#six underground four

[pedrometal]

[caesarflickermans]

Panem in the World: Soviet-Era Metros by Frank Herfort

Capturing the grandeur of those metro stations was at the heart for the photographer. Each of them unique, it seems, they are stunning pieces of architecture that seem insistent their need to show glory and pride. It’s only fitting to the Capitol, then, that perhaps they decided for a similar such impressive look. There are no outsider to impress, but citizens to assure of the greatness of their nation. It’s splendour in the form of the average structures one encounters daily, perhaps, and greatly represents the impressive underground system I pictured when first discovering that the Capitol has an underground.

[trashland-llamas]

Act I

[talesofphantombandits]

Before there was Six, there was Zero.

Hello my beautiful people! So this has been in the works for a while, I'm currently on a week holiday from my big girl job so thought I would take some creative time to finish this and hopefully finish editing the OG Zero To Six. It warms my heart so much to see people still reading ZTS daily on here and on Wattpad (where it's got 68k reads, 1k votes and 276 comments) so to bring you a new little piece of the puzzle makes me extremely excited. Love you all, and thanks again for showing Zero and Four so much love <3

I thought I would tag the old supporters from the last chapter of ZTS so if you're tagged and you aren't bothered about this anymore I'm deeply sorry for bugging you! And please let me know if you would like to be I tagged. I hope you have a wonderful day/evening/night <3

Warnings: Swearing, Violence.

tags: @i-am-sarah​​​ , @whothefuckstolemykeds​​​ , @drowsyrrog​​​ , @culturefiendtrashqueen​​​ , @rogue-barnes-16–main-account​​​–main-account , @alliwantfromyouistomakelovetome, @valerie-weasley​​​ , @sueeatstheworld​​​ , @bleona2808​​​ , @pippin248​​​ , @myfatbottomedgirls​​​ , @httpfandxms​​​ , @cooliosmosh​​​ , @speckles-s​​​ , @walking-disgrace​​​ , @itsmeaudrieee​​​ , @fight-the-freaking-fairies​​​ , @irrelevant-pumpkin​​​ , @captain-sparkles-who​​​ , @podcasts-8-my-heart​​ , @foulvintagenature​​​ , @imjustboredso​​​ , @loophoria​​​ @tealaquinn @raylan-c

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The only thing she could feel was how her lungs burned as she ran and still then it wasn’t fast enough, but nothing could stop her as she could hear the angry shouts in the distance getting louder and louder and yet there was no way back. Skidding into a alley way she looked for somewhere to hide herself until she was sure the man had passed, ducking behind a dustbin just in time. Peaking around, she could see him stop in front of the alley it was almost like he could sense that she was there.

Eventually he seemed to moved on to which she let out an audible sigh now that she knew she was finally alone and out of danger.  Just to be safe she waited for another good five minutes just to make sure that he had actually moved on. Calmly she started to hoist herself up from behind the bin and started to make her way towards the entrance of the busy street. Just as she was about to turn the corner, he suddenly popped out from seemingly nowhere and stood firmly in front of her. 

“Shit.” She started to take steps backwards, hoping that she wouldn’t bump into anything as she kept her eyes firm on the man in front of her. But he only followed, mocking each step she cautiously took.

“Hey sweetie, you can’t hide from me, I will always find you. I promise that.” He tried reach for her but she dodged out of his way just in time, throwing a punch to his stomach and sending him to the floor. 

She started to run again, only to trip when he reach out a hand and grabbed onto her ankle which in turn slammed her to the floor. 

She jolted awake and found herself bolting upright in bed, chest socked with sweat as she breathed heavily.

Looking to her bedside table where the alarm clock blared at her she saw that it was only 3am, sighing she rubbed her face with the palm of her sweaty hand. Another nightmare. She had, had them a lot recently ever since her parents had passed away, but for some reason they seemed to be getting stronger as time went on this one being the worst. She was meant to be at the cafe at 7am for her shift and to meet with Tim so she honestly didn’t see any point in going back to sleep. It would probably just be filled of more nightmares.

Things had been rough recently. Scout had been in need of money and being a hacker came with specific skills that specific but sometimes scary people where in need of. But most of the time it was the people who were being hacked that she had to worry about and her past few jobs had been very suspicious, but money is money and she need it to survive. That and she trusted Tim to keep her safe.

Luckily she hadn’t run into any trouble as yet, but the dreams she kept haven’t felt like someone was trying to tell her that she was playing with fire and she was eventually going to get burnt.

Scouts life had always been complicated and strange, enough that she was used to anything people could throw at her. In two days time her and Tim would go about their biggest job, with the biggest pay off they had ever got. Of which most of the money she wanted to save but there were a few debts she needed to pay and then that would be the end of them and she would be free.

She was sceptical of the job at first when Tim had talked her through it but then he mentioned how much the guy would pay she thought to herself why not, they had probably been through worse. But how wrong she was going to be. But one bad thing can lead into something amazing that will change your life forever.

"You look tired."

"Gee Tim, thanks for pointing out the obvious!" Scout put down Tim's fourth coffee of the day, he'd been in since 7am which was when she had started and was working on notes for the job. "Says you on your fourth coffee."

He just smiled up at her. "Yeah well these notes aren't going to write themselves."

She looked over at her boss who looked like he was deep in conversation with a difficult customer one that had short dark blonde hair that was sort of slicked back and even from where she was standing she could tell his eyes were a deep ocean blue, she’d been stealing glances at him ever since he came in.

She decided to take a seat across from Tim and try without annoying him too much to get some details about their mission that he’s been keeping very secret about for months now. "How far have you got? We nearly there?"

"Nearly! but We'll talk about it tonight. Cant talk about it here, too many people you never know who might be listening." He peered over the top of the laptop giving her a scowl. "Go on bugger off and do your job I need peace and quiet if this is to go smoothly!"

"Geez okay crabby! I'm going, I should take that coffee off you." He didn't respond, nor even look up at her again so she walked away shaking her head in disbelief. She headed back to the counter where her boss now stood alone at the cash register, she was surprised and saddened that the mystery handsome man had seemingly left before she could get one last good look.

She didn’t know it then but the next following weeks would bring her much trauma and pain but this evil was necessary for her to die and be reborn again into a new family that would actually care and love for her the way she’d always wanted to be loved.

That and she’d gain the most important person she’d ever met, or had they already met? And they didn’t even know it.

[mvncesa]

maybe . briefly . thinking about six, four & five or six, four & three being a lil Trio

[soul-storage-unit]

- I do not ship the actors themselves-

Mouse - GI JOE: Retaliation

Four- Six Underground

[angelsworks]

Goldilocks and the Four Bears

I haven’t written for the cod fandom yet so all the 141 might be terribly out of character. In fact I haven’t written for a while. I appreciate all the people that still read my work and continue to support me. I hope you’re all doing well :)

Poly!141 x reader

Masterlist -> Here (will be made later :))

Warnings: 18+, mature themes, descriptions of torture, injuries and mistreatment, etc

Summary: After escaping from your last mission that had gone terribly wrong, your stumble through the woods leads you to a log cabin.

It was snowing. Fucking snowing.

Any belief in a deity had been long since crushed after the last few months. Well you thought it had been months. Your captors (a small but deadly terrorist group) had failed to provide you with your own calendar and clock. Much like how they had failed to provide you with new clothes to replace your own, that had been ripped and torn and become tattered to the eye.

It was stolen clothes you now wore as you made your escape. Trudging slowly through the already six inch snow, your thoughts trailed to the fresh snow adding to the existing six inches. The size 12 pair of boots were rubbing at your heels with increasing vigour. Leading you to contemplate if bruised skin could blister or not. The guard you’d killed as part of your escape had been good for one thing. Or three things actually. The ill-fitting boots, a loose pair of combat trousers and long sleeved compression shirt.

As you made your way through the terrain you felt a cold chill steadily working it’s way up your trouser leg. Slowly, spreading across the flesh, affecting any skin that wasn’t in direct contact with the trouser material. It made you wish you’d waited for a guard more similar to your stature. While the compression shirt was better than nothing, it was still thin. The flimsy seeming material now doing little to ward off the cold.

Maybe the sudden awareness of the less than ideal weather conditions wasn’t down to your stolen clothes, but the sudden loss of adrenaline. How long had you been running now? Well trudging desperately through the snow, making your way further and further into the thick forrest and fauna.

It was hard to try and map where you’d been, what direction you’d walked in and where you’d come from. It was all white. Every tree looked the same. Every incline became and decline and you’d become disoriented.

Months of abuse, of torture, ofpain. All ignored for a few short hours as you willed your aching body forward. Through trees and snow and stone. Through anything that would put you at a greater distance from them, from Miasma.

They hadn’t transported you. At least you were mostly sure. When you blacked out, you woke in the same dingy cell, on the same dingy floor. Only covered in more bruises or cuts. So you hoped you were where this all started. In Slovenia.

You’d done solo missions before. It was easier that way. One man in, one man out. No one to turn on you or leak information. With Gunner in your ear, nothing ever went wrong. Until it did.

Your objective was to gather intel. To stay under the radar before formulating the next attack. While sneaking around you’d learned just how large their operation was. In turn you’d also learned just how large their base was.

The small outpost hid underground levels. That became clear after your covert operation was blown and you were dragged down to the very heart of the multi-storey building.

Each day (if that’s what you could call them) gave you no indication of the time of day or how much time had passed. They made sure of that. In fact it was the first time in months you’d seen the light of day.

The light that you noticed was now fading apparently, as you looked desperately up into the sky. Grey clouds had rolled in, covering the majority of the sky. The sun was still peaking out from the dense overcast that was rolling further forward. Soon the sky would be covered and the snow fall would quicken.

A few miles back you were struck that no one from Miasma had followed you. You’d expected armed guards to be shooting at you and angry dogs to be tearing at your ankles. Yet you’d had no chase.

Maybe they knew you would get nowhere in the climate. That you’d be weakened by the terrain and from the violence you’d endured. They were right of course. But you didn’t let it stop you.

Even now as you’d gone further, you still felt the burning desire to survive. Granted it dwindled under the ache of your body and the never ending valley of white before you. But you wanted to live. You wanted your revenge.

The final rays of the sun had been clouded and the snow started to pick up. At least your footprints would be covered under the fresh snow. Not that it mattered if all your footprints lead to was a frozen corpse.

Flexing your fingers, you found yourself wishing for gloves. Your toes were long past numb and every injury you’d endured felt like it was waking up. Old cuts that had turned to scars felt fresh, bruises that had yellowed felt like they’d returned to their starting purple colour. Your felt heavy. You felt dense. You felt tired.

Your desire to drive on had dwindled now. The once raging fire was now only a candle. A candle that was down to its wick. The wax around it long since melted and now it was to its edge. Trying to burn the glue that chained it in place. The image made you crave warmth even more.

Was this it?

All the work you’d put in over the years. From a child you had trained for a mission you didn’t fully understand. A mission that belonged to someone else, to Gunner. He’d turned you into a soldier, his perfect soldier.

Is this how his perfect soldier died?

No it wasn’t.

So despite your blue fingers, numb toes and foggy mind, you push on. Just a little further, you tell yourself. Past these trees, past this stream, past more trees.

Your doubts evaporate when you come upon a clearing. You find a decent space boarded by snow dusted trees from all sides. They stand tall, seemingly acting as natural walls to protect those inside. The grass is covered in undisturbed snow. It’s thick and white and makes you smile.

None of it matter though because sitting in the middle of it all if your salvation.

A log cabin.

You consider the sight to be a mirage. Created from and low blood sugar, dehydration and desperation. But you trudge on, almost to a stumble speed, as you reach for the door handle.

It’s unlocked.

Despite any moral compass telling you that breaking and entering or trespassing is wrong, you ignore it. You’re hurt, aching and this is a last resort.

You close the thick wooden door behind you. Taking note of the copious locks it has. When you move inside the cabin you find that no one’s home. As quietly as you can on stiff legs, you sneak around the house. Trying to wake up the instincts you’d been trained on.

Enter a room, check your surroundings, check again. Don’t assume anywhere is empty. Threats could be hiding around any corner.

So for each room of the ground floor you do just that. Open door, check the rooms, move on. From your searching you’ve found a large living room, a kitchen, a dining room, a toilet some sort of office/drawing room. The decor gives you no clue as to who’s house you’ve invaded. There are no pictures of people, no personal possessions. It feels surreal. And wrong.

To start with you go back to the living room. Using the large fireplace, stockpile of logs and matches, you start a fire.

Again, better sense would tell you to avoid such an action. To avoid alerting anyone of your presence here. But you decide to put sense aside in a bid for survival. If you didn’t get warm soon you were sure you’d be frozen soon.

Next you go to the kitchen. You rifle through the cupboard in an attempt to find something edible. To your surprise you find the place to be well stocked. Even going as far as having fresh milk in the fridge. The sight confuses you. Send alarm bells ringing in your ears.

There are products in the fridge that are in date. Fresh products. Yet no one is home. It doesn’t make sense.

As you empty a can of soup into a pan you realise, it doesn’t need to. You’re happy to play stupid and see this as all some sort of blessing, some miracle.

While the soup cooks you fill a glass with clean, cold water. Relishing in the taste of something fresh. When you’ve downed the first glass you refill it again. This time with an intention to make it last longer.

