#the Flashes think Black Flash is there to kill them and keep on running

[mkarchin713]

DP x DC prompt 2

It didn’t matter how fast any of them ran the Black Flash was hot on their tails.

Being caught meant death, escaping meant life.

So they would run.

They would run and outpace death

None of them were ready to die yet

….

Danny was getting even more annoyed.

He had spent the last three hours listening to Clockwork passive aggressively complain about the Speedsters (Again!).

So he decided the only responsible thing he, as the Ghost King, could do was send Black Flash out to drag them all in and force them to listen to Clockworks complaining too.

They were the cause, they should suffer with him.

[cowyolks]

HER MAJESTY,

PART TWO OF KING AU (Read Part One Here)

Prompt: King! König x Female Reader

Summary: Your King indulges you on your wedding day. For you are his new wife and queen.

Words: 6.3 k

Warnings: Fingering, Oral (f receiving), Spit, Voyeurism, Public Sex (Bedding Cermony), mentions of running a train, P in V Sex, Cum Eating, Creampie, Slight Breeding Kink. Please note that these are inaccurate scenes of Weddings, Bedding Ceremonies and Coronations.

A/N: Whew! I had to take multiple breaks with this one guys. Please enjoy and tell me what you think! Part Three?

“Pst,”

“Pst!”

Your eyes flickered around the warm halls of the keep, several torches illuminating the corridors as the sun set through the stain glass windows. Still, you could not pinpoint where the calling noise came from.

Your fingers reached for the singular dagger you had secretly hidden against your thigh. Even in your wedding dress, you didn’t like being defenseless, perhaps it was the General in you.

Before you could brush off the odd pestering, a warm hand fell over your mouth, halting and muffling your yelp all in one motion. With a tug, you fell backwards, darkness invading your senses as you scanned the familar room you were pulled in.

An opposite hand held onto your wrist, stopping you from using the dagger clutched between your fingers. You released the weapon once you heard the familiar chuckle of your promised.

“Easy, Maus.”

You whirled around, the sound of your heels echoing in the empty room.

“You’re lucky I didn’t kill you!” You whispered harshly into the darkness, only the shine of your earrings, the white of your wedding dress and König’s crown glinted against the pitch black.

“I suppose I am… lucky that is,” his words were filled with pride and satisfaction, you imagined his pupils blown out and hungry looking. Like a wolf stalking upon sheep.

“Why’d you pull me in here? I’m supposed to be meeting in the throne room shortly.”

His hands weaved around the middle of your back, pulling you tight against his chest. His form massive and daunting as he enveloped you. He smelt of cherry wine and sage, a combination that made your legs weak.

“It’s the last time I’d see you before you were my wife, I wanted to leave this part of us on a good note, ja?”

You couldn’t help the little smile that flew upon your lips. It’s a word you’d never grow tired of, his wife, the queen.

“Whatever you plan on doing, we don’t have time.” You scolded, although your hands were already betraying you, your palms slowly sliding down his chest, the softness of his cloak like velvet under your skin.

“How do you expect me to simply act as a King when you’re dressed like a Goddess, hm?” He leant forward, his mouth chasing downwards to your own lips, catching them in a mouthwatering kiss.

He pulled away briefly, one of his canines biting harshly upon the flesh of your bottom lip. You whined at the painful sting, relishing in the feeling of arousal building under your dress.

“We don’t have time.” You practically whined, thighs rubbing together almost pathetically.

“I know.” Your King whispered into the dark, the intention in his voice the exact opposite of what he said. His tone was needy, desperate.

Quicker than a flash of lightning, he flipped you, your ass pressed harshly against his growing length in his trousers. His chin pressed down against your collar bone, his body morphing into the unintentional arch of your back. His foot kicked your ankles apart, spreading your legs so he could fit his feet between your hunched over form. You shouldn’t, but you will.

Anything for the king.

König tilted his head, his lips greedily sucking upon your pulse point, quickly you jerked back, eyes narrowed as you looked him in the eyes.

“No marks…” you sounded, you did little to hide the disappointment in your voice, your body yearned to be painted in bruises and lovebites of your King’s doing. But alas, you had a reputation to uphold.

König pouted slightly, a rumbling chuckle vibrating from his chest, the vibrations filtering to your back. “I suppose you’re right.” He kissed your temple, before reaching back to your hips, his fingertips squeezing the soft flesh beneath the white lace.

“We have to be quick.” You sighed in defeat, although this defeat reaped plentiful rewards. Rewards in the form of your monstrous fiancé.

“I agree, although you deserve more than a few moments, I’ll promise you more time later tonight.” He vowed, lips finding the soft flesh of your shoulder again.

You reached behind your back, gently palming upon the hard length of his clothed cock, you heard his shaky exhale, just the same as the first time you held his cock. With a nimble finger you twisted upon his belt and buttons.

König hummed, “Cheeky girl, so eager for my cock.”

“Can’t help it.” You found yourself pouting, even more so when König pulled away to inch his trousers down enough for his cock to spring free. Your mouth watered at the sight in the darkness.

“Don’t have time to warm you up. Think you can take it?” He cooed, his large hand pumping his shaft slightly.

You nodded, already beginning to gather your wedding dress to pool around towards the front, revealing your bare back to him, ravishing in the purr that escaped his body.

His hand reached upwards, palm engulfing upon the whole width of your neck, pulling you impossibly close to his body. His other hand guided his cock against your semi-wet cunt, a teasing dance that had you squirming.

“I need words, darling. Tell me you can handle it?”

You squirmed again at the feeling of his spit falling down between your ass, coating your cunt and his hard length in extra slick. It was enough to make you gasp.

“Yes! I’ll be good, I can handle it.” You pleaded, cheek nearly smacking against the stone wall near your head when he pushed inside your walls in a painful stretch. He groaned at the tightness, just as your vision went black from the stinging pain and fullness you felt when his cock tore into you.

One of his long arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you down impossibly deep upon his length, enough to make you squeak pathetically.

“That’s it darling, stay standing for me.” The King whispered in your ear, it was then you noticed just how little feeling you had in your legs, his arm holding majority of your weight. So much so that the tips of your toes were the only thing brushing against the cobblestone floors in each wicked thrust of his hips.

It was pathetic how much you unraveled around him. How each snap of his hips and scorching kiss amongst your neck brought you to oblivion.

It was delightfully sinful, having your soon to be husband ravish you in the innocent white of your wedding dress.

At the rate he was going, you wouldn’t last much longer, he seemed to pinpoint this too. König pressed his thumb to your clit, adding delightful pressure all the while still holding you up.

“Can’t take… much more,” he whined pathetically against your shoulder, getting himself lost in the tightness of your soppy cunt. It was simply enchanting watching such a giant fold to you.

It didn’t take long for you to see stars, hands reaching back to hold onto him as you clenched in preparation, with a few more feral thrusts against your walls you released with a moan, only able to savor the feeling for a moment before König took the liberty of burying into you.

His arms flexed against your middle, pulling you in a vice as he filled you, his panting the only thing that could be heard in the silent room. Warm seed ran down your thighs, making you snap out of the blissed out sensation and focusing on the chiming of wedding bells.

Your own wedding bells.

“Fuck, We’re late!”

It was delightful how easy it was for König to put on a show. While he didn’t necessarily like the attention, he was never shy to show you off, or his kingdom.

The palace was decorated in the most lavish of gems, diamonds and gold. Among with the hundred of white roses and tulips that happened to be your favorite.

He always knew. He always did.

Hundreds upon hundreds of voices chatted through the large doors that would open in a couple of moments. Several civilians, nobles, your knights, and even other kings and queens awaited for this day. A day so incredibly special to you.

A day you’d become the King’s wife.

“Ready?” Your second in command asked from beside you, someone who would stand position to you against all your other knights on your way to the alter.

The knights represented a move of power towards the King. All your ranks and achievements would be flaunted all the while as you wore a white dress.

With a nod of your head, your second in command opened the large oak doors, the swinging of the hinges alerting the people that you were coming, and with a small inhale you began to descend alone, head held high as your searching eyes found your King.

He was there, a small smirk upon his lips as his eyes drank you in. The darkness of his chambers didn’t do him Justice, now in the warm setting sun, shaded by the beautiful gleams of stained glass did he look truly ethereal.

His auburn hair the color of flickering candlelight and warm cider parted for the iron-clad crown proudly displayed on his temples, the crown held no jewels, simply a testament to his power, made strictly of steel.

He was dressed in the colors of his nation, robes of red and white adorned his board shoulders and chiseled chest. His trousers were a dark color, that matched the black sigil illustrated on his cloak.

Your steps were sure, even with the thousands of eyes upon you. Your King’s eyes twinkled as he took you in. His gaze was the only thing you saw.

König reached out, his palm open to you, open to your new union. You took it with greedy hands, a smile upon your lips as you thought of how he was yours. Yours, yours, yours.

The officiants speech were blurred, a messy contraption of words you were too occupied to hear, until a heavy cloth landed upon your shoulders. The familiar black material that smelt like cherry wine and sage covered your dress. It dwarfed in comparison of your body, as most did when it came to the King.

“May your bride be forever under your protection. For she now carries your Sigil and name, for this day until the end of her days.” The officiant’s voice boomed in the silent throne room.

With those words, you turned to König, whose gaze was nothing short of undying affection. While he was a ruthless king in battle, he was also a ruthless lover. Never one to settle for less than perfection.

“Exchange rings.” The officiant ordered.

A small smile crossed your lips, as you pulled the ring out from your awaiting palm. The ring you would present to your King was something you had been pleased to make yourself. A band of gold, heavily intricate with weaving vines, a maze that encircled the entirety. You placed it upon his ring finger in pride, just as he planted an exquisite ring with a beautiful ruby rhinestone. Simple, yet elegant.

Then a ceremonial dagger was placed between your hands, the gold of the shaft glimmered and the hilt felt heavy in your hand.

You knew what to do as König offered his palm out to you. No hesitation in his mind as you gently held his wrist, hand strong and unwavering as you slid the dagger across his palm, a small dribble of blood pooling around the inflicted wound.

His face remained stolid, eyes only twinkling in affection as you passed the dagger to him. You presented your hand to him, just as his gaze bore into you, the crown making him seem even taller than he already was.

The cold metal stung against the crease of your palm, yet you couldn’t break away from his stare as you refused to flinch. Only looking down when the warmth of your blood fell from the wound.

König nodded to the officiant, then back to you. He held his hand out, offering you a permanent bond by his side. Offering you him.

You took his hand without question.

The officiant stepped forward, wrapping a soft ribbon upon your conjoined hands.

“With the bond of blood, man and woman become one, one unit, one nation, one love. I present to you husband and wife.”

The nation wept in happiness, loud applause drowning out from your ears as König bent down, attaching your lips in such a sweet and delicate kiss that it hurt your very heart.

Your Husband. Your King. And soon you’d be his Quee-

“Among with the wedding of your King, he has requested a coronation for his wife.”

Your breathing hitched, you did not think that your coronation would come soon. Maybe a week after your wedding, but now? Not that it mattered too much, you’d had time to gather yourself for your new rule as Queen Mother. Now it was only time to fulfill your promise to König. Your husband.

With a steady hand, König unwrapped the ribbon that created your bond, instead settling to create another one. Husband and Wife. King and Queen.

Your second in command ascended again, holding a velvet piece in his hand, something that protected a crown made of the same iron material that König’s was made of. Yours however was designed thinner, the rungs were taller and slender. A crown of simple elegance.

König nodded towards your captain, taking the crown gently in two hands. His body ascending in front of his people as he faced the crowds. You maneuvered as taught, back towards your people as your eyes fell to the King.

You dropped your knee, falling in front of him as your head tilted up. Awaiting your new position.

“You swear to uphold this Kingdom? Cherish it as one of your own, to protect them, shield them, and bear their burdens?” His deep voice rumbled over the kingdom, almost enough to shake the walls of his keep.

“I do.”

“And do you swear to serve the King? For his council is yours, and your council is his. Do you swear to rule together as one single force?”

“I do.” You vowed, head dropping slightly as your hands shook at your sides.

Fingers traced against your jaw, before a heavy object was placed against your head, the weight of the crown finally sinking in.

“Rise, my love.” His soft voice lured you to stand. To turn towards your people with a look of great pride. With his aid, you stood tall.

König took a step forward, his chest puffed up slightly as his eyes burnt towards his kingdom.

“For all to witness, here is my wife. Long live the Queen!” His voice boomed, just as the crowd chanted the words over and over again.

You gulped when König dropped to a knee, his eyes soft and dark at the same time as he took you in like a Goddess to be worshipped. The chants of “Long live the Queen!” vanishing as you gestured for him to stand beside you once more.

You stood shoulder to shoulder, hands intertwined as the two of you took in your kingdom.

Chatter rang throughout the large dining hall in merry celebration. Your lips were likely stained with the most lavish of cherry wines that König had been saving for this special date.

Now the two of you sat upon a large table overlooking the nobles and councilmen that took turns singing and dancing while feasting upon the layouts of roasted hog, breads, cheeses, and fresh fruits that heaped in surplus.

“You look divine in that dress.” Your husband’s voice broke your concentration away from the flickering lanterns of the hall.

“I bet you want nothing more than to take it off.” You teased lightly, only picking at your food as your gaze looked else where. Towards five approaching men coming to your table. Many had come, but only to lay gifts on the oak table with a gentle bow, these men however waited for König’s concentration to break from you.

Finally, his stare followed yours, settling upon the men that looked to hold shocking power. Perhaps Kings of their own nations?

“Ah, Welcome!” König voice was tight, a teasing notion that you noted. What was he up to?

The men all bowed slightly as they exchanged pleasantries, then their eyes left König and settling on you.

“This is my Wife,” König introduced you by name, just as your lips curled upwards in a greeting.

“Maus, these are the Kings of our bordering nations. I invited them as a hope to become allies”

They all were tall, one being taller than the rest and gloomy looking. He wore all black robes and kept his face covered much like your husband did in battle. His eyes were fiery as he squinted up at you. Carefully he placed a golden necklace next to your table, a gift you supposed.

His companion next to him was the opposite, instead dressed in a Scottish styled kilt and a smirk upon his face. You assumed this was John of Clan MacTavish, who graciously supplied the feast.

Another stepped forward, an impressive beard upon his face as he nodded to König. Before turning to you. “Simon and Johnny spoke of your beauty, I had to see if the rumors were true. They do not disappoint. You may call me Price.” His lit was elegant and precise.

Yet his eyes were nothing of that matter as he raked you up and down.

Another stepped forward, who offered the King pleasantries and you a simple nod. He offered you his blacksmiths who would make you a new sword fit for a general. His eyes never left your plush lips. Gaz he’d called himself.

Finally the last ascended, settling upon a gift of gems of every cut and size. His smirk never left his face as he bluntly disregarded König, instead going to your side.

“You bring every woman to shame with your beauty, cariña.” His lips found your knuckle, just as König cleared his throat in warning. Alejandro he’d called himself.

“I thank you for the gifts.” You muttered, feeling hot at the stares of all the kings. They departed, eyes still glancing at you occasionally from their designated seats.

A warm hand fell to your thigh, making you snap out of your haze and away from the gloomy stare of the king known as Simon. Instead, your attention settled back to König, whose fingers were digging slightly into the flesh of your leg, dancing dangerously close to your core. It made you shutter out a sigh.

“They’re right you know.” Your King’s voice was low as he continued his onslaught from under the table. His other hand holding onto his fork as if he was unbothered. Almost bored.

“Hmm?” You found yourself drunkenly leaning closer to König, just as his fingertip gently traced over your clothed clit. You jolted, alerting the other King’s attention from afar. Subtly you tried to control your flushed face and crossed your legs, smooshing his palm to get him to stop.

“That you’re the most beautiful woman in the kingdoms.” He leant to you, placing an innocent kiss upon your cheek as his warm breath fanned across your ear.

“I don’t care if they stare or compliment you. Hell, I don’t even care if they all take turns fucking your pretty cunt. Just as long as you know who you truly belong to.”

You shuddered at his words, shifting slightly in your chair as you imagined all of those men taking their turns ravishing you. König’s finger hooked along your chin, pulling you to face him.

“You do know who you belong to, right Maus?” He cooed, looking every bit the conquerer that you knew. You gulped, reaching up to twine your fingers.

“You, Your Grace. It’s always you.”

“Good Girl.” He smirked, dropping his hand to your thigh again. A sudden clatter made you jump, just as several councilmen stood up.

“It’s time for the King and Queen to indulge in the bedding ceremony.”

