salvation for the damned. 

Running her fingers through her matted hair, the crust of her own blood thickens the feeling of the dirt that covers every surface of her body, her fingernails are gone, partially from the torture and partially from attempting to scratch the door down. There are marks on the ceilings, etching of stars that used to feel like home, but now when she lays on the floor of the dungeon to look at her ‘stars’ all she sees is the hope she could have had. 

Lilith Sorrengail is not always right in her assumptions about people. Sometimes she gets it wrong, sometimes the people she thinks are conspiring, sneaking out weapons, and planning rebellions are the people who are only caught in the crossfire, too young to really understand what is going on. But she can’t go back on her word, her promise, that if the young girl said nothing she would never leave this basement. Lilith Sorrengial was not a woman to change her mind, but today in the basement of her very house at Basgaith, she is open to negotiation. 

She is strong footed as she approaches the basement, her heels clicking as she descends the stairs. Her key fitting perfectly in the lock that has kept her down her for one year and 42 days, the young girl flinching at the familiar footsteps that only lead to torture. No matter how strong she is, a 19, now 20 year old, can only withstand so much without feeling fear. 

The thick wooden door swung open with a long, dark creak, and the young girl didn’t even bother getting up to face her captor. 

“Rise, girl,” She commanded, her voice booming and loud through the echo chamber. “We have negotiations to make.”

The girl doesn’t move, doesn’t rise from her bed of stones. 

“Lilith Sorrengail,” she prompts, her voice smooth and calm, not betraying the racing of her heart. “Who do you live for, hm? Who do you want to protect so badly that you keep me alone down here?”

“I’m not going to spill my life secrets to you,” The older woman snaps. “You’re lucky I’ve kept you alive this whole time, now listen to me.” 

The younger girl bites her tongue, but she’s itching to scream. 

“I’m going to let you out of here, and you’re going to go to Basgiath War College and become a rider. You will not die, no matter what happens to you, and you will watch Xaden Riorson and report back to me, do you understand?” 

The young girl made no moves, no motions to say yes. 

“Do you understand me, Genevieve Hale?” She leaned down, her back arching over Genevieve laying on the ground, a sinister smile in her face. “You’re in my hands, either you say yes, or you die.” 

Genevieve doesn’t speak, doesn’t move. 

“Why won’t you just kill me,” She says, a small smile on her face. “I would rather die than serve you.”

Lilith Sorrengail laughed, a hearty, evil laugh erupting from her chest at the small act of defiance from the younger girl. 

“Little girl,” She coos, a sinister grin covering her face. “Would you die instead of seeing the sky again? The stars from the back of a dragon, wind rushing through your hair?” 

Genevieve’s eyes widened, a cord being struck in her chest. 

“You have a deal,” She says, her head held high as she brings herself to a stand. “But, make no mistake, I will not hold back when it comes to your precious children. They are mine for revenge.” 

Lilith Sorrengail can only smile, holding back a laugh, and nod. Violet Sorrengail will be perfectly safe, guarded and protected by the very person she’s trusting Genevieve to watch. Every pawn is in its place, and the queen is cornered. Checkmate. 

——————————————————

The heavy iron door to the basement dungeon slammed shut behind Lilith Sorrengail, her heels clicking their way up the stairs as they did in the other direction not so long ago. A smirk was painted on her face, satisfaction filling every bone of her body. Her daughter would be kept safe by her enemy, who would be watched and analyzed by her prisoner. The deal was struck, and now Genevieve Hale was no longer just a prisoner, though; she was a weapon, she was a pawn. 

Alone and cold, Genevieve rose to a stand in the center of her room. Her tattered clothes hung loosely off of her body, a testament to the days of starvation and torture, and they were stained and bloody, but she relished in the fact that in a few days time, she would wear black. The days she had spent doing sit-ups, pull-ups, push-ups, and running in place would pay off, there is an escape to this hell, and it's just in sight. She had been prepared to die in this forsaken basement, but now, a world that she had once thought was dead to her was opening right back up, now with a mission she despised and a future she couldn’t predict. 

As she straightened herself, she pushed open the heavy iron and wood door that once held her as prisoner, light from the top of the winding staircase filling the hallway that she was yet to climb. It didn’t smell like fresh air yet, but the light felt like life was rejuvenating her bones once more, kissing her once tan and weathered skin for what felt like the first time in decades. The walls still surrounded her, but now there was a promise; the sky, the stars, the dragons. Freedom underneath the sky. No matter how much she hated Lilith Sorrengail, she couldn’t deny the excitement that flickered and breathed like a flame  within her at the thought of an endless sea of stars. 

Each step felt like a link of the cold iron chain that held her back was breaking off. The guards posted in the stairwell made no moves as she passed, already told not to interfere, but she smiled at them, her newfound freedom filling her with joy. Each step bringing her closer to the sky, her face lit with the idea of chasing the true freedom behind the confines of the war college she would soon call home. 

As she emerged into the sunlight, Genevieve squinted against the brightness, but her steps didn’t falter. She stood taller, posture straighter than before, as if she hadn’t spent the last year bent over at the feet of an oppressor. The feeling of the sun, now fully blazing and surrounding her, was both foreign and familiar, a sensation that was once forgotten being burned into her memory once more. 

Taking a deep breath, she savored the fresh air, the scent of the grass and the earth. The world was wide open before her, and for the first time in one year and 42 days, she felt a glimmer of hope. A small spark of dangerous hope, laced with anger and a burning desire for vengeance. Genevieve Hale was free, but she was not the same girl that was thrown into that basement. She was harder, colder, and every step forward was a step closer to making Lilith Sorrengail pay for what she had done. 

Basgiath War College would be the battlefield for now, and she would make sure that every player in this twisted game understood one thing: Genevieve Hale was not to be underestimated. Not anymore. 

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

Hey guys! attempting to actually write a fanfiction for once after reading so many (cough cough Fear and Flame), so lmk what you think!

[erzsebetrosztoczy]

For your wounded heart

Pt.2

Pairing: Mizu x reader

Word count: ~1,6k

Notes: Heyhey im dropping part two, sorry for the delay, currently I need to prepare for my upcoming exams so i don't have much time to get creative, also this part may feel forced?? weird?? short??? if so its because i have no will to exists rn eheheh but i'll get back to this as soon as im able to

Ps.: Mizu's pronounce changes with the povs, reader is gn so far (if you want to change that let me know, i'll go with this for now)

Part 1

Something squeezed her chest tightly. The pain tore through her heart like lightning - dipping it into frozen snow, bitter poison, molten iron until she felt nothing but pain and rage. She was angry at everyone and everything for letting her hurt. And it hurt because everyone only brought sadness to her.

Blackness, red, and blinding white alternated, zigzagging before her eyes like a dragon. Black, red, white. Red, white, black. White, black and–

Mizu's eyelids popped up, and she rose from the ground, eagerly sucking in the air into her lungs.

The fire was there before her. It found her again — it could finally hold her in its grip again. Wherever she went, she was at the corner of the raging fire, the tongues of flames reaching high and rushing after her to swallow her up, to erase her from the world.

In the wake of a child that brings death, only fire that brings death can follow.

"Hey, hey…!" A strange voice spoke from behind Mizu, barely louder than the crackle of fire.

Mizu turned and extended her arms. Everything was blurry, she only saw colors and shapes. Something warm and soft touched her palm. She squeezed it and pushed it to the ground.

A thump, a painful squeak, and Mizu was on her knees. Underneath, there's something soft, or better said, someone soft.

The air quickly escaped from your lungs after the stranger pulled you to the ground so quickly and then weighed down on top of you. Suddenly you couldn't even comprehend it – one moment he is still sleeping on the ground, wounded and harmless and in the next he jumps up with the speed of a shot arrow, and tackles you to the ground.

For a few moments you could only gape like a fish; searching for air and words.

When your mind finally worked enough to not only care about your situation, you were finally able to look into the eyes of your savior, who was just trying to crush you.

The yellow-lensed glasses slipped slightly on the bridge of his nose as he looked down. At first, seeing it on the road, you thought you must have bad eyesight from so far away. Then his iris appeared in a strange greenish-brown light resembling mud. But your very first judgment proved wrong.

A sea of blue eyes stared down at you.

Now it wasn't just the lack of air that made you unable to speak - shock silenced you.

Mizu stared at the figure in front of her. They didn't seem like someone who could cause her serious trouble if a fight took place. Judging by the stranger's expression, they were more scared to death than determined to get rid of her.

She looked around — her chest rising and falling rapidly.

Rough wooden walls, rammed earth floor, open stove, small room. Twilight. A roaring fire, pleasant warmth. Smell of strong spices and greens and flowers. Bouquets hung on the wall.

…. The bandits. That someone, who was being chased, flashed into her memories.

“Were you on the road…?” She asked in an uncertain voice, weakly.

"Please don't hurt me! I only want to help you!" The one she saved begged under her.

As if the threads of her thoughts had been cut off, all of a sudden Mizu felt a slow, sluggish nothingness in her mind. 

There were no thoughts, no reactions anymore.

Where was she? Who was that in front of her? What happened?

Why did the searing pain from her heart begin to sink down to her torso?

Before she could voice her confusion, a sharp jab hit her side, numbing her entire body. Teeth gritting and snarling - she loosened her grip as she was leaning to the side, ready to fall like a full sack although still had enough alertness to catch the force of the fall with her arm. 

And her vision darkened again.

Ignoring what you're knocking over or going into-you crawled away from him as soon as he fell back to the ground. With a gasping breath, you tried to grab anything in your reach that could serve as defense if the stranger decided that he had no intention of "rescuing you" anymore.

"Damn it...what was that?" You panted as you threw your back against the wall, watching the still body- sickle in hand.

You just wanted to thank him for what he did for you, whether it was an act from the heart or forced. This stranger saved your life, that's why you brought him - dragged him all the way to the hut. And he has the courage to attack you in his fever dream after that?

It was a thankless situation.

After a few minutes of consideration, you realized that this mysterious wanderer is probably hallucinating in a feverish dream. Sometimes muttering incomprehensibly, groans as his face gets distorted.

"He’s just imagining…" You tried to convince yourself. "Surely having visions..."

The lanky stranger then moved; his body shook, a low, bitter sob broke from his lips as he pulled his knees and chest together in front of him.

"Visions of great pain and troubled times." You acknowledged with a sigh, finally getting up from the wall, walking over to him and slowly lifting the blanket back over him.

Kneeling next to his head, you stilled. 

You bit in your lower lip as your gaze fell upon his face. 