After the first spoonful you find that you like vegetable soup very much. Almost burning your mouth as you devour it in a few minutes. Immediately it feels as though you’ve been recharged. The warmth from the fire has spread throughout the ground floor, your fingers have warmed around the bowl of soup and your body no longer feels related to a glacier.

The sky only darkens as you sit by the fire. Basking in the warmth and taking a moment to rest for the first time in months. You don’t imagine ever leaving your spot on the floor. But the promise of a bed upstairs has you moving your legs in that direction.

Before your ascent to the second floor, you strip your clothes and hang them on a drying rack you found to the side of the fire. Now left in the nude.

Upstairs you find multiple bedrooms. All almost identical, except for one at the end of the hall. You assume this is the Cabin’s master bedroom as it’s slightly larger than the others. Inside there’s a wardrobe full of clothes, a full length mirror, a TV, some sort of game station, and of course the larger than most bed.

In the mirror you catch sight of yourself. The cuts of course stand out first. From the slight turn you can muster in your neck, you can see large welts and thin cuts, bruises and scrapes, all littering the previously plain skin. From the front and behind, your legs look like a Jackson Pollock original piece.

Capturing various purple and blues surrounded by smaller splodges of green and brown. With the occasional black blob or two to really contrast the overall tone of the piece.

As a child you had a strange infatuation with your bruises. Likening them to a sticker or badge of achievement. They were easy to come by during training. A strange part of you liked the way they looked on your skin. They acted as a log book of the hits you’d taken, the falls you’d taken, any sort of impacts you’d had. They made you feel strong, maybe even proud too.

Staring into the mirror at your body again, it all seems worthless. You knew you were strong before. You didn’t need months as a prisoner to prove it.

You take a few steps forward to properly look at your face. Who stares back must be a stranger. You haven’t let your eyebrows be this out of shape since you were thirteen. You didn’t have that scar above under your chin before. Your eyes were always so bright and vivid. Not lifeless or hollow or so lost.

With newfound energy you take yourself to the nearest bathroom. That just so happens to be the en-suite in the bedroom. It doesn’t surprise you. Nothing about this abandoned, well stocked cabin does anymore.

Instead you shower in one of the nicest bathrooms you’ve been to in a long time.

At first the water has you freezing. Not due to the temperature but because of the fire it lights on your back. Every scrape, every cut, every burn now being cleaned. The cleanse sets your body alight. In a way you feel the heat is helping you to heal. Granted, all you have to show for it is a mixture of blood and grime, floating slowly down the drain. But it’s more than that.

It’s the last few months being scrubbed off your skin. Your wounds and ailments being shown that this is the end. They can heal in peace. You can heal in peace.

So you take your time. Using any products you can find; shampoos, conditioners, body wash, face wash. You’ve acquired a new razor, fresh from the packet. It’s amazing what a difference shaving your legs and various other places can do to your mood. You’ve always preferred removing the body hair. Afterwards the feeling of smooth legs under a thick duvet made all the work worth it.

The final step, bar drying yourself, was brushing tour yellowing and plaque ridden teeth. The minty taste in your mouth feels unfamiliar but it welcomed nonetheless. Wiping your tongue across the now almost pearly-whites you’re happy with how smooth they feel.

Now showered, shaved and dried, you make you way into the bedroom. Finding the wardrobe and drawers to be filled wit strictly masculine clothes. You pick out a pair of boxers and one of the large white t-shirts to sleep in. The shirt dwarfs you in size, looking more like a dress. Not one that you would wear outside though. Not with the black boxers showering through the material, or your hardened nipples making an appearance.

With your towel back in the bathroom and the lights off, you crawl into bed. Letting out the loudest sigh your sore throat could muster. Then quickly falling asleep on the linen.

It was snowing. In fact it was a fucking blizzard.

A barrage of white, dagger-like snowflakes pelted against the four men. The lack of light and the dense haze of the storm made it impossible to see where they were going. They were all thankful for the less than modern compass. Hidden away at the bottom of Jonny’s bag. When he acquired it was unknown. But the four were grateful nonetheless that the Scott had the dated equipment in is kit.

After their week long training they were ready to fall asleep on the nearest surface. The blizzard they now faced was an unexpected one. Nothing on Price’s radar Gad alerted them to such a storm.

They’d just finished their survival training in the mountains when the first snowflake formed. During the rest of their descent it had only worsened.

As the snow around them thickened they trudged on. Becoming more aware of the weight of their kit, ache of their muscles and chill in their bones. These men were tired, hungry and cold.

After more miles and more words of encouragement from Price, Gaz was sure they were close to the safe house now.

Laswell had been kind enough to let them use the safe house after a particularly gruelling training exercise. It would be the closest thing to a holiday the 141 would get this year. Before the worst of the storm it had the Scotsman joking that he would build a snowman outside. An idea quickly shot down by Ghost in the interest of remaining vigilant to an enemies surrounding the house.

While snowmen were out of the question, snowballs were not. Something Ghost found out, twice, in the back of the head. Turning to see an innocent looking Gaz and Soap.

“You’ll regret that when we’re back on base and you two are on shit duty” the balaclava wearing Brit grumbles.

Soap sighs dramatically, “Oh come on Lt. Dinnae be like that, it was only a joke”.

The threat prompts Kyle to add, “It was all Soaps idea, think he should get shit duties on his own.”

Soap gasps feigning offence, “You bleeding clipe, don’t come knocking on my door when you want someone to warm your bed tonight.”

The comment causes the younger man’s face to heat up and laughs to come from the others.

“That if we get there in this blizzard” the captain quips. Trying to keep morale, but refusing to ignore the sinking feeling that they’ve missed the safe house completely.

“How far now?” Gaz asks, determined not to start pestering like an insolent child. Yet equally determined to have a proper meal and get out of his cold clothes.

“Two klicks north, then we should be there.” Soap tells him, loud enough for the others to hear in the now whipping winds.

“It was two klicks north last time someone asked Soap, are you sure you’re reading that right lad?” Price finds himself asking. Despite his rank, his military expertise and all his training agains the elements, it doesn’t make him immune to the cold. Immune to looking forward to sitting by a fire with a cup of tea in his hands.

Laswell wasn’t one to be stingy with safe house stock. From previous safe houses he’d been to that she had set up, they’d been a home away from home. Proper bedrooms, running water, stocked shelves. Price found himself ready to welcome anything that had four walls, a roof and could shelter him and his men from the storm.

“Two klicks north Captain, I’m sure”. Jonny confirms.

Sure enough, through the dense curtain of blizzard, light emerges. A gentle glow against the black nights sky. The closer they get, the clearer the house becomes.

A log cabin.

A big one at that. The sight is inviting enough to bring a smile to the men’s faces.

“Laswell’s outdone herself this time, fuckin yaldy” soap practically exclaims. Pushing forward to the front of the pack, in an effort to get in first.

“Hold it Jonny,” Simons voice is quiet through the mask, but harsh enough that the others can hear.

Ghost points to the chimney, “someone’s here”.

Sure enough as the others look up, they too see the plumes of smoke, gently rising from the brick chimney.

“Another team captain?” Gaz finds himself asking, while reaching for the know hidden in his thigh holster.

Price finds himself doing the same, “No, we’re the only ones in the country.”

The tension in the air is thick, rivals the thick snow pelting down on them. The four of them stand motionless, a short distance from the front door. Covered head to toe in winter gear, a layer of the snowstorm attached to anything it can stick to.

“Right, there’s only one door. I’ll lead. We’ll secure the ground floor first. Stay silent, we do this quietly.” Price commands. The men nod, moving to grasp their various knives. Following their captain as he moves to the front of the cabin.

With an almost inaudible creek, Price turns the handle of the door. Pushing the oak forward, grateful that it seems to glide over the wooden floors. Allowing him and his men to breach the property without alerting its inhabitants.

Price enters the living room first, signalling for the others to spread out and search the rest of the floor. He does indeed find a crackling fire, yet no one man’s it. The warmth is welcomed, but for the time being he ignores any desire to sit near it and warm himself.

His attention moves to the drying rack set up beside the fire. Upon further inspection of the items he finds combat trousers, a compression t shirt and a pair of large boots, size 12 he gathers from the label on the tongue. The clothes are still damp to the touch, leading him to infer that the intruder arrived a short time ago.

The badge on the arm of the shirt catches his eye. He rips it off the Velcro and examines it up close. An unknown insignia, contractor perhaps? Some new found terrorist group? Price doesn’t know. It’s not one he’s come across before.

Simon searches the kitchen. The space is a decent size, dark too. He blends into the shadows as he checks the space for any sign of life. He finds a empty soup can on one of the worktops. Turning to the sink he notices a single glass and pan siting there.

Once finished in his search he creeps back to the living room. Finding his captain there, along with a stoic looking soap and serious looking Gaz.

Price raises his hand to Simon, showcasing the fabric insignia to him. With cold eyes Ghost runs over the stitchwork. Mind running through the possible groups it could be associated with.

“Any ideas?” Price asks in a hushed voice.

Ghosts silence is a loud enough answer for the group. No

“Whoever they are haven’t been here long. Their clothes are still damp. Large boots, size 12.” Price goes through the details he’s uncovered.

“Men’s?” Gaz asks.

“Most likely”.

“There’s a pan in the kitchen. They’ve had soup. Only one glass.” Ghost reels off.

“We don’t know who we’re dealing with, could be anyone. Stay vigilant. Be prepared for a fight. I’ll take the lead upstairs. Shout if you find anything.” Price commands.

The team follow him single file up the stairs. Weapons at the ready as the sneak up the steps. Footsteps light on the wooden floor.

Price takes the first door, Gaz the second, Ghost the third and Soap the last door at the end of the hallway.

While three of the 141 find their rooms to be empty, Soap stops in the doorway. After almost silently twisting the door handle and letting it slide open, he stands in silence. What he didn’t expect to find was a girl sleep in the master bed, a pretty girl to be exact.

The Scotsman finds himself lost for words. He expected to have to fight someone of his stature. Maybe larger. He expected to walk away with a bruise or two. He feels lost on what to do. Should he wake her? Should he leave her?

Meanwhile the others have gathered in the hallway. Sharing a concerned glance at their teammate.

“What is it soap?” Ghost asked quietly.

“It’s a lass. A bonnie lass at that.” He tells them. Wonder in his tone as he stares at the sleeping girl. Watching as her chest rises and falls at a steady rate. Completely unaware of the four men that have entered the house.

The men collectively frown, walking further to investigate themselves. Sure enough, after they pass the threshold of the master bedroom, they too stand frozen. A girl. Not a man, or group of men. A girl, sleeping in their bed, in their log cabin.

Completely unaware.

[stylesharrys]

private show

summary: you miss harry’s concert but half of it isn’t your fault.

warnings: mentions of anxiety and panic attacks, swearing, kissing, teasing, unprotected shower sex, dirty talk, fingering...

word count: 3,938

a/n: i literally wrote this about four years ago, but it’s all been edited and freshened up a little for you guys! i hope you’re staying safe and if there’s any writings in particular you’d like to see, send me a message! anyway, enjoy this smutty piece:)

//

The car broke down. You weren’t sure how it happened, or why, but the engine wouldn’t start and your dad suspected the battery died.

You’re in London with Harry for a few days, Harry performing and you visiting your family in a small town a few hours out of central London. You’d come by late afternoon yesterday and now you’re stuck.

You’re meant to be going back to London in time for Harry’s show, but with no car and none of your family having one to lend, you’re shit out of luck. You didn’t have the money or time to get the battery recharged or get a new one, and in all honesty, you didn’t know what you needed to do for it anyway.

So, with your little suitcase and your purse, you got yourself a train ticket straight to London. You missed the first train, the bus getting you to the station three minutes late. So you had no choice but to wait in the warmth of the sun for seven minutes until the next one came.

You only stayed on that one for three stops, staring at your phone screen when the rail app told you that you’d need to get off. And you did, sat down for twenty minutes while you waited for the next one that took you straight to Greenwich.

By then it was already 7 pm and you knew you’d most likely miss his entire show at this rate. And then the train showed up and you hopped on it, squeezing between the standing people and you shoved your earphones in, playing an old playlist Harry had made you.

And that’s when you get the text.

iMessage from H💞

Hey. You close, I’m on in an hour x

You sigh and rub your forehead, flicking back to the app on your phone and groaning when you realise you’ll be twenty minutes on that train and then need to get another Bank one for six minutes, then a thirty-minute walk, and then the underground.

iMessage to H💞

Just left for the Greenwich line. Car broke and I don't have time or money on me to get it sorted. Taking the train and it’s insane how many connections you have to make. I don’t know what time I’m gonna be there. Does security know I’m coming in backstage? Xx

You lock your phone with a sigh and turn up the volume of the music, closing your eyes for a moment and trying to calm your nerves and anxieties.

Soon enough, you’re getting off at Greenwich and onto the Bank train. Only when you go past Heron Quay do you realise that you’ve missed your stop and, essentially, gotten yourself lost.

Your panic only grows when Harry stops answering your calls and texts and then you realise it was 8:31 and he’s already on stage, performing, without you supporting him on the side stage.