Your eyes skittered to König, who was back to rubbing his thumb amongst your leg. He had a relaxed smile upon his face, just as he stretched like a satisfied cat against his chair. He pushed it backwards, standing tall as he offered you a gentle hand.

You took it, standing tall as you eyed the foreign kings one last time before applause erupted through the hall as König led you down the halls and to his chambers.

Some of the councilmen followed, obviously to witness your matrimony and union as the both of you would try to produce heirs.

You weren’t particularly nervous, it wasn’t something the councilmen hadn’t seen before. Or at the very least heard. But you felt the pressure to please your husband, for this would be the first time you slept together since taking your vows.

Your King pushed open the door, and gestured you in first. Your steps faulted at the sudden transformation of his chambers. Soft candle light painted the walls a warm glow, and the air smelt faintly of summer cherries and scented wax. Petals of white roses scattered across the floor and on his furs, something that almost made your eyes roll in amusement.

König maneuvered past you with a brush of his hand, his touch lingering for a moment before he stepped towards his vanity.

He reached up, pulling the heavy crown from his wavy hair with a sigh. You felt the burning stares of the councilmen as you shuffled closer to König’s side, happily basking in his warmth as he removed his cloak, only left in his slightly unbuttoned under shirt and trousers.

His arm snakes around your waist, pulling you closer into his side as he preoccupied himself with pouring cherry wine into a cup. He took a large drink, before passing the goblet to you.

Your fingers snaked around the cool metal, eyes falling from your lover to the red liquid instead. You sipped upon the bittersweet wine, happily feeling the burning in your chest as König silently turned to face you.

It was much too silent. It made you itch.

His large palms reached upwards, cupping your cheeks in a cradle of security. His fingertips danced against your scalp, nails raking slightly in a calming gesture that you much appreciated.

You placed the goblet down, not sure if you were really supposed to touch him yet. The one thing you’d hadn’t prepared for was the bedding ceremony. You figured it would be König that made the first move, but he did little but relax you into his touch, distant from his warm furs of his bed.

“Are you waiting for me to start us off?” Your tone was soft as he lifted up on your own crown, discarding the steel material next to his as he went back to clutching your cheeks, this time his thumb brushed across the slight pucker of your lips.

He shook his head, a look of adoration crossing his features again. His stormy eyes were swirling lazily, if you looked closely the little freckles upon his cheeks seemed to glow in the candlelight. “No, I’m waiting for the rest of the council.” He admitted, maneuvering his large hands to your waist, flipping you so your back was turned to him and towards the entrance of his door. You avoided the stares of the council, instead focusing on the cinching sensation at your waist. “Everyone is here. Who else are we waiting for?”

König worked quietly, fingers threading through the ties of your corset. Occasionally he would press a gentle kiss to the back of your neck, causing goosebumps to fly against the contact. You shivered at the intimacy.

“On them.” He whispered against the lobe of your ear, nipping at the flesh. Glancing up, your heart rate picked up at the sight of the five kings from earlier, all eyes upon you and your husband.

König chuckled at your reaction, “if they’re so easy to praise your body with words, I’ll show them how I can praise you with my body and words.” He lowly spoke, so only you could hear. “They’ll speak compliments on their tongues, I’ll taste you with mine.”

Your breath hitched, all of this process was non traditional. Most of the bedding ceremonies in neighboring kingdoms just decided on a quick fuck, never bringing pleasure to the wife. Your husband was never one to follow tradition. He’d make the councilmen squirm as he ravished you with no shame.

The thought made you quiver.

“Shut the door.” Your King ordered, with the click of the hinges, you reveled in the feeling of his touch. His hands had finally tore apart the dreaded corset, his warm hands falling to the curve of your spine, until he dipped to your shoulders, pulling the dress down to your waist.

The air was cold upon your breasts, but the burning stares of the Kings seemed to set you on fire. You maneuvered in a trance, only being guided by your husband, who lowered you down upon the furs of your shared chambers.

He was grinning, obviously enjoying the ongoing attention as he hovered over you. He pulled you into a shuttering kiss, almost humming as you bit upon his lip.

His hands reached low, tugging upon the leftover material of your dress and discarding the white on the edge of the bed. Your eyes found his, he was a storm, the dark pupils nearly engulfing the rolling clouds of grey iris. Your bare legs wrapped around his torso, sinking him down further.

His tongue was hot against your lips, you welcomed him in open arms, loving the taste of the cherry wine leftover from his indulgence.

“So beautiful…” König paused, kissing innocently upon your nose, before shifting backwards and pulling off his shirt.

You bit upon your bottom lip, drinking in his pale skin covered in constellations of freckles. He was built, from all his years of wielding a sword and axe, yet still lean enough to move with great speed and precision.

Enchanting.

He lowered himself upon the furs, obviously enjoying the little hitch in your throat as he blew warm air upon your open and weeping cunt.

Not only were you aroused by the feeling of your King marking you as his, you were squirming at the feeling of eyes taking in your very naked form. Without thinking, your gaze shifted to the dark stare of Simon, who looked on with heavy eyes that were lidded in lust.

Your eyelashes fluttered when you felt the steady pressure of a kiss against the warmth of your inner thighs. König’s sharp canines nipped at the scorching flesh, definitely serving as a reprimand when he observed your wondering eyes.

“Is he holding his cock, Maus? Does he know you’ll only be filled by me tonight?”

You hummed, gaze falling back to your husband, who also looked at you in a hooded stupor, a look that made your insides jelly and your cunt to soak like a broken dam.

He watched you as his biceps entrapped the crease of your knees, prying you open, you faintly heard MacTavish and Gaz curse, for they got a full image of your arousal.

König must of heard, because a ghost of a smirk crossed over his lips before he buried himself against you. The wetness of his tongue against your opening was enough for you to let out an airy noise and drop your head against the silk pillows of his bed. The eyes watching were wiped away from your mind as König’s nose brushed against your aching clit, it was just enough pressure to have you chasing him, hand flying to the soft waves of his tousled auburn hair.

He hummed at your taste, pulling back for air. You could tell he was restraining himself, attempting to stop the vile sayings that would usually slip out of his mouth. You nearly purred when you spotted the slick upon his lips, watching him lick them clean before he dove back for more.

You squirmed as his lips pressed to your clit, sucking upon the bead of nerves in desperation, as if he was starving.

“Oh God…” you moaned softly, attempting to be silent enough for the council not to hear, but your King seemed scoff at that reaction. The cheeky bastard wanted you to scream, to embarrass yourself by squirming and screaming his name.

He was doing a well enough job, a loud moan falling unconsciously from your lips as a thick finger breached your hole, pushing snuggly against your walls.

König cursed at your reaction, still suckling upon your clit in soft slow pressure. Your eyes wandered again, catching on Alejandro, who was obviously glancing at your open breasts, bouncing slightly with each push of your husbands finger.

König looked up, seeing again that your eyes had wandered, with a amused huff he added another finger, this time watching you gasp at the fullness. Yet, it wasn’t just the width that made you cry for air, but the cold metal of his wedding ring pressed against the opening of your sex, the change of temperature sending you over the edge.

He spread his fingers, delightfully stretching your opening, his quick thrusts and licking tongue had you seeing stars. The knot in your stomach twisted and with a rather deep thrust, you whined spilling on his fingers as you rolled your eyes back, reveling in the feeling of a delicious orgasm.

With a sudden burst of need, you maneuvered König up, smiling drunkly when his fingers left your hole with a satisfying squelch, that had Price growling lightly in the corner, making a silent chuckle fall from your lips.

“You like them watching you, don’t you? Like them to see what I do to you, Maus?” König teased, pecking lightly on your lips, you hummed at the taste of yourself.

“What you do to me?” You found yourself becoming bold, likely too bold for a bedding ceremony, but you simply didn’t care as your legs wrapped around his waist, using enough momentum to flip your husband on his back. He looked far to irresistible under your mercy.

And he was enjoying it. You could tell by the darkening of his eyes, his pupils taking a majority of his iris, even with the candles lighting his handsome features.

You leant low, chasing after him in a drunken bliss, he hummed against your lips, hands falling to your hips. He desperately dug into your skin, maneuvering you to roll against his trousers. The catch of the material rubbing slightly upon your sensitive bead.

You pried down his trousers, happily nipping at König’s jaw when he hitched his hips up to help you rid them.

With lusting eyes you lowered your gaze, falling upon the hard and unwavering length of him. He twitched as you settled over him, the shaft of his cock sliding against your folds in a teasing notion. It physically pained you to not be full of your husband, but watching his forehead wrinkle and lips part open in sexual frustration was almost more delicious then being speared on him.

You rolled your hips down even slower, the head of his cock slightly breaching your entrance before you pulled away, you bit back a gasp, attempting to not let your husband know how much he effected you.

He cursed, a low hiss leaving his throat at the sudden movement.

“You wickedly divine woman,” he shunned, obviously taken with your little stunt.

A giggle escaped you, after all you couldn’t help the pleasure you received from teasing your King. Although, he seemed to be the most impatient tonight.

His hand found the plump curve of your ass, he lifted you with one arm, his other hand wrapping around himself. He gave himself a few pumps from his own hand, before lining his throbbing cock in one try.

Oh, how he memorized every curve of your body. How he adored every freckle, every blemish, every mark, and every limb. How he thought of kissing every worry from your mind, and fuck you like you were the only thing he’d ever worship.

Your palms lay flat on his open chest as you slowly settled down upon his tip, nails scratching against his firm muscle as your cunt swallowed him whole. Your head flew backwards, just enough for your breasts to bounce and throat to bob at your arousal.

The Kings all purred at the sight.

“That’s it, Maus.” König airily spoke, his fingertips digging so hard against your hips they would likely leave bruises.

You heaved yourself up again, his cock barely inside you before you let yourself fall back, filling completely. König twitched under you, the violent motion causing him to groan.

He was always one to fall apart when you were on top of him.

You bounced shallowly, reveling in the feeling of him sliding against your very womb with each bob of your hips. It had tears welling in your eyes, especially with the enormous size of him stretching upon your gummy walls.

“You like me hugging your cock? I bet the Kings wish they were here under me.” You whispered the vile words, enjoying the way your husband’s eyes flashed at such revelation.

His arm snaked around your back, allowing him to pull you closer and for him to rise up to meet your every move. You moaned at the jerky movement, allowing your walls to clench even tighter against him. König’s hands roamed your back, pulling you against his chest when he sat up, you ground down against him, appreciating his closeness as his lips nipped at your neck, now definitely leaving marks of purple and red.

You didn’t care. In fact, you clenched tighter at the thought of König taking you as his in front of everyone.

As it turned out, your King was relishing in that aspect too, his chin cradled against your collarbone as he eyed the kings from over your shoulders. A smirk plastered to his lips as he bucked his hips upwards, making a musical moan fall from your throat. Seeing the men so tore up with need for his precious wife only made him more smug.

He’d ruin you for any other man. No one could please you as he did.

He drew back, his mouth shining and bruised from your kisses. König’s lips pressed against your ear, “I bet they do wish for you. How could they not with your pretty little mouth crying on my cock?”

König bit the lobe of your ear, before squeezing his hands onto the backs of your thighs. He used his brute strength he only reserved for the battlefield to raise himself up, his cock still speared inside you.

You’ve seen him break backs over his knees, crack necks in his bare hands, spill guts with his sword. Now he used his strength to pull you into him, your legs wrapping helplessly around his waist. He used his strength to drop you onto your back, your head falling back onto the soft pillows once more.

You gasped hard, when he began to take control, pistoning into you at such a rapid speed you found yourself unable to control the cries of pleasure that left your throat.

He was sloppy, thrusting into you like a boy instead of a King. His large palms squeezed at your breasts as he ravished, your clenching cunt almost spent at the pace he was going.

His fingers rolled against a nipple, before he pinched upon the bud, making you cry out in painful delight. He was enjoying this, he was enjoying plowing into you and spreading your legs out wider to go deeper.

“I can’t…” you whimpered when he dug deep, his very tip hitting harshly against your womb.

“You will.” He growled, teeth clenching down as sweat began to slick onto his forehead. “Come on my love, just cum one more time for me.” He pleaded, kissing your lips as he rutted into you.

Those were the only words you needed, before you did as told. With a cry of pleasure, you clenched at the near euphoric sensation, your arms finding closure around his torso and legs wrapping around his waist as you shook.

“Fuckin’ Hell…” you heard one of the Kings loudly grunt, although you paid little attention as your eyes rolled backwards as König sloppily thrusted a few more times before he to, let out a grunt. He silenced himself by clenching his teeth down on your shoulder.

The warm feeling of his seed painted against your walls, a feeling of such deep devotion it had you thinking you could stay like this forever. Forever pierced on your Husband’s cock as he caressed your face sheening in sweat.

With a sigh, you unwrapped your legs, knowing you wouldn’t be able to stay like this forever. People were watching after all.

König dropped away from you, not without burying his seed one more time into your aching cunt. Whispers broke out into your shared chambers, the councilmen seemingly pleased that there was a guarantee for heirs. They left, satisfied with your activities.

Yet, the eyes of the neighboring Kings were still glued to your body. König rolled over, sitting up into the furs and looking the Kings dead in the eyes. He looked playful, yet determination glittered in the storms of his iris.

With a cool finger, he traced your hipbone, before dipping lower. You gasped when his fingers dug near the entrance of your used cunt. He dug them into his cum, scooping out just enough for all of the observers to see.

“You’ve served your purpose. See that my seed is taken by my wife. She’s mine.”

Your face reddened at his vulgar point, just as he brought his messy fingers to your mouth.

“Open.” He ordered, before having you suck his fingertips in obedience. He was bittersweet on your tongue, but ever so exquisite.

“You may do what you like with her if she allows it. But I want you all to know, her cunt only belongs to me.”

“My wife. My Queen.”

Tags: @soapyghost @downbadformaskedmen @brainlessgf @uriahs-sketchings @mykneeshurt @lenafisher @idkthefuckimdoingwithmylife @keiva1000 @imtherain @purple-crying-out

[thegettingbyp2]

maybe something like feyd x fremen reader.

Maybe she captured him he is just like strong women marry me.

Impressive

A/N: So I have changed the request slightly simply so it was a bit easier for me to write but I have kept the strong woman, I hope that's okay!

Join my Patreon

Support me on Ko-Fi

You could feel the blood dripping down your face from the cut just above your eye and your hands instinctively moved to try to wipe it away, only to be snagged by the cuffs that were keeping them behind your back. You had been a part of Paul’s plan to defeat the Harkonnens and it was your job to plant a trap for them. You’d almost managed it until one of the soldiers found you, overpowering your quickly and calling for the Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha.

You’d heard many things about Feyd-Rautha, heard about the way he would fight in the arena and how skilled he was with a knife. His reputation made fear fill your body at the idea of coming face to face with him but you were determined to stay strong and not let him see that fear.

When he walked into the room where they had been holding you, you were surprised to find yourself attracted to him with his broad shoulders and ridiculously pretty eyes and you felt yourself shake yourself out of it before you let him see any weakness in you. You were so preoccupied in your own thoughts, you failed to notice his eyes light up slightly when he looked at you.

‘Leave us,’ Feyd commanded in a strangely seductive voice, not once taking his eyes off of you. As soon as the door closed and it was just you and Feyd in the room, he stepped closer, tilting his head as he looked at you. ‘When they told me that a Fremen had made it through our defences, I can’t lie, I was expecting a man.’

‘Sorry to disappoint,’ you replied sarcastically, causing Feyd to raise his brow at you.

‘I didn’t say I was disappointed,’ Feyd replied, pretty much cutting you off, a smirk beginning to play on his lips. ‘Tell me,’ he said, crouching down in front of you and running a finger down your cheek, making you shiver violently, ‘why are you following Paul Atredies?’

‘He’s the chosen one,’ you replied simply, meeting his gaze and refusing to be the first one to look away. Feyd seemed to like your attitude as he smiled at you, showing you a glimpse of his black teeth. You knew that you shouldn’t find him attractive, but there was something about him that drew you in. However, all for the strong front you’d been putting on in front of him, you couldn’t stop the gasp from escaping your lips when, in a flash, you felt the sharp edge of a knife pressing against your throat, but still, you refused to look away.

Feyd made a sound of approval in the back of his throat, keeping the blade against your skin as he leaned in further, completely invading your space as he looked at you. ‘You’re impressive,’ he said, sounding amused, ‘most Fremen I encounter end up begging me to spare their life but I have a feeling you’re not the type of person to do that, are you?’

‘Why would I do that when you’ll just kill me anyway? You might as well just get on with it.’