In his sleep if he’ll think that you are part of the dark images that are now tormenting him and try to attack him…

Slowly, as if you wanted to touch a fine spider web, your fingers hovered on either side of his head – unsure whether to touch it or wait for his dreams to stop.

Then your fingertips reached the dark curls of his; to the grizzled, sweat-damp, black hair. It was just a gentle touch of a breath, but as soon as it happened, the blue-eyed stranger's features softened.

A wanderer with blue eyes. A stranger - not only to you, but to all your people. Only those of faraway lands had colored eyes…

A cold gaze, translucent and restless. 

Blue like water, like the sky.

And those blue eyes then saw you on the road and decided you were sympathetic. Blue eyes helped defeat the bandits. Thanks to these blue eyes, you are still alive and breathing.

You didn't even notice how your fingers slid along his forehead, combing the stray strands to the side.

"It was up to you whether my life would end or continue. Now it's my turn to return the favor." You whispered to him with a faint smile.

You had to tend to his wound as soon as possible - putting himself to sleep won't be enough to heal.

But with that, you had a problem – you couldn't know how he would react in his sleep if you started treating his wound. Judging from the previous ones, you didn't think it was worth prodding the sleeping bear…

No - not again, you didn't want him to tackle you down half-asleep, hallucinating.

You thought about leaving your hut again; finish getting the herbs for your order.

But you didn't want to run into any of the stragglers again. So what if this half-blood wakes up just when you're away; without a word vanishing before seeing him again one last time, or worse - your home could be destroyed even.

You decided that, in the absence of a better decision, you too would go to rest, even just for an hour or two - winding down the previous excitement and letting your wounds heal.

When her eyes opened again, she felt as if she were being tossed around by a gust of wind; the room spun around Mizu, the figures blurred, the lights stretched. She sat up with a painful groan, her eyes glazed down to her stomach, her sides burning like embers—a dull but convulsive and unrelenting pain raging inside.

So much for being guided by noble actions. Once guilt, compassion wins over her better knowledge and she's already slipping to the brink of death...

From which the herbalist brought her back, the one whom she saved.

Carefully scanning the room, Mizu confirmed to herself that the healer was sleeping lying on a sack, huddled together, small, almost lost in the surroundings. A holey cloth blanket covered their body, which barely covered their - bare legs and arms hung out, revealing the thin, red scratches they might have gotten during escaping.

Now both of them carried the mark of the events of that day on themselves - maybe forever. Another wound, another lesson for Mizu: if you help others, it only gets you into trouble.

This was also the curse of the herbalist. They bring medicine, rescue those in need, and what is their fate? People turn their backs on them, chase them away, leave them alone in a little hole they can call home. 

Predictably leaving them to both nature and man…discarded because nobody needs them.

Perhaps the two of them had more in common than she had first thought.

As Mizu tried to get up from her bed, another spasm shot through her body, crippling her muscles. Gritting her teeth - so as not to make a sound - she fell back to the ground realizing with a frustrated puff that she unfortunately had to stay there for a while.

"Still – as stagnant water." She grumbled to herself with a sigh.

The fire continued to blaze, the embers continued to glow - covering the two sleeping figures in warmth.

Maybe only for a short time - but until then; the destinies of the two were intertwined in the web of life.

[bookofbonbon]

lamb to the slaughter.

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Reader x Aemond Targaryen. Aegon III Targaryen x Reader.

Warnings: Character death. Suicide. Sedation. This is dark..

Summary: You have developed an unhealthy coping mechanism post-war at the detriment of your own safety and worry of your husband. Made only worse by the encouragement of your lovers.

Word Count: 1604.

You’re woken suddenly, screams smothered before they can leave your throat by a calloused hand already pressed over your mouth. Your chest heaves up and down, panic rising as your hands claw at the hand and you try to focus your vision but, it’s too hard as all your senses work themselves into a frenzy in the near pitch black of your bed chambers.

“Shh… do not fret my little lamb, it is your love,” a deep, raspy voice whispers from the darkness.

Your panic ceases immediately upon recognising the voice. Breath slowing, you allow yourself to sink back into the softness of your bed, eyes fluttering closed in relief as he removes his hand.

“Aegon…” you breathe his name shakily and open your eyes. “You frightened me.”

Your gaze meets his in the dark, mischief, desire, and something else you can’t quite place lurking in the depths of his eyes. His visits becoming more frequent, more urgent.

“You have my apology, sweet lamb but, we must go now,” he leans back and straightens himself.

His cold and calloused hands intertwine with yours as he helps you out of bed and leads you out of your chambers. The cold stone walls and floor of the Keep cause you to shiver, your free hand rubbing at your arm for some warmth. The thought to stop and have you put something warmer on crosses Aegon’s mind but, he quickly dismisses it. He likes that he can see the peaks of your hardened nipples through the sheer material of your night shift. Besides, you wouldn’t need warm clothes where he planned to take you.

“Wait-” you pull on his hand, bringing him to a stop. “What of Aeg-”

“He is sound asleep with the rest of the Keep,” Aegon is quick to answer you.

Pulling on your hand to continue, you hold your ground.

“What of Aemond?” you ask of your other lover, worried about his whereabouts.

A muscle in Aegon’s jaw twitches, there was no time for this but, you peer up at him innocently and, he softens. Dropping your hand from his, Aegon stands in front of you and cups your face between his hands.

“Aemond will meet us in the tower.”

“The tower?”  you ask, confused.

“Of my old room.”

A flash of recognition in your eyes.

“But we cannot stop again. Do you understand lamb?” he traces your bottom lip with his thumb.

You nod your head keenly and, he takes your hand in his again. The two of you fly through the Keep, feet feather-light and barely touching the ground as you navigate your way through the twists and turns of the castle. You can’t help the giggles that make their way past your lips. You felt like a child all over again, running from trouble with Aegon as his Queen-mother or Ser Cole would hunt the pair of you down as a result of whatever mischief the two of you had gotten up to again. You missed this feeling and as if sensing your reminiscing, Aegon squeezes your hand, looking back at you with a handsome grin.

Finally coming to a halt at a door, the worn wood is all too familiar as you recognise it as the entrance to Aegon’s child-hood bed chambers. Pushing on the heavy wood, both of you wince as it groans at the hinges. Aegon opens it just enough for the two of you to slip in, closing it behind him as you take the lead up the winding stairs. You come to a standstill once you reach the landing, eyes taking in the familiar space.

Coming up from behind you, Aegon’s arm snakes its way around your waist as he places soft kisses to your neck.

“It still looks the same.”

“Because it still is the same from the last time we were here,” he hums, and a warm flush goes through your body. Your eyes flickering toward the rumpled sheets from the last time you had been up here with him and Aemond years ago.

Aegon chuckles darkly as you recall the memory. Turning you toward him, he places his lips to yours, wanting to relive the memory once again. His kisses are bruising. Hasty, and lust filled, all tongues and teeth as he walks you backwards until the frame of his bed presses into your skin.

“Brother,” a smooth, velveteen voice calls Aegon, halting him from carrying out his lecherous thoughts. 

Your gaze immediately follows where the voice comes from. Aemond standing tall and strong by the window frame of Aegon’s bed chamber, broad back facing you.

“Aemond,” you smile, happy to see his ever-brooding self.

He turns toward the two of you, sapphire eye twinkling under the moon’s light.

“You forget yourself, brother,” Aemond address Aegon. “The reason we are here.”

Aegon rolls his eyes but, uncages you from between his arms.

“Come, sweet lamb,” Aemond holds his hand out to you. “I want you to see the view.”

You move toward him, hand sliding into his as he pulls you closer, Aegon trailing behind you.

Aemond releases your hand, cupping your face and bringing his lips down on yours. His kisses are deep and slow, savouring every touch as his tongue flickers out and slides smoothly into your mouth.

Unlike Aegon however, he does not allow himself to lose focus.

When he pulls away, you feel just as warm and fuzzy as you did with Aegon which is evident in the dazed look in your eye.

The two brothers share a look, you were exactly where they wanted you to be.

Aemond manoeuvres you in front of him as Aegon steps up onto the window ledge as he had done so many times before.

“Here, lamb.”

Aegon helps you and, you allow him to pull you up without question. Aemond joining you on the other side, each of them taking one of your hands in theirs.

“Do you remember what we spoke of lamb?” Aemond asks you.

You nod your head, recalling the past conversation.

“Is this the only way?” you ask nervously, voice shaking from the height.

“If we do not take this into our own hands, they will do it themselves and they will make it painful,” Aegon answers, adding just enough to frighten you but, not turn you away.

“Then we shall do what we must,” you exhale a heavy breath.

Your hand tightens around theirs out of fear. But you try to push it aside. You have them both with you. They are doing this with you, you have nothing to fear.

Eyes focused on the view below, Aemond and Aegon share another look across you, a sly smirk on Aemond’s lips and sinister smile across Aegon’s.

“Close your eyes,” Aegon instructs, and you do.

Silence hangs in the air, fear rolling off of you in waves but, both men squeeze your hand in comfort.

“It will feel like nothing and be over in less than a second” Aemond lies to reassure you.

“Now, all you have to do is step off,” Aegon’s voice whispers in your ear.

You do as your told and step off of the ledge, allowing your body to free-fall forward but, it lasts less than a split-second, your body violently pulled back and into the room.

The fall is cushioned by someone else’s body, and you roll to your side, coming face to face with your husband, Aegon the Younger.

Your face twists at the sight of him but, he’s the least of your concerns as your eyes flicker to the window. Panic flooding your veins as Aemond and Aegon are both gone.

You push yourself off of the floor and rush to the window, searching below for their bodies but, your pulled back just as quickly again by Aegon.

“You must cease this at once,” Aegon shouts as you fight against him.  

“You were supposed to be sleeping!”

“Why do you do this?” he grabs at your face, searching your eyes for an answer but, there is nothing there. Just a shell of your former self, lifeless and soulless. “Why do you try to leave me?”

“You know why.”

“Have you no love for me?”

“I do-” you choke, tears swimming in your eyes. “But I love them more.”

Aegon lets go of you defeated, tears welling in his own eyes. No matter how many times he told you, you refused to listen. This was not how it was supposed to be. Without another word, Aegon leaves you alone in the room as he disappears down the stairs.

Your solitude does not last long however, as his presence is replaced with his King’s Guard and the Grand Maester.

You try to escape but, the two of them corner you, his King’s Guard ceasing you and, forcibly holding your mouth open. The Grand Maester forces a liquid into your mouth and your forced to swallow. You try to fight back but, your limbs become heavy, vision blurring until you slump in the knight’s hold.