You try to call Jeffrey, but of course, no answer. Matt, no answer. Mitch, no answer. Jasmine, his opener, no answer. It’ll be useless to call your parents, neither of them know the train lines and can’t come and pick you up anyway because they don’t drive.

You struggle to ask people where to go, most people pushing past you in their own hurry to get to their destinations, and you’re shocked to not see any rail workers anywhere on the platforms to offer assistance.

So, you do what you do best. You panic. You slump down on one of the cold, metal benches with your suitcase by your side and purse in your lap. Tears are quick to prickle at your eyes and the air grows colder, bitter.

If you had just got off at your stop, you would’ve been with the others by now, watching your man perform on stage and become one with the crowd. But, here you are, cold, alone, and lost.

Your little denim jacket is doing nothing to conserve heat and your legs bounce as you try to warm yourself up. Your achingly cold fingers struggle to type up a route you could take and before long, thirty minutes have passed and it’s 9 pm.

And then, the worst possible thing happens. Your phone dies.

You panic even harder now, your chest constricting and you struggle to catch a breath. It isn’t until you see an older man slowly walk the yellow safety lines of the station in a high-vis train rail jacket that you calm just a little.

You shoot up from your seat, hands clammy and shaking as you pull your suitcase with you. “Excuse me!” You call out to the older man, the station much quieter now.

He turns to you with raised brows and a friendly smile, and you’re more than relieved that you’ll be getting some help.

“I’m not from around here and I missed my stop and ended up here.” You explain as calmly as you can, taking deep breaths and swallowing back the lump in your throat.

“Okay. Where are you heading?” The older man asks, sliding his silver-rimmed glasses up the smooth slope of his nose.

“I’m trying to get to the O2 Arena.” Your heart’s stammering in your chest and you explain how your phone had died and you have no way of contacting anyone or getting routes.

The man, Barry, assures you it will be fine. He writes down the trains and stops you need to make and where to go from there, then offers you his battery pack to charge your phone for a few minutes.

You check it when you get on the next train, a message from Jasmine on your screen and the time’s now nearing 9:34 pm.

iMessage from Jasmine X

Hey!! Where are you?? Everything okay? Call me!!

You sigh and quickly begin typing, trying to explain what happened and that you’re on your way, but before you can ever send the text, your phone freezes and cuts off dead.

You take another deep breath, trying to keep calm, and shove your phone into your pocket. Your ears focus on the voice through the speaker, listening closely for your stop and staring at the piece of paper in your hand so you know when to get off.

By the time you reach the O2, it’s 10 pm and you're certain the show’s over. You sprint to the doors, unsure where you’re even meant to go. You don’t have a ticket and Harry has your backstage pass.

“Can I help you, miss?”

The security guards eye you cautiously, somewhat alarmed by your frantic state. To them, you look just like every other fangirl they’ve ever met.

“I’m meant to be meeting Harry’s team backstage. Do you know how I get there?”

You’re breathless, body somewhat numb from the sudden drop in temperature and pure anxiety you’ve suffered over the past two hours.

The man squints at you. “Do you have a pass?” Great.

You sigh. “No, his manager, Jeffrey, has my pass. I’m Harry’s girlfriend. Look, you can go and ask on your walkie talkie. I have ID, but I don’t have my pass.” You try to explain.

He shakes his head, tries to hide the amusement on his face. “Nice try, kid. Go home.” He turns his back, wandering away but you shake your head and follow after him.

“No, I’m being serious! Jeffrey has my backstage pass. My phone is dead so I can’t contact them! Please, just radio it through. I promise you! My name is Y/N Y/L/N, please. He’ll tell you!” You beg, tears pooling in your eyes in panic.

This can’t be happening, how has it even come to this? You’ve been through the works already, and now, you look like nothing more than a desperate fangirl.

“Listen, miss. If you don’t leave right now, we will escort you out ourselves or call the police. It’s your choice.” He all but growls his words, an effort to scare you off.

Your shoulders slump and tears spill from your eyes, anxiety consuming you. “This isn’t happening,” you whisper to yourself, breathing unevenly and your knees buckle slightly.

You can’t even go back to the hotel as you don’t know where you’re all staying, seeing as you stayed with your parents last night. You’re done for.

You’re about to turn away, search for someone with a charger maybe, when a ruckus of cheering and talking catches your ears and the doors to the arena open. Hundreds of people flood out of the doors, eager to get themselves home and you wonder how you’re going to get to Harry.

“Oh my God! It’s Y/N!” Is all it takes for everyone to spot you and scream, hurtling toward you and calling your name.

You grab the security guard's arm and frantically beg for his attention. “Now do you believe me!? Please!” You cry out, but he continues to look at you sceptically as the other security members calm down the fans.

You try to talk to the fans, to have them prove that you were Harry’s girlfriend. And even though they agree and show security pictures and proof, they refuse to let you back because you don’t have a pass.

“Here, use my phone to call someone!” An older woman from behind security offers you her phone, her daughter (you presume) staring up at you with big doe eyes.

You smile and take the mobile, punching in Harry’s number that you’ve had memorised for moments like this. You ignore the security guard that continues to ask you to leave and when the ringing stops and a ruckus on the other end is heard, you let out a sigh of relief.

“Hello?” Harry answers, sceptical from the other end.

“Harry! Oh thank God, it’s Y/N.” You sigh out in relief, the fans screaming when they hear you on the phone with him.

“Babe, what the fuck is going on? I’ve been trying to call you! Where are you?” His words are laced together in panic and you can hear him shushing his team.

You sigh. “I’ll explain later but I’m with your fans outside the doors and security won’t let me through to you because Jeffrey still has my pass.” You explain, pinching the bridge of your nose.

Harry tells you to sit tight and that he’ll fix it, tells you he loves you and ends the call. You sigh in relief and quickly delete the number from the call log, handing the phone back to the woman and thanking her profusely.

You feel awful, really. It’s bad enough that you missed Harry’s show, but now you’re holding up all of his fans from going home because security is keeping them away from you and not letting you through the doors.

You speak to a few of his fans while you wait, asking how they found the show and answering some of their questions about Harry when another scream is heard and Jeffrey wanders out toward you with a security guard.

“Y/N!” He calls out, speaking with the other security for a second before showing them your pass and explaining you are who you said you are.

You say goodbye to the fans, dragging your suitcase over to Jeffrey and he pulls you in for a hug, shrugging off his jacket and handing it to you. You thank him and wave goodbye, following him through a hallway and you disappear.

“What the hell happened?” Jeffrey asks in concern, brows furrowed and you sigh while explaining about your car, the trains, and your phone. Jeffrey listens closely and throws his arm over your shoulder as you walk, pulling your suitcase along.

Security leads you through another corridor and another, opening doors and scanning his ID on certain parts to gain access. A few minutes of walking and a burst of soft laughter can be heard, your heart skipping a beat.

Jeffrey's hand rests against your back as he leads you through a room and another curtain, and there Harry stands; pacing back and forth and biting at his nails. The sound of the door opening catches his attention and he spins around to you.

“Honey...” he whispers, pacing toward you and scooping you into his arms. You sigh and wrap your arms around his neck, crying softly into his shoulder. Harry cradles the back of your head, gently cooing you and whispering reassuring words into your ear.

“You’re okay, baby.” He whispers, kissing your temple and you pull away sniffling, wiping your eyes and taking a deep breath. Harry cups your clammy cheeks in his hands and leans down a little. You lift onto your tiptoes and kiss his lips softly, not even a little bothered by the taste of sweat on his lips.

You sigh into the kiss, eyes fluttering closed and a cheeky wolf whistle from behind him catches your attention. You pull away and peer over his shoulder, blushing at the sight of his entire team grinning at you both and Lloyd facing his camera at you.

//

You’re curled into Harry’s side as you wander down the hall to find his room. His arm is around your shoulder, yours behind his waist as he pulls your little suitcase along.

His skin is still sticky with sweat and his clothes stained with a salty scent, but somehow, he still smells like vanilla and his stupid cologne. “I can’t believe you had to do all that,” he murmurs out after having listened to your travels of the day.

You hum back and yawn, pulling away from his side when he reaches into his pocket for his key-card. You both stand outside the room before he unlocks the door and he drags you in behind him.

You flop straight onto the bed, the sheets still a mess and Harry’s suitcase sprawled out over it. He sighs and kicks off his boots, wiggling his toes and standing between your legs.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” he says softly, head tilted as he watches you sit back up and take his hand in yours. “You wanna join?” he wiggles his brows playfully and you let out a tired laugh, nodding your head nonetheless.

“You go ahead, I’m gonna put my phone on charge and clear the bed.” You tell him, earning a little nod and a forehead kiss before he’s taking off to the bathroom, turning on the water.

You stand from the bed with a sigh and plug Harry’s charger into your phone while kicking your own shoes off. Your feet were no doubt blistered and you knew it’d be a pain to walk for the next few days.

Looking back at the bed, you sigh. Harry had always been messy when it came to getting ready for events. But you weren’t sure why, considering he had a stylist so Harry never had to find something to wear for his shows.

Nevertheless, you shake your head and begin to refold his clothing, setting it neatly in his suitcase. You brush the creases out of the sheets and fluff up the pillows before making your way to your bag to pull out your toiletries and one of Harry’s shirts you’ll sleep in.

You take them with you to the bathroom, soft melodies slipping past Harry’s lips as he washes the night away. You smile to yourself, the mirror and windows fogged by the heat of the shower that you’re eager to climb into.

You strip from your outfit and open the shower door, Harry turning to look at you with a little mohawk he’d styled with the shampoo. You snort out a laugh and shake your head, standing in front of him so the water falls down on you.

“Well, hello there,” Harry grins cheekily, eyeing your breasts as your nipples pearl. You blush and lean your head back, soothing the water through your hair but Harry can’t keep his eyes off your chest, not when it’s right there.

“Stop staring.” Your eyes are closed as you massage the shampoo into your scalp, but you already know he’s drooling at the sight of you. He always did have a thing for your chest, even if you argued they’re not your best asset.

Harry whines and nibbles on his plump bottom lip. “But, baby, they’re like begging me to love on them.” He argues, paw-like hands holding your waist as his thumbs gently caress the bottom of your breasts.

You snort out another laugh at his reasoning and wash the shampoo away, slathering on some conditioner and turning you both around so he’s now under the water. You guide him to sit on the little seat beneath the shower and adjust the head so the water can reach him.

Harry’s face is now completely level with your chest as you wash the shampoo from his hair. He whines at you with a little pout and you gently massage his scalp with your fingertips.

“I know this usually makes me really sleepy, but with your tits in my face, it's really fucking turning me on.” He rasps out, voice low and suggestive and you have to fight back a little whine of your own.

“You’re such a boy.” You breathe, slathering his luscious locks in your conditioner and leaning down just enough to kiss his swollen lips.

It was only intended to be a peck, but Harry wraps his arms around your middle and pulls you between his legs, lifting your thighs so you straddle his lap.

Your fingers slide through his curls, breathing heavily and you moan softly against his lips. His hands smooth over the curves of your ass, kneading the flesh with little force and you pull away to catch your breath.

“I’m proud of you.” You whisper against his lips, your core bumping the head of his cock and he strains out a laugh.

“You’re proud of me? Babe, you got lost on your own, almost got kicked out of the arena, and you didn’t have a panic attack once. Shit, I’m the proud one here.” Harry argues with a little smile.

You purse your lips to hide your smile and kiss his lips softly again. He kisses you back for a moment before pulling away and squeezing your ass.

“But seriously, I’ve had a raging boner ever since you sent me that naughty pic last night, and I am dying to get lost in that puss-” You cut him off with a heated kiss, sucking his tongue into your mouth as your own massaged it.

Harry groans and lifts you both, your legs around his waist as his heavy cock bumps your ass. Your back presses against the shower wall, Harry’s lips chasing the water that drips down your neck.

You tug on his hair, eager to feel him inside you and you know he’ll be giving you what you both want in a matter of seconds. He holds you up with one arm and uses his free hand to grip his cock, pumping himself before he swirls his tip around your entrance.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” Harry whines out, teasing himself against you and you huff, tugging on his hair and sucking his bottom lip into your mouth.

“I feel better once you’re in me,” you remind him, a taunting smirk on your lips, but it’s quick to fade when Harry thrusts his hips into yours, his thick cock stretching you out and you shriek in pleasure.

“Shit, H.” You moan, head thrown back as he slides in and out of you at a delicious pace. The running water is long forgotten, the sound of skin slapping and your arousal squelching being the only sounds you can focus on.

Harry pants in your ear, small grunts sounding through the bathroom as you whine and moan for him. He grabs your ass and spreads your cheeks, knuckles white as he grips you harder.

“So good, baby.” He moans into your ear, nibbling on your earlobe and your eyes roll back.

You can feel him deep in your stomach, feel him throb between your walls and you’re certain you’re about to explode any second. You grip his shoulders, circling your hips on his dick the best you can.

Harry rests his forehead against yours, his eyes focusing on the way his glistening cock slips in and out of your swollen pussy with such ease. “Such a good girl for me.” Harry praises, your pussy clenching around his cock and he chokes out a moan.

“Only for you. O-only good for y-you,” he grins against your lips and picks up his pace, hitting your G-spot with every soul-shattering thrust.

Harry feels you begin to spasm, can feel your body losing its strength and he cups your face with his hands, forcing you to look at him -- your noses bumping while he does so.