‘I’m not going to kill you,’ he replied, much to your surprise, ‘I think I’d rather keep you around a bit longer.’

‘Then do you mind taking the knife away from my neck?’ The bluntness of your tone had a laugh escaping Feyd’s lips and you struggled to hide the surprised expression on your face. Feyd slowly lowered the blade before discarding it on the floor and pulling you to your feet, keeping his hands on your arms to keep you balanced before one of his hands slid up to cup your face, his thumb brushing your bottom lip gently.

‘Pretty and strong-willed,’ Feyd mused, tugging on your bottom lip slightly as he looked at you. ‘You’ll make the perfect Na-Baroness.’

[frannyzooey]

On The Green: 1

Ezra x f!reader

Rating: Mature (violence, slight gore, killing - typical Ezra 😌 — will be explicit in later chapters)

Summary: Two strangers meet.

a/n: New series alert! Man alive first chapters are hard, and so I am going to yeet this into the universe before looking at it anymore. I owe everything to @bageldaddy for educating me hardcore and for being so extremely kind and thorough, and to @the-ginger-hedge-witch for her Ezra eyes and inspiration and to @familyvideostevie for her support and enthusiasm and notes. It took a VILLAGE to get through this one. Enjoy meeting our stranger. :)

--

You come to surrounded by unnatural stillness.

An absence felt in the air surrounding you, there is something about it that tugs at the foggy corners of your brain, beckoning you closer to the surface. You try to listen for anything beyond the ringing in your ears, and there is…something.

A beeping sound emerging through the fog, its incessant chirping grows clearer. You blink slowly, your limbs made of lead when you try to turn your head. Instead of trying to investigate, you let yourself slip slowly back into the lush darkness, closing your eyes.  

But the strangeness of the silence tugs at you, and the beeping gets louder. 

Splices of memory come through in sharp flashes: 

The deep, bone-shaking tremble of turbulence. 

The grating sound of tearing metal. 

Beeping - so much fucking beeping, every sensor in the transport pod going off - and the whole cabin jerking to the left, your body weight pushing against the fabric restraints, your dad’s voice raw with hoarseness as he screams orders at you and –

Oh shit. Your dad. 

Your eyes pop open, and you sit up - or rather, you try to, but every muscle resists. Battered and bruised, you fumble at your harness with clumsy, shaking fingers. Looking up as it finally clicks open, you’re about to leap from the chair when you freeze. 

He’s there next to you, unmoving. 

Dead. 

“Dad?” you whisper. 

You can see without even checking for a pulse that he’s gone. That’s the feeling that pulled you awake, the vibration of life gone from the air. The stillness weighs heavy in the small space, and the beeping gets shriller somehow, more noticeable in the utter silence. 

The pod shrinks to a claustrophobic dome, and your breathing starts to come fast. Harsh, rapid exhales out of your open mouth and then you’re vomiting, right onto the floor. A cold sweat breaks out under your thermals, and you swallow hard against more bile that threatens to come up. 

There is blood splattered on the dash, pooled around the buttons. A deep gash gouged across his temple, his left eye already swollen beyond recognition. You stare at the dark, pulpy wound that runs with blood and with a heave, lose the remaining contents of your stomach. 

To have hit his head like that, he must have unbuckled and tried to fix something mid-crash, but why? Why the fuck would he do that? He knew better than that. You try to think about the sequence of events, but there is only a blur. A foggy, black spot in your memory, hazy images obscured by panic. 

You remember pieces: watching Puggart Bench grow smaller as you ascended through the atmosphere. The vague details of your father’s latest scheme, along with promises that this would be your last job. The frustration you felt at those words – ones you’ve heard a million times. 

You remember rolling your eyes and slipping on your headphones, and then scolding you for not paying attention after he jabbed you in the shoulder to take them off, and then…this. Somehow this. Guilt settles deep in your gut. 

Keeping your dazed eyes glued to the floor, you ignore the blood and beeping and the dead fucking body. You crouch low in the safety of your chair, winding your grip around the harness strap as an anchor and you sit for a moment, trying to steady your breathing. 

You sit. 

And sit. 

–

“Think she’s got anything left?”

The words spread condensation across the lower half of his visor, and Ezra listens for an answer he already knows isn’t coming. 

He always asks anyway: a constant dangling bait, in hopes his partner will bite. 

He hasn’t yet. 

Ezra bends back over the rough dug pit, his fingers splaying through the loose dirt. Anything worth digging for is sealed in his case already, but he stalls, thinking. 

He had watched the pod streak across the sky; the sight not unusual on the Green. Mercs and prospectors landed here every day to try their luck on the uninhabitable planet, but the speed in which the pod broke through the sky was unusual. Ezra could tell it was going too fast, even from the ground. His dark eyes had tracked the potential opportunity’s descent from behind the shield of his visor, and when the ground shuddered with the impact, he felt it through his gloves. 

If it had landed safety, protocol would be to keep his distance – no use needlessly engaging in a potential threat. However, he doubted that was the case after watching it fall to the earth like a stone. If he had to guess, the occupants were probably dead, and therefore, in his favor. 

His old pod flashes through his mind; nonfunctional and by now, probably stripped bare. If he doesn’t get there quickly to stake his claim, this one could fall to the same fate. It didn’t look sizeable by any stretch of the imagination, but he doesn’t need big. 

He just needs enough to fit one man, and his case. 

Ezra keeps his voice light and conversational. 

“Did you feel that?”

He looks up at his silent partner, and is met with a blank stare. Or at least Ezra assumes it’s a blank stare, with the man’s visor blackened. He can’t see his face, and has never been able to. He’s had many offers of partnership while on the Green - some out of desperation, some through coercion, some forced upon him – and though his current partner is one of the latter, he had been secretly pleased at the sheer size of him. Brute strength a valuable commodity; the hulking man is more of a utility than a partner. 

“Think it’s worthy of our time to investigate, or do you suppose there won’t be much left after a landing like that? If you want, I can go it alone?”

Met with more silence, both from his partner and from the unforgiving atmosphere of the Green, Ezra grimaces with annoyance when his partner starts to walk in the direction of the site without him. 

“Hang on now. We approach together.” Climbing out of the pit, the loose soil slips under his boots. He scrambles up as quickly as he can, unwilling to see his chance at the remains slip through his dirt-crusted fingers. 

“Now then,” he breathes heavily. “I think it would be befitting of us to use caution in our approach. The passengers may still be alive, and feeling panicked enough to pose a risk. I think –”

The hulk appears to listen to half of what Ezra says, and then turns abruptly mid-sentence, walking away. 

Snatching up his case, Ezra switches off the comm link in his helmet and his expression falls from tactful to annoyance. His eyes narrow on the man’s broad back, his fingers itching for his thrower. 

Grumbling, he follows. 

“Fucking idiot.”

–

You’re going to have to touch it. 

You wonder what it will feel like – stiff with rigor? Still pliant with traces of warmth? Heavy and impossible to move?

In all the ways you imagined you’d probably find your father dead, you somehow hadn’t thought about the logistics of actually moving his body. You imagined someone else would be the one responsible for it. Medical staff, most likely, who were used to the clammy skin and the stiff weight of death. 

Not you. 

Yet another thing you’ll have to do unwillingly for him. 

The reason you’re on this godforsaken planet in the first place, he’d forced you along to help him pay a debt owed for those fucking drops he relied on to get through his days. Days that bled into nights spent waiting for him, more his parent than his child. A freefall into the nomad life since your mother died, you’d been trailing behind him for years - an afterthought, only remembered when he needed something. 

A reluctant digging partner when he forced you to be, but also a navigator, a cook, a laundress, a caretaker. You were a lot of things to him, but never the one you wanted to be the most. 

Never a daughter. 

Your eyes slowly scan the disarray of the cabin, taking in the damage. For all the things he asked you to do, he had kept you in the dark when it came to any actual useful skills that might help you in this situation. Prospecting, digging, self-defense – anything that would have afforded you a glimpse at the possibility of independence – all of those were kept from your reach. 

Never a mechanic either, unfortunately for you. How the fuck you’re going to fix this thing, you have no idea. The manuals for it were tucked away somewhere, but they required at least a basic understanding, and you have barely that. 

You could stick with the harvesting plan he had vaguely outlined to you on the way here (assuming you could even find the gems, let alone dig them up), try to come back and fix your pod during the evenings (assuming you could even figure it out) and then try to catch the next slingback home (assuming you could even get off this planet). 

Your other option would be…none. There are no other options. 

The entire situation expands into something overwhelming, each step far outside your base of knowledge and your breathing starts to come fast again. You scold yourself, willing it to slow. 

Panicking again isn’t going to help shit. 

Wrestling with your emotions, you take a deep inhale and close your eyes, focusing on the first step. 

Before anything else, you have to move him. 

–

Through the edges of lush greenery, a pod. 

Ezra tries to tamp down his excitement, kicking his senses into high alert to scan for whomever it belongs to - but there is nothing. 

Fucking silence, the bane of his existence. 

Though in this case, a good sign. 

His own pod taken from him months ago in a standoff between himself and his former crew, this off-white piece of rubbish appears as treasure to him. It’s banged up for sure: one of the engines loose from the frame and the metal surrounding the bottom crumpled from hard impact. Unlikely that anyone survived the crash, anticipation thrums through him at the harvest in front of him. 

Keeping his expression measured, he beckons his partner to approach with him, silently advising caution. 

The idiot doesn’t though. Instead, he stomps forward and punches at the hatch button with force. 

Ezra frowns deeply, anger slipping into his tone. “Hey,” he reprimands sharply. 

The man pays Ezra no mind as the ramp slowly opens. 

–

One hand extended towards your dad’s shoulder, it hangs hesitantly in the air for a moment. Inching forward, you try to summon every ounce of bravery that you have and just when it’s about to touch— 

A loud thump sounds outside the pod, and your hand jerks back. Crouching low along the side of the pod, you crawl through the ship's scattered contents all over the floor and grab the thrower, trying to desperately wind a sufficient charge for a shot or two. The rummaging outside grows louder, and you crouch behind your chair, gripping the weapon in your sweat slick hands. Panic floods through your veins, the sharp stink of fear oozing from your pores as your body shivers with adrenaline, and you flex your hold on your weapon.

The door to the pod opens with a hiss, and two men emerge. 

One slighter than the other, which isn’t saying much—anyone would be slight compared to the size of the second man. You aren’t even sure how he managed to get into the pod, between the width of his body and his height. 

Rising swiftly, you point the weapon at them. 

“Stop,” you force out, trying to mask the tremble in your voice. 

The lithe man freezes, surprise showing on his face for a split second before disappearing. Tilting his helmet in thought, he speaks. 

“Now this is something I’ve never seen in all my time in the Green,” he muses with a drawl. “A little girl.” 

A statement, not a question, and you bristle while he continues to study you curiously. 

“Leave, or I’ll shoot.” 

Your finger flexes on the trigger, and he raises his hands in front of him. 

“Calm down, little bird. My partner and I merely ventured this way to see if all was okay after that crash we heard.” His eyes scan the cabin, a scattered mess. “Seems it was quite the landing.”

Shuffling your stance a fraction closer, you keep the thrower trained on them. “I’m fine. Now please. Go.”

“Doesn’t look like you’re fine.” He sounds completely unbothered, like you aren’t pointing a weapon directly at him. Taking a slow step forward, he peers around you. “Your partner sure doesn’t seem fine.”

“He’s not my partner. It’s my –” You freeze, scolding yourself for immediately volunteering information and his gaze drops down to your father’s lifeless form. The stranger's face sobers, and he looks back at you. 

His jaw shifting in thought, his partner seems to grow bored of the conversation and takes a heavy step forward, advancing on you. 

“Stop,” you try to order, panic creeping into the command, but he doesn’t. He keeps going, his large arm reaching towards your thrower. His massive grip choking the barrel, he rips it clean from your hands before you can even think about stopping him, and you crouch back behind your chair, trembling.

“My apologies for my partner, little one. He’s not keen on having weapons pointed at him. You can understand, I’m sure. Why don’t you come out from behind that chair and let’s talk. A deal, if you’re open to it.”

You don’t want to strike a deal with them. You know that any deal you attempt to broker on your behalf is going to be in their favor no matter what the conditions are. Your father never taught you the skills of negotiation – those were always done out of sight. Your mouth dries, sweat beading along your nape. What fucking deal could there even be to make that doesn’t end up with you dead? Or worse?

With so much happening in the last two hours, it’s hard to process anything, let alone a negotiation with deadly strangers on a hostile planet. How you handle this situation could be literally life or death for you, and you beg your brain to pick up pace. 

Please. Please. Come on, think.

Your mind still struggling but knowing you’re running out of time, you force yourself back up. 

“The deal was leave, and I won’t shoot.”

He only grins at that, and rage at the unfairness of it all flares bright through you.

“Besides, why should I believe anything you say? You’ll probably just kill me the first chance you get.”

“Why would you assume I intend harm?”

You don’t have anything to say to that, instead looking at his partner. Fear at his sheer size displays clearly on your face no matter how hard to try to mask it. “Why else would he steal my gun? Shoot me first before I can shoot, right?”

“If that was the case, he would have shot you already.” He lets a beat pass, his eyes narrowing in their focus on you. “Still could though, I guess.”

There is something behind the indifference in his voice, something in his eyes that begs you silently to listen to him — but then his partner raises his thrower, and several things happen at once.

You whimper, dunking behind the tattered chair. 

The smaller man whips his railgun from his hip, pulling the trigger.

You scream, and the bullet hits his partner square in the chest. 

The larger man stumbles forward as if to grab him but the smaller one shoots him again, the second shot landing in his gut. The force of the close shot pushes the larger man backwards, his heavy body slamming into the pod wall. 

He slumps down, collapsing into a lifeless heap.

There is a beat of weighted silence; your form frozen. 

The roguish man’s profile faces you: dark features partially obscured by the dome of his helmet, you can see closely shorn brown hair in matted disarray with a shock of white that smears just above his temple. Black eyes that glimmer in the fluorescent light, the edges lined with age. Tanned skin, a strong nose, plush lips under a mustache. 

He stares at his dead partner with something akin to satisfaction, and it turns your stomach to think of not only how quickly he resorted to violence, but also how much he seems to enjoy it. 

“Well would you look at that. Now we have two to move.” 

Still in shock, the violent scene in front of you startles you just as much as his nonchalance does. You watch as he turns to face you; a hooked scar marring the skin under his eye. 

“Now little one,” he says with seeming politeness. “You ready to hear that deal?”

[spidrrweb]

4:30 am

pairing: miguel o'hara x gn!reader | word count: 657

spiderverse masterlist ,,, i haven't wrote in a while sorry if it's messy <33 special tags: @miggyoharaswife @fadingdetectivestudent

Miguel o'hara fears love. He knows the cliché all spidermen have too well.

Losing someone; romantically, platonically, familial—whatever it was, it didn't matter, they'd never last long enough. For death only played a part in making the hero, and he had successfully became said hero without it, there was really no need for it. There's no risk if no chances are taken. Besides, balancing hero life with romance is no way to live, stress upon stress could kill a man.

But its everywhere, in places he couldn't think of—or rather places he's tried to ignore.

Love was in the gestures he'd received from you, such as the early morning coffee runs you'd go on. Miguel has a taste for strong, slightly bitter coffee, something you've learned from his many rants about others doing runs because, and i quote, "there's no point in calling it coffee when it's 90% milk and sugar."

He thanks you, grabs the cup knowing fully well he'll toss it the moment you leave, until you tell him it's different. "Small black coffee, dash of milk, no cream or sugar...but i do have a couple packets if you wanna add it yourself." Miguel declines and watches as you walk away to deliver the rest.

A chuckle leaves him once he sees the cups labeled 'Miggy' with a poorly drawn spider under it. You probably rushed it on your way back. "Unprofessional," he comments with lyla agreeing, though he doesn't mind it. Finding himself peering back to it with a smile when he goes to reach for it throughout the work day. He made sure to get you on more routes for him after that.

Love was pulling him away from his world when he's lost in his work. Hunched over, tired eyes staring at the ground, fingers tangled in his messy hair. Muttering a series of solutions under his breath before shutting them down while lyla listens. "Miguel please," he doesn't bother moving to see you, "You can't keep doing this to yourself, it's not healthy."

He knows you're right but this is his job, it's what he lives for, and you of all people should know this. He'll fight back, explaining the society needs him, this world needs him, hell, the multiverse needs him. "I cant just stop when we're getting close—when i'm getting this close to it."