Aegon and Aemond watch on, jaws flexing, and fists clenched as your carried away from them yet again.

“My patience has run thin, brother,” Aegon speaks through gritted teeth. “I want her back. I want her on this side, now.”

Aemond holds his tongue, listening carefully to the conversation that takes place at the bottom of the stairwell.

“…the people would sooner put her to the sword than have a mad Queen who chases ghosts of 10 years past ruling over them.”

“All in due time, brother,” Aemond clasps Aegon’s shoulder. “All in due time will we successfully lead our little lamb to the slaughter.”

-

All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.

Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.

bookofbonbon 2022. All rights reserved.

[thebennettdiaries]

the oak king (iv)

(directly follows this drabble)

They don't get far.

Bonnie's decision to leave the coziness of her rented room had been born of adrenaline (and fear). She has had time to think as they walk down the quiet streets of the city. Klaus is a step behind her and she can practically feel him breathing down her back.

Yet, she doesn't worry that he will attack.

A strange part of her wonders if Klaus feels indebted to her now. After all, she is the reason he is alive (no matter whether she actually wanted that or not). Her magic pulled him from the darkness --- he better not try to sink his fangs in her neck.

Finally, Bonnie comes to an abrupt stop. The air is chilly, seeping into her bones and reminding her that she has been robbed of the hot bath she craved all day. Klaus practically barrels into her. "I need to think."

"Isn't that what you've been doing this entire time?" Klaus drawls, stepping back to avoid further contact. "Or are you normally this mute?"

She gives him a withering glare. Then she looks across the street. A tiny coffee shop still open despite it being Christmas Eve. She makes a beeline for it and within a few minutes, they are seated with a mug of caffeine in front of her. Klaus has declined anything, which Bonnie can't figure out if that is a good thing or not. After all, he might decide he is in the mood for the vein in the barista's arm. She doesn't know how long he has been alive --- and just how much blood he has consumed since he came back.

She digs into her bag, pulling a tattered book from its depths. She hesitates for a moment, her eyes moving to Klaus. Then with a sigh, she sets it on the table. She begins to flip through the pages, skimming the information she finds there. Opposite her, Klaus does the same, although he has a harder time deciphering the words --- for one thing they are upside down. And another...

"Your penmanship is atrocious," Klaus comments, wrinkling his nose.

"I forgot how much you just comment on things that are no concern of yours," Bonnie mutters, looking up from her work. Already a list is forming in her head. "This is going to help me...us."

Klaus raises an eyebrow.

Bonnie's lips press together and she figures that she has to tell him. After all, he is going to be helping her in the long run. "I am a freelancer," she begins. When she sees his curiosity continue to rise, she continues. "I help people who need magic. Spells. I travel to them, do what I can for them and they pay me."

Klaus waits a beat and then clucks his tongue. "Not the direction I saw you going in, love. I would have thought such a thing would have been against those tightly wound morals of yours."

It is a direct blow because it is true. The Bonnie he knew would never. She takes a breath, and then sits up a little taller, trying to maintain the high ground. "A lot has changed since you died," she tells him quietly. "I have changed. I am not going to defend my actions to you of all people."

"I never asked you to," Klaus retorts. "You have a gift --- one of the strongest ones I have ever laid eyes on. It is only fair that you share it."

(with the likes of people like him; he doesn't say it but she knows he is thinking it)

Bonnie looks down to her notes, going over the spells she has performed as of late. There is nothing in them that would pull someone like Klaus back from the Other Side. Frustration begins to trickle in. "The kind of magic I have used as of late wouldn't result in..." She throws a gesture at him and he sits back in his chair. "I've healed mostly. Found things that were lost. Bringing someone back from the dead, especially someone like you..." Is it just her or does Klaus look proud of that distinction? "...is a very specialized magic. I haven't..."

"Here is where I can help," Klaus interrupts. She can't even be mad at him for doing so because she hates that she is confused. "What if one of those lovely spells you preformed was done so as a cover for my resurrection? What if you were..."

"Manipulated?" Bonnie finishes, the word heavy in her mouth. She feels a sickness building in her stomach.

"Well, if you wish to label it that, yes," Klaus tells her.

Bonnie's eyes trace over her scribbled handwriting with a newfound suspicion. "Then it could be anyone of these that did it," she concludes, not happy with the thought.

"So why are we wasting our time here?" Klaus asks, clapping his hands together. He stands. "We have suspects to question."

Bonnie waits a beat and then nods her head. She feels shellshocked (for at least the third time this evening) as she shoves the book back into her bag. Someone hijacked her spell? She feels foolish. She should have protected herself from this.

And now it is too late and he is the consequence.

"We have to get out of the city," she tells him. It is Christmas Eve. The chances of them getting a reliable mode of transportation this late seems impossible. "Think you can compel us a car?" She hates the idea but it is trumped by the uneasiness that comes with knowing she may have been taken advantage of.

Klaus gives her a look. Then he grins.

"Sure --- but I'll need a bite to eat first."

[lightandheatao3]

The Bunker - Criminal Minds

Chapter 1: The Bunker

Summary: Spencer Reid wakes up in a locked bunker to find half the current BAU and two of its departed members unconscious on the floor. The old team is back together but the reunion is not what any of them would have wished for. An Unsub from their past has decided it's time they all stop keeping secrets, even if it means exposing them by force.

Hotch and Derek have been pulled back into a world they tried to escape. Emily, Rossi, and JJ are doing their best to keep it together. Spencer is falling apart.

AKA a found family is reunited and forced to go through the most nightmarish version of family therapy imaginable.

Set months after the end of Criminal Minds: Evolution. Evolution referenced, but not necessary to understand the story.

Read chapter 1 on AO3 or under the cut. All comments and reblogs are so appreciated <3

Chapter 2 link

Spencer cracked his eyes open, flinching from the white fluorescent light and blinking hard against the groggy, dull ache in his head.

His mouth was dry, body heavy. A familiar wake up. He reached his hand out blindly for the relief waiting on his bedside table.

No- wait.  

His lights are all yellow toned filament bulbs, not white fluorescents.

The smell was wrong. The dull electrical buzz in the air was louder, pitched higher.

His eyes shot open wide and he scrambled to his feet.

This wasn’t home.

He surveyed his surroundings, fighting the wave of dizziness that came with standing too abruptly.

“Oh no,” he said out loud. “Nonononono…”

The room was large and square and made entirely of concrete. Up the top a small vent, too high to reach and too small for a person to fit into. A heavy door with a double walled chamber for someone to put things into without having to interact with the person on the other side. The kind you would find in a maximum-security prison cell. The whole room felt like a prison cell, a place he’d hoped to never be again. At the back of the room a small en-suit that was completely stripped bare but for a metal toilet with no seat and a sink that was bolted into the wall. There was a door that could be shut, but there was a gap under it and a hole where a doorknob had clearly been removed.

A camera. There on the roof, drilled in and protected by a plexiglass dome, blinking its little red light at him. He stared at it for a moment, then closed his eyes.

He slowed his breathing. Now was not the time to fall apart. Not now. Not yet.

Not when there were 5 of his friends prone on the ground around him, unconscious as he had been only moments ago.

Each was laid out on a thin foam mattress, the kind with no seams or springs that could be fashioned into tools.

His first stop was the door. He knew before he tried it that it wasn’t going to open, but he had to make sure. As soon as that was confirmed, he turned his attention to the people in the room with him.

He rushed over to Emily first, rolling her onto her side and checking her pulse. It was slow, but steady. He looked around at the rest of them, noting the gentle rise and fall of their chests. All alive. He sighed audibly, clasping his hands together in thanks and relief for a split second before turning back to Emily.

He gently shook her, putting his hand on her cheek in what he hoped was a comforting way. His hands were shaking. He wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline or the comedown. “Emily," he said gently. “Emily, it’s me, Spencer. Wake up Emily.”

After a few more repetitions her eyes fluttered, then opened. She looked up at him hazily. “Spencer?”

“Hi,” he said sadly, knowing there were only a second left until she realized the danger they were in and wanting to let her experience that second in peace.

She glanced behind him where JJ lay unconscious. He looked at her pupils. They were constricted, confirming his suspicions.

“Oh my god,” Emily gasped, her hand reaching up to clutch his shoulder. She leveraged herself against him to drag her way up into a sitting position. She rubbed at her eyes blearily, then opened them again and cast them around the entire room. “Fuck,” she breathed.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

Her eyes snapped back to him. “Are you alright?” she asked urgently, looking him over. “What happened?”

“I’m fine,” he assured her. “And I don’t know. I woke up a minute ago. I don’t remember how I got here. I think we were all drugged.”

She hummed in agreement. “Last thing I remember I was outside my apartment on the way home from the gym. I still feel a little out of it. God, Spencer, you look awful,” she said, putting a hand over his. “What did they do to you?”

“Same thing as you, most likely.” He looked away. “Emily, that’s Hotch over there,” he deflected. “And Derek.”

Emily looked to where he was pointing. Her expression was solemn, professionalism kicking in even in these dire circumstances. “Yeah. And no sign of Tara, Matt, or Luke. And no Penelope, thank God. Whoever did this, they’ve got a grudge against us that predates the others joining the BAU. Someone who met all of us but never had direct interaction with Penelope. This is good. If the others are free, they’ll find us.”

Spencer nodded in agreement. “This is someone with the skill to find Hotch in witness protection. If he wasn’t dead, I would have said it was Scratch. The logistics of kidnapping 6 highly trained federal agents takes an enormous amount of planning and ability. There are only handful of people we’ve encountered with the capacity to pull something like this off.”

She rubbed at her temples. Her eyes were losing the glassy sheen as the adrenaline counteracted the effects of the drugs. “I assume you tried the door?” He nodded. “I guess we should wake the others.”

No sooner than she said it, JJ stirred. They both crawled over to her. Her wake up process went much the same as Emily’s, but for the fact that the first thing she asked about was if her children were safe, before she’d come to enough to realize they had no way of knowing.

“Whoever this is likely targeted you while you were alone,” Spencer assured her. “It’s much safer to take a victim without witnesses, especially a victim who is trained to defend themselves and needs to be physically incapacitated.”

Next, they woke Rossi, who responded immediately by swearing up a storm and threatening to rip the head off whoever was responsible for this.

“Hey, Dave, it’s okay,” said JJ in a calming voice, even as she looked about to cry. “There’s nobody in here but us.”

He breathed. He nodded. He cursed again. He nodded again.