“Look at me, baby. Wanna watch you as you cum all over my cock.” He gently coaxes, pinching your nipple with his other hand and your eyes almost bulge out of their sockets.

“I’m gonna cum,” you cry out, eyes wide and jaw slack. Harry watches you with hooded eyes, jade clouded with lust and with one final thrust, he pushes you over the edge, watching the way your eyes roll to the back of your head and body falls limp.

The choked cry of his name is all it takes for him to paint your walls with his pleasure, a rugged groan slipping past his lips as he cries out your name, collapsing slightly into you and trapping you completely against the wall.

“Holy shit,” you breathe out, head falling back against the tiles on the wall and Harry gently eases out of you, slowly kissing every inch of your face before his lips meet yours in a tender encounter.

“I love you so much,” he breathes against your lips, easing your legs back to the ground and keeping his arms around your waist.

“I love you, too. And hey, I might’ve missed your main show but fuck me, this private show was just as good.” You joke, an angelic laugh sounding through Harry’s throat as he kisses you again.

His arms ease to rest on your ass, soothing over the tender skin he had been gripping. “Let me clean you up,” he mumbles, giving your bum a little tap before he pulls you back under the water.

Harry washes both of you, peppering your skin with gentle kisses before you’re both completely clean and drying off, brushing your teeth side by side. Harry throws on a pair of sweats while you steal a pair of his boxers and his shirt.

Sliding into bed, he curles up behind you, spooning your back and kissing your shoulder. “I’m sorry about missing your show and being so stupid that I got on the wrong trains and stuff.” You huff out.

Harry shakes his head and kisses your shoulder again. “Don’t be. None of it is your fault. Jeffrey should’ve given you that backstage pass yesterday. I’m sorry you had to go through all that on your own, but I’m so fucking proud of you, honey.”

You smile to yourself and hold his hand close to your chest, wiggling back so you’re snug against his chest. “I’m so happy I fell in love with you,” you whisper into the darkness, eyes fluttering closed.

Harry smiles into your hair, pulling you impossibly closer to his chest as he kisses the crook of your neck. “I’m happy I fell in love with you, too.”

//

if you enjoyed it, please give it a reblog! your feedback and comments are appreciated more than you’ll ever know — i’d love to hear what you thought <;3

[lucysarah-c]

Criminal Record

A young cadet from the survey corps began dating one of the higher-ups. What others did in their personal lives was none of Levi’s business, but in the comfort of your shared room, as each of you focused on your respective piles of paperwork, the brand new hot topic of the regiment felt like fair game.

“Did you hear that John and Grace are dating? I heard it from Erwin this morning,” you broke the silence, attempting to start a conversation with your long-time boyfriend.

“How could I not? Everybody is talking about that shit,” he replied, not even looking up from the opposite side of the desk, as he filled out forms.

“I think they look cute together, but I hope they can handle the attention during meals,” you said, taking a sip of your hot tea and leaning back in your chair.

“She's too young for him, just a damn brat,” your grumpy boyfriend replied, leaving you torn between laughter and concern.

You continued sipping your tea, reclining in your chair with your eyes fixed on your boyfriend's raven head as he wrote. A mischievous smile crept onto your face.

“Levi.”

“What?”

“Levi~”

“What do you want?” This time, he raised his bullet-gray eyes from his work to see why you were being so annoying. “What’s so damn funny for you to have that stupid smile on your face? Go back to work; we're not even halfway through.”

“I was younger than her when we first slept together.”

Your words filled the room like a sermon about sins.

You were having the time of your life, while your boyfriend… well, he seemed to be having a mental breakdown.

Later, the next day.

“Erwin, do you think Grace is too young for John?” You asked him directly, already sensing Levi's discomfort.

“Huh? Well, she is young for him. But who am I to tell them who they should spend their time with? Even if I think it’s a little inappropriate,” Erwin replied, continuing to read one of the many reports he had.

It was just another morning for the six of you (Mike, Erwin, Hange, Moblit, Levi, and you), making sure all the assignments were in check.

You could hardly contain your laughter at his response.

“Did you know that I was younger than her when Levi and I started dating?” You omitted the sexual reference for the sake of your embarrassed boyfriend.

Hange spat out some of her tea and burst into laughter, while Mike simply chuckled.

Levi, on the other hand, kept his eyes fixed on the paper in his hands.

“Oh really? What do you have to say in your defense, Levi?” Erwin was, of course, poking the bear, a smirk playing on his lips as he raised his blue eyes from the paper to look at his friend.

“Oh my god! You even said the other day that she was too young!” Hange said, almost screaming between laughs. They were probably going to tease him about this for a while.

“Shut up, four eyes,” he replied before, probably, considering his next reply. “In my defense?” He echoed, confirming Erwin’s question. “In my damn defense, I used to kill people for money and be involved in drug deals as a thug in the underground. Sleeping with someone underage is the least of my sins; just add it to my long list of criminal records.”

This was my first one-shot ever. It's such a shame that somehow Tumblr erased some of my old posts out of nowhere, and I couldn't find it. It holds a special place in my heart because of that. But, well, I decided to rewrite it and post it again because I really want to keep it in my masterlist. Here is the link to part 2, but be careful, it was written a WHILE ago. Link to my masterlist and my other works if you feel like checking them out.

Tags!: @nube55 @justkon @notgoodforlife @nmlkys @humanitys-strongest-bamf @quillinhand @thoreeo @darkstarlight82 @i-literally-cant-with-this @angelofthorr @aomi04 @levisbrat25 @l3visthighs @hum4n-wr3ckag3 @hannieslovebot @starrylevi @rithty @mariaace @ackrmntea @emilyyyy-08 @levisfavoriteteashop @katestrophes @levistealeaf @an-ever-angry-bi @youre-ackermine @fxnnyackerman @secretmoneybearvoid @trashblackrainbow @@feelingsandemotionsnotexplored @flxrartsstuff @katharinasdiaryy @@kikarouflames Wanna join my tag list? Here!

[dilemmaontwolegs]

The Perfect Life || CL16 {5}

Summary: It’s Charles first real introduction to his new employee. Warnings: angst, swearing, sarcasm, underground fighting, injuries. WC: 2.7k F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six Taglist: RETIRED Head over to my dedicated library blog @dilemmaslibrary and opt to get notifications from there.

The black leather pants and hoodie hid your presence well as you crept through the backyard just before midnight. After years of sneaking in and out of the property you knew exactly where to step to avoid activating the motion sensor lights and Charles followed each step carefully. He had tried to get you to stay at home but finally relented to your stubbornness and changed into more inconspicuous clothes too. 

Eventually you reached the small gate that the gardeners used for supply deliveries and found Franco had left it unlocked. The gentle giant had worked security for the last 20 years and aided your escapes more than he liked to admit. 

“I hope you know how to ride,” you commented as you opened the caretaker’s shed and tossed him your helmet. 

Charles looked at the helmet and turned it so the moonlight caught the almost imperceptible writing on the black carbon - What doesn’t kill me makes me angry. “Fitting,” he chuckled before handing it back. “You wear it.”

“You’re the one with the career, you should wear it.” You swung your heel back and knocked the kickstand up before wheeling the motorcycle out of the shed. It wasn’t the quickest way out but you couldn’t risk waking anyone up with the engine so you always walked it down the street before climbing on. 

“It’s actually in my contract that I should avoid dangerous activities and I’m pretty sure this would count as one,” he said as he hung the helmet back on the handlebars and helped push the heavy bike along. 

“You’re welcome to stay here in that case, or walk.”

Charles scoffed and shook his head. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

You deemed it far enough from the house and swung your leg over the seat, patting the space behind you. “Get on.”

Charles’ arms wrapped around your middle as he took the seat and kicked the riding pegs out with his boots. 

“I’m not sure if you are brave or stupid,” you commented. “You do realise your life is in my hands now.”

“Ma said the two usually go hand in hand but I trust you.”

You were acutely aware of every inch of Charles that touched you for the 15 minute ride to the latest address you had received. His chest rested against your back and his hands that lay on your thighs, only shifting to hold your waist through the corners he leaned into. It was clear he had ridden before but it was probably his first time being the backpack. 

“This used to be a nightclub,” Charles said with a frown as you parked in an alleyway and killed the engine. 

The old staff entrance was propped open with a brick and you ushered Charles inside where the noise grew with each step. 

“Phones,” Rex said as he held his hand out in front of the door that led to the club. You handed yours over first, taking the tab with a number so you could claim it after but the rules were strict, no phones, no cameras. Charles had a harder time parting with his but eventually handed it over with a frown and the doors opened. 

The old three storey nightclub had an empty core surrounded by a spiralling staircase that descended two storeys into the basement and one that rose up. The biggest punters would be in the VIP area above and the spectators would line the rails to get the best view of the pit that sat central on the lowest level. 

Charles looked over the rail and blanched as two regulars went face to face, blood dripping from the gashes that had been opened by the bare knuckles they fought with. 

“Hey,” Arthur greeted with a beer in his hand. “I thought maybe he talked you out of coming.”

“As if, but I was hoping he would stay behind” you said, stealing his beer to take a sip. “Who’s going to bail us out if this place gets raided?”

“We’ll be fine,” Arthur joked. “He’s a runner so we can still call him.”

“Except they took my phone,” Charles grumbled. 

Arthur looked at his brother’s hand that almost always held the device and laughed until he noticed the dark sweatpants and hoodie he wore. “You stole my clothes.”

“You left them in my girlfriend's room.” Charles paused and stole the beer next, finishing it off with a cringe. “That is not a sentence I ever thought I would say.”

“While you ponder what your life has become, I am going to go get ready.” You turned and kissed Arthur’s cheek in farewell. “See you down there.”

“Where’s my kiss?” Charles asked, his brow arched in a challenge. 

You were already two steps away when you looked over your shoulder. “You can kiss my ass.” It unintentionally drew his eyes down your body to the leather that looked like it had been poured onto your skin and those eyes lingered on your ass until you descended the stairs and disappeared from sight.

“You do realise you are fake dating, right?”

Charles rolled his eyes and lightly shoved his younger brother. “I can still appreciate a good looking woman when I see one.”

“Well, keep those thoughts to yourself. She’s been hurt enough.”

Charles dragged a hand through his hair and nodded. “I know, she told me. I really fucked up, but I thought you were happy about the arrangement?”

“I don’t exactly have a genie lying around, so you're the next best hope she has of getting out of that hellhole.” Arthur shrugged. “I don’t have to tell you that if you fuck this up for her I will never forgive you.”

In the bathrooms of the basement you opened the duffle bag and changed into your usual sports bra and shorts before uncapping the Vaseline and smearing the gel over your cheeks. The familiar scent calmed your mind as you wiped the excess off and grabbed the tape to wrap your knuckles. The monotonous routine was your focus, the sounds outside the room fading as you stared at your reflection in the mirror. Evidence of your tears still remained in your puffy eyes but you felt better having finally told him what had weighed you down for a decade. You didn’t want to read too much into that thought as you tied your hair back into a bun so no one could pull it in the ring. 

The bell for the end of the last fight rang out and you shook your head to clear it before kicking your bag under the sink and leaving. Arthur was waiting outside with Charles a few steps away and he checked your fists before walking to the ring. Blood splatters littered the vinyl floor that had been rolled out and two of the helpers were dragging an unconscious man out of the way.

“Bathroom is there if you’re gonna vomit,” you said to Charles as he swallowed nervously. From the other side of the ring Kaine was grinning at you, his mouth guard the colour of blood he was looking to spill, and you blew him a kiss. 

“You’re fighting a guy!?” Charles exclaimed as he realised that was your competitor. 

“There’s not exactly many female fighters to choose from.”

“You could get hurt, that man is huge.”

You rolled your shoulders out and bounced on the balls of your feet as you warmed up. “You’re really great at instilling confidence, you should have your own Ted Talk.”

“If you’re not going to help then go away,” Arthur growled before turning to face you. “Remember, he favours his right leg and Javier broke his collarbone last month. What doesn’t kill you?”

“Makes me angry.” You opened your mouth and Arthur put your mouthguard in before opening the cage door for the octagonal ring. On the floors above cash was trading hands as the bookies took the bets but you paid them no mind as you circled the floor with Kaine. 

“She’s going to get killed,” Charles choked as he laced his fingers in the chain link fence. “He’s massive.”

“She’s agile. What she lacks in size she makes up for with speed. Just don’t be shocked by what you see.”

“What do you mean? I'm already shocked.”

Arthur snorted a laugh. “Just wait, I didn’t even recognise her the first time. It’s like watching a completely different person take over her body.”

All the anger and hate that lay dormant in your body awoke when the bell rang and the ref stepped out from between you and Kaine. All the emotions that you kept bottled inside were released and your eyes narrowed on the man who was going to be at the receiving end. 

Kaine rushed across the mat with all the grace of a baby elephant charging on rollerskates. The very floor vibrated with each stomp of his size 14 feet and his fist reeled back and he poured his entire strength into the first punch. Unfortunately it was his bulk that slowed the punch down and you easily avoided the attack that could have probably crushed your skull. You ducked under his arm and used your spinning momentum to land a kick on his left knee. The joint twisted unnaturally and he cried out as with pain and anger. 