You place a hand on his tense shoulder, "I can take over from here." "No, you cant its-"

"Miguel." You can feel him relax under your touch as he sighs; there's no point in bickering, you're just as stubborn as he is, it's almost admirable. His hands fall into his lap as he sits up, giving you a good look at those eye bags. "Shit, maybe you need more than just a day off." He laughs, shoulders bouncing slightly as he stands up. "You're lucky we're close, i could fire you for that you know."

You hum and take his seat, watching him take a few of his things before he's out the door. "Text me before you get to bed," he freezes at the door way, looking back at you with a raised brow. "Needa make sure you actually do it instead of getting hyped up on coffee just to come back." He lets out a sarcastic "ha" before he agrees, despite not really wanting to, then says good night to both you and lyla while he leaves.

And when he's home, he keeps his promise; the moment he puts his phone down it flashes with a notification from you. It's a picture of you with lyla in the background along with a goodnight text and a heart. Miguel finds himself staring at it for what seems like an eternity debating on what to say. The screen goes black, he shakes his head and sighs.

The phone flashes again when he places it down, now it's just the time that shows. It's 4:30 and though the thick walls will take time to get through, miguel can feel himself love.

©spidrrweb 2023. thanks for reading loves, reblogs are always appreciated <3 REQUESTS ARE OPEN !!

[persevereforahappyending]

Luck Runs Out |Part 11|

Pairing: Mabel x Reader

Summary: When your luck runs out you unknowingly drag Mabel back into the life, she's so desperate to escape.

Warnings: Drugs, Blood, Guns, Fighting, Killing, Death, Murder (I think that's it?)

Word Count: 6.1k

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Epilogue

You had your hands shoved in your pockets as you made your way to the dock. Mabel didn’t live far from the docks, well not far by car, on foot though, it was a decent walk. A part of you wished Mabel could have given you a ride, it wound have been quicker and you would have gotten to spend more time with her. Having Mabel drive you though wasn’t worth the risk, you didn’t know how much they knew about her but the less they knew the better, if they saw you getting out of her car they could drag her onto the boat with you, intending to use her as leverage.

You jumped when tires screeched next to you. You whipped around ready to fight when you saw the black SUV with its dark tinted windows. You didn’t have time to do anything else before the passenger door opened and a large man jumped out and quickly threw you into the back seat. You pressed yourself against the nice leather seat, your eyes darting around the car.

The guy who had tossed you into the vehicle was the same one who had nabbed Charlie, the one driving was another man you recognized working for your boss, and then in the seat next to yours was your boss. The boss had this chin resting on his fist, looking out the window, looking as if he was contemplating life. He didn’t even so much as turn towards you, you didn’t dare speak, they needed you to get the drugs but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t do something to you before you even got to the boat.

“I needed to make sure you’d actually show up,” your boss said, still not looking at you. “Hope you enjoyed your goodbye.” He turned, looking you dead in the eyes, you saw no remorse staring back at you, you knew your goodbye was really your last goodbye.

You sat silently in the car, only moving when the car hit a pothole. When the car finally pulled up to the docks it was still dark, the sun had just barely begun to peek its head above the horizon. At least you’d get to see a nice sunrise before you died, you silently thanked Apollo or whoever was pulling the chariot that day.

The driver got out, opening the door for the boss to effortlessly slide out. The guy in the passenger seat got out at the same time, opening your door before dragging you out of the car, making sure to flash you his gun, letting you know what would happen if you tried to run. You wanted to roll your eyes, if you wanted to run you never would have been making your way to the docks. You watched as the driver opened the trunk and the boss grabbed a large black duffel bag out of the back, cash, a lot of cash. You furrowed your brow; you didn’t know what the boss needed so much money for. The duffle you gave the doctor to cover Mabel’s debt had tens of thousands of dollars in it but even it wasn’t stuffed as full as the one your boss was carrying around.

The guy guarding you aggressively pushed you to follow the boss and driver. Your boss led the way, the driver behind him, you behind the driver, then the lackey guarding you behind you. Despite the boss clearly not being afraid of you, his men were doing everything they could to keep you away from him while his back was turned. You followed along silently, occasionally feeling a hard shove to your shoulder as you all made your way down the ramp to the boats. You looked at the boats as you passed, wondering which one you’d be getting on. They blew up your crew's boat when they killed them, you weren’t sure how quickly they came up with another boat.

The boss came to a stop, raising his arms with a wide smile on his face. “She’s beautiful!” He yelled.

You looked around him, seeing a large fishing vessel. It was definitely much bigger than your crew's boat but wasn’t as nice, they didn’t have all the shiny new toys yours did, not that it helped much with the heavy load of drugs, your boat still nearly tipped. A man on the deck grumbled something you couldn’t hear before waving all of you up, you assumed he was the captain.

“We should have gone into business together a long time ago my friend,” your boss said, smiling widely at the captain.

“Where’s the money?” Is the only thing the captain asked.

Your bosses laughed; he flung the duffle bag down at the man’s feet. The captain huffed as he kneeled down, unzipping the bag. Your eyes widened at the amount of money, looked to be hundreds of stacks of twenties. Twenties were a small enough bill to not get flagged like hundreds or fifties but a big enough bill that they didn’t take up as much space like ones, fives, or tens.

“There you are my friend,” your boss said. “One million dollars.” The captain smirked before reaching down to grab the duffel bag. Your boss was quick to click his tongue, the driver, stepping up behind the boss and putting his hand on the gun that rested in his waistband. “Not until we’re at the coordinates.”

The captain huffed glaring at the boss who remained unflinching. When the captain finally glanced at the driver he backed down, not before his eyes went to the gun, the driver had no problem pulling if needed.

“Are we ready?” The captain asked.

“Just waiting on a few more,” your boss said, smiling. He zipped up the duffel bag before hoisting it up and tossing it at the driver who slung it over his shoulder.

Not even a moment later you could see two more SUVs pull up, five men piling out of each of them. Even from the boat you could see all the men were strapped with some sort of gun from a handgun to automatic rifles. You clenched your hands into fist, hoping that would hide the shaking.

“Now we’re ready,” your boss said, smiling at the captain.

The captain looked around nervously at all the armed men who had now boarded his boat. He nodded, fidgeting with the baseball cap on his head before turning and going to the wheel. One of the armed men followed him, probably to make sure he didn’t try to backstab anyone and radio the coast guard or something when you got far enough out to sea.

You remained on the deck with your boss and the rest of the armed men. You caught site of your boss staring at you out of the corner of your eye, but you refused to look at him. You kept your eyes locked on the floor, only shifting when the boat went over a larger wave. You were used to the sea, the way a boat swayed, and the waves crashed around it, you gave a ghost of a smile as you caught a few of the men stumbling and struggling to stay up right.

You glanced around the boat, it seemed to be a standard fishing boat. There were a couple barrels, crates, and nets, all things you were used to using when bringing in a catch. There were some ropes in one corner of the boat, along with extra cannisters of gas. The boat had definitely seen years of love, it was quite large, you wondered how big of a crew the captain usually had working on it.

You finally looked up when you felt the boat start to slow down. You looked around seeing nothing but ocean on all sides. “This is it!” the captain called down, dropping the anchor.

“It better be,” the boss mumbled, flicking a glance at you. You held his gaze until he turned around to give his men orders.

You walked to the edge of the boat, aware of your guards' eyes on you, just waiting for you to make a wrong move. You glanced over the side and stared down into the dark depths of the ocean, from the top it seemed like an endless abyss that would suck you in and never let you go. There were no landmarks, it was the middle of the ocean after all but assuming the captain followed your coordinates correctly then you were in the spot you nearly died. About a week ago you were standing on a different boat, with a different crew, under different circumstances, in the exact same spot. You survived death once; you didn’t think you’d be so lucky a second time.

“Suit up,” your boss ordered. Your head snapped to him, looking on as a few of the men he brought with him stripped down and began putting on wet suits.

You stood quietly by as a handful of men went into the ocean, all of them in scuba gear, and one of them holding straps to latch onto the pallet of drugs that they’ll be able to connect to the hook that will raise the drugs. You waited up top as the men swam down to the dark depths, until they’d eventually touch the ocean floor. You waited, unable to stop yourself from eyeing the radio in the boss’s hand.

As the last man flipped back into the water the captain came down to the deck. “Alright, can I have my money now?” He said impatiently. It wasn’t like he could go anywhere but the man was working with drug dealers so it wasn’t like you could blame him.

Your boss rolled his eyes before turning to face the captain. “Of course,” he said with a smile. He nodded at his bodyguard who tossed the bag of money at the captain’s feet.

The captain instinctively bent down to reach for the money again before freezing and looking up at your boss who gave him an annoyed nod. The captain smiled as he bent down the rest of the way, opening the bag even wider to get a better view of all the money. He pulled out a stack of cash, flipping through it as the smile on his face only got bigger. He dropped the stack back into the bag before zipping it back up.

“The wonders this money will do for me,” the captain mumbled more to himself than anyone. The captain went to the side of the boat, resting his hands on the edge as he stared out across the sea. The sun was just beginning to rise, and you had to admit it truly was a beautiful sight.

You caught the movement out of the corner of your eye before you could register what was happening. Your boss quietly moved so he was standing right behind the captain, he pulled out the gun strapped to his waist, pointed it at the back of the captain’s head and pulled the trigger. You jumped back at the blast, your eyes wide open as the bodyguard helped the captain’s body the rest of the way into the ocean, tossing him over the side as if he were just more trash.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” your boss said, shrugging as he walked over to his bag of money. “Put this somewhere safe,” he gestured at the bag, nodding at his bodyguard.

When he turned to face you, you could see little flecks of blood from the splatter on his cheek. It felt like your heart was going to beat out of your chest as he made his way over to you. Your entire body went rigid when he swung an arm around your neck, the barrel of his gun tapping your chest whenever he moved.

“You know how to work that, right?” your boss whispered in your ear, pointing his gun in the direction of the machine that lifts the net with the catch. He phrased it like a question, but you knew it wasn’t. You could only nod your head. “Good,” he tapped his gun against your chest again before abruptly releasing you.

You let out a shaky breath, watching as he walked over to his bodyguard. The bag of money was sitting off to the side, never too far out of reach of one of the boss’s men. Four men went down to retrieve the drugs, leaving the remaining six up on the deck. While the bodyguard never left the boss’s side the other six men walked around the deck or through the cabins of the boat, all their eyes watching for anything amiss.

You weren’t sure how long you waited on the deck, you didn’t move from your spot, your gaze remained on the ocean, watching as the waves lightly crashed against the boat, making it sway back and forth. The water was still bloody from when the captain went into the ocean, but there was no sign of the body. The only reason you were aware of time passing was because it was officially light out. The sun wasn’t high in the sky, it was still pretty early in the morning, what was probably normal hours for the average person waking up and going to work. The ocean truly looked beautiful any time of day, reflecting the moonlight or the sun glistening off the top of it, forever unable to reach down to the dark depths of the bottom.

You jumped when you heard the radio in your boss’s hand crackle. “Go again?” your boss said, clicking the button as he raised the radio to his mouth.

The radio crackled again. “We…” one of the diver’s voices came, through all the static. “Found… it…”

The boss glanced at you, clicking his tongue as he nodded to himself. “Load it up.” He continued to hold the radio close to his mouth, so he was ready when they gave him word that the load was secure. “Guess you weren’t lying,” he directed at you.

“Load… is… strapped… down…” crackled through the radio.

“Come on up.” He strapped the radio to his belt and nodded at you to go to the machine.

You quickly did as asked, your eyes widened as you stared down at the control panel. Lifting the load was never your job, you had done it a few times, but you definitely weren’t the best person for it. Luck seemed to be on your side for a bit longer because the control panel was relatively simple to work, it had the lever to lift the haul, the lever to direct the crane, and the button to drop the hook.

You waited at the control panel until you saw the four divers’ surface, then you carefully maneuvered the crane over the water and dropped the hook into the ocean. One of the divers swam to the hook to grab it and swim it back down to drugs so he could secure it in place while the other divers climbed back aboard the boat. You watched as the cord connected to the hook continued to move the deeper the diver brought it, a part of you wished it was too deep for the hook to reach.

“Load… is… locked… and…” a voice crackled through the radio at your boss’s side. “Secure…”

The boss looked at you, giving you a nod. Your hand didn’t stop shaking until it was resting on the cool handle of the lever. You slowly began pulling the lever down, the machine whirred as the cord tightened and began to retract. You kept your eyes on the surface until finally the tip of the pallet broke through the waves. A loud noise made you flinch; you glanced to the side to see Your boss had barked out a laugh, he was smiling wide as the pallet got further out of the water. Within minutes the pallet was fully raised and hanging off the hook in the middle of the air was millions of dollars’ worth of drugs.

“Good, good,” the boss said, coming up and slapping you on the back, hitting your injured shoulder. “Now, keep it steady,” he whispered in your ear. “We have business to attend to.” You could feel his eyes burning a hole in the side of your face, but you refused to look at him as you hit the button, making sure the pallet would stay in the air.

Your boss kept his arm around your neck as he directed you away from the control panel. He walked you to the edge of the boat before finally releasing you. You stared out across the ocean, out of the all the things you could see before your life ended, you had to admit there was nothing like the sea, it felt fitting.

“Walk forward,” your boss ordered. You hesitantly lifted your foot and began inching your way to the side of the boat. With each step you knew you got closer to your death. “Stop.” You instantly came to a stop.

You couldn’t help the tears that filled your eyes as you stared off across the water. Soon you’d be one with the sea, your body lost forever to the dark abyss, your soul forever bound to the ocean floor. You reached up, your finger brushing over the trident necklace that still rested under your shirt. Maybe you had redeemed yourself enough for Poseidon to have mercy on you, you wouldn’t make it to Elysium but maybe he would consider reincarnating you as a tiger shark. You closed your eyes when you heard the click of the revolver pointed at the back of your head.

A loud nose broke through the wind, making you jump, your eyes snapped open. Your eyes darted around seeing the boat and the ocean, you hadn’t died yet, then the noise happened again. The noise hadn’t been the firing of the gun, it was a horn from a boat. You looked around, seeing a boat coming up on you in the distance. You couldn’t help but smile when you saw Finestkind across the front of it.

You spun around, knocking your boss’s arm out of the way causing him to fire the shot meant for your brain into the side of the boat. Before he could recover and aim the gun at you again, you flung yourself over the side of the boat and into the water. You held your breath, opting to stay underwater. You didn’t know what was happening above, but you saw dark outlines of a handful of people looking over the side of the boat. You quickly pushed back, swimming under the boat as bullets rained down where you had just been. You peeked your head out from under the boat seeing the shadows of the men looking over the boat, trying to catch a glimpse of you or your body. You went further under the boat when you saw the shadow of the Finestkind getting closer.

You popped out on the other side of the boat, making sure to stay near to keep yourself hidden. You could hear the boss shouting orders, his men screaming, and more gun fire. You couldn’t see them, but you heard another boat engine and felt the waves as it most likely passed by, you could only assume it was the Finestkind. Suddenly something grabbed your ankle, you had just enough time to take a big breath of air before it was yanking you down to the dark depths of the ocean. You could only watch as the light above slowly began to face. You tried kicking at whatever attacked you, all you knew was that it didn’t feel like teeth. When you whipped around you saw the light from a diving mask illuminating a diver’s face, the diver who had gone back down to secure the drugs.

He grabbed you by the waist, yanking you deeper as you struggled against him. You hit and punched at his chest before finally getting your hands around his mask and ripping it to the side. While he struggled to readjust his mask, you reached for the knife strapped to the side of his leg, then kicked him in the chest, sending him floating further away. You began swimming to the surface again, just as you were about to break through you were yanked back down again.

This time you quickly spun around, not hesitating as you swung the knife around, stabbing him in the neck. You ripped the knife out, your eyes widening as he brough a hand to his neck, but his blood still seeped out between his fingers, tainting the surrounding water. He reached out for you with his other hand which you easily dodged. You used one hand to push him away, watching as he slowly sunk down into the darkness, the light from his mask slowly disappearing.

When your head burst through the water you couldn’t help but take several deep breaths. You spun around, trying to regain focus, the shooting being what brought you back. You swam to the boat, then swam around to where you could pull yourself up onto it. You stayed crouched down, seeing your boss and his men shooting at something, when you peeked your head a little higher you could see the Finestkind circling around, dodging most of the bullets, you couldn’t see who was driving the boat or anyone else thankfully.