“At least I’m not alone this time,” he said with a world weariness that Spencer felt in his gut.

They had all been in situations like this before, but Rossi was barely recovered from the last time only a few months ago. Spencer still regret so deeply that he wasn’t there to help with Elias Voit.

“No, you’re not alone,” agreed Emily emphatically. “On that note, look who else is here,” she said.

“God fucking dammit,” cursed Rossi as his eyes swept over Derek and landed on Hotch.

Seeing Derek there was upsetting, but it wasn’t as jarring as Hotch’s presence. Derek still came along to the occasional social event, though less and less recently, as he was busy with the birth of his second child. Spencer personally still saw him once a month or so, though the past year their contact had been more limited to phone calls. They were all dreading having to watch him learn he’d been pulled into this nightmare, but if nothing else they could offer him the comfort of familiarity and camaraderie.

But Hotch… none of them had heard so much as a whisper from him in years. When he disappeared, he did so completely. It’s the kind of thing that would have wounded Spencer deeply under any other circumstances, but after everything Daniel Lewis aka Mr Scratch had put him through, he only ever hoped that Hotch had found every semblance of peace that life could give him. He’d missed him badly at times, but he would have rather they never meet again than have to meet like this.

They decided to wake Derek first.           

Rossi nearly got a fist in the face before Derek pieced together what was happening. Then, he put a fist directly into a concrete wall instead.

“I’m going to regret that when the drugs wear off,” he said sheepishly once he’d calmed down just a bit. “Whatever they dosed us with, they did not skimp. The comedown is gonna suck,” he said, side eyeing Spencer, who pretended not to notice.

The question and answer was the same as with the others. Do you remember anything about who took you? No. Has anyone tried the door? Yes. Derek threw a shoe at the camera for good measure, but of course it just bounced off the plexiglass and landed pathetically on the floor.

The bang of it hitting the concrete was enough to make Hotch finally stir. They all turned to face him, staring helplessly.

His hair was longer than Spencer had ever seen it. Still short, but more relaxed, skimming the bottom of his ears and starting to curl a little at the base of his neck. He was still lean, but some of the muscle had been replaced by fat. He looked just a little softer. Healthier. His face was peaceful. Spencer always remembered him looking tense, even in his sleep. His hair was streaked with grey but somehow this was the youngest Spencer had ever seen him look.

He stirred a little more, blinking at last.

Ah, there was the familiar tension creeping its way back across his face.

Rossi was the one who finally knelt down beside him. “Aaron? I’m so sorry my friend,” he said sadly as recognition flashed in Hotch’s eyes.

“I’m dreaming,” came the familiar voice. Spencer had missed that voice more than he'd known.

Hotch closed his eyes tightly, then opened them again. He looked past Rossi at the rest of them. Spencer raised his hand in a polite greeting, then immediately felt like an idiot for doing so.

“I’m not dreaming,” he said, no trace of emotion in his voice.

“I’m afraid not,” Rossi confirmed.

Hotch fixed his eyes on Rossi again, pushing himself up so he was sitting against the wall. He looked like he was staring at a ghost, trying to figure where the projector was. “When did you get so old?” he said, reaching out a hand to Rossi’s face and poking at it.

Rossi grabbed the offending hand and clasped it between both of his. “Careful. You’re no spring chicken yourself,” he joked.

“No,” said Hotch, still expressionless. “Peter Lewis is dead. This isn’t my life anymore. He’s dead. They told me he died. I saw photos of the body.”

Spencer didn’t know that, but judging by Rossi’s lack of surprise, he pieced together that the older man had likely made sure the witness protection people had passed the photos along.

“Scratch is dead,” Rossi confirmed. “Whoever did this, it’s not him.”

“This. Isn’t. Real,” Hotch insisted, the first sign of emotion entering his voice in the form of hysteria as he pulled his hand away from Rossi and scrambled to his feet. “All of you stay away from me!” he yelled, looking at each of them in turn.

JJ grabbed onto Spencer’s arm. He flinched at first, then put an arm around her and gave what he hoped was a comforting squeeze. Derek took a step towards Hotch, but Emily held him back.

Hotch backed into the corner, looking at them like a caged animal. They were all caged animals now, Spencer supposed. An unfortunately familiar role.

“Hotch,” Spencer said, surprising himself by speaking. They all turned to look at him. He couldn’t back away now. “This is real. I’m so sorry this is happening to you, but Penelope and the rest of our team aren’t here, which means they are out there looking for us. I know it doesn’t feel real. We have all been drugged and you are probably still feeling the effects. I’m sorry. I wish it wasn’t real, but it is,” Spencer said kindly but emphatically.

“We’ll get out of this together,” said Emily. “It’s going to be okay.”

Hotch’s eyes were looking just a little clearer.

“Listen man, I know what you’re feeling. I got out, too, remember? I have a family and I don’t know if they’re alright. I’m right here with you. We’re all on your side. Do you believe me?” asked Derek, and this time Emily let him take a step forward.

 Hotch looked around at all of them again. He assessed them carefully. Then, he turned to the corner, putting his back to them and his hand over his face. It was the closest thing he could get to privacy and Spencer was suddenly grateful to have woken up first to process all of this without being watched.

Well, except for the camera.

They all looked at the floor and did their best to give Hotch space. It was almost a full minute before he finally tuned back around.

There was that stoic expression that Spencer remembered. All that youth and peace was gone from his face in an instant. Spencer hoped so badly that it wasn’t gone for good.

“What do we know?” asked Hotch, crossing his arms.

A moment of silence passed and Spencer wondered if the rest of them felt their hearts breaking into pieces at this cruel facsimile of a reunion.

“Why don’t we start with the last thing each of us remembers?” said Emily, stepping up beside Hotch and looking back at the rest of the room, two natural leaders doing what they do best.

Each of them recounted the details they knew before they woke up in this room.

They had been going about their lives, nothing special. The only common thread they could find was that each of them was alone when their memories stopped.

Derek had been at a picnic with his family and the last thing he remembered was leaving to use the park bathroom. Emily on her way back from the gym. JJ heading out to get groceries. Rossi walking home late from a bar.

“I was driving to work,” said Hotch shortly.

“We’re going to need more detail than that if we want to put together a timeline,” prompted Rossi. "Where do you work?"

Hotch pursed his lips. Spencer could see him strategizing in his head. He wasn’t back in their lives by choice. Spencer understood.

He didn’t get it back when Gideon left, but he got it now. Once you let people in the door, it can be impossible to fully extricate them. Hotch’s old life was filled with trauma he was trying to leave behind and the team were living representations of that past. Spencer couldn’t bring himself to be hurt by the other man’s reticence.

“A legal consultancy in a small town in Kentucky,” he said reluctantly, like divulging the smallest part of his personal life meant inviting the entire FBI right back into it.

“That’s an 8 hour drive,” said Derek. “No wonder you were so out of it compared to the rest of us. You must have been dosed multiple times to keep you under that long.”

“I think you’re right,” he said. “I’m still a bit foggy, if I’m being honest,” he admitted quietly. “What about you, Reid?”

Spencer blinked. “I feel fine.”

“No, I mean what’s the last thing you remember?”

Oh. Right. “I went to sleep in my apartment, then I woke up here,” he said honestly. It wasn’t important what he was doing before he went to sleep.

“Since we can be fairly confident whoever this is took Hotch first,” said Emily, “That probably means they got to you last, Spence. They hit all of us in one day. They must have known the BAU had a day off after closing the last case. They would have had to hit us quick to avoid raising alarms.”

“And the fact that we were all grabbed at different times indicates we’re likely dealing with a single Unsub. Someone highly organized and familiar with each of our routines.”

“The Unsub must have been planning this for a long time. Finding someone in witness protection, especially a former profiler, would take an incredible amount of skill or resources,” said Spence. “They stalked us, learned our routines, then used blitz attacks to stop us from being able to fight back.”

It didn’t take long for them to get into the flow. He felt his panic slipping away as his brain shifted into work mode. At some point they all went from standing to sitting in a circle on the floor.

It felt ridiculous to think about, but Spencer couldn't help but be mildly self conscious being the only one of them in his pajamas, as he was taken in his sleep. He was just glad it was a cold night so he'd been wearing nice, full length ones and not boxers and a shirt or something to that affect. Derek, Emily and JJ were all dressed in comfortable day wear. Rossi and Hotch in suits. Hotch was interesting, though. Spencer had rarely seen him outside of a crisp black suit characteristic of an FBI agent. The one he wore now was navy with a striped tie. It looked good on him.

They put together a more detailed timeline and looked back on the past few months of their lives to discuss anything that could have possibly been out of the ordinary.

The more they talked, the less cagey Hotch was about his life. It was strange to learn more about the day to day he had been living in the years since they’d seen him.

None of them talked about their kids or partners beyond a simple acknowledgement of their existence. They were all acutely aware of the camera on the roof. Whoever was doing this didn’t need to know any more about their families than they already did.

Their phones had been taken and none of them had anything to write with, so they were relying on Spencer to catalogue and compile the information in his brain. He did just that, and after a couple hours they had what was likely a fairly reliable timeline, including geographical information.

Whoever was doing this, they were extremely organized, meticulous, and quick. Not one of them saw it coming. None of them could point to any strange interactions they had over the past months, any red flags, any signs of being followed.

When it came time for Spencer to recount the details of the last months of his life, the others stared at him intently. “I haven’t seen you in person in months,” said Derek. “You don’t look so great, pretty boy.”

“I don’t know how to tell you this, but the bunker we’re currently locked in isn’t making the rest of you look at your healthiest, either.”

“You know what I mean,” said Derek with an affectionate eyeroll.

“You know I was doing some classified work for the bureau. That’s why I couldn’t be there for what happened with Voit,” he said with an apologetic look to Rossi, who waved his hand dismissively. They had already been over this when Spencer first got back. He noticed Hotch raise a curious eyebrow. “I can’t talk about the work since we’re currently being recorded,” he said, nodding up at the camera. “Emily knows the details. It was nothing bad, just research that kept me out off the grid for a while. But if the Unsub could find Hotch in witness protection, then it’s possible they could have been tailing me for that long.”

“That finished months ago,” pointed out Emily. “What have you been doing while you’re on sabbatical?”

“A few guest lecture series at Virginia Tech and spending time with my mom, mostly. I just needed a break. I’m sorry I haven’t been around much. I guess I’ve been a bit distracted. I haven’t seen or experienced anything unusual, though.”

“I hope your mom’s doing okay,” said JJ comfortingly, prompting the rest of them to nod sympathetically.