Arthur was right, he did favour his right leg and you had just re-injured the old ailment. Off balance, he tried to follow your quick movements but you were already back in front of him, jabbing a quick one-two combo to his core. Heat flared in your fists as they connected with the hard muscle of his abs but you welcomed the rush of adrenaline that followed the pain. Kaine threw a punch of his own and you skirted away but not quick enough and his knuckles more than caressed your cheek. You had dodged the knockout blow but there would still be a bruise to show for your slow reaction.

“Nice work,” you said with a grin as you circled around each other. “You almost got me, big boy. C’mon, take another shot.”

You probably shouldn’t have taunted him because there was no avoiding the roundhouse kick that rattled your rib cage and knocked the breath out of you with a gasp. It was a mistake to look at Charles through the fence but you saw the worry in his eyes and the white-knuckled grip he had on the chain. 

“Watch out,” he shouted as the concern turned to panic for what was coming behind you.

On instinct you dropped low and raised your arms to protect your head, barely missing the right hook that would have rendered you unconscious. Rage took over as he leapt forward on his good leg to attack again and you waited for him to overextend into the punch before stepping closer. It was impossible for him to defend in such a confined space and he was surprised by the sudden change. You planted your feet and drove the power of your punch up from your legs, twisting your hips as you rolled your shoulder and crashed your left fist into the softer skin protecting his kidney. A deep grunt expelled from him as he hunched over and you followed through with a right hook of your own. Right into his weak spot. 

His piercing cry was almost as sharp as the snap of bone under your knuckles and he stumbled back clutching his collar that was freshly rebroken. The roar of the crowd was deafening as the bell rang for the round’s end and you threw your swollen fists into the air while your ribs protested. 

Kaine limped back to his corner and shook his head to the ref, ending the fight after only one round. You tugged your mouthguard out and shook your head disappointingly. “Pussy.”

He spat his guard to the ground and winced as he cradled his arm over his chest. “Crazy bitch.”

You smiled at the insult and curled a finger. “Wanna come over here and say that?”

Unsurprisingly, he didn’t attempt to re-enter the ring so you turned and made your own exit. Arthur was waiting with a grin on his face and his arms open but before you could step into his embrace Charles was there. The shock barely registered when his arms curled around you and for a moment you felt something, but then the pain in your ribs reared its ugly head.

“Fuck,” you groaned as you shoved him away and looked down at the bruise already blooming along your side. “I think he might’ve broken one.”

“Shit, we need to get you to the hospital.”

It annoyed you how easy it was to read Charles' face. Concern, regret, anger. It was like reading a book and you wanted to tell him to relax but it was quite nice to have another person around who actually showed their feelings. 

“Great idea, and what do you think we should tell them?” you asked as you started to make your way back to the bathroom. “I don’t think ‘it was an accident’ is going to satisfy them.”

“Fine,” Charles sighed, “where do you normally go when you get hurt?”

You stared at Arthur and he stared back before his lips twitched and you both laughed. An irritated growl rumbled from Charles before Arthur pointed to the messenger bag hanging from his shoulder. 

“He makes a cute doctor,” you said with a wink before he followed you into the bathroom. Charles tried to follow too but you blocked the doorway. “Sorry, patient/doctor confidentiality.”

You cut off his protests with the door and leaned back against the cold wood. “Do you think he will still be there?”

Arthur nodded and opened the bag to pull out a few bandages and a bottle of arnica. “I don’t think you are getting rid of him anytime soon.”

“Great.”

“Is it really that bad?” Arthur asked as he gently dabbed the arnica over the bruises. 

“Kind of hard to erase a decade of hate, even if he is hot.”

Arthur grinned and you rolled your eyes. “You think he’s hot.”

“Shut up. I’m not blind.” You unravelled the tape from your knuckles before waving a hand over him. “You’re hot too but it doesn’t mean I want to date you.”

“Thanks? I guess?”

“You know what I mean. Would you date me?”

“Are you asking me out? It’s a bit awkward since you are dating my brother.”

You huffed and glared at his amused grin. “Fake.”

“Potayto, potahto. But, no, if you really need to know, I wouldn’t date you. You’re my best friend, you know me way too well.”

“Exactly, I could never be with someone who brushes their teeth in the shower.”

“Once, for fucksake, I did that once when I was running late.”

You screwed your face up and shook your head with disgust. “There’s no excuse, Tur. We will just have to be friends.”

“Carve my heart out now,” he mocked before patting your side. “All done. Ready to go?”

You thought about the man waiting on the other side of the door and sighed at the thought of having to sleep in the same room as him. “Do you want to stay the night?”

“Oh, no, no, I am not going to be your buffer. You gotta figure out whatever is going on between you and Charles on your own.” He kissed your cheek and grinned at the sour look on your face. “Love you.”

“Ugh, I hate you,” you groaned and his smile only grew wider at the lie.

“Tell Cha to call me in the morning, so I know he is alive.”

Click here for the next part.

[hanibalistic]

#6F417E | EARTH-42 MILES MORALES.

genre | fluff, faint angst / reader is gn

synopsis | miles found you fainted in an alleyway one day, except you died two years ago.

word count | 2861

warning | brief mention of bullying / mentions of death (reader from earth-42 has passed) / everything i know about e-42 miles morales is from the movie 

note | i had to write something :'( it's been on my mind!

parts | one, two, three, four

Against his better judgment, Miles felt restless, and he wasn't sure if it was because of the miraculous event of you coming back from the dead or that seeing your face again made him realize how deeply he has deluded himself into thinking he had changed.  

The truth was that he hadn't changed. He merely made the decision to completely push his identity away after your death, as it was the only way to shield his fragile mind from unraveling into a pit of suicidal doom, where all he could ever think about was to follow you wherever you go, be it heaven or hell. He put his face into a mask unseen by all, not even himself, and the mask ripped itself aggressively when he saw you fainted in the dead end of an alleyway at night. You were supposed to be six feet underground—he watched you fall off a skyscraper! He watched you get put six feet underground! How were you alive?

"Shit."

Miles cursed through a frustrated groan as he pushed the covers off his body. The clock in his room enunciated each tick of a second, reminding him how long it had been since he plopped himself on the bed and tried to get some shut-eye. The ticking noise irritated his ears like chalk scraping against a blackboard, and he would have thrown something at it if you and his mother weren't around to hear the damage. Staring at the dim ceiling, he heaved a deep sigh and closed his eyes, not to get some sleep but to piece together everything that happened so far. 

First, he found you fainted in an alleyway. He brought you home and decided to hide you in his room. A person who has been dead for nearly two years coming back to life was not the easiest news to break to anybody. He managed not a whole day of concealing your existence before his mother found out when she was tidying up the dirty clothes in his room. Baffled and even a little creeped out, she helped nurse you after you woke up, which was only later that night.

Second, Miles called Uncle Aaron to help make sense of this situation, which led to him finding out that you weren't from this world at all—Miles clenched his fist as his train of thought shattered. 

He always forgot you were not the same [Name] he knew; not the childhood best friend, and not the person he harbored secret romantic feelings for. He wanted so badly for you to be them, for him to be able to turn away from the guilt of not saving you years ago. For the most part, he did. The immense joy of spending these past few days with you, albeit with a few stuttered words and clumsy movements because you were both getting used to each other, was an experience very familiar to how it used to be like with the ‘you’ he knew of. 

Miles took you everywhere upon your request, and his mother encouraged him to go out. He took you to play in the arcade, eat at the local sandwich place, and stand atop a massive neon sign advertising for a corporate brand. The only place he refused to bring you to was the skyscraper where ‘you’ died, and you didn’t push him to do so after the first time he refused. He kept himself relatively guarded these days, much like he has always been. But during the times with you, he has never felt more childish and happy. Chasing you down a crowded street and being forced to hold your hand like a leash was normalcy he forgot he deeply yearned for, and it made him happy. 

The cause of his insomnia was simple: you. More specifically, the fact that you gave him something to think about, to worry about, and to lose.

Miles exhaled with exhaustion as he got off the bed. He thought a cup of water would do him good. It could clear his head. Pushing open his room door quietly to not wake his mother, flashes of colors on the television screen greeted him immediately, accompanied by the rhythmic tilts of your head as you watched the commercials on silent. He raised a brow. You were humming a song in your head; he wondered what it sounded like. Also, you should be sleeping so you can get some rest.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“Why aren’t you?” 

“Fair ‘nuff,” Miles muttered as he walked past the couch to the kitchen. He grabbed a glass and poured himself some water when you sheepishly trailed into the area to watch him. Your stare made him uncomfortable, so he turned away from you and quickly chucked the whole cup of water down. He almost slammed the cup near the sink, stopping just before the glass could make a noise against the kitchen counter. “What?”

“I thought you have something to do tomorrow,” you said, ignoring his impatient tone. 

“Yeah? What of it?” He shrugged, focusing on cleaning the glass with tap water.

“You should get some rest, then.”

“Thanks, my insomnia is gone now.” He rolled his eyes and wiped his hands on the towel hung on a magnet stuck to the side of the fridge.

The sound of your pitter-patter footsteps followed him as he made his way out of the kitchen. You hovered around him, watching him with squinted eyes as if trying to access him. He ignored you; he found the only way to keep his emotional walls up and guarded was to ignore you as best as possible. He had missed ‘you’ so dearly that even bickering with you was an activity left to be desired, and he could not afford to want more of you than he already did. He set himself a limit, and he planned to stick with it.

“Insomnia!” you whispered with a beaming face as if he didn’t just straightforwardly tell you his problem was his inability to fall asleep. You clapped your hands and held them in front of your chest in an intertwined position. “Let me help you. I know a good way to fall asleep!”

“Being around you is not one of them,” Miles muttered.

"Don't be mean," you said through a huffed-out giggle before you made a beeline to his open room.

He closed his eyes to hold down the pit of quiet rage burning in his chest. Your spontaneity was challenging to handle. His body could keep up with you weaving in and out of crowds. If anything, he was much faster than you could ever be. But his heart could not keep up with having to follow you around constantly, his eyes trailing your back, his legs picking up their pace to go where you go, and his voice talking whenever you talk. He set himself a limit for how much he would let you into his life—

Miles returned to his room to find you sitting cross-legged on his bed, grinning at his arrival.

—and you punched past it with ease. 

"By the way, I'm sorry I have to keep wearing your clothes," you mentioned as you extended your arms, letting his sweater sleeve fall over your hands. "Your uncle's clothes are too big for me, and I don't like wearing sleep gowns."

He didn't mind. "I'll take you to get something when I'm free," he said. He planned to veto anything you wanted to keep you rummaging through his closet. 

"You're taking me shopping?" you pursed your lips into a playful smile before you smacked your face with your hands, your torso squirming about to make an even bigger mockery of the situation. "How sweet, Miles!" 

Too much ease—his walls crumbled like sandcastles under a gust of wind when he turned away from you to allow himself a chuckle. Then he caught himself. He rubbed the tip of his nose and fixed his jaw before returning to you; his less-than-menacing glare became dull and soft once his eyes filled with your reflection. He leisurely pointed at the bedroom door and almost laughed again when he demanded, "Go back to your room."

You pulled a face. He doesn’t get to tell you to do that. “No.”

"Get off my bed, then."

You thought about it for a little before you agreed. Scrambling off, you kept your arms on the edge of his bed, and your legs slumped onto the floor with the bed's support. Miles furrowed his brows when you tapped the empty spot on his bed twice, and he begrudgingly filled the space when he realized you didn't plan on leaving. 

"I got you. You're gonna fall asleep in no time!" you exclaimed quietly, touching his chest. "This helped me a lot when I have trouble sleeping."

"Pattin' your chest helps you fall asleep?" he questioned in disbelief. Then, a beat later, he fired a question with a bitter taste, "Who's touching you like this?" 

“Just me,” you replied, laying your cheek on your forearm. “Patting my chest helps me regulate my breathing, which is good for after I cry.”

He shifted his head slightly to eye you. “You cry a lot?”

“Hmm… no,” you mused. “Just when bad things happen.” 

“Like what?”

“Like these.” 

You lifted your head and raised your arm upward. Taking a break from the beat you rested on his chest, you pulled down the sleeve and flipped your forearm to his direction, showing him a short, bulging scar decorated just below your inner elbow. Miles lifted his body from the pillow and raised a brow curiously at the nasty scar, but he kept his opinion to himself. He watched as you pulled the sleeve down to cover it, and he deduced that there must be more of those injuries scattered across your body. Relaxing back onto his bed, he shrugged.

“One hell of a fall,” he commented.

“No, someone cut me,” you clarified as you leaned back onto your arm and pressed your hand to his chest again, “someone from school.”

It took him a moment to register your words and then another short moment to register the unfamiliar rage traveling through his body. This was unlike himself, unlike what he felt as the prowler. The signature thrill and trigger-happy sensation didn’t exist in this version of his anger. His fingers twitched with each jump of his thoughts, his hooded eyes scratching out an empty figure on the ceiling as if replaying the pain you must have gone through to receive that scar, and he recognized his anger as slow and steady, brooding and demonic. 

There was no use holding a grudge against someone from a universe away, but Miles thought he would kill whoever hurt you. With the right technology, he may even erase their existence forever. Never mind killing; dying, in some sense, was a blessing. What if those people were never even born? Their existence wiped off the face of Earth, reduced to nothingness, with no pictures, no songs, and no memories to preserve even a trace of their livelihood. 