When one of the men got close to your position you popped up, slicing his throat before he had the chance to see you. You liberated him of his gun before he fell into the ocean. His body must have made a loud splash because one of the other guys turned around before you had a chance to duck and hide again. Your eyes widened at seeing his gun facing you, you lifted the one you had just taken and fire, nearly losing control of the automatic weapon but managing to hit the guy.

You ducked down again when two more men turned to face you, instantly firing. You covered your head as bullets flew above your head, piercing the wood you were hiding behind. You heard firing from two more weapons, different weapons than the boss and his men were using. There was a thud and another thud and the bullets sailing past your head suddenly stopped. You peaked around the corner only to see the two men that had been firing at you lying dead on the deck.

You slid to the other side to peek around the other corner, seeing your boss and his men hunkered down. Lifting your head a little higher you caught sight of Charlie and Costa crouched down and running across their boat. Before you ducked back in cover you saw one of the men raising his gun, aiming it at Charlie’s head that was just barely poking out. You raised your gun and fired, filling the man’s back with bullet holes. The guy he was next to reacted, sitting up taller as he aimed his gun at your position but was instantly met with a bullet to the head by Costa.

There was nothing for a moment, just the sound of the waves rocking the boats back and forth until you heard someone grunt. You peeked around your corner again to see the Finestkind had drifted closer and two of your boss’s men were able to jump aboard and were now fighting Charlie and Costa. You swung the strap of your gun around your shoulder before running and tackling a third guy before he could jump aboard the Finestkind.

You got a few punches in before the guy shoved you off himself. The two of you stood face to face circling each other, waiting for the other to make a move. The man got impatient and charged you, but you dodged out of the way, using your knife to slice him across the ribs as he passed you.

He did the same thing, running at you full force, his arms wide to tackle you. You ducked under his arms, grabbing one of his arms, twisting it behind his back with one hand while the other brought the knife to his throat. You held him pressed against you as you pressed the knife further into his skin, surely drawing blood. You turned around, keeping his body in front of you. You kept your head hidden behind his as you stared straight into the eyes of the guy who had kidnapped Charlie and forced you into the SUV.

The guy smirked before raising his gun and fired bullet after bullet into his own man. You kept the guy’s body upright as you pressed forward using him as a human shield. When you were close enough you pushed his body at the man who had been guarding you. While he was distracted you grabbed his hand, hitting it against the latter, trying to get him to drop his gun.

Distracted in trying to get him to drop his gun you didn’t realize he had pushed the others guy’s body out of the way, giving him full access to grab you by the back of the hair and slam your head into the railing of the ladder. You collapsed to the ground, reaching up for the ladder to try and regain your footing. When you looked up, through your spotted vision you saw the guard pointing his gun at your head.

Behind him you saw Tommy coming out, shooting one of the men that had been attacking Charlie. You couldn’t help but smile despite your predicament, the blood from your nose dripping down into your mouth.

“What the fuck are you smiling at?” the guard asked.

You could only chuckle as you saw Charlie flailing through the air as he landed on the guard. You scooted out of the way, only able to watch as Charlie and the guard struggled on the ground, taking turns punching each other. Charlie put both hands on the gun, trying to twist it out of his hands. There was a loud bang, your eyes widening as both men froze.

You released a breath when Charlie sat up, his shoulders relaxing. You couldn’t help but scoff at the guy who forced you into the SUV, the guy who was an enforcer for your boss, was now just a guy with a bullet in his chest. Charlie pulled himself to his feet and held out a hand to you, helping you to your feet as well. You both turned when you heard another bang, seeing Costa aiming his gun and the other man who had jumped aboard the Finestkind fall back into the ocean.

“Well, well, well,” you whipped around when you heard your boss’s voice. “Look what we have here.” Your boss was smirking but nodded his head to the side. You looked to see what he was nodding at, you and Charlie both froze at the sight of the bodyguard over on the Finestkind, a gun pressed into Mabel’s side and the rest of the crew on their knees with their hands behind their heads. “Get over there,” your boss ordered, nodding at Charlie.

“When you get the chance,” you whispered, barely moving your mouth so only Charlie would hear. “Run.” Charlie scrunched his eyebrows when he looked at you, his eyes widened with realization when you lifted up the back of his shirt and slipped the diving knife in his waistband. You held Charlie’s gaze for a second; you needed him to run as soon as he got the chance.

Your eyes went back to Mabel, seeing her forced to her knees next to Tommy. Thankfully she didn’t look hurt, you weren’t sure if you could keep your composure if they tried to hurt her. You couldn’t help but be grateful for her, she came with them, she came to rescue you, you couldn’t believe she actually came. Mabel had been free, free of this life, free of you, she was free of all the trouble and yet she still came to help you.

“Now!” your boss yelled again, waving his gun impatiently.

Charlie glared at your boss as he hopped back over to the Finestkind. The bodyguard made sure to have his gun on Charlie the entire time. When Charlie got close enough the bodyguard slammed the butt of the gun into Charlie’s ribs, making him double over as he got to his knees. “Hands up!” The bodyguard ordered, nudging Charlie in the back of the head with the barrel of his rifle. Charlie subtly glanced back at the man, giving him a glare.

“So much trouble and for what,” your boss said, walking up to you, “you?” He shook his head in disappointment. “You made this so much messier than it needed to be.” He glanced over at the Finestkind where the others were being held hostage. “You’re the girl that was with Mr. Hero here,” he gestured at Charlie. “The one my man let go?” He called out, looking at Mabel but she only acknowledged him with a glare. “I’m assuming she’s who you wanted to say goodbye to?” He looked back at you, chuckling. “Love,” he said wistfully. “It’ll only get you killed. Bring the girl here.”

Your eyes widened, you glanced at Charlie, he gave you a subtle nod, but you still held your breath as you waited to see how this would play out. As soon as the bodyguard walked up behind Mabel, shifting his gun to only one hand so he could grab Mabel by the wrist with his other, Charlie made his move. Charlie spun around, you didn’t even see him slide the knife out of his waistband, you just saw him move his arm, slashing the man’s heel.

The bodyguard screamed, instantly letting go of Mabel as he reached for his injury. Charlie knocked Mabel out of the way as he grabbed hold of the gun still in the bodyguard’s hand and pushed him back. As Charlie was fighting the bodyguard you rushed toward your boss when you saw him raising his own gun at Charlie, slamming into him, sending both of you to the ground.

You quickly pushed off him and ran to the side of the boat when you caught sight of the duffel bag. You snagged the duffel bag and put as much distance between you and the boss. You glanced at the Finestkind, seeing Charlie struggling with the bodyguard until finally he tossed the guy over the side of the boat.

“One wrong move and say goodbye to your money,” you said, when you saw your boss had recovered. He was wobbling on his feet, but he had made to raise his gun at the others again.

You kept the automatic weapon close to your side to help give you more support while you used your other hand to hold the duffle bag out over the side of the boat. You saw your boss’s finger twitch, but he didn’t raise his gun at you or the others. His eyes kept going from the bag to you, you could see him debating in his mind if you’d really follow through and toss his money into the ocean.

“Easy, easy,” your boss said. He smiled, trying to appear calm, acting as if he was still in control, but there was an edge to his voice. You held all the power now; you just couldn’t take your eyes off your boss.

“They’re going to leave now,” you said, surprising yourself with how calm you sounded. “Charlie!” you hoped he got the message; you couldn’t spare a glance back at them.

“What are you doing?” you heard Mabel call. “No! No!” you flexed your hand, gripping the gun just a bit tighter; Charlie was doing as you asked.

You finally released a breath when you heard the engine of the Finestkind start up. You felt the boat sway as the Finestkind began to pull away. Your eyes flicked down, looking at the ground behind your boss, there was the gas cannister, still rolling around. You didn’t have a plan when you first grabbed the bag of money, you just wanted to give Mabel and the others a chance to escape but now you knew what you had to do. Your breathing wasn’t as shaky as you imagined it would be, but you guessed that’s what happened when you looked death in the eye for the third time. You blocked out Mabel screaming your name and yelling at the others to turn the boat around.

 You twisted your body, using your one hand on the gun to pull the trigger, shooting up the panel that controlled the crane that was holding the drugs. “No!” your boss screamed, running towards the panel as it sparked and whined before dropping the drugs back into the ocean, nearly tipping the boat in the process.

Your boss whipped around, his eyes looking like a rabid animal as he ran at you. You used the duffel bag to hit him in the chest, knocking him back to the floor. With him on the ground you tossed the duffel bag into the ocean. You stepped up onto one of the crates, placing one foot up onto the edge of the boat. You spared your boss one last glance, watching as he held a hand to his chest as he tried to catch his breath and find his balance again. You took a deep breath then raised your gun one last time and fired.

You jumped off the boat the second your finger pulled the trigger. You didn’t need to see the bullet hit the gas cannister. You hit the water and the force of the explosion pushed you deeper. You ignored the sting of saltwater, your eyes wide opened as you watched the sky light up, bits and pieces of the boat sinking down to the bottom of the ocean. You waited a few moments, hoping all the debris was done falling before swimming to the surface.

You took a deep breath when you finally broke through the waves. There was nothing left of the boat and certainly nothing left of your boss. You began to swim through the wreckage, avoiding burning pieces of wood floating in the water. Your arm brushed against something and when you looked to see what it was you couldn’t help but chuckle, seeing the duffle bag, maybe you still had a bit of luck left after all. You flung one arm over the duffle bag, using it to help keep yourself afloat.

“Y/N!” you heard Mabel shout. You whipped your head around, trying to figure out where her voice was coming from. “Y/N!” you broke out into a smile when you saw the Finestkind coming through the smoke, you never thought you’d be so happy to see that damn boat.

“Holy shit you’re alive,” Charlie said when the boat got close enough. You breathed out a laugh, which seemed to be becoming Charlie’s saying when it came to you.

You tossed the duffel bag onto the stern before taking Charlie’s hand, allowing him to pull your aboard. You collapsed onto the deck, breathing heavy as you looked up at the clear blue sky. “Thanks,” you breathed out.

Mabel collapsed to her knees next to you, resting her hand on your cheek as she turned your face to look at her. “Hey,” you said still breathless. “Thanks for saving me.”

“You’re an idiot,” she said, clearly holding back a sob. You nodded, unable to argue with her, you did do a lot of dumb things. “I hate you.”

“I know.”

She lifted your head off the deck, pulling you into a kiss. You leaned up, instantly kissing her back. Mabel’s tears streamed down her face, mixing with the saltwater you were soaked in, despite the salty taste it was the best kiss you ever had. Mabel pulled away, keeping her forehead resting against yours. “You paid my debt,” she whispered.

Now you were breathing heavily for another reason, your eyes never left her lips. “I owed you,” you admitted. Paying her debt that she only had because she was trying to save your life was the least you could do.

“I really hate you,” she sniffled. You couldn’t help but chuckle before she pulled you in for another kiss. She could hate you all she wanted if it meant spending the rest of your life like this.

[seeingivy]

ribbons release

actor eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting series

content: happiness for once. until it is not. ronnie's love for foreshadowing strikes again.

an: not a fan of this chapter, but we digress. read it and do not kill me if you don't like it.

song: not explicitly mentioned, but this chapter reminds me of about you by the 1975. ratty healy, I hate you but you ate on this one thing.

previous part linked here

--

“I ju-just sent my loc-location, Eren.” 

“I got it, Y/N. I just need you to hold on for ten more minutes, okay? Can you do that for me?” 

“Y-yes.” 

Seattle is famous for rain. You understand that all too well now. After what you’ve counted as twenty-seven minutes - from when you went to take the trash out to the mailpost you’re hiding behind now - you’re all but soaked. Drenched. 

Your phone is blowing up with texts, the rain is only getting harder, and the mini black dress and ribbon in your hair do no favors to keep you warm. You slide out of your call with Eren and quickly scan through the messages, buzzing so loud they’re blocking Eren’s voice. 

reiner: so, so proud of you always!!! stop being a big famous pop star and go back to being the little twerp who needs my help killing spiders on set :/ 

levi: I love you too, kid. And on a real listen, we really do love the album. 

armin: ann and i are smelling a triple threat on the horizon. love you to the moon and saturn <3

connie: i was accidentally pooping while i listened to dorothea for the first time and i think the combination of those two things at once gave me like a really visceral reaction. im not ok. u are amazing. 

mikasa: u are givg me aneurysm. pls don’t forgor to call me the scnd ur okay. 

erwin: Call me ASAP. 

erwin: Not urgent. Just feeling emotional about my little Canadian reaching hearts all over the world. 

king of bitches (maybe: ryomen sukuna): Fluff shit indeed. Blow me a kiss when you beat James for Album of the Year. 

danny: where is the album release post? it’s almost been half an hour. 

You have bigger problems at the moment. Like the frozen piece of fabric you’re wearing. You should have named the album sweaters or scarves or something. Then at least you’d be warm. And blend in with the paparazzi. 

Fuck.

“W-wait, Eren. Y-you ca-n’t b-be the one to get me.” you murmur, shivering through your teeth.

“Do you want to stay with someone else? I know nice people here. My neighbor is in her late forties and has like two middle school aged girls that are really nice. They’d take care of you, I promise you can trust them and-” he rambles. 

“N-no. I want to st-stay with you. But pa-papara-zzi. S-send ss-omeone e-else.” 

“Paparazzi? Why are-?” 

“Er-eren.” 

“Would it be that bad if it was me? Like it has to be someone else, Y/N?” 

“Y-yes.” 

“I have someone in mind. She’s leaving right now, okay?” 

Eren’s sound is muffled over the line now, which has you digging your phone into your ear to catch the ends of what he’s saying. 

Blast the heater….butt warmer on before she’s in the car….bring it up and I will kick your freeloading….

“Y/N?” 

“H-here.” 

“Good. I’m sending her. Don't get upset, this is the best I could do, okay? I-I promise she’s actually nice. You can trust her and-and I’d never send someone who would do something bad.”  

“O-okay. I t-trust you. J-just get me ou-out of th-this, please.” you whimper, praying to god the rustling behind you is a rabbit and not the group of them finding you. 

“I’m trying sweetheart, okay? She’s speeding. She’s on Main and Third, three lights and she’s there.” 

That’s when you see it. The flash of the camera. And hear five consecutive clicks right after. You look around the periphery, before you see two of them, two tall guys speed walking closer to where you’re hiding. 

So you do the only thing you can. Stand up and run instead. 

You scramble up off the pavement, hiking your dress down, and keep running down the block. Climb up the gates, knock over trash cans to block the way, anything to stop them. And when you look back, after who knows how long, you realize they’re gone. 

And sit flat on the messy pavement, finally lifting the phone back up. Only to realize Eren’s no longer on the line because your phone is dead. You drop it straight into your lap and dig your hands into your head, covering your ears to stop the pounding sound of the rain from getting any louder. 

God. Just breathe. Whoever is coming to get you is on the way. They’ll come get you and then you’ll be out of this mess. 

You hear three resounding clicks and a flash of a light to look up at two different paps, two girls this time, getting a straight on picture of you. And all you can do is put your head down in your lap and cry. 

They already got the picture. There’s no point in trying to run out of it anymore. 

“Y/N.” 

“Pl-please. I’m b-begging you. You already got your picture and can ss-spin it into whatever you want. I-I’m still a person, please. Just let me go.” you respond, the tears blinding your sight of vision. 

You feel a towel being wrapped around your shoulders and soft hands lifting you up by your arms. And then all of a sudden you’re in a warm car, being sped out of the neighborhood past the groups of paparazzi in between the houses, and not directly across from them having your picture taken. 

You’re in a car. You’re okay. You’re leaving. You’re okay. 

You lean back and breathe hard, phantom sobs still racking out of your chest, trying to register that you’re almost there. Safe behind closed, triple locked doors. 

“D-did you tell Eren?” 

“Yes. He’s not far, we’ll be there soon, okay?” 

“Okay. T-thank you. I’m Y/N.” 

“Lana.” 

You turn your head to actually take in the driver this time, to be met with the Lana you feared. Ricky’s ex-girlfriend, Lana. She has short brown hair - entirely different from her long, beachy waves from the Girlfriend incident - a pointed nose and a very clenched jaw. 

“Th-there are more blankets on the floor. I pumped the heater pretty hard, but I’ll turn all the fans your way. And anything you could possibly need is being rushed to the house for you, so just don’t worry, okay?” 

“I appreciate it. Thank you for coming to get me. I-I” 

“Please don’t thank me. I just-” 

She takes a harsh intake of breath and turns to give you a look, her mouth upturned. 

“He locked you out, didn’t he?” she whispers. 

“Yeah.” you respond. 

“What did you do?”