He just nodded back. She was doing fine, honestly, not that he’d been visiting as often as he should. Easier to let them assume she was the reason he had been absent.

“Why are you doing this?” said Hotch, standing up and looking directly at the camera once they realized none of them had any more details to share at this point. “What do you want from us? Tell us what it is and maybe we can give it to you.”

The camera blinked its red light at them, showing no care for their presence.

Hotch sighed. He looked down at them all helplessly. His eyes stopped short on Derek. He knelt down, staring at something on the side of his head. “What?” asked Derek, leaning away in concern at Hotch’s suddenly very close face.

“Hold still,” said Hotch. He waved Emily over, who shuffled round to his side. “Right… there,” he said, hovering a finger just behind Derek’s ear.

Her eyes widened. Hotch looked at her questioningly, then turned his own head and tucked his hair away so that she could see behind his ear.

“You have it too,” she said. She did the same as him and he checked her over. They looked at each other again and he nodded.

They all stared at them expectantly, though Spencer was pretty sure he knew what they were seeing.

“Puncture marks at the top of the neck, just behind the ear,” Emily explained. “That’s where we were injected.”

Spencer, Rossi and JJ all checked each other. Sure enough, same thing.

“That means we were likely attacked from behind,” said Derek.

“Do we know what we were drugged with?” said Hotch, shooting an almost imperceptible glance in Spencer’s direction.

His skin crawled at the way none of them wanted to look at him, to just come right out and say it. He didn’t particularly want to talk about it. Not really. But they always acted like the subject was poison and it made him feel like he had to walk on eggshells too. Like the reality of his life was harder for them to hear than it was for him to live.

“I am fairly confident it was some kind of opioid,” he said, careful to keep the irritation out of his voice.

JJ put her hand on his and he felt the irritation dissipate.

They cared about him. He knew that. It’s not as if they were wrong to worry. They had talked about it a little over the years, but not enough that it had stopped being awkward every time it came up.

“Are you certain?” asked Rossi. “Could have been a tranquilizer.”

“I’m certain,” said Spencer. “Trust me, I know the feeling.”

Derek reached a foot across the circle and bumped it against Spencer’s knee in a supportive gesture, like saying ‘I’m here with you.’ Emily smiled at him softly, reassuringly.

“It could have been cut with something,” pointed out Hotch.

“The totality of the blackout indicates it may have been cut with a sedative of some kind, as a high enough dose of opioids to include that kind of memory loss reliably could be unsafe and none of us are suffering significant enough side effects to indicate that’s the case. Whoever did this knew exactly what dosage to use,” he explained. “But… I am quite sure it was predominantly an opioid.”

Of course he was sure.

“Jesus,” said JJ. “I’m sorry, Spence.”

“I don’t believe in fate but the universe does seem to have a strange way of conspiring to get you high,” deadpanned Emily.

Derek shot her a harsh look, but Spencer cracked a smile. “I think ‘an Unsub made me do it’ is going to start sounding like ‘a dog ate my homework’ to my sponsor,” he joked back, relief washing over him that they weren’t going to dance around it the entire time they were in here. Not that he’d spoken to his sponsor in more than a year. They didn’t need to know that.

The others smiled too. “You’ll be alright, kid,” said Rossi. “If you kept it together after Mexico, you’ll get through this.”

That would have been a comforting statement if not for the fact that it was completely false. It didn’t matter anyway. Penelope and the rest of the team would find them and get them out before any of this became an issue.

Or they wouldn’t. But he couldn’t think about that yet.

A crease sat deep between Hotch’s eyebrows. “Mexico?”

“You don’t know?” said Emily. “I just assumed you were across everything to do with the Scratch case.”

“No,” said Hotch. “I accepted proof of his death and told the liaison I didn’t want to know anything else.”

“It’s complicated,” said Rossi. “There were other players involved, but the short version is Reid was drugged and framed for murder. It wasn’t pretty.”

“We don’t need to go into the details,” said Spencer, oddly embarrassed at the idea of Hotch knowing just how prone to being victimized he apparently still is. He knew it wasn’t rational, given the things that had happened to Hotch and the fact that all of them were in this locked room as victims together.

Hotch looked at him. Spencer couldn’t read his expression at all. Eventually he just nodded and let it drop.

Before any of them could say another word, there was a banging at the door. The hatch on the other side of the door chamber opened.

Derek got to the door first, trying to rip the hatch on their side open. He shouted at the door “What do you want?! Talk to me! Just tell us what you want!”

There was no response.

The only thing they could see was a hand covered in a thick leather glove sliding a piece of paper in. It was a smaller hand than expected.

He continued pulling but the panel didn’t budge until the other one had closed completely. Derek stumbled backwards as the panel suddenly released.

“It’s soundproof,” Spencer said, despairing. “There was no sound of footsteps on the other side.”

Emily grabbed the note from the chamber. They all whipped around to watch her as she read the words aloud.

“Hello, old friends,” she started, all of them frozen in place and hanging off her every word. “I know you are wondering why you are here. It is simple. You dragged my secrets into the light and then put me in a cage. At first I wanted to get revenge. Then I watched you for a long time and I learned all about you and I learned that we are the same. I saw how you are suffering. How you are scared. All hiding. I remember when I had to hide. For so long I hid even from myself. Now, because of you, I am free. Even when I was in a cage, I was free, because I had no secrets anymore.

I want to give you the freedom you gave to me. Soon, you will not have secrets. You will see that in this room you cannot hide and that when there is nothing left to hide, you will be free.”

Emily looked up from the letter, meeting all of their eyes in turn. There was a painful lump in Spencer’s throat.

If he was being honest with himself, he knew it as soon as he woke up in this room and saw them all there. He knew they weren’t going to make it out in time. He knew the Unsub must have watched him closely enough to know what was going on with him. He knew he wasn’t making it out of this without all of them seeing him for exactly who he is.

Now, he thought, might be the time to fall apart.

[loserlvrss]

𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒

✇ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄 : 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃

authors note // i lowkey forgot this was sitting in my drafts :/ mb gang i’ll post more (she says)

chapter theme warnings // language, mentions of death & killing, substance abuse

word count // 2.2k

Chapter Two: From Place to Place

𝐓𝐇𝐄 shocking flash of light shined through the open curtains, illuminating it only briefly, and causing a groan to escape my lips. It was followed by the loud crack of thunder. I hadn’t been sleeping anyways, not truly knowing how to process what had happened earlier in the day. Everything was set to go perfectly so how did they seep through the cracks? And, now we had lost the only leverage we had into the location of the eight — the core of the rebellion that was on the rise. 

Despite my fears, it was naive to underestimate — I thought that I could do a better job finding information than he could. People, after all, were the most predictable of creatures. The plan would be simple really, but I never got close enough to propose the idea. I know I could be of help because, who would suspect me? Nonetheless, if I ever got close enough to my father, he would either yell or push me from the room, slamming the door in my face before a thought could even cross my mind. 

I knew that his elites — a few old-men with drooping faces — were gathered in his study, holographically. I knew they were discussing their next move, like always. 

I stayed up at night wondering what mindset the criminal had to have to do the things rumored: Kill remorselessly, and sink ships all over the continental seas. The infamous eight pirates, that the commoners would call the symbol of their hope. Their idols. Their heroes. But, the people of the capital would say wannabes. They would say lazy and incapable — only stealing because they couldn't move up in the hierarchy and coin Sector One as their home, like they’d so luckily been born into.

Reality was, nobody joined Sector One without connections. And, most of the time those connections ranged all the way back to the people who had stayed inside the dome four-hundred years ago. 

Thunder echoed again, sounding closer than it had before and shaking the metal jewelry that hung on its holder. It sat upon my unused dresser (because nobody needed a physical place to store anything anymore), but it was for the symbolism. The wooden furniture had been passed down through generations of my family. And, truthfully, it's all I had left of my mother. 

I sat up, the crisp comforter pooling at my waistline, and ran a hand loosely through my hair. I pushed the sheets aside, getting from the bed and walking over to the window. The stories-high, brightly lit buildings towered through the seeable distance. Billboards of holographically streamed TV previews and the next ground-breaking products splayed across them in light pollution. The Autoflyers whizzed dramatically fast through the rain that reflected off the neons — the in-air highway bustling with the city that never sleeps. 

You couldn’t even imagine seeing the ground from where I stayed. 

Decades ago, the only option for the expansion of the district was to go up; And, that’s what they did, tickling the edge of space with man-made metals. 

Now, only the richest of the rich, the 5% if you will, got to live on the most scenic floors of the skyscrapers that swayed with the lightest gust of wind. 

I threw the latest trend in raincoat over my clean, white-silk dress; I had thousands of them, in every style that people long for, this one having a lace section that framed my chest. I grabbed whatever pair of shoes was closest to the door, and opened it, careful of any creaks.

I exited into the dimly lit hallway, walking down it gently. 

“We’ve got him,” I heard through the walls, my father’s voice, “he won’t get away this time.” The door to his study was only a slit, casting a sliver of light to the corridor that I stepped over quickly, pressing my back to the wall next to it. 

Another voice filled the silenced air, “Has he spoken of the rest?”

“Not yet but, he will soon. Trust, Jeong, we’ve got them right within our reach.” You could hear the sighs of relief, “It’ll be over soon.”

“We’ll have a ball.”

My eyebrows knit, how’d he know this? How could he be so confident? Was I blindly trusting a mad-man? They’d gotten through the Reapers before, who’s to say they can’t do it again? 

There was a sound of screeching wood, someone had moved a chair, probably getting to their feet. I thought of excuse upon excuse at this moment. Maybe, if I pressed my hand to the wood first, swinging it open, I could cause enough of a commotion that he’d overlook the fact that I was, once again, sneaking out. It’s not the first time I’ve been caught, but if it does happen today, it will be the last. My father had always been overprotective ever since my mother died, over a few years ago now. 

But then there was a voice that boomed through the penthouse, “And what if you don't? How much longer are we going to let these fucking pests invade the minds of our citizens? My daughter, for God’s sake, has been talking of this stupid rebellion! Fix this, Jang, otherwise we’ll elect someone who will once you're taken care of.”

The contrast in my father’s voice sent a shiver up my spine, “Is that a threat or a promise, Mr. Kim?”

Arguing broke out, excuses to save face from venomous tongues, that I used as a means to escape.

An eerie feeling crept through me, the lights off, the living room feeling all but lifelike — plastic covered furniture, and sleek countertops to match the windows that splayed from ceiling to floor. 