“Hey, you can’t fall asleep like this.” Your voice snapped him out of his trance. “You’re being really tense, Miles.”

“That’s 'cause you’re terrible at helping people fall asleep,” he retorted as the muffling in his ears began to scatter.

You scoffed but didn’t cease the rhythmic pat on his chest. Instead, you turned your focus elsewhere. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“No.”

“What was I like?” 

He sighed. “I’m not talking about it.” 

“Fresh wound. Got it,” you said with a nod. But he knew better than to let his guard down. The smacking of your teeth was an indication of your mind gears turning—unbeknownst to him, he had your habits memorized in a span of a few days. A frown increasingly widened on your face until your mind map ended, and you hummed at the distaste in your mouth. “Were you in with love them? It feels like you were.”

He glared at you pointedly, but the intimidation passed your head as you leveled him with a curious gaze. Miles choked on his thoughts. Nothing he could do here would stop you from believing in his denial. He could turn away, ignore you, or even verbally deny your question! Nothing would have gotten you to let go of your correct assumption that he was in love with ‘you,’ and by extension, him being in love with you too.

“What made you think I was?” he asked, flipping the attention to you. 

You let out a curt giggle and sheepishly shrunk into yourself. “You’re really nice to me.”

“Because we were friends.”

“Yeah,” you mused with a grimace before you smiled. “But it’s much more interesting to think you were in love, isn’t it?”

He slapped a hand over his eyes and rubbed his face in exhaustion. “Can I sleep?”

“Of course! I’m sorry, it must be tough to have the love of your life watch you while you sleep,” you snickered with a few nods of approval directed at yourself. 

You rested one side of your cheek against the bedsheet, finally deciding to heed his plea to be quiet. Miles took your silence as a chance to close his eyes and finally relax into his headspace. The consistent pat of your palm on his chest served as a hypnotic device to lure you to sleep more than it was for him. The real lure of peace for him was more from your presence in his room and the soft humming that trailed out of your shut lips. That must have been the song you were thinking of when you watched the television on silent; Miles got it memorized after a few loops of it. 

You shifted sleepily on the floor and looked at him. You thought he didn’t look so hateful asleep as he always did. He looked at everything with such coldness, distant enough to be out of reach but close enough to justify hating everything. With you, his eyes held a sense of unwilling defeat, like he was grounding himself on the spot to keep from running to you, and he hated every minute of it even though he thought it was for his own good to shut himself out. He always looked like someone refrained from holding a loved one as they stood before him with open arms.

Your suspicion that he was in love with you from this world didn’t spawn out of nowhere. You merely knew he wasn’t ready to be confronted with his feelings, so you made a humorous joke out of it instead. But you could tell. You could always tell because nobody had ever looked at you like that before, and for once, someone’s unfamiliar eyes made you feel a centuries' worth of romance rather than torture. 

“It’s nice to know a version of me is likable,” you muttered to yourself, and you laughed. "And I thought nobody would ever fall in love with me.”

Miles laid still on his bed for a little longer, listening to the clock tick by. When your humming ceased and your hand stopped patting a beat on his chest, he opened his eyes and carefully turned his body toward your direction. He took a good look at you; his eyes brushed past those identical pair of eyes, your recognizable nose, your soft lips, the curve of your jaw, and your ears made small over his hands. A shivering breath latched at the tip of his tongue, and he had to huff through his nose to remind himself to breathe.

You didn’t wake when he carefully hooked his arm under your legs and pulled you onto his bed. He made space for you on his bed, and he made space for you in his concealed heart that once only belonged to him.

Despite the illusion, his mind knew who you were, but his heart couldn’t pick apart the differences. Except it wasn’t as easy as it seemed. This wasn’t about how you both looked and sounded the same. This was about him and his feelings. This was about him having fallen in love with you before, and now, as he felt his shattered heart piecing itself together through the mere sight of your sleeping face, he was about to do it again. His heart knew you were different, and it did not care. He was ready to fall in love with you again, and he was ready to fall in love with you anywhere.

Because the moon never stops orbiting around the sun. Because Miles chose to let go of himself instead of letting go of the love he has for you. Because he would fall in love with you every time, and he would choose you over himself every time. 

“What do you even know,” he touched your cheek with the back of his knuckles, “about people falling in love with you?”

What do you even know about Miles Morales falling in love with you?

He hugged you close and shut his eyes.

You knew absolutely nothing. 

[flamingpudding]

Fictober23 Prompt: 10 - "It's alright, I'm here now."

Fandom: DPxDC

Rating: T

Warnings: Slight mention / implications of experimentation

A/N: I might have gotten a bit carried away with this... I also might take a little inspirational break tomorrow.

Damian should have known better, he knew his mother and he knew his grandfather. He should have known, especially after having met Respawn. Could his mothers behavior maybe clued him in sooner? But nothing had seemed any different lately, maybe that was what should have tipped him off. Yet if it hadn't been for Drake's paranoia, after another incident with his grandfather, Damian knew he probably wouldn't have found out anytime soon, either.

He ran through the halls of the League of Assassins facilities, knowing this place probably better than his siblings that were keeping his grandfather's men busy. He could hear them over the coms, he could also hear his father confronting his mother. They were in a different location to cover more ground. Richard and Todd were with him in this location while Drake and Cain had gone with their father. Brown and Thomas were back in Gotham awaiting hopefully good news.

Damian rounded a corner, dodging another of his grandfather's men. He did not wait or turn to pin the man down. Trusting his siblings to take care of this, and a second later, gunshots echoed behind him.

There were various options of where the child, his newly created younger brother, could be. But considering how his grandfather had changed, Damian took another turn leading to the underground area. As much as there was a likelihood that the child was created to replace him, he was sure that grandfather was raising the boy differently also, as he was now considered a failure since he had left.

When he reached the underground area he slowed down, blade drawn and surveying the area. It was surprisingly empty, something Damian did not trust. Carefully he walked along the hall until the distant sound of sniveling made him pause.

"I think I found him." Damian relayed through the coms.

"Gotcha we will catch up with you brat." Todd answered and Richard agreed a second later, spouting some 'mushy' nonsense in addition.

"We will finish up here then and prepare for the pick up!" Drake on the other hand informed, despite the fact that Damian could still hear their fathers end of what appeared to be a heavy argument with his mother through the coms.

Carefully he made his way over to a heavy looking metal door. Locked. Damian clicked his tongue. It took a bit of lockpicking but soon enough he heard the soft click of the lock and he slowly pushed the door open.

"Of course grandfather would have an underground lab." He eyed the room and the equipment stored in it. Different machines with different functions were lined all along the walls. He could see villes, tubes, containers and pinchers of Lazarus Water. But what really caught his eye was the huge tank in the back of the room. The tank was nearly empty except for a four inch high puddle of Lazarus Water and a barely clothed, blue eyed child sitting in it.

The child was indeed the source of the sniffling Damian had heard early as he now saw the boy looking at him wide eyed and rubbing at his eyes furiously like he did not want to be seen crying.

"W-who are you?" The child asked, voice cracking from obvious disuse. How bad were they treating this boy? "You look weird."

Damian knew his eyes were softening just a tiny bit at the child's question. They hadn't trained out the child's natural honesty yet. There was still a chance for this boy to grow up with more normalcy than he ever did.

"You can call me Robin." He answered the child as he stepped closer, noting how tiny the boy appeared to be, unintentionally clicking his tongue. Something must have been wrong with the documents Drake found. The papers spoke of a boy at the age of six. But this boy was tiny, clearly younger than that. Or perhaps they hadn't had the chance for the forced aging process?

"Are you a fruitloop?" The boy inched to the back of the tank away from Damian and he barely refrained from clicking his tongue at that motion.

"I am human, not a type of cereal." Damian shot back at the kid inspecting the tank and how to best open it to get the child out.

"Well duh. But you could still be a fruitloop." Richard would have a great time talking to this child, Damian briefly thought as he knocked against the glass of the tank, trying to judge from what kind of glass it was made and if a Batarang was enough to break it.

The child watched him, there were still some tears in the corner of the boy's eyes but there was also curiosity. "You really are getting me out of here?"

Damian absentmindedly nodded as he reached back with the batarang in hand. "Keep were you are, I am going to bre-"

"No, it's fine!" The child suddenly hopped up, splashing the puddle of Lazarus water against the glass as he clumsily stumbled forward, pressing his hands against the glass from the inside. Damian stopped mid movement, watching how the child's tongue stuck out in concentration as the boy continued to press his body against the glass.

For a moment, Damian was wondering what the child was doing until the boy's hand suddenly went through the glass, falling forward. Damian hurried to catch the boy as he literally fell through the glass.

"What did you do?" He asked once he had the boy, his new baby brother, securely in his arms. The boy giggled, swinging his legs a little in the air.

"I got powers!" It didn't make sense to Damian, neither his mother nor father had a meta gene but there was the possibility of his grandfather mixing in other DNA or possibly, he looked around the lab, no he didn't want to imagine this.

"I see." Was his only answer to the boy for now, he turned to his com. He balanced the boy in his arm while placing a couple of devices in the room in preparation. "The child is safely retrieved. Prepare for pick up."

The boy's eyes widened as Damian made his way out of the underground part. Richard and Todd were waiting at the entrance of the stairs for him. The weight of the boy in his arms and the feeling of his small hands clinging to his uniform, it slowly caused the realization that Damian indeed had a blood related little brother now. Not a clone, but a little brother. Sure he had been created through an artificial womb but the boy was not a clone.

"ETA 5 Sending the pick up location." Drake spoke over the coms.

He was close to the stairs when he noticed the boy pressing his face into his shoulder, shaking slightly. It caused Damian to slow down and inspect the child. Did he overlook an injury?

"You… are you really taking me out of here? It's not a trick from the fruitloop to make me trust him? You are taking me away?"

The words made Damian stop right by the foot of the stairs. Richard and Tood were right at the top, waiting for him. He could go up and let Richard carry the child and do the comforting. His brother was better at this than he was. But for some reason, Damian didn't want to do that. He sent one look up the stairs before putting his focus on the child.

"Do not worry." Carefully, while still holding the boy securely Damian made the boy look at him, wiping the beginning of tears away from watery blue eyes. Whatever his grandfather had done to this child, Damian as well as the rest of his family will not let it happen any longer, especially now that they know of his existence. "It's alright, I am here now."

Saying this sounded very 'cheesy', as his oldest brother would put it, in his ears but the small hopeful shine in the boy's eyes was worth it. "As long as I am here, grandfather will no longer lay a hand on you, nor put you through anything you do not want. I am sure father and the rest of our family will agree."

And didn't Damian know it? Because despite all the conflict and contempt that sometimes existed among them, it was still a fact that his family was protective, it was not a if but a certainty that if anyone harmed his baby brother then he was surely not the only one burning down a building or two.

It rang especially true that once they got picked up, instead of letting one of his siblings hold their new brother he tossed them a controller with a certain gleam in his eyes and watched them fight over who got to trigger the explosive he had placed underground before they were out of reach. All while their baby brother was snuggling into his arms and purring like a cat. Damian smirked at his older siblings, it appeared that his baby brother already had a favorite. Not like his siblings would have been a competition in the first place.

[its-your-mind]

This day is the hardest so far, because it is an entire eight-plus hours of just winding tunnel. It is a day of travel of that same ten-foot wide, continuous tunnel, and it is maddening. - c2e50

different types of people on a road trip.

[Image description: A gifset of the Mighty Nein walking through the tunnel in episode 50 of the second campaign.

Gif 1: Laura, as Jester, starts singing, “Sixty-six bottles of beer on the wall, sixty-six bottles of beer.” Marisha, as Beau, starts waving her hands and clapping to the beat, Travis leans into his hand, and Sam stares forward. All of them have deadpan expressions.

Gif 2: Everyone from the previous gif, with the same soulless expressions, sing, “Take one down, pass it around, sixty-five bottles of beer on the wall.”

Gif 3: Caleb stares forward and says, “It’s two o’clock.” Offscreen, Nott says, “Shut up.”

Gif 4: “It’s three o’clock,” Caleb says. “No,” replies Nott.

Gif 5: Fjord says, “If you’re gonna do those maybe put some chimes behind it?” Caleb later says, “Ding dong, ding dong. It’s four o’clock.”

Gif 6: Beau says, “Hey guys. I’m just saying. If we’re gonna be underground in a blank, boring, shithole tunnel for a whole ‘nother day...”

Gif 7: Beau rummages through her bag before looking back up at the rest of the group. “I still have these mushrooms left over from Mollymauk.”

Gif 8: Beau holds up her bag in offering. “Might just help make it fun!” she says with a hesitant grin.

Gif 9: Jester says, “Beau! You know what we could do.” Offscreen, Laura says “I hand her the smutty book,” and Marisha mimes receiving it, gasping and grinning when she sees what it is.

Gif 10: “Wait wait wait!” Jester says. She leans forward with a devious expression. “Read it out loud.”

Gif 11: “Okay!” says Beau with an equally devious expression before excitedly flipping the book open and leaning back to glance over the first pages.

Gif 12: Beau says, “It already starts good you guys.”