“I told him I didn’t like him back.” 

She turns her head towards you, a look of confusion on her face. 

“It was a PR thing.” 

She snorts. 

“Your managers must hate you.” 

“I’m starting to think they just might.” 

“Well. Don’t feel bad. Not for a fucking second. Just because he likes you, doesn’t mean he’s entitled to you reciprocating back. You like who you like. And if I were you, I wouldn’t stop liking a guy like Eren for a skeeze like Ricky either.” 

You lean against the glass, hot air blowing in your face, as you take in her expression - so enraged, so exasperated, so furious that it gives you a chill. But when she looks over and gives you a halfhearted smile, you see the pained expression there too. 

That’s when you pinpoint it. Lana reminds you of Historia. 

“I’m sorry.” you respond. 

“For?” 

“You knew he locked me out. He must have done it to you too, no?” you whisper, the tension in the air delicate. 

She swallows hard and clenches her knuckles on the steering wheel, eyes laser focused on the red light shining on her face. And beyond the original striking features - her sharp jaw and nose - you see the softness too. The dimples, the wrinkles near her eyes, the light brown freckles. 

“I wanted to take time off from acting. It-I did a role that was really traumatic and I just needed a break. And he was just about to go on tour and he wanted me to come to support. Like a little cheerleader.” 

“So he locked you out?” 

“For two days. He-he’s just. A lot of the fame stuff got to him when he was really little. And now he’s got this convoluted sense of self-image and it just- I don’t know. He’s got problems.” she responds. 

“I’m sorry. Really, that’s-” 

You stop talking, words failing you. And maybe it’s the way your head was frozen ten minutes ago and it’s being melted now, or that the picture they took is going to leak soon, or that there is no good thing to say to something shitty like this. It only took him three months to turn on you, which you’re guessing is generous now. She must have infinite patience for putting up with it for an entire year. 

“In a weird way, I’m glad it’s me and not Eren. You- this does something for me. Making sure you’re not out there for two days, it-it helps me.” she whispers, looking over to give you a smile. 

“I really appreciate you, Lana. Thank you. And I-I’m not mad at you for the Girlfriend thing. You had every right to do that.” 

“Y/N. I have every right to drag Ricky James’ name through the mud. But not yours. And I- shit. Please don’t tell Eren we talked about this. He’s going to kill me.” 

“Why?” 

“He told me that if I brought it up, he’d kick me out of his house. I kind of stay there because I-I hate living in our townhouse on set because of how toxic it is and he was nice enough to offer. And he made it very clear that I have to pick you and make sure you’re okay, not make you uncomfortable or anything. We’re here to take care of you and-” 

“I brought it up. I’ll deal with him if he gives you a hard time. I used to be really good at that type of thing.” 

“I know for a fact that you could tell him to twirl in the air like a show pony and he’d do it.”

“I’ll test the theory and let you know.” 

She laughs, giving you a smile which you warmly return. Your phone buzzes in your lap, finally revived, and you send a quick message to Mikasa and Jean before shutting it off. 

“I-I didn’t know that it was going to go that far. I knew the song and that we were just going to sing it. Let people speculate it was about you. I-I didn’t know they’d have a girl who looked like you OR bring Eren up on stage. And Eren didn’t know anything about the song or the performance at all - they, they set him up.” 

“Why would they do that? I mean, they got horrible backlash in the entire thing.” 

“They thought people would like it. And they severely underestimated how much people love you. And they did it because, Eren- he. He doesn’t follow rules and-” 

“Follow rules?” 

“I’m saying too much. He-he’s going to get mad. Ju-just rest, okay? You’re okay now, we’re two minutes from the neighborhood..”  

You give her a questioning look, which she returns with a dismissive shake. Stubborn - she’s Historia alright. You lean back in the chair and reach for the music nob, twisting it on. Only to be met with the Teletubbies Theme blasting through the car and a very flustered Lana turning the knob off. 

“Fuck.” 

“Teletubbies?”

“I-I can explain.” 

“Please. I’d love to hear it.” 

She drums her fingers on the steering wheel as the silence hangs in the air. 

“Okay. Maybe I can’t explain.” 

“No need. I appreciate versatile music taste in prospective friends. Especially classics like this.” you respond, cranking the music back on. 

“Friends?” 

“Don’t be silly. Not exaggerating, but I think you quite literally saved my life a few minutes ago. You’re like the La-La to my Dipsy.” 

“Lame. You’re more of a Tinky-Winky. And anytime. We girls stick together, right?” she responds, reaching for your hand and giving it a squeeze. Like Eren. 

Did she learn the hand squeezes from Eren? Is he squeezing her hands? They live together so …are they dating? 

“We’re here.” 

You nod, appreciative of Lana more than maybe any person on god's green Earth, as she pulls into the driveway and helps you out of the car. It’s only after sitting that you’re realizing your legs are so bone dead tired that you’re barely moving on your own. 

You move past the hood of the car as Eren walks into the garage, immediately beelining towards you. His hair is long again - it’s always changing every time you see him - and he’s all wound up with tensions sitting in his shoulders. His hands are warm and cupping your face, yanking the cold towel off and replacing it with a warm one. 

“Hey. You-you nicked your face, Y/N. And you’re freezing, you-” he whispers, brushing his fingers across the skin near your eye that stings on touch. 

Lana holds the door open as he leads you in, arms aggressively moving up and down your shoulders and his face all pinched up in concern. 

“You’re good to go? I put your stuff out by the door.” Eren says, gesturing to Lana. 

“Is she leaving?” you ask, looking up at Eren. 

“Yeah. Don’t worry, it’ll be just us. And I’m sure Mika and Jean will drop everything to fly out for you tomorrow, I can tell them if you need me to and-” 

“Well, don’t make her leave. She shouldn’t stay on that stupid set just because of me.” you respond. 

Eren looks over and glares at Lana, who is now wide eyed and giving Eren a sheepish smile. Fuck. He asked her not to talk about that. 

“Lana.” he says, in a warning tone. 

“Eren. Chill out. I didn’t even-” 

“You’re so full of yourself, you know that? You- she got drenched and the rain and you were talking about set?”

“It’s not like that! It just came up and-” 

“Oh, for sure. You just happened upon it like you were a villager walking in a town square. Ooh Y/N. You just got drenched in the rain and chased by paparazzi, but more importantly, the girls I work with are super bitchy.” he responds, mimicking her voice. 

“You-it wasn’t like that! You’re so aggravat-” 

“Eren. Leave her alone.” you ask, looking up at him. And you’re sure you must look horrible because he immediately stops when he looks at your face again and signals for her to leave, which she’s receptive to. 

“Okay. Lana, text me when you’re there. And check if you were followed on your way out.” Eren says. 

Lana stops and holds both of your arms at your biceps, hands soft on your skin. 

“Do call me if you need anything, okay? Especially Ricky related. Whatever you do, I’ll back you up, Tinky-Winky. ” 

“Thank you, La-La. I’ll take you up on that.” you respond, giving her a warm smile. 

“Oh god. No. No, you don’t get to be friends now. Fuck no, Lana. Please stick to the geriatric grandmas you play Scrabble with.” 

“You’re just mad they beat you at mahjong last week. Because you’re a prissy loser.” 

“And you’re-” 

You jab Eren in the side, signaling him to stop, as they both nod and she slides her way out. From the way he’s arguing, the look on his face is so similar to the one he gives Connie when they argue, you know they could go on for years if they got the chance. 

“Fuck you, Eren.” 

“Eat shit, Lana.” 

She flips him off as the door clicks shut behind her, the lack of her presence making you suddenly aware of your breaths. And of Eren, warm Eren rubbing into your shoulders and concerned green eyes staring into yours. 

“I like her.” you whisper. 

“Me too. Don’t tell her that though, she’s got an ego problem.” he responds.  

You laugh, which has him smiling at you, and suddenly you’re sobbing. And on cue, Eren has his arms around you, his touch warm and his voice oh so soft that it kills you. That you haven’t seen him in two months. And haven’t talked to him for longer. 

“Eren.” 

“Hey, hey. Don’t cry, it-it’ll be okay. I- we’ll fix this, okay? I’ll call Levi and Hange, whoever you want, they’ll all come and-” 

You reach up, tangling your arms around his neck as he keeps nervously talking, trying to hold you closer even though it’s not physically possible. And he’s just so- 

So familiar that he feels like home. 

“You’re breaking my heart here, Y/N. Please stop crying, I-I’ve got you, okay?” he murmurs, straight into your skin as you nod, trying your best to even out the sobs still leaving you. And slowly but surely, the stream slows and your breath evens out enough to get at least a few words out. 

“Okay. Okay, okay. I’m okay.” 

“Y/N?” 

“Hm?” 

“As much as I like holding you, you’re freezing. Take a shower first and we can do this all you want, okay?” 

You pull back, wiping the tears off your cheeks and giving him a nod. He gives you a small smile, before placing his hands on your shoulders and leading you down towards the bathroom. And you don’t miss all the posters and pictures he has on his walls - one from each season of Attack of Titan, a few of him and Armin, and even one of him and Lana flipping off the camera together. 

He pushes you into the bathroom and immediately turns on the shower all the way to the hottest setting, before turning around and putting his hands on his hips. 

“Towels, clothes, shampoo. There’s soap in there already and take as long as you want. Sit in here for three days if you have to just- do-do whatever you have to do and-” 

You pick up the bottle of shampoo, the lavender scented Pantene, the one that you’ve been using since you were fifteen. And you know, you know that Eren’s atrocious ass uses a three in one hair and conditioner so it’s not his. 

“Eren.” 

“Hm?” 

“Did you just happen to have the brand of shampoo that I use?” 

“N-no. Those are Lana’s.” 

“Then why are they unopened?” you ask, giving him a smirk. 

He glares at you, before rolling his eyes and holding your face. And now he’s leaning so close, so close that your lips are only a few feet away from yours, when he talks. 

“You know why you can’t make fun of me for keeping a spare of your shampoos in my house?” he whispers, green eyes burning in yours. 

“Why?” you whisper back, stomach lurching. 

“Because you’re actually here. I knew you’d come back to me.” he responds, giving your cheek a pinch before walking out. 

And when you watch him walk out, giving you one last smile before he shuts the door, you can’t help but roll your eyes. Typical Eren. Funny, irritating, and soft all in one. 

He’s the same as you left him. 

--

You pad out of the shower, Eren’s hoodie and sweatpants ridiculously huge on you, as you follow the sweet smell into the kitchen. Eren is leaned over the counter, sliding vegetables into two bowls of ramen as you walk in. 

“Hey.” 

“Hi. Took a while. Thought you died in there.” Eren responds, pressing his hands to your skin to test how warm they were. 

“I almost wish I did.” you respond, laughing. 

Except Eren doesn’t find it funny and instead he’s dropping the utensils and standing at your side. 

“Y/N.” 

“I was joking!” 

“Nothing about that was funny. Don’t ever joke about that.” he responds, rummaging through the drawers at your side before pulling out a little tube of gel. 

Eren taps the top of the counter, which you jump onto, before he takes his place in between your legs. His hands are focused on reading the instructions, forehead all scrunched up in concentration.

“What’s that?” 

“It’s like this…scar ointment or whatever. Helps things heal better, I want to use it on that cut on your pretty face.” he responds, twisting it open and squirting some on his finger. 

He brings his hands to your face, eyes intently focused on your cheek. You hiss the second his finger makes contact with your skin, the tingling sensation catching you off guard. 

“I’m sorry sweetheart, I know it hurts.” he whispers, smothering the cold gel down the side of your eye. 

“I-I fell on the pavement. My knees are pretty bad too, Eren.” you whisper, which he nods at. 

After he finishes, he’s carefully sliding the ends of your pants off and carefully placing the ointment on each of the jagged marks on your legs. And you eye the bowls of ramen at your side - knowing instantly that the one without mushrooms is yours - and reach for the food. The broth is so warm it soothes the aching feeling in your throat, still seasoned to perfection the way Eren always makes it. 

“Eren.” 

“Hm?” 

“Can I ask you a weird question?” 

“Sure.” 

“Are you and Lana dating?” 

He looks up from your leg and gives you a devilish smirk. And then starts laughing. Like full on, crouched over, tears from his eyes laughing.  

“Okay. It wasn’t that funny.” you murmur, rubbing your hands against the warm bowl and frowning. 

“Oh god, Y/N. Jesus-” 

“It’s a normal question! She lives with you, you trusted her to come get me, and you guys have a picture together in the hallway.” 

“Are you jealous?” he asks, standing up and leaning straight into your space. 

“Absolutely not.” 

“Are too.” 

“Am not.” 

“You don’t need to get all embarrassed. Watching you kiss Ricky James made me want to break something, preferably his neck.” 

You swallow hard at the mention of Ricky again, the thought of him and what happened was so far away because you were with Eren. In his space, in your shared bubble, after so long. And he catches on too fast because he’s already profusely apologizing. 

“Hey. I didn’t mean to bring him up, I-I’m not trying to push you into telling me what happened it’s just-” 

“No. No, Eren. It’s okay. I know. I-” 

You breathe in hard and put the bowl of ramen down and reach for his hands instead. You keep your eyes focused on them - on the little mole on his left hand, the feeling of his knuckles underneath your fingers, and on him squeezing your hands three times before you start talking.  

“Ricky and I were faking the relationship for PR. Since London Boy and all that, it was Danny and Sareen’s idea. That-that’s why I stopped talking to you, I-I felt bad. And I was ashamed that I was even doing it, I-I don’t know. The Little Women press and all that, it would just get people to stream and talk. Make me a triple threat. And then today, I- He told me he liked me. And I said I couldn’t do that right now. That I don’t like him back. I went to take out the trash because it was so awkward and then I was going to go home but he- he locked me out. And when I asked to come back in, he repeated the same words to me. That he couldn’t do that right now.” 

Eren lifts your hands, still locked with his, and presses a kiss to the top of your knuckles, as you continue. His lips burn your skin, still. 

“I was out there and it-it was cold. And then I heard the cars and I saw seven paparazzi trucks, right on the porch. Ricky, his address isn’t leaked. No-no one knew I was there or that he was but they all showed up, right when I was out there and-” 

“He called them, didn’t he?” Eren asks, his tone so harsh, so unyielding that it almost doesn’t sound like him. 

“Yeah. And I ran, for so long. I- they got a picture. A few, I know they did and I was just so, so scared that I was going to be out there forever, that I was all alone and they were just going to-” 

Eren reaches forward, wrapping you in his arms for what feels like the fiftieth time tonight, but you welcome it. Focus on his heart beating under your ear, running your fingers over his fish tattoo on his bicep, and on his soft, steady breaths. 

“Eren.” 

“Hm.” 

“You didn’t say anything. What are you thinking about?” 

“What I’m thinking isn’t productive for you to know right now.” 

You look up at him, giving him a questioning look. 

“Drop it, Y/N.” 

“No. Tell me. I’m sure you’re mad and all but-” 

“Mad? I’m fucking furious, I’m livid. That he fucking locked you out and left you in the cold. You-you could have been seriously hurt. You are hurt. And not only that, the fucking paparazzi. You-you ran in the cold, you fell, you can’t stop crying and-and- I’m going to kill this asshole when I see him next because it’s his fault you’re feeling like this.” 

“Eren.” 

“No. Shut up, Y/N. I’m being serious. I-I don’t like seeing you like this and don’t tell me not to. He hurt you. It’s that simple.” 

You deflate, knowing Eren too well to know that he won’t drop this. Especially when he’s overly passionate, deep in the feeling right now. 

“Okay. But can you just be here for me right now? I need you here and not all….tense and mad. B-Be soft. And warm.” 

He stops, the frustration in his forehead dissolving as he takes a breath and smiles at you. Not fully, but it does the job. 

“Okay. I can do that. Let’s watch Fruits Basket. And then go to bed.” 

“You hate Fruits Basket.” 

“But I love you. Enough to watch your weird bestiality adjacent show and pretend to like it.” 

You smile and he reaches forward to pinch your cheeks. 

“Look at that smile. There she is. There’s my sweet girl.” he whispers, voice all tangled in his throat. 

--

You wake up to an empty bed, Eren’s side cold. And you pull his hoodie on before padding downstairs to find Eren’s phone pressed to his ear. He gives you a wave and points to the plate - a mix of eggs, french toast, and fruits - perfectly placed to perfection. 

You give him a smile and he walks off, taking the phone with him. You frown as you watch him disappear, jabbing your fork through the cantaloupe. 

What is he talking about that’s so important he doesn’t want you to hear? 