I knew for sure that it was a house, but not a home.

I made it to the shuttle, the door pinging green as I walked through. There were three other people on it, all staring like they’ve never seen someone of my stature before: a man wearing a white fluffy hat (that almost looked too big for his head), a white shirt and big, gray pants that clashed. Another was a woman and a smaller child, presumably hers, done-up prime and pristine, much resembling myself. Their eyes left me once I took an empty seat.

The shuttle moved from place to place, so quickly it seemed like time hadn’t been passing at all — the doors opening and closing one after another in the span of a couple minutes. It felt like time wasn’t a thing that controlled humanity anymore, but exactly the opposite. 

Another stop came up next, the woman and child getting up off their seats as I did too, the doors shooting open. We filed out orderly, and went separate ways down the asphalt sidewalk that was now stained with running rainwater.

The air smelled of arousal and alcohol, the neon signs blinding as I passed tightly knit buildings. Truth is, Sector One was only picture-perfect on the outside. The further you got to the ground, the dingier the place was. Scrap metals as makeshift storm doors, mismatched fabrics flapping against the rhythm of the winds. There was trash that blew around and ultimately got stuck against the impenetrable outside-surface. There were vendors trying to sell their top-secret products, with no ingredient labels, to the rich and naive. The people who would venture to the slums just to see what it was like to live lowly. People who had made it. But, only made it so far up the ladder to live in the shadows of the skyscrapers.

I ignored their pleas — their re-rehearsed speeches — and kept walking past the chatters, avoiding passing citizens.  

I came upon a nameless bar, hustling with fancy hats and sharp shoes. I cut to the front, bumping into the bouncer, the people waiting to enter getting irritated by my actions. I tried to step through the door frame, but not before an arm shot out and my chest rammed into it. 

"Where are you going, little lady?" The bouncer I had run into asked, gold and rotten teeth wafting a pungent smell into the air around me, "Looking for some fun?" 

“Not at all,” I leaned in, our cheeks barely brushing, “I’m looking for the mole.” He smirked, then hummed a moment, nodding slowly. His fingers came into view and he motioned for me to follow. 

Another bouncer took his place, resuming the irritated line. We went through the doors, the music booming against my eardrums, and the lights insync with the jumpable beat. There were girls, sex-workers disguised with shimmering blush-pink dresses. They were sashaying around the club on the hunt for their next tip; the men and women in awe of their artificial-beauty that the place pays for upon hire. 

I watched as the bouncer grabbed one of the bartenders’ attention, whispering something into his ear, and exchanging glances like they’d just made a deal. 

He came over, swinging a shot-glass back right before attempting a smooth journey through the people. 

“Trying to leave the good ol’ Sector One?” He leaned in far enough to hear him clearly. I nodded, and he began stumbling through neon lights and second-hand smoke. I had no choice but to follow him as he was the only person I knew would help me out; the only person my father didn’t have tied in his basement of bodies. 

He led us through the back, earning a couple curious glances from the other waiters, and out the door designated for smoke-breaks and quickies. We ended up between two buildings: an extravagant sex-shop that sold anything your heart — or body — desired, and a motel. 

“What’s a girl like you trying to leave Sector One for anyways?” 

I crossed my arms, “Just… Help me out.” 

Still, the question rang through my head and echoed off the walls of my brain. Why was I leaving the sanctuary I called home? The place people live their whole lives for, and yet, I had the crushing desire to know more; It weighed heavy on my lungs, palpated my heart. 

He held his palm face-up as a reply, and I hovered mine face-down over it. A green light flashed through our skin, signaling the payment was successful. 

He smiled in satisfaction, “So, so naive, don’t you think? What if I didn’t know? Waste Daddy’s money on a whisper, a bad guy like me? Don’t you think he’ll have his dogs here faster than you can apologize?” His mouth twisted into a smirk, “The princess of Sector One, leaving? Why? Do you have someone on the other side? Oh, how romantic! I won’t tell.” He mimed zipping his lips and throwing the key into the darkness behind his tall frame. 

“Just show me the way out, or I'll tell my father what kind of business you actually run, Yeonju. Then we’ll see who the dogs bite first.” 

“You’re bold for a girl who can’t fight.” He hmphed, “If I was you, I’d watch that pretty mouth of mine before it gets me in real trouble. Do something useful with it instead — I’ll hire you.”

I darted my eyes, nonverbally telling him to lead the way. He smiled contentedly despite his annoyance — though I was unamused — swinging around, and almost skipping away like a child who had just been given allowance money. 

I caught up to his side, avoiding the trash cans (and loose bags) that made the tight alley a maze of enough dirt and grime to stain a powder-white dress. 

Yeonju looked down at me as we began a steady-ish pace, explaining, “I’ll take you to the edge, that’s all. You know, a guy like me,” He then placed a harsh smack against his chest for emphasis, “Doesn’t leave to be amongst the filth. I live in Sector One, for fuck sake! Why would I ever leave?” His gaze dropped again, stopping us both by standing in front of me and leaning to be eye-level, his rough hands on my shoulders. “And you — the princess of it — fucking, Jang Ahin! Why would you ever have the desire to leave? You have anything you could ever want literally at your fingertips! Are you crazy?” 

I scoffed out a laugh, brushing past him though I had no idea where I was headed to. The sheltering my whole life, blinding me from every twist and turn the network had. 

He stayed back a moment, obviously watching to see if his next tangent would get a rise from me — which was said more like it was meant for himself in the first place. 

“Ah, I get it now. It’s not who… It’s rebellion. You’ve finally had enough of your good-for-nothing daddy. What’d he do, cut you off from viewing the executions?” I paused, fronting like what he said didn’t bother me, and he went on another path in retaliation, “Or! Now, this one is the best theory in my humble opinion… You do have a lover, and I bet it’s the pirate! Ooh, I even bet it’s the one that was captured. What is poor-old Ahin going to do? Betray her president — her city — and let him go?” He cooed, romanticizing the air. “Which is it, Ahin? What’s the rumor going to be this time?” 

I swung around, “What the fuck do you want, Yeonju? More fucking money? I can do that if it makes you shut up and walk faster.” 

He laughed, jogging up to me, and spewing out a reply as he passed by, “Honestly? I just wanted to see the prized-princess swear.” 

My middle finger shot into view and I huffed out, “Happy now?”

He tipped his invisible hat, doing a full three-sixty, “Fucking ecstatic!” 

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[witchersmistress]

Rainstorms and hate sex

if you think this i going to b sweet and cute, you are asking the wrong girl. im in a wicked mood today.. so here so something dark.. darker than my normal standards

*trigger warnings* Blood, violence, physical fighting between the characters, some gore. did i already mention blood, cause there is a lot of it. hints at something darker, but nothing specific.

I do not own August Walker or anything to do with th MI6 movies!

Permisson not given to copy my work or use pieces of it as your own, i will haunt you till the end of your days if you do something like that.

last chance.. im warning you now.. its going to be dark in here...

Ok fine, but dont say i didnt warn you!! enjoy

I’m almost to my car when I hear someone say my name. I don’t turn. I’m too fucking tired of this drama to deal with more tonight. Hitting the button to unlock the Escalade, I hurry toward it, ducking my head against the rain. “Baby girl.” I don’t stop until his strong hand wraps around my upper arm, pulling me to a halt. I squeeze my eyes closed for a second, then turn back. August stands over me, silhouetted by the security light in front of the house and the rain slanting down in the glow. Then he steps closer. There’s something different about him, an intensity shimmering off him, that has my pulse pounding. I squeeze my hand into a fist, comforted by the weight of the weapon on my knuckles. “Why are you running from me?” I don’t answer. There is no answer. I know I’ll never get away, but I can’t stop trying.

He moves so fast, grabbing my shoulders and pulling me in. Before I know what’s happening, his mouth crashes down on mine. I cry out against him. He thrusts his tongue into my mouth, a rough claiming with no warning. His big hands move up to cradle my head, and his lips crush mine so hard our teeth collide. I respond instinctively, eagerly, as if I’ve been waiting for this all my life. I open for him, submitting to him with a trembling relief that fills me with each possessive stroke of his tongue. Everything in my body ignites, my toes curling, my body swaying toward his, and heat licking between my thighs.

I grip his arms, never wanting to let go. I want him to throw me down and fuck every bit of damage out of me. I want to open my legs and get the relief that only opening my skin has given me. My eyes flutter closed, and for a minute, I’m washed away by the hunger in his kiss, his need, his desire. The cold rain sliding down our faces cools the feverish heat that rises to my skin at his touch. And then my brain catches up to my body, and I remember the cost of letting  sweep me away. I fight his grip, twisting and writhing until I wrench myself free. I shove backwards and swing before the lust has even cleared from his eyes. “How dare you?” I snarl at him. My rings crunch into his nose, and I feel something give. His eyelids flutter as he blinks rapidly, stumbling back a step.

“How dare you think you have the right to touch me?” I swing again, connecting with his mouth this time. The skin of his beautiful lips splits under my knuckles. I relish the sensation. I want him to hurt. “How dare you think you can kiss me?” This time, he ducks, grabbing my wrist. I go in with my left fist, sinking it into his ribs. He flinches, but he doesn’t release my right hand. He pried it open, wrenching the weapon from my hand and hurling it to the ground. It skitters across the wet pavement and slides to a stop against the curb. “How dare I kiss you?” he taunts. “You stuck my dick in your mouth not an hour ago.” “Don’t you ever touch me again,” I say, slamming my left fist into his cheek. “We are not on equal footing. You don’t get to question me. You don’t get to chase guys away from me and then go stick your dick in your fuck buddy. How fucking dare you think you can kiss me after that? That you can talk to me the way you talked to me in the hall at work?

That you have any say whatsoever in what I do with my life?” He just stands there holding my wrist, keeping me away as I writhe and kick at his shins. “I can talk to you any fucking way I want,” he snaps. “Because you’re still mine, Baby girl.” “Fuck you,” I scream, losing all control. “I’d rather you beat my face like you did Colt’s than ever kiss me again. So either do it, or let go of me and let me do it.” “Then do it,” he says. “Get it over with, because I’m sure as hell going to kiss you again.” His words lift me on a tide of pure, incinerating rage. He releases my hand, and I slam my fist into his face again. My knuckles slide against the blood, my blow muted by the swelling. I remember the way his blows sounded when he’d hit Colt so many times he wasn’t striking bone anymore.