Gif 13: Beau reads, “It was a glistening night. The snow fell on the winding paths. She could feel her nipples...” She cuts off with a wide-eyed expression. “(all caps) It starts so soon (end all caps)”. End image description.]

[Plain text: This day is the hardest so far, because it is an entire eight-plus hours of just winding tunnel. It is a day of travel of that same ten-foot wide, continuous tunnel, and it is maddening. - c2e50. End plain text.]

[Image description: One last gif of Jester slowly craning her head back and groaning, “Twenty-one bottles of beer on the wall.” End image description.] (image description via @imber-florum)

[trashland-llamas]

Act V

[talesofphantombandits]

👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

[etfrin]

❝ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ❞ — chapter twelve | coriolanus snow

「ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ:」 NSFW | Canon typical violence, coriolanus snow, dr. gual, mentions of blood, mentions of period, period sex (fingering, f. receiving), dom-ish Coriolanus, mean Coriolanus, murder, aftercare | lmk if I forgot anything!

「ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ:」 young! Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

「ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:」 Coriolanus Snow finds himself in the arena and later in your arms

「ᴀ/ɴ:」 double update, and they had more than their first kiss? how are you liking it so far? please let me know! ❤️

beta read by perfection itself @nowitsmissing

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The gong sounded at that moment, and the tributes scattered. Most fled to the gates that led to the tunnels, several of which had been blown open by the latest bombing. Coriolanus could see Lucy Gray run to the underground tunnel he had told her about.

‘Run!’ he thinks, and he could see Coral, the girl from District Four with her trident already killing tributes. The fights were a blur. He sees Lucy Gray noticing Jessup, the District twelve boy yet to pick up any weapons. The stupid songbird runs towards him instead of the tunnels and Coriolanus nearly stands up, wanting to yell at her for her actions. It was a few close calls, but she hadn't died.

She takes Jessup and flees under the tunnels. She tries to kick the door open, but the metal door refuses to budge. She looks around, afraid that other tributes would catch up. Meanwhile, Flickerman comments as other tributes rush in, “Hy and Sol on the other side pincering on Lucy Gray.”

There was a small space below the door, thankfully Coriolanus watched as Lucy Gray and Jessup managed to crawl in. Another tribute dies but is brutally murdered by Coral's pack. Meanwhile Jessup and Lucy Gray are safe in the room they were in.

Coriolanus relaxes in his seat, relieved for now. Six tributes were gone within minutes. Lucky Flickerman comments, “To the children watching, that was violent, horrific, and disgusting.” Coriolanus wants to scoff at the blatant hypocrisy, the games existed because the Capitol enforced it. It was violent because of the Capitol. It was disgusting but it wasn't on the districts.

Coriolanus catches himself, his chain of thoughts rebelling against his beliefs. He swallows and looks at you. Your free hand clutching your stomach, your face turning pale in sickness. Coriolanus finds himself overwrought, he leans in to whisper, “Are you alright?”

You let out a small groan and shook your head, “I started bleeding this morning. The painkillers aren't kicking in and the cramps are getting worse.” It takes Coryo an embarrassing amount of time to understand what you meant. You're on your period. Oh. Your earlier behavior made a bit more sense now, you were in pain and you were acting out.

He knew the basics of the menstrual cycle thanks to the Academy teaching Sex Ed. And Tigris never shied away from it either, she made sure Coriolanus knew that period was an extremely normal thing a woman (or anyone with a uterus) has to go through each month. He lets his eyes soften, and he squeezes your hand in a comforting manner.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” He asked.

You shake your head in response, but you look even sicker than before. Coriolanus felt displeased seeing you like this, you should have been resting instead the damn games kept you here. It also explained why you had to skip your interview too. You were too sick.

He looks at the screens. Nothing interesting was happening now. It was so boring that Lucky Flickerman had switched to his former job of being a weatherman. Coriolanus decided to go to the cafeteria, hoping to find something you could snack on. That should help a tiny bit.

“I will be back,” he announced, getting up from his seat and heading to the cafeteria. He sees the assortment of food, he heads straight for the sandwiches first. He takes a plate and gets four sandwiches. Two for each of you. Then he searches for something sweet, thankfully, due to the joyous occasion of the games. The cafeteria made different sorts of desserts including chocolate. Coriolanus made sure to pile them up on the plate, leaving nothing behind. He wasn't sure what you liked after all. He was hoping to find out after this.

Then he looks at one of the staff, and he's not sure if he should ask or not. But then he remembered how you were clutching your stomach. With a sigh, he calls someone out, a fellow worker who looks back and politely smiles at Coriolanus.

“Is there any possible way to be given hot water in a bottle?”

“If it's to drink we can give you a glass-”

“No, it's for my girl. She has cramps.”

The female worker nods in understanding and tells him to wait. Coriolanus looked at the clock of the cafeteria, five minutes had passed. He wondered if anything was happening. He hoped that he hadn't missed anything and the songbird was safe. She was the key to everything after all.

“The show isn't over until the mockingjay sings,” he mutters in futile reassurance.

The worker comes in and hands him the hot water bottle. Coriolanus thanks her and rushes back to the auditorium. “You're back,” you said to him, your gaze on the plate of food he had bought. The only meal both of you had was the breakfast he cooked, and neither finished it. So it was understandable you were hungry.

“What did I miss?” He asked, handing you the hot water bottle. You stare at the metal bottle for a moment, baffled by the gesture. He could see your eyes to water and he felt dread creeping in his mind. Had he fucked up? He wanted to do something nice, that's all. He wanted to take care of you!

“Thank you,” you choked out, your voice thick with vulnerability. You press the hot water bottle to the area of your cramps and blink the tears away. “And sorry…” you muttered sheepishly, “Shouldn't have behaved that way.”

“It's fine,” he said, even if it wasn't. You shouldn't have been rude to him, so unnecessarily, but he will let go for now. He turned away to look at the screen to see Marcus was dead, lying on the ground.

Coriolanus turns to you for an explanation. You were ravishing your sandwich. “Mercy killing,” you had simply replied, “That girl killed him with an ax.”

“Well, that's what happens when you do stuff!” Lucky Flickerman comments, “You get attention.” He moved toward Pup Harington, the mentor of District Seven, Lamina. He explained the rules of communicuff. Pup Harington seizes the opportunity to send his tribute a bottle of water.

Coriolanus can see through the screen that the girl from District Seven reaches out to get the glass bottle. She has to duck to avoid crashing into the metal drone as the drone doesn't slow down and crashes into some debris behind her. Breaking the water bottle as well. Pup Harington curses and Coriolanus leans forward as he realizes the faulty mechanism of the drones. He can't send Lucy Gray water or food unless he wants to risk hurting her.

You tsk, “These were probably last-minute inventions to infuse your idea,” you bite the dark chocolate he bought you, “She could have done it next year.”

“She needs the games to shine this year to have games for the next year,” Coriolanus replied.

“What's the point if it's faulty?”

Coriolanus doesn't reply to that, he turns his focus to the screen. Staring at the death of Marcus from District Two and wondering what was his sin to receive this fate. All he did was run for his life.

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None were remaining in the auditorium except you and Coriolanus. You were asleep in your chair and Coryo was dozing off. Trying to keep his focus on the screen; in case anything happens. He was nearly asleep when Dr. Gauls' voice caused him to flinch and be awake.

“Mr. Snow,” she hisses like a snake.

“Dr. Gaul,” he said, his gaze turning into your sleeping form before he met Dr. Gauls' crazed eyes.

“Did something happen? Is it Lucy Gray?”

“Unless you can put a leash on your deluded classmate, she might as well be dead as far as you're concerned.”

Ugh, what the fuck did Sejanus do this time. Go into the arena? Then he realized the irony of his thoughts because he could see Sejanus Plinth through the medium of the screen that was broadcasting the games. He was in the arena.

Sejanus Plinth was in the arena.

The fuck is wrong with him! And why is Dr. Gaul visiting him over this, shouldn't she go to his daddy? He was tired, and his body hurt from sitting in the chair for long hours. Why was he stuck in this mess?

“Bread crumbs I believe,” Dr. Gaul said, turning towards the screen in which he could see Sejanus Plinth wasting precious bread, sprinkling it over the corpse. “Sustenance for a fallen comrade. District two superstition.”

Coriolanus frowned as he watched Sejanus wasting the bread in this manner. Stupid, stupid, stupid. It would have made more sense to him if he sneaked into where Lucy Gray was and handed her the food. Instead, he was throwing it on a rotting corpse. Only the districts are capable of this stupidity.

“I need someone to get him out right now,” she said.

Was she implying he would go to the arena for a ridiculous Plinth boy? He knew she was insane but this was borderline dumb. He doesn't want to risk his life!

“You should send the Peacekeepers,” he replied, as calmly as possible. He doesn't want to go. He's not suicidal enough for that.

Dr. Gaul goes on to explain why she can't send Peacekeepers and the district. She even mentions his classmate, Felix Ravinstill. Frankly, Coriolanus couldn't bring himself to care. Let the Plinth boy die, it's the consequence of his action.

Then Dr. Gaul adds, “Who knows? You get him out unscathed, I'll whisper your name in his father's ear. You still want the Plinth Prize, don't you?” Dr. Gaul knew that he didn't need to verbally agree, his expression was enough.

“I'll freeze the feed for an hour. I estimate that's all we have before the people notice.”

Then, Dr. Gaul leaves after informing Coryo that there's a van waiting for him to take him to the arena. He begins to stand up from his seat, getting ready for the journey to his doom.

“You know I am going with you, right?”

He startled, turning towards you, he firmly said to you, “No.” He watched you rub your eyes, you were sleepy that was clear. You must have woken up while that witch was talking. You shake your head in response.

“Don't care. I won't let that bitch make you go alone.”

He said your name in warning. You glare at him with your adorable, tired eyes. “I am going, Coriolanus Snow. Or else I'll tell everyone about what Sejanus is doing right now.”

He clenched his jaw. He grits out, “You could die.”

“So could you!”

He doesn't argue against that.

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A van takes you and him towards the arena. Losing precious minutes that you use to nap. Your head on his shoulder, while he ran his fingers along his scar, thinking of scenarios to bring all three of you alive. He would sacrifice Sejanus to save you. There's no doubt about that. But it's an action he can't afford right now.

So he thinks and thinks. His mind grew increasingly agitated. There's so much that can go wrong. One wrong move. A tribute waking up and deciding that they were easy kills. Caging them. Torturing you. Hurting you. He feels his breathing getting faster, his vision blurring as these thoughts begin to attack.

He gasps, his eyes closing. His chest rapidly moved up and down. He bit his lower lip until he tasted blood. He forced himself to breathe through his nose. There's no time for an attack right now. He doesn't have the luxury of that. He lets the weight of your head anchor him.

He's going to have a future. He's not going to let anything happen to you. And nothing will happen to him. Sejanus will come out of this alive as well.

Snow lands on top.

Snow lands on top.

Snow lands on top.

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He doesn't let you go in. He won't. When you tried to insist, he growled at you, “I won't be getting him back if I am trying to save you. I need to get him back. I can't make you a higher priority here.” You narrowed your eyes but Coriolanus knew you didn't have a fighting bone in your body. Your hands wove into his curls, and you make him reach your height.

“Then you better come back, Coriolanus Snow. Alive. Otherwise, you won't like the consequences.”

He wants to kiss you. God, he wants to kiss you. He decided that he would come back alive from this. He will. He will steal your breath and make you lose all of your senses. He will ruin you because life is too unpredictable, too short. He can't wait any longer.

He leaves you there. He walks inside the arena, the monotone voice announcing his entry with the usual ‘Enjoy the game’. It sends chills down his spine.

Snow sees Sejanus near the dead body of Marcus. Coriolanus tiptoes across the field. Sejanus laughs quietly when he sees Coriolanus. “Thought they would send my Ma,” he said, bitterly.

“You need to get out, Coryo,” he said and Coriolanus wanted to choke him. It was a nickname for family and friends. A nickname for you. And he had used it blatantly for the first time in a situation like this nonetheless.

“I would like to,” Snow whispered, annoyed. “I really would. But I promised to get you out.”

“Why?”

Because I need to win the Plinth Prize.

Because Dr. Gaul forced me.

“Because you're my friend,” he lied.

“I had to do this,” Sejanus begins to explain, looking desperate, begging to be understood. “I had to go where the cameras were.”

Unfortunately, Coriolanus wasn't the right person for it. “Do you think anyone is watching this? She cut off the feed. You die here and she'll say you died of the flu.”

“You need to decide,” Coriolanus huffed, “Are you gonna be a dead body in Gauls' war or do something actual good?”

“What good can I do out there?”

Was it too late to choke him?

“You're smart. You're rich. You care.” Coriolanus argued, “You can do it if you want. With your father's money.” Sejanus and Coryo flinch when they hear noises in the quiet arena. It was the sound of sharpening knives. “We’re dead if we don't leave right now,” Coryo hisses.

Coriolanus and Sejanus begin to leave. Coriolanus gripped his arm to practically drag him away from Marcus's body. Just then he hears footsteps, and he freezes. Then yells out at Sejanus to run as a tribute comes towards them with a long knife. Sejanus and Coriolanus reach the entrance of the arena, Coriolanus jumps over the entry point but Sejanus trips.