You jump off of the stool and quietly pad towards the direction he walked, hiding in the hallway. He’s leaning against the wall, staring at the picture right across - one of Levi and Hange kissing your cheeks at the vow renewal - and angle yourself to hear his words. 

“Is he okay?” 

“I’m glad. You tell me if you need anything else, okay?” 

“Okay, Coco. I missed you too, yeah?” 

Who the fuck is Coco?

He hangs up and you immediately scramble back to the kitchen, trying your best to stay inconspicuous as he comes back and gives you a smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes, the expression on his face almost tired. 

“Hey sleepyhead. You okay?” 

“Mhm. Food is really good, Eren.” 

He gives you a smile as he sits at your side, eyes focused on you as you eat your food. He places both of your phones in front of you, and you spot yours with nearly a hundred notifications. But when you reach for it, Eren grabs your hand in the air and locks it on his own instead. 

“Just-wait. Eat first.” he says, his tone hollow.

You turn your head to the side and take in Eren’s expression, downtrodden and uncharacteristically unexpressive. The complete opposite of Eren yesterday - moony eyes and soft smiles. 

“Eren.” 

“Y/N. If I ask you to do this for me, can you trust me and listen?” 

“No. You-what’s wrong? You’re being weird.” you ask, reaching for his hand. 

He looks over, the look indiscernible, as he leans forward and presses a kiss to your cheek. 

“You-I took care of most of it, okay? Levi and Hange are coming. Just, don’t panic. You-it’s okay.” 

“Eren. You’re scaring me. Just tell me.” 

He takes a deep breath, cracking the knuckles in your hand as he nervously talks. 

“You-your pictures leaked. The ones of you running last night. And-and people started speculating really fast - wondering why you were running and crying on the night your album released instead of celebrating it. And-and then Ricky, he tweeted a bunch of things.” 

You pale. And reach for your phone, which Eren stops again. 

“They’re lies. Obviously. You don’t need to read them, not yet. And Lana told me she’s ready to back you up, whatever you want, when you need it. But, that’s not-” 

“What, Eren? Just spit it out.” you respond, frantically. 

“They- Ricky’s fans are mad at you. They’re sending you death threats.” 

“Oh.” 

You deflate, staring at the cold mess of breakfast on your plate. Death threats. Hate, you’re no stranger too. Of people commenting on your looks, how bad your singing is, how lame you are. But wishing you were dead? Full on, unbothered and cursing your existence? 

“And not just you, but your family too.” he whispers, watching your face fall. 

Your family. Your parents, Colt, Falco-

“Excuse me. What did you just say? 

Eren doesn’t respond and the tears fall immediately from your eyes, hot and angry as he reaches forward, immediately swiping them away. His expression's pained, he knows this all too well.

“I sent your family a security detail. Don’t worry. Colt was only minorly injured and-” 

You stand up and grab Eren’s shirt, bundling the fabric into a fist in your hands, as you glare at him. 

“Injured? What the fuck do you mean injured, Eren?” 

He sighs, lifting his hands to move yours, and hold them. You’re still clenching hard, so hard you’re sure you’re drawing blood, but he’s doing his best to uncurl your hands as he talks. 

“They threw a brick through the window. And the glass, Colt was sitting right there. I was just on the phone with Falco, he said he’s doing better. The security detailing has medical so you don’t have to worry about that again and they’re both okay and-” 

“No part of this is okay, Eren! Quit saying it’s okay when it’s not! They almost killed my brothers.” 

“Y/N.” 

“No. No, this is horrible, Eren. They-they don’t do any of this stuff. Falco’s barely thirteen. And Colt - he’s going to college. He’s not a celebrity, he’s not a singer, he’s just a student. How is he supposed to go out after this? Why- how is it supposed to be normal? And now, they’re going to be like us. They’re going to feel like they’re trapped in this fucking suffocating ass fish bowl and everyone’s watching and laughing at them and they just-” 

“Y/N. Stop. It’s not going to-” 

“Falco’s too soft for this. He’s just a kid, Eren. I can’t- no. This isn’t fair. Eren, they didn’t even do anything. They’re literally just related to me, they just love me and they’re getting hurt because of it. You- you’re probably getting dragged in the mud too. Everyone who helps me gets subjected to this, loving me comes with this big thing behind me and I can’t even keep people who get it with me. I let you go when you were the only person who understood and I messed it all up and got myself involved with Ricky James of all people and-” 

“Y/N. Stop. Please."

You sit flat on Eren’s floor, head in your hands, and cry, teardrops falling straight onto the floor. And Eren’s sitting there with you, with your big mess of jumbled feelings and mistakes, and trying his best to help you with it. 

That’s how Levi and Hange find you two, after pocketing the spare key Eren told them about. After he insistently called them and payed for a private jet, going on and on about how Y/N needed them. And here you two are, despite their original conceived notions that you two were fighting, on the floor, in each other’s arms. 

“Some things never change, huh?” Hange whispers. 

“Yeah. They keep fucking crying every time we see them.” he whispers back. 

--

Between Levi and Hange - Jean, Mikasa, and Connie who make it out that night - and Eren and Lana, they fix things. Most things. 

Ricky’s narrative about you is clear cut - half-true and half-fake. Your team forced him to date you and defend you for PR purposes, after the Girlfriend incident. There was an agreement that you two would write certain songs, make certain appearances, and support each other. 

But then Ricky turns the gate. Says that you’ve deeply, severely hurt him. That you led him on, that you used him to boost your own ego, and that you were dangerously obsessed with fame and not him. That you were all things - heartless, fake, that he doubted if you were even a real person. A glorious pop-star, empty and hollow on the inside.

And people jump on it fast. Citing the fact that you would throw away your friendship with Historia to be famous, that you stopped dating Eren when he stopped being successful, that you can go to tours but not to Mikasa or Jean’s birthday parties. 

The worst part? Ricky lied, but the things they pointed out were true. Every mistake you make is on display and that people make it a point to draw attention o it. That you really were in too deep, too deep into pleasing Sareen and Danny, and being a triple threat that you forgot that they were all there too. 

Eren, especially. Sweet, sweet Eren who saved you, who held you when you needed him. 

You look over at him and Lana, the two of them very aggressively debating how to use their last turn of their daily Wordle, and feel your heart deflate. 

You dropped the ball. You’ll never make it up to him. 

Lana, in her infinite kindness, has chosen to share her own story, as a corroboration for yours. That Ricky taunted, mocked, and harassed her the entire time they were dating. That you're anything but the things he says. Because she’s had enough and she’ll do it to help out her Tinky-Winky. (Much to Eren’s dismay, he hates that you’re both becoming closer as time goes on.) 

And to complement the announcement, Lana asked for one thing. To go out in style. You wrote a song with her and promised her that she was going to be the lead actress in the music video. A girl rage moment, like The Man. Danny and Sareen approve the move, making no comments or concerns about anything else that happened, and ask to be involved when the time comes. 

You sit on it for a few days. Till you’re ready. But where you are now - with these people - needs to stay for a little longer. Before you brace everything again. 

“Yo.” 

You smile, opening up space for Connie on the couch for you. 

“Hi Con.” 

“Deep in your thoughts there, princess. Thinking about how your album is about to go Multi-Platinum?” 

“No. Just the entire thing.” you respond, frowning. 

Connie rolls his eyes, reaching forward to squish your cheeks way too hard. 

“Ricky, when I catch you, Ricky-” Connie says under his breath, 

You snort, reaching forward to push Connie off. You focus back on Eren and Lana, who are now pulling each other's hair and a nice string of insults, as Mikasa and Levi brew their tea, entirely unbothered in the back. 

And when the screen in front of you flashes, when your third album goes Multi-Platinum after a week of being released, they’re all climbing on you. Jean and Mikasa are hollering in the back, Connie and Lana are jostling you in the air and pressing kisses to your cheek, and Eren, Levi, and Hange smile at you, the three of them enveloped in their own hug, across the way.

You split your separate ways at the end of the week, when you’re ready. Connie, Jean, and Mikasa return to set, Lana and Eren are gone with the wind, and Levi and Hange disappear again. 

When you sit on your plane back home, it sits in. How lonely this entire thing is. How a week full of your friends who love you only happened because of this sickening thing. That it's not a given, that they're presence is only in the bad times and almost never the good.

Your phone buzzes in your lap and you pick up your phone to read the notification. 

eren: don’t be a stranger. fish like to swim in schools, not alone. 

It’s something that rings in your mind, time and time again. When everyone else wins the war, when you keep performing and letting them take and take, for the sake of the work. For the art, for your dream.

And when you give up acting, singing, and dancing at the end of it all and make zero intentions to ever do any of this again, the question still bothers you.

If fish like to swim in schools, why did Eren push you so far away? Why was he so intent on swimming alone? Where you couldn't follow?

eren: I'm not saying that for you. and I know that this is selfish but...

eren: I need you just as much as you need me.

.

.

.

Fucking liar.

--

next part linked here

taglist:

@k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @mykyoon @violetmatcha  @rebeccawinters @cutiejg @bokutosthings @bookwrmm @mblrrr @wheredidmycrowngo @somethinginyoureyes7 @chilichopsticks @okaystopwhore @you-always-made-me-blush @itzmeme @firelordazulaaaa @whoami-72 @g-ghostly @intimacywithceline @erensmoodygf @cocomellxn @princess-ackerman @jaegerfiles @cacapeepee @squirrelspoetry @rui-0836 @moonmalice @invisible-mori @sofiasber @bbybeeb @timetobegone @tee4str @ttokki2 @leave-rae-alone @ec3lipsy @officialsimpp @gojojang @yookayyo @lordbugs @multiplefandomthings @iobeyfandoms

[kyber-crystal]

head in the clouds || bradley “rooster” bradshaw

summary: after a mission gone wrong that almost costs you your life, you and rooster get into an argument. said argument ends up revealing more about him than you thought you knew

words: ~1.7k

warnings: mentions of near-death experience(s), allusions to trauma, blood, and angst. this has a vv happy ending tho i promiseeeee. 

a/n: i can’t stop writing. someone please stop me. i need help

They didn’t call you Viper for no reason. 

You struck down your enemies hard and fast, and flew exactly like your father. Some even opted to calling you Maverick 2 rather than your actual callsign. (The real reason for the name was because you’d gotten bit by a snake as a kid, but you elected to forget that moment.)

“Viper, stand down. You’re dangerously close to enemy territory. Start heading back,” Rooster warned. “You have exactly forty-two seconds before you get on their radar and they’re on your tail. This isn’t something you can do alone.”

“I can handle it,” you grunted in reply as you gripped the yoke of the plane, now 100% in control. Adrenaline shoots through your veins and you can’t help but crack a smile. A little turbulence wouldn’t kill you; you’d be fine.

You heard Rooster’s shouts of objection and concern through your mic, but kept going. Today was not the day for giving up and going home early—it never was, and never would be. You were not going to go down without a fight.

You’re determined to prove yourself—to your father, but also Rooster. You’re dead set on impressing everyone with your skill, even if that meant flying into danger. And risking your life in the process.

It was all part of the job, anyway, so what was the big deal?

You’re pulled out of your sea of thoughts by a blaring alarm. The lights dim, and your heart races. What the hell was going on here…

A sudden jolt of turbulence makes you jerk forward in your seat, and you tighten your grip. “Shit,” you muttered a colorful string of swears under your breath. One quick glance up ahead and to your right shows two enemy fighters closing in on you, and closing in fast. 

“Damn it,” you tried to keep your calm as you activate the flares, making a straight climb upwards in an attempt to evade the adversary. “No no no no no, please—”

The controls panel flashed a bright red, and the alarm kept going. “I got hit. I think I lost an engine. They caught me.”

Rooster’s blood turned to ice at your statement. “Viper, you need to turn back now. Can you make it out?”

“No!” you shouted in reply. “I’m locked in. Back and sides. I don’t know if I can m—”

“Viper.” You couldn’t hear what he’s saying as your suffered another hit to the side, and your jet dipped. You were losing altitude and balance and you felt yourself getting lightheaded. “Viper, do you copy?”

“Heading northwest at 430 knots. Increasing speed to 490,” you responded, voice shaking, “Running low on missiles.”

At this point, you’re hanging on by a thread, and staying awake is becoming more and more difficult. You’re able to get a missile lock on the bogey up ahead with seconds to spare. But then your plane shoots downwards, and you start spiraling out of control. 

“Rooster, I need to take them down.”

“No, you don’t,” he said through gritted teeth. “Viper, eject now. There’s no other way out of this.”

“I already got one! I need to take down the other, and then I’ll land this plane!”

“Y/N, listen to me.” Your father comes online, and his voice is stern; commanding. “You need to get the hell out of here and eject. Don’t risk your life more times than you need to. You’ve done your job already.”

“Dad…”

“Y/N. I’m not gonna ask you again—”

The ringing in your ears grew louder and louder. Your head was heavy and all the color drained from your vision. You fell back against your seat.

You barely managed to press the button in time, hands shaking and heart palpitating. Your head hit the canopy as you ejected, and the world tilted on its axis, spots crawling across your vision. 

The last thing through your mind before everything goes black is the clear panic in Rooster’s tone.

You’re snapped back to reality by someone shaking you awake. With blurry eyes, you make out Rooster kneeling over you. Behind him is what appears to be your jet, crumbling as it went up in flames. 

“Y/N, how many fingers am I holding up?”

You squint. “Two…?”

Rooster goes cold. “Three. Y/N, you’re not in good shape. Mav’s on his way with backup. We’re taking you home now.”

“Home?” you croak out. “Why are you here? I’m supposed to be dead.”

“You’re not dead, thank God,” he exhaled, running a hand down his face. “Thank God you’re alive.”

Blood mixes with the sweat and tears on your face, and it looks like you’re crying red rivers of ash. You press a hand to the side of your forehead, and it comes away stained dark crimson. Your head is still swimming, and it takes everything Rooster has not to panic in front of you. You’ve seen enough, and the last thing he wants is for you to see him freak out. Even though he is very much so freaked out. 

“It’s going to be okay, you hear me? It’s going to be okay.” He’s breathing hard, and he’s trying his best to stay calm. “It’s going to be okay. We’re going to be okay.”

Your eyes flutter shut, and you lose yourself in the dark void of nothingness. 

When you come to your senses once more, you’re in the med bay. Across the room from your cot is Maverick slumped over in a chair, mug on the coffee table next to him. He must’ve been here all night. He senses that you’re awake and makes his way over to you. 

“Sweetheart,” your dad starts. “You scared the living daylights out of us.”

“Are they gone?” you question, referring to the bogey fighters you’d encountered earlier. “Tell me they’re all gone.”

“Hangman and Coyote swooped in and handled the rest. The job’s done.”

“That’s good.” You close your eyes and smile. “That’s really good.”

“You suffered a bad concussion, three cracked ribs,” Maverick explained. A familiar look of hurt flashes across his face, and your heart drops. You know that look. “You’re very lucky to be alive.”

“Yeah.” You swallowed hard, and try to sit upright. “I know.”

He helps steady you, placing a careful hand on your back. “Easy there. Don’t be so rough on yourself or you won’t recover as fast.”

“Where’s Rooster?” you croaked out. “Is he here?”

“In the hallway. He missed two training sessions since we flew back in with you,” he explained. “Refused to leave your side. I tried getting him to go out but he’s stayed camped out on the floor waiting for you. Do you want to see him?”

You nod. He leaves the room, and comes back a few seconds later with an exhausted-looking Bradley Bradshaw. Rooster’s shoulders slump in relief upon seeing that you’re okay.

He sits down by your side, the bed dipping under his weight. You’ve never seen this softer side of him before and it makes your heart ache in more ways than one. 

“Hey.”

Rooster shakes his head. His voice comes out hoarse. “You almost died out there.”

“When’s the last time you slept?”

There are tears in his red-rimmed eyes. “You had a narrow brush with death, and the first thing you ask when you wake up is about how much I slept? Are you serious?”

“Rooster…”

“God forbid you actually got yourself killed,” he breathes out. “I’d never forgive myself for it.”

“But I’m okay, and that’s what matters.”

“No, it’s not okay! You’re not understanding the point here. Your overconfidence almost cost you your life. If you had gotten out of there a second later…” He begins to raise his voice, but trails off as he notices you wince. “...We’d be taking you back home in a body bag.”

“Forgive me for putting myself in danger and being a self-sacrificial brat,” you scoff. “It’s not like I was trying to stamp down the enemy or anything. If I hadn’t been out there when I was, even more chaos could’ve erupted.”

“And would your death be worth a fraction of victory?”

“Yes.”