I hit him again, and again, and again. Finally, tears and rain blur my vision, and I stumble back, trying to catch my breath, to get control. I don’t know how long I’ve been beating his face and neck and chest. His eyes are both blackening already, his eyebrow split and bleeding. Blood is pouring from his mouth and nose, down the front of his shirt, soaking it faster than the rain. I stare at him in horror, wondering where the hell I just was, if I became a monster like , out of my body, like someone else was acting in my place. Before I can say anything, he grabs me by the shoulders again and smashes his bloody mouth to mine. I cried out in shock, even though he warned me. When I twist my face away, he pulls back and grabs my necklace in his fist. “How dare you wear this fucking necklace and rub it in my face?” he growls, wrenching it from my neck. I stumble against him, but the clasp breaks, and he hurls the necklace across the road.

 “I know what that fucking means. It means you’re spreading your legs for a Darling boy, just like my sister It was bad enough seeing it around her neck, and now I have to pretend I don’t see it around yours?” “How dare you tell me who I can spread my legs for?” I scream at him. “You didn’t give me that choice last spring, did you?” “How dare you send me videos of you fucking the man you know I hate more than anyone in this world?” he snaps back. “And that’s saying a lot, because the list is real fucking long.

You want to see me lose my fucking mind, Baby girl? Send me one more picture of that motherfucker, and I swear, you won’t like what happens next.” “Why do you even care who I fuck?” I snap. “An hour ago, you admitted that no one would ever want to touch me again. And that list includes you. So don’t tell me I can’t find whatever semblance of comfort I’m capable of with the only person you’ve destroyed more completely than me.” He stares at me, his eyes burning with rage. “Take off his jacket,” he says, his voice low and deadly. “Fuck you,” say, stomping to the car. August steps in front of me just before I reach it, and I catch the look in his eyes. My heart stops. I dart to the other side, ducking past him, but he spins and catches me around the waist from behind. He turns and throws me backwards, and I land hard on the hood of the car. I roll up, but he hops onto the bumper and plows onto me, slamming me down on my back. “I said, take off his fucking jacket,” he growls. I feel the metal dent under our weight, but I don’t care about the fucking car.

For a minute, we wrestle wordlessly as he drags the jacket over my arm. At last, I manage to roll over, but he uses the motion to peel the jacket off me and wrench it off my other arm. He throws it into the grass and flips me back onto my back, straddling my hips. “I hate you,” I rage at him, swinging a hand. My palm smacks across his cheek so hard it stings. “You’re a sick, rotten bastard, and I can’t believe I ever let you touch me.” “I hate you, too, you fucking bitch.” He grabs my chin and squeezes, his fingers cutting into my cheeks until my mouth is forced open. He leans down over me, works his jaw, and spits a long stream of warm blood into my mouth. I’m so shocked I swallow before I can help myself. Then I slap him again, my palm connecting with his crimson-streaked cheek and peppering my arms with flecks of his blood. I spit, trying to clear my mouth of his blood, and it sprays over his cheeks. He blinks it away and pins my hands, leaning down again. I think he’s going to spit on me, but instead, he swipes his tongue up my face, leaving a wide, wet track of saliva up my cheek, replacing the blood and tears and rain.

“I’m not just going to kiss you, baby,” he says. “I’m going to fuck you, and you’re going to like it.” “Then you better fucking kill me first,” I snarl at him. “Because that’s the only way your dick is ever going inside me again.” “That can be arranged,” he says, sitting back. He stared down at my stomach, where my shirt rode up when we were wrestling, and his eyes widened. He transfers my wrists to one hand, pulling them above my head, and toys with the little hoop through my belly button. “What is this?” “It’s a piercing,” I say. “Preston gave it to me. He did it himself. And I fucking love it.” August’s finger hooks through it, and he rips it out. A spike of pain drives straight from my navel through my body to the car. I can’t even draw a breath to scream. I can feel hot blood pooling on my skin where he tore it. And it feels so fucking good. Each heartbeat is a throb of pain, and that’s all I feel. The rage is gone, the hurt, the confusion. He leans down, pressing his broken mouth to mine. I kiss him back hard, punishing his swollen lips with mine. I hear him unbuckling his belt, and I reach down, shoving his pants down, needing him in a way I don’t understand, needing the pain to obliterate everything else that I don’t want to feel right now. He lowers himself onto me, and I can feel the same desire in him. His cock is hot and stiff against my belly, throbbing against the torn flesh of my navel.

“You want to tell me again that no man can want you?” he says, his voice rough against my mouth, his cock sliding in my blood. “What’s the point in fucking me?” I snap. “You can’t even finish when two girls are sucking your dick at once. You’re not a closer, August. You choke.” “Oh, I’m going to fucking finish this time,” he says, shoving my jeans down over my hips. “Trust me, baby. I’m going to cum so deep inside you that you can’t remember anything but the way my cock owns every inch of you, inside and out. You’re fucking mine, Baby girl. It never ends. You’re right about that.” The rain beats down harder, hammering against the metal around us, drowning out a chance at a reply. He lifts his hand to his mouth, spitting a pool of blood and saliva into his palm, and then sinks it between my thighs. His slick fingers open me, skillfully stroking my center, sending a rush of longing through me. “Then shut up and do it,” I yell at him over the sound of the rain on the car, the sound of the hood denting under us, the thunder rumbling and the trees howling in the wind. “Or are you so fucked up you can’t even cum for me anymore?” He buries a finger deep inside me, and I gasp and arch up, trying to open my legs, which are bound by my wet jeans. “Shut that pretty mouth or I’ll fuck it right this time,” he growls back at me, leaning down to press his warm mouth against my ear. “You don’t call the shots anymore.” He pulls back and watches me as his fingers slick into me quick and hard, his breath coming fast.

 Rain and his blood drips from his chin, and his eyes are alive and burning with lust. I’m shaking all over, my body hot and cold, thrilled and terrified, as if I’ve jumped from a plane with no parachute. This is how it ends. I need more, before it’s over. I can feel it cresting, something inside me, some monster roaring to erupt. A sheet of rain slams into his back, splattering over my face. He leans over me again, blood dripping from his mouth to mine. I yank his head down, lifting my face to his, sinking my teeth into his lower lip. His blood blooms across my tongue, thick and salty like cum. He shifts onto me again, wetting his cock in the blood pooling on my stomach before moving lower, smearing the thick head of it through my wetness. “Fuck me,” I breathe, my voice shaking. He thrusts up into me, and my blood turns to hot, shimmering electricity. A sound rises in me, climbing like the thunder rolling across the sky, a primal, animal scream that spirals up from my very soul. He pushes deeper, his thick, bloody cock stretching me and sending coils of pleasure spreading out through my body. When he fills my core, the raw, visceral sensation is too much. I can’t hold back, can’t bear to feel this good again, can’t contain it. It’s too real.

I open my mouth, and he presses his mouth down on mine, catching the sound that escapes, swallowing it. I can feel myself disappearing into him as I scream. Something shifts inside me, and the urgency fades, the way it did when I cut myself. I can feel the hood denting and rising with each thrust as he pumps into me, his cock slick with my blood, and his blood, and his spit, and my own wetness. His muscles are tight, shaking, and his mouth is on my cheek. His body is hard and hot on mine, but I feel it in a different way, a detached way. I know I made a mistake, that this is a mistake, but I can’t find the words that stop it, that reverse time and undo this terrible thing we’ve done.

This is August. The man who told his brothers they could have me, they could do whatever sick things they had wanted to do to me all along. He let them hurt me. He turned away when I begged for mercy. He made it known that his protection ended that day. I hate him. I want him dead. But I told him to do this. I opened my legs and invited the monster in, even after it ate my soul the last time. What is wrong with me? It’s okay, though. It won’t last forever. It’ll be over soon. It’s okay. I keep telling myself until it’s true. I’m not being hurt.

 I can hardly feel him moving inside me anymore, into the deepest places. There’s a vague pleasantness in it, like having a day off to do absolutely nothing. The heavy, wet air around us and the slick metal under my back fade away, replaced by luxurious, smooth sheets and a room with cold AC, the air dry and crisp and clean. I’m safe. I’m safe because this is all he wants, and he can’t take anything more. I know, because this has happened before. There’s nothing else to give. This is the end of the line, the last thing, and I’ve given it all up. Now I can relax and know that I don’t have to fight. I submit, give over everything, like I did in the loft with Preston. And it’s okay. “Baby girl.” His voice is sharp, cutting through the haze of my thoughts, the veil of safety protecting me. His fingers cut into my cheeks again, the pain jerking me back. My eyes fly open. I try not to move, to let this be okay, to let this be part of the submission. If I can submit to everything he’s done before, I can submit to pain. “Baby girl.” His voice is gentler now, but just as commanding. His grip on my chin loosens, but he doesn’t release me. He slides two fingers into my mouth, the ones that were inside me.

 They taste like pussy and blood, mine and his. “Stay with me, baby,” he says. “I’m right here. Look in my eyes. Don’t go away.” He starts to move inside me again, holding my chin so I can’t look away, his fingers on my tongue forcing my presence. I close my lips, taste our combined flavor, and heat pulses in my core. I can feel him inside me, so big, his cock straining against my walls, reclaiming the very depths of me, where it aches in my core. The dominating rhythm of his thrusts owns me, forces my response. God, it feels good, too good, oh god, I can’t— I pull back from it, but I don’t close my eyes. I’ll let him see that I’m there, the way I used to with Mav, where it was something satisfying but I wasn’t part of it. I’ll let him have me here while he cums, but I can’t join him. 

The last time— He yanks his hand back, and his palm cracks across my cheek. The shocking sting of it shoots straight down my body to the center of my being. I’m suddenly thrust into my body with such brutal, physical presence that it hurts. My core clamps down so hard he sucks in an audible breath, his fingers gripping the top of the hood as he responds with a vicious thrust. He grabs my hip with his other hand, pinning me there with a bruising grip as he grinds into me. He leans down, his eyes deep and commanding, blood darkening half his face. “Cum for me, my little slut.” He drives his cock so deep into me I almost choke. I cry out, trying to slip away, to get away, but he slaps me again, this time on the other cheek. And he’s inside me, taking me, delivering me, wrecking every inch of me. He pounds into me relentlessly, offering no respite, no escape.