Sejanus holds his knee, groaning and Coriolanus runs back to get him. The tribute catches up and manages to slash Coriolanus back. Coriolanus lets out a blood-curdling scream from the pain, adrenaline rushing in. He has to go back. He has to go back to you; you're waiting for him.

Coriolanus’s fingers closed around a two-by-four, and he brought it up, catching Bobbin in the temple hard, sending him to his knees. And then he was on his feet, using the board like a club, bringing it down again and again without being sure where it made contact.

“We have to go!” Sejanus shouted.

He pants, throwing the board aside. The boy was dead and he wasn't sure what to make of the rush he felt as he saw another dead body in front of him. One of his own making. One that assured him of his survival and made him feel alive.

Sejanus brings back to reality as more tributes come in. He and Sejanus run out as the Peacekeepers open the barricade. He was brought to the ground by the weight of a body. He groans as he feels you on top of him. His back was bleeding onto the ground.

“You're alive,” you whisper, your eyes wide, and your lips swollen as if you constantly bit down, concerned about him. He wrapped his arms around you.

He lets out a heavy sigh, “Not if I bleed out, sweetheart.” You take your weight off him and help him stand up. Your eyes take in the blood with horror on your face. He whispered his arms around you, “It's fine. I am okay.”

In the distance, he can see Sejanus approach them and he's too pissed at him to have a proper conversation right now. It seemed you shared the same sentiments because the moment Sejanus came close, you pushed him. He doesn't fall but the impact makes him take a few steps back.

“You! It's because of you and your stupid beliefs that you do nothing but whine about that has led to this! It led him to bleed, Sejanus! How will you pay for his blood!? Fucking get out of here to your ma before I recreate the fucking wound on you!”

Sejanus flinches, looking betrayed. Sejanus looked at Snow but he had to look away because he simply was so proud of you. He was proud that you stood up, he was proud that you voiced what he wanted to say. He was also amused because thinking of your origins, you should have similar beliefs with Sejanus.

But you were simply concerned about Coriolanus, nothing else. It made Snow feel grateful he had you. You cared and you didn't try to hide it.

Sejanus doesn't try to say anything else. He walks with his head down to the car in which his ma and pa were waiting. Coriolanus pulls you back into his arms. “You didn't have to be so harsh,” he whispered, despite the fact he had enjoyed it so, so much.

“Who's the tribute that hurt you?”

“The boy is dead,” Coriolanus glees, unable to make himself look sane. He was bleeding out, adrenaline still pumping in his veins and with you in the equation. He felt drunk. “I enjoyed killing him.”

Coriolanus doesn't find out about your reaction to his confession as the toll of his blood loss takes over and his vision darkens. He goes unconscious.

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He groans as he wakes up from the darkness. A dull pain in his back. He recognized that an IV needle was stuck in his arm. His shirt was off, and the wound was stitched. He looked around to find out that he was in the lab, and Dr. Gaul was present, looking straight at him from a corner. He was proud of the fact he didn't flinch. He swallowed the nervousness, and greeted, “Dr. Gaul.”

“Mr. Snow,” She greets back, her voice booming, “Never thought I would see Crassus’ boy in the arena.”

He doesn't say anything, nor does he look at her. His gaze turns towards the glass containers filled with greenish liquid and some kind of horrid experimentation. Dr. Gaul drawls on, “Do you want to be like your father, Mr. Snow? Then it's essential to accept what human beings are and what it takes to control them.”

For tonight, Coriolanus Snow was a murderer. He had to accept that, he took a life for his survival, but he enjoyed it. He vaguely remembers confessing it to you. Horror fills him, he fucked up whatever he had with you for sure. Killing someone for your survival was one thing, even Sejanus can't hate him for it. But enjoying it? Feeling powerful as he felt someone's life draining out. It felt like drinking an elixir to Snow.

He can't imagine the disgust you felt when he admitted it. He can't- how will he fix this- he wipes away the tears staining his cheeks. He would beg and grovel, he would lie if you bring it up.

Dr. Gaul misinterpreted the misery on his face. “You did what you had to, Mr. Snow.” Then she begins to walk away, a clear dismissal.

“Yes,” he replied, cordially, “I am aware.”

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

He enters the penthouse; he stops in his tracks as he sees you sitting down in the dining space. Waiting for him. It was extremely late at night by now and you were here, awake. Coriolanus was touched by how freely you showed your care through your actions. From the meal (orange chicken and rice) you gave in the car till now. You cared. So openly, so fiercely.

Unlike him.

His care was always hidden. “Dove,” he whispered, a nickname for you like Coryo was for him. Perhaps his care wouldn't be concealed under layers anymore. Your head snaps towards him, and with long strides, you meet his arm. You are careful about your hand placement, making sure not to hurt him or put pressure on his wound.

“Coryo,” you rasped out, “Coryo, Coryo, Coryo.” You bury your face in his chest and for a moment he thought you were sobbing but you were just taking deep breaths in. He holds you tighter, suffocating you, anchoring you like you did for him. He didn't care that it pulled his stitches.

“Hi,” he whispered sheepishly, he forgot about the arena, the murder, Sejanus, and Dr. Gaul. He remembers you and only you.

“Hi,” you giggle back, your eyes teary. “You're here,” you whispered, “Real or not?”

He let out a small laugh, “I am not a hallucination, dove.”

You shrugged in his arms, “Lack of sleep can cause them. For all I know this is a dream and you're still under the care of that bitch.”

“I am here,” he emphasized his words with a kiss on your hairline. He looks into your eyes and sees how real all of this is. He can make you his reality. He needs to seize it. He needs to control his fate.

He realized you hadn't questioned him about the blood on his hands. He was going to bring it up if you weren't. He would let his confession remain buried if that's what you wanted. No need to unleash his demons onto you.

He guides you to his bedroom, but he gently presses you to the door. He has you in between him and the door. There's no escape, so much for not unleashing his demons when he's a devil in disguise himself. He nuzzles your neck and lets out a desperate, needy noise.

His tongue peeks out to lick a strip of your neck. You gasp, your tense body melting into him. He holds you by grabbing your waist with his hands. “I need you,” he whispered, he pulled back and looked at you with pathetic, puppy eyes; impossible to say no to.

“Give yourself to me, Coryo.”

It's your fault. He will give himself to you. Demons and all. Bloody, pathetic, insane Coriolanus Snow, he's yours now.

“Yours,” he groaned, pressing wet, desperate kisses onto your neck, you move your head to give him more space, more skin to mark. He growls near your ear, letting the past high rush into his veins. The hold he has on your waist gets tighter. You were in different clothes, your academy uniform changed into a simple pink top and jeans.

You let out a moan when he bites into your neck, breaking the skin to form a dark bruise. You pressed into him like a whore. You whine, “I should let you kill more men if it gets you like this.”

He freezes. He then leans back. His lips parted to take in breaths, his pupils blown and his cheeks a deep wine red. He looks debauched and sexy. It drives you insane. You don't say anything further, waiting for his reaction.

He breaks out a feral, primal grin on his face. You were perfect for him. God, you were. He let his fingers wove themselves into your locks and he tugged hard. He relishes the whine that leaves your lips. It didn't hurt, no, he could see the same insane lust in your eyes that he felt in his blood.

He crashed his lips onto your soft ones. Both of your teeth clashed against each other as he kissed for the first time in his life. It was in no way perfect. Too much tongue, uncoordinated, sloppy, wet and so, fucking filthy. His blood rushed down his body as he sucks at your tongue, his fingers pulling at your hair tighter, moving your head so he could fuck your lips with his tongue. His free hand went near your neck. It would be easy to take your life, he realized.

He felt your pulse under his fingertips. His hand around your neck, it was there but he didn't put any pressure on it. His lips attached to yours still engaged in a fight for dominance, and neither of you was willing to give in. Each chasing your own, selfish pleasure through the kiss. He disappointingly understood he would never be able to live a life with you dead. Your beating heart gave him the same rush taking a life did.

You made him feel alive simply by existing.

Your existence is his survival.

You're his.

He groans into your mouth as he comes to the realization. He breaks the kiss, a string of saliva connecting you both. He immediately went back for a few more kisses, already craving your lips like it was cocaine, chasing the chocolate taste on your tongue.

You gasp, taking in much-needed air as both break away again. His hand which was on your neck, travels to your jeans to unbutton them. Your hand holds his wrist before he can slide your pants off.

“Am bleeding,” you whispered, your eyes wide.

He had seen plenty of blood today, what's more? “Don't care,” he grunts out, he slides your jeans down, along with your panties letting it pool around your ankles. You kick them aside on the floor.

He buried his face into your shoulder, as you took a deep breath. “Can I?” He asked, his hands waiting for permission as his blunt nails dug into your thighs. Frankly, he doesn't even want to ask. And one day, he won't have to.

“Yes, Coryo,” you consent, your voice breathless and needy.

He was glad you couldn't see the satisfied grin on his face. He ignored his aching cock as his fingers slowly traveled up to between your soaked cunt. He pressed his palm against your pussy, letting his hand be colored by your blood and juices. He begins to move his palm up and down your folds and you moan, oversensitive. You begin to rut into his hand and he warningly squeezed your thigh.

“No,” he barks out, a sudden slap on your pussy making you cry out. “Behave, dove.”

You let out a whine, and Coriolanus doesn't want to handle a brat when he's feeling heaven for the first time. He slaps your pussy again, making you jolt. He whispered, dark and menacing, “Behave, bitch.”

“Coryo,” you moan.

“That's it, dove. Let me play with you,” he encourages as his fingers begin to touch your pussy, feeling up your slick folds, your slit through which you leaked out thick goops of blood he couldn't care less about.

His thumb finds your clit, he realized the bud was the source of pure bliss to you from the way you gasped as he began to play with it. His thumb roughly circles around the pearl, and you whine out his name, your hips bucking in again like a whore.

He allows you to do this, knowing that your brain is mush from the pleasure. He begins to bite into your neck, creating more dark hickeys that luckily the academy uniform will hide. He lets out a groan as he slips inside the first digit of your warm, slick, and tight gummy walls. His cock throbs with need. But he won't fuck you so soon, with everything still new to him.

“Fuck,” you cuss, your eyes rolling back. You would have fallen on the floor if it wasn't Coriolanus supporting you. He fucks into your warmth with a single finger, unsure if he should put another one in.

“More,” you whine and he listens. He gently thrust another of his long and dainty fingers inside of your bloody, wet cunt. He moans as he feels your walls pulsate against his digits.

“You feel perfect around my fingers. Look at your pussy squeezing them like a vice. Will your cunt squeeze my cock like that too?” He whines into your ears, growing desperate, his hips rutting into your side. The friction of his pants on his dick was dry but gratifying. He knew he spoiled his pants with pre-cum. He didn't care. He hears you whimper, unable to answer his sinful words.

“Coryo! Slow down!” You cry out as his fingers fuck into you at a rough pace, he wasn't sure what felt good for you or not. He listens, slowing down considerably, he decides to crook his fingers and finds a spongy spot pressing into his fingertips.

You let out a scream of pleasure, and Coriolanus has to use his free hand to shut you up. He pressed his palm onto your lips, muffling your noises. You liked him pressing into that spot. He crooked his fingers even more, rubbing the spot. He giggles as he sees your eyes glaze over like a dumb whore, your cunt spasming around his digits, close to cumming.

He begins to speed up again, and he knows it hurts a bit for you. He couldn't bring himself to care, your pussy is his. He will do whatever he wants. But as he feels the vibration of your desperate whine on his hand. He pressed wet kisses along your jaw, whispering apologies.

“Cum on my fingers, dove,” he whispered, his fingers hitting your g-spot with each thrust, his hips rutting into the side of your body. He was close to snapping himself, for you he was willing to cum in his pants like a stupid boy.

His thumbs find your clit again, now he gets even more feral. The pleasure borderlines to pain, and you drool, your chin covered in saliva which he licks up without shame. “It's fine,” he coos, “Cum, baby.”

He rubbed at your g-spot, his thumb flicking your clit. The coil in your stomach unwraps itself, ecstasy filling your veins as your cunt spasms around his digits. You cum from his fingers, your mind blank. Your eyes rolled back.

He groans, feeling his cock twitch and cums in his pants. It was surprisingly the best orgasm he ever had. He couldn't believe he came untouched. He couldn't find himself to be embarrassed about it, not when he has to pick up your pieces.

“You here with me?” He asked softly, gazing into your glossy eyes. You nod back, weak. He guides you to his bed. “Let me clean you up,” he whispered, kissing your forehead.

He quickly changed into his pajamas, cleaning his hand clean of your blood. He takes a wet towel and cleans up the bloody mess smearing your thighs. You let out a whine when the towel touches your pussy. You were sensitive after your orgasm. He shushed you, “It's fine, doll.”

And he cleans you up before he helps you wear your panties. He doesn't make you wear the jeans as he doesn't want you to have any sensory overload right now. He goes to the kitchen and brings you a glass of water. He helps you drink the full glass, encouraging you softly.

He even puts a towel under you, in case you bleed through your pad. He feels the tiredness weighing him down and he lays down in bed beside you. The games will be there tomorrow. But he will only have this night with you once.

“You're everything, Coryo,” he hears you whisper, your throat hoarse even after drinking water.

You're his everything too.

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