His cock is bare and thick and slick, and it hurts, and it feels so fucking good I can’t bear it. And I want it all. I want him to consume me, to drown me, to possess me like the demon he is. “August,” I gasp, pushing at his shoulders, needing him off, I can’t bear it. “Cum,” he growls again, his powerful hips thrusting his cock into the center of my core, hitting somewhere inside me that’s so deep, so painful and raw that I can’t hold back. I cry out again, arching up, my body clamping down hard around him for a second time. This time, he’s the one who makes a choking sound, his cock throbbing thick inside me. The sensation sends me over the edge, and I can’t pull back in time. This thing that’s been fighting to get out, this monster inside me, erupts. I feel it tearing free, raging like the storm around us, the rain slamming against us, the trees tossing like agony in the wind. As it takes me over, I cry out August’s name, my nails biting into his skin, my body finally giving in, submitting to his dominance, his claim. I’m helpless to stop it.

 I am his.

 I cum. I’m crying and raging, I’m filled with hatred and helplessness and relief, and I’m still coming so hard I can’t stop myself. I don’t know what’s happening, why it won’t end. I think I’m saying something, but it’s swallowed by the storm, and he’s over me, watching me. His hot cum floods into me, spreading inside me like a virus that’s taken me over, racing through my bloodstream until he’s part of every breath, every cell of my being. Because I’m not just his. He is mine. When I finally start to come down, I’m shaking uncontrollably. I want to take it all back. It’s too much, and I can’t deal with it. Because the thing that just broke free inside me, that’s been howling and clawing and tearing me apart from within, fighting to escape, isn’t a monster. 

It’s me.

 August’s hands are on my face, cradling it gently even as his cock remains painfully deep inside me, and his lips skim mine, still slick with blood. When my eyes meet his, I see everything in him, his rage and regret, his darkness and brokenness, his destructiveness and vulnerability. For a second, I can’t breathe, can’t move or speak, too crushed by the weight of the burden he carries by his very existence to react. And then he speaks. “Thank you,” he whispers, his breath warm on my wet skin.

In that one breath, one heartbeat, the space between heartbeats where life is measured and decided, I’m weightless. I’m lost and I’m found, I’m destroyed and renewed, I’m insignificant and infinite. I am his, and I am free. And then I suck in a breath, and I’m here, with his blood in my mouth and my blood slick between our bodies, the metal under my back, the rain on my skin. My cunt flutters around him, the helpless spasms of orgasm still racing through me, shivering along my limbs and up through my head, making me dizzy with power and bliss.

August leans on his elbows, sinking his head down against my neck, his hot breath damp in the wet chill of the night. “Baby girl,” he says, his voice barely more than a breath. “Shhh.” We lay there for a long time, my body still clenched around him like a cramp. It takes a while for me to relax, for my heartbeat to return to normal. Headlights wash over us, but August just covers me with his body, hiding my face with his broad shoulders. The car honks and drives off, and that’s when reality really comes back. I push August up.

He slides out of me, and a rush of his hot cum slides out with his cock. I wince as I sit up, revisiting the familiar but almost-forgotten soreness that comes from an August Walker pounding. I slide off the hood and catch my balance on the side of the car, struggling to pull up my wet jeans. Tears stream down my face, and I’m grateful that the rain covers them. I can feel his warm cum sliding down my cold thighs like tears of shame. I didn’t think it was possible to hate myself any more than I already did, but somehow, August makes it possible.

[sasha199]

Gale/ Rolan drama Part 16

Read all of me on A03

Mayhem and Madness

Rating: E

Pairings: Rolan & Fem Human Tav, Astarion & Shadowheart & Fem Half-elf Tav

No smut in this one.

Its the aftermath of a battle and there's some description of gore.

Y’all…this game hits different when your Tav is a stand in for yourself.

My sister and I are playing a multiplayer as ourselves, as sisters. I (Sasha) am romancing both Gale and Rolan. Sister (Marlie) is pulling both Astarion and Shadowheart.

Marlie’s eyes are vacant. Staring. I’ve always been jealous of their color, a soft grey blue, but there’s no light in them. A trickle of blood drips down from one corner, over the bridge of her nose.

The githyanki steps over her, plants a muddy boot on one soft cheek, it says something I don’t understand. Time seems to slow as it raises a massive sword and brings it down in a swift sweeping arc. The afterimage of the blade seers the air but before I can even draw breath to scream, the githyanki is falling, stumbling back. It’s majestic cloak floats down around it in ash as it batters itself trying to put out the flames. I tear my eyes away, searching, searching, the attack would have revealed…there! Astarion is crouched on a low roof, his bow raised, fletching drawn taunt to cheek. Another fire arrow crackles and sparks in his grip. I can hear my heart in my ears. The githyanki is not down, the force of the blow shifted Marlie, she lies crumpled and face down a few feet away covered in mud.

I grind my teeth as I rise, my mouth is full of blood and grit. The arrow embedded in my rib sings in protest, but I keep pressure to the wound and propel myself forward. He’s not too far, the gith, I might be able to reach him, distract him. Astarion will need an opening now that he’s been seen…

“H-here, you pug nosed, newt!” I don’t even have a weapon in my hand, my bow lays discarded somewhere on the bridge. I pull

something from my belt and attempt to smash him with it. I’m half crouched around my wound so my reach is low and weak. The gith looks down at me through his gleaming helmet, not even bothering to dodge my meager swing. He begins to laugh, deep and throaty, his eyes crinkle with pleasure as he raises his sword.

I hear it before I see it, the roaring of the arrow as it cuts through the air. I smell the char that is my salvation and my death. I tense to brace for the fiery impact from either sword or fire, and feel only a warm stir. The arrow sails between the gith and I. It strikes the ground and I scream as I feel the soles melt away from my boots. I throw myself back, rolling on the ground to douse the flames that lick up the sides of my armor. I can smell burned hair. The fucking vampire missed!

The arrow in my side sinks in a bit deeper, I’d forgotten it in my panic, and I see white. I lay on the ground, breathing in the dust and coughing. I can hear the gith moving towards me again, his metal boots grinding in the soft earth. I use the last of my strength to spit a bloody glob. It mostly trails down my chin. A clawed hand grips what’s left of my hair. This is it.

“Fuck y-you.” I breathe, but simultaneously I hear...a dull roar...like a train...

And I am suddenly enclosed in a gentle cocoon of warmth. It’s like sinking into a bath on a winter day, it sends a shiver up my spine. The grip on my hair is gone and I feel like I’m floating...a twinge in my side brings me back to reality. I open my eyes a sliver, I’m not floating but being carried. I recognize Astarion’s pointy pale chin.

“You missed,” I whisper.

He says nothing. Is he crying?

The arrow shifts and I'm swimming on the edge of blackness. Fighting to keep my head above water.

“Give her to me.”

I feel Astarion’s grip tighten. I whimper through the pain, every breath hurts. Tears seep from my clenched eyelids, I’m shaking and my teeth are chattering. The adrenaline of the fight is wearing off, I’m going into shock.

“Go to her, Astarion.”

I cry out as I’m lowered to the ground, a firm hand pries my mouth open. I try to bat the hand away, but I have the strength of a kitten and fire is ricocheting up my ribs and spine. A nasty floral taste lands on my tongue and I cough.

“Swallow. That’s it. Here, more.”

“No! Go aw-!” Herbal liquid is poured into my protesting mouth, and as I feel soft lips connect with mine the pain begins to subside. My breathing slows and I feel something tickling my face.

I open my eyes, Gale is kissing me. He looks pale as he pulls back, lips pursed and brows scrunched with worry. He lets out a breath and I can feel his body sag with the weight of it. “Thank the gods,” he pulls me tight against his chest, only to push me back just as quickly. “I feared the worst had – no matter. Here,” he’s supporting my head, “You must drink this in its entirety.”

“My sister,” I pull the bottle away from my mouth, my strength is returning, the arrow is still there but it’s a painful throb now, “where’s Marlie?”

Gale says nothing, but he looks up. West of the bridge, in the shadow of a dilapidated house, Asatrion crouches, his body curled around something.

I scramble up, pushing away from Gale. He has an iron grip on me, and the arrow pain slows me down, but I turn him into a crutch and move closer.

Astarion is...I’ve never heard a sound like that...Marlie’s head hangs slack over his shoulder, one of his hands buried in her unbound golden waves. He nuzzles in the crook of her neck, his whole body wracked and shaking. He must have closed her eyes.

I kneel down, slowly, next to him. Gale grips the shoulder of my armor, like he’s afraid I’ll move far from him. As if I could with this blasted arrow, is the bloody thing barbed? The scent of iron and sweat is thick, mingled with the electric burning smell of whatever power coats those insane great-swords. Astarion took a couple of solid blows from one, I don’t know how he has the strength to hold her.

As I reach for her, Astarion’s eyes snap open. The blood vessels have all burst in his left eye. Tears have made clean tracks down his mud streaked face. He hisses at me, like a damn cat, recoiling and pulling Marlie against him. Her head lolls horribly.

“DON’T touch her!” He spits, baring long white fangs, blood and saliva drip from them. He tenses like a cornered predator, poised to attack, “I’ll fucking RIP you APART!” His eyes blaze red, blood trickles out of his left one.

“We only have a minute.” I say as calmly as I can, pain punctuates my every word. Sweat starts to break out on my forehead. “I have to…” I can’t even get the words out. My throat closes up, with sorrow, with pain. I attempt to reach into my pocket, but my vision is blurring as tears drip down my cheeks. Gale's warm hand is over mine, helping me to fish out the scroll and hold it firmly in my palm. It sparkles with yellow motes of arcane energy.

I crawl towards Astarion and reach for her again, this time he lets me. He buries his face against her breast as I hold her head. He’s shaking so much her whole body trembles. I let the incantation leave my lips, take up space in the world around us. A cold sharp snap surrounds me and Marlie vanishes from existence. For a moment Astarion’s arms hold only empty air and he curls in on himself. She pops back into being a few steps away.

“Ugh, I’m exhausted.” Her voice is faint and small. Reeling she attempts to rise to her feet, only to be knocked back into the dirt as Astarion rushes her.

“Careful!” I snap “She’s only got one-”

But Marlie raises a hand up over Astarion’s shoulder, telling me without words it’s fine, don’t worry. Her blue eyes meet mine and I let out a breathe I didn't realize I'd been holding. I use Gale to get to my feet. “I’ve got to find Minthara,” I grunt.

“She has already returned to our camp,” Gale says, taking my arm and looping it over his shoulder, “we must do the same.”

I groan, “Fuck, fine just get this damn thing out of me.” He pecks a scratchy kiss on my cheek.

As Gale and I move away, I glance over my shoulder at Marlie. Astarion is still holding her. She’s speaking softly to him, probably in elvish. One hand rests at the nape of his neck, he gives a small nod. Their eyes never leave each other.

They’ll follow when they’re ready.