“My god, you’re insufferable,” Rooster sighs. “It’s unbelievable that you have such little regard for your life.”

“How is my life any of your concern? What does my well-being have to do with you?”

“I can’t lose you the same way I lost my dad,” he finally says, and that’s when it hits you. This is how Goose died—something had gone wrong as he was trying to eject, and he never returned to base. Guilt overwhelms your senses as you realize he must be reliving his worst nightmare all over again—through you. “Y/N…you’re all I have left. And I’d be damned if you leave this world without knowing how I feel about you.”

Your mouth runs dry. “...What?”

“I’ve been put through hell enough times. I’m begging you…please don’t make me go through it again.” Rooster’s voice is cracked and hoarse as he places a hand against your cheek. “At least promise me that.”

You cup his face in your hands, thumbs skimming over his cheekbones. Heaven’s sake…even sad, he looked so breathtaking. “I promise.”

He moves in to close the distance between you and you meet him halfway, lips colliding together. His hands are shaky as they run through your hair, and the kiss is frantic and rushed and in far less ideal of a situation than either of you could’ve imagined. But it’s more than you could’ve asked for, and because of that, it was enough. 

Rooster pulled away to catch a breath, but you pulled him back seconds later and kissed him again. You’re most likely going to lose your breath but you couldn’t care less in that moment. Fate kept you alive when you shouldn’t have been, and it was fate that would bring you back into his giving arms. 

“From here on out,” he holds you tight, resting his head in the crook of your neck, “you’re sticking with me, no matter what.”

“I’m not complaining,” you hummed in contentment. “I’d like that very much.”

tags:  @rentskenobi @tweedlydumbtweedlydoo @valorax @lifeisfullofupsanddownsliveit @sarcastic-sourwolf @ice-mans-world @burnedbrisket @fangirlinc @marveljunkie45 @knowledgefulbutterfly @levis-butterfingers @organabanks @coastingline @skylynch03 @chaoticassidy @hbstre @fantasias-creativebubble @mercury-mae @light-the-moon @winteryoungie @aie1840 @thisismypointofview​ @worldsoldestpizzaslice​ @minivture​ @i-wish-everything-would-be-okay​ @t-stark35​ @thesunsetphantoms​ @danirose-0420​ @thespeeder​ @lyn-lc​

[separatist-apologist]

Take Me Back To The Night We Met

Summary: Gwyneth Berdara wants nothing more than to return home and exact revenge on the courtiers who hurt her and killed her sister. Exiled to a distant temple, Gwyn finds herself at the mercy of a mysterious stranger offering to escort her home on orders from her eldest brother and king of the realm.

Unraveling the secrets of the strange soldier will prove more deadly than Gwyn could ever have imagined, setting into motion events that began nearly five hundred years before.

Happy @gwynrielweeksofficial!

TW for mentions of past sexual assault

Read on Ao3

Five hundred years before:

“No more,” Azriel breathed, spiked boot pressed to the neck of his would-be adversary. “It’s over.”

Heavy chains curled from the loamy ground made of thick roots. It took no effort to bind him given he was dying, bleeding from the sword still protruding in his stomach. Somewhere in the distance he could hear the mighty roar of Rhys and knew he and Cassain were likely suffering similar fates. They’d tried to take the world, to leave the underplane they ruled, to overthrow the high god Koschei.

Where was Lucien, he wondered? Was he dead too? Was this failed cosmic coup over so easily? Azriel wanted to struggle but his body was pinned in place, sinking slowly toward an earthy grave. 

“You give up easier than expected,” Koschei murmured, sharpened teeth dripping with some dripping, black substance. “Like a coward.”

Azriel snarled furiously, pulling at the bindings dragging him further down. Could Koschei see the promise of retribution in his gaze? Did he not realize no prison could hold him forever? Azriel would find his way out eventually. He had nothing but eternity to plot and creatures like Koschei grew complacent in the end. 

Crouching so he could speak better with Azriel, Koschei flashed another foul smile. “I hear your thoughts, little god. You think you can usurp me with time. Consider your undoing.” With a snap of his fingers, a body fell from the sky, falling with a sickening crunch inches from Azriel. He recognized the red hair, splayed out over a too pale, lifeless face. Knew the body of the woman now crumpled in a heap, the sword broken off in her midriff—he’d given it to her. 

A once white ribbon, now stained rust red, was still tied around her forehead. Azriel wanted to reach for it, to blow life into the lifeless body of the only woman he’d ever truly loved.

It had been a mistake to bring humans into this mess. To think he could raise her into godhood—that she wouldn’t get hurt in the end. Azriel had sworn he’d keep her safe.

His Gwyn.

“Pretty little thing,” Koschei murmured, running clawed hands through Gwyn’s tangled hair. “Didn’t you warn her to stay away from monsters?”

“I’ll kill you,” Azriel swore, thrashing again. It only made him sink faster. 

“Oh, you’ll try. And every time you raise yourself against me, your little human will find herself reborn and thrust back in your path. You can try and save her, of course—but you have to give up your designs on godhood, shadowsinger. Or you can kill me and watch her die all over again. Something to think about.”

Azriel shouted, but dirt filled his mouth before darkening his vision. With his eyes closed, all he could see was Gwyn’s helpless body left to rot while he was buried beneath her. Azriel forced himself to calm down, just enough to keep his mind clear.

Koschei thought he had him.

But he didn’t know Azriel at all. And the ancient god had only given Azriel time think.

Time to plot. 

-    - 

Gwyneth Berdara woke just before dawn, like she always did. Some internal clock inside her mind refused to let her sleep in—to sleep well—especially now that she’d come to the temple in Sangravagh. She wasn’t supposed to be here. She should have been in the palace with her brothers, should have been mourning her sister's death with the rest of them.

She’d had one minor outburst. One room had exploded into flame before her brother—the king—had extinguished it. Nothing of consequence had been harmed and yet she’d seen that steely look in Eris’s eyes. 

“It’s been a year, Gwyneth,” he’d said without humor. “How much longer am I expected to tolerate this?”

“How long would it take you to mourn the death of your other half?” she’d snapped back. That had been a mistake. His patience was already thin—there was conflict at the border, the first in five centuries, and swirling rumors the dark princes were rising from the slumber.

Eris, who lived in the shadow of Lucien Spell-Cleaver—a god, truly, more legend than he’d ever been a living man—was uneasy. Devoid of smiles, same as their late father. As if Beron Vanserra could have any relation to the great Sun King. 

So Gwyn was here with the priestesses to learn humility, and to vent her rage somewhere none of the courtiers could see. She wondered what he’d told the court. What had he told Nesta Archeron, Gwyn’s dearest friend? Did he admit the truth? That she was an embarrassment he couldn’t stand any longer? That Eris didn’t want to deal with the messiness of loss, that Catrin’s death didn’t bother him as much because he’d never been close to either of them? They were the youngest by nine years, an accident their father hadn’t wanted and their mother was too exhausted to deal with.

Eris had five brothers, but Gwyn had only Catrin. They’d had governesses, of course, and the usual training given to princesses, but they were merely more players on their father’s board, turning the Vanserra siblings from five to seven in the blink of an eye. They’d run wild, managed more by Eris than their parents, who’d done a better job keeping Catrin’s moods in check.

She was gone now. 

And so was Beron. 

That left Gwyn to pick up her sister's mantle and give Eris hell when it suited her, and left Eris to exile her until she was ready to stop being a pain in his ass. Or to find her a suitable husband, some minor lord with money and men that Eris could exploit while cleanly wiping his hands of her. 

Gwyn resented him for it. 

There were secrets, too—things she couldn’t tell Eris, that he’d never guessed. Things she’d confessed only to Catrin, curled up in a bed they’d never been meant to share as she sobbed softly. Of men at court who took far too many liberties and her brothers who were too busy with their own lives to notice their sisters. 

Catrin had nearly convinced Gwyn to tell Eris the truth.

And now she was dead. 

Unlike the other priestesses, Gwyn was given her own room at the top of one of the dark spires in the temple. It wasn’t nice, nor was it spacious, but it was private and that was all that mattered. She didn’t have her own bathing chamber which annoyed her given Gwyn had to trek down circling stairs and make her way through the drafty temple for the one bathing room they all shared. 

She didn’t like the way they stared at her, how their laughter and conversations died when she stepped into the room. Maybe that was why she’d begun getting up early. Better to bathe alone than to endure their quiet judgment. They didn’t want her here, either. They loathed having to teach her to work in the garden (a task Gwyn hated), and embroider, (Gwyn stuck her finger almost as often as her cloth), and work the stables (the horses were nice, but their stalls were foul). Gwyn didn’t mind midwifery so much, though the first time she’d watched a woman bleed out while the other priestess called it Lady Death’s will, Gwyn had found she liked it a little less. Everything was left in the hands of the gods and no one had to take any responsibility for their actions. The gods ordained every act of cruelty and mortals were helpless to resist. Gwyn loathed that more than anything. 

The only place that felt like solace was the library. It was a special privilege to work there, earned after years of dedication and Gwyn knew the other priestesses resented seeing her working for Merril. The books kept the score, besides—villains always got what they deserved, the heroes always came out triumphant. Even outside of the novels she loved, history was written in the blood of victors and lacked the meddling hands of the gods. Gwyn was allowed to help transcribe these histories which was clearly her brother's influence. Everyone knew it. 

They didn’t know the alternative was her constant attempts at escaping. They didn’t understand that Clotho had watched as Gwyn was dragged back, at first kicking and screaming, before she’d become compliant, though still defiant. She would rather die than sit in the temple, complacent and meek, awaiting Eris’s decision on what to do with her. So she ran, and she was caught, and she ran again. Over and over and over until Clotho finally had enough.

Signing silently, Clotho had said, If you stay, you can work among the books. 

It was a bribe more than anything. Gwyn imagined Clotho loathed having to write her brother all those letters about how difficult she was. And Gwyn was certain Eris had demanded they find a way to make her complacent, along with a hefty sum of gold.

And hated even more that it had worked. 

She’d loved the library at home, and she loved it here in Sangravagh even more. Here they had books that went back to the reign of Lucien Spell-Cleaver. That told the story of the epic battle between him and the legendary Dark Lord—The Shadowsinger. Defeated at the very last moment, when all hope was lost, by the Sun King’s unassuming, beautiful wife. Her mother had told her and Catrin that story more often than any other. It was said his body had been cut into five pieces, scattered to the four corners of the globe while his head was buried beneath the floors of the Forest House. It was said that Lucien himself had buried him that way to ensure he never returned. 

Catrin used to sympathize with the Shadowsinger—likely the only person in the world who could. Gwyn had been mesmerized, proud to be part of that legacy. Curious, too, as she’d become older. How much of it was actually true, and how much was merely legend. Gwyn suspected Lucien Spell-Cleaver had been mythologized, melded with other, older legends until he became a god-like figure.

And the Shadowsinger much the same. 

In the library, Gwyn found records from the time, recording births and deaths, and endless expenses for building palaces and roads and walls. She found records of ship inventories carrying the goods from Velaris and Illryia to Avalon, which meant the legends of the Lord of Bloodshed and his equally terrifying brother known only as Death Incarnate, couldn’t be real, either. They were said to rule Velaris and Illyria proper, and the Shadowsinger oversaw what was now Avalon. 

Likely they had just been regular men, too, whose regimes were toppled and they, too, were made more fearsome by legend trying to immortalize an Empire, and terrifying those that would defy it. Bedtime stories for children, real lives made into parables to teach lessons. 

She couldn’t stop herself from translating the books, though. From painstakingly working by candle, until it had burned to nothing and she was half asleep against the hardwood surface. Merrill allowed her to do so, likely because it kept her busy and out of everyone's way.  

Gwyn rushed through her morning bath, well aware that the stipulations to being in the library required her to spend three mornings a week shoveling horse shit from the stables.

Gwyn always chose the first three days to get it out of the way. Begrudgingly, she could admit to herself that the hard labor did calm her mind a little. She’d never say that out loud, but Gwyn liked the horses, too. 

She dressed quickly, slipping on the standard blue of her robes that all priestesses wore. She had some old gowns from court but Eris had ordered she be treated no different than anyone else. What good was chiffon and lace in a place like this? Once, Gwyn had cherished those things. She and her sister had giggled over new gowns made of silk, had spent hours at the dressmakers ordering everything that caught their eye and then some. Catrin, especially, had more dresses than anyone could ever have worn and had taken such care with her appearance. She’d been so beautiful, so lively—the living embodiment of the flame that wound its way through their family bloodline. 

Gwyn couldn’t prove she’d been murdered to keep silence but rumor had been spreading that something had happened. Catrin couldn’t hide her rage, had snapped at the men responsible, had messed around in their policies and in one particularly cut-throat move, interfered in an impending marriage that would have enriched one of the families beyond their wildest dreams. 

It’s my quiet revenge until you’re ready to get loud, Catrin had told her. 

Gwyn had always been afraid to be angry, to take up space.

Not anymore.

The air was cooler than usual, salty without the tang of fish that it usually had. Gwyn could hear the ocean churning in the distance and knew if she continued walking toward the cliffside she’d find the brutal gray waves rising and falling against the rock, battering away. She wasn’t allowed to go that far—everyone thought she might fling herself off the edge.

Some days it was tempting. 

Some days her anger burned so hot Gwyn thought she might explode from it. Today was one of those days. It itched beneath her skin, expanding until she felt like she couldn’t contain her feelings. Her sister wasn’t just dead. She’d been murdered. Eris swore he was looking for the killer, had promised Gwyn there would be justice but there wasn’t, and there hadn’t been. Did her brother suspect the truth? That nobles in his own court were responsible and condemning them to death was likely to cause an exodus and, even worse, an attempted coup? Or was he too busy with things he deemed more important to see what felt so obvious to Gwyn. Maybe she could have pieced Catrin’s final night alive together—all she had were her suspicions.

Now she had nothing at all. 

Gwyn looked up at the moody sky wishing she had the Spell-Cleaver’s affinity for magic. All she had was flame, and it was fairly pathetic in comparison to her brothers. Perhaps that was for the best—Gwyn might have raised the whole world in her grief and anger. 

Instead she put on mucking shoes and made her way to the horse stalls. The first stall was easy enough. Pancakes was a sweet, older gelding who didn’t mind getting out of Gwyn’s way so she could take a pitchfork to the manure and replace the soiled hay with something fresh. Gwyn replaced the water in the bucket and fed her before she was rewarded with a sweet nudge from a soft, gray nose.

The next stall was more of the same, and by the time Gwyn reached the third, she was coated in sweat and already thinking about her books. She wouldn’t be done before lunch and already regretted not having breakfast. Still, the quiet company of the animals soothed some of her rage and the work kept her mind mostly quiet. 

Pulling open the wooden stall, Gwyn paused. Buttercream was waiting for breakfast with impatient eyes, nearly trampling the limp body in his stall. Gwyn blinked, certain she was seeing it wrong—but that was a man lying there.

Dried blood stuck to his midnight black hair, to the golden brown of his cheeks, to the white of his torn shirt. Gwyn took a step forward, thinking this wasn’t the first dead body she’d seen. Buttercream stepped out of the stall entirely which was going to get Gwyn in trouble. She considered going back for the horse before deciding that Clotho would understand. 

Hopefully.

Gwyn knelt beside the body, roughly turning him to this back. More dried blood caked over his neck and his bare chest, though she couldn’t tell where he’d been wounded. An old scar screamed white against his neck, like someone had tried to cut it and failed. Gwyn swallowed hard, fingers trembling as she pressed them against the pulsepoint.

He gasped, eyes flying open to look at her. His bloodless lips parted, hazel eyes dilating with fear. Gwyn tried to skitter back but he grabbed both her arms with a surprisingly strong grip, sitting up just enough to put them at eye level.

His were the most intoxicating mix of brown and green, dotted gold around his iris. “You,” he breathed before releasing her arms to hold her face in callused hands. “You—get help.”

She might have done exactly as he demanded had he not crushed his mouth against hers. Gwyn yelped, held in place by this stranger who, despite the blood coating his skin, tasted like warm smoke curling against icy snow. Gwyn kept her eyes open and so did he before those thick, dark lashes fluttered and he felt back with a loud thud. 

Gwyn exhaled, fingers flying to her lips. It should have enraged her, this kiss from a stranger who hadn’t even asked if he could touch her. Yet another man taking what he wanted without bothering to ask, to consider if she wanted what he was offering. And yet…Gwyn’s fingers found her lips, eyes still on his unconscious body pillowed by straw. It hadn’t felt like conquest the way it had before. This felt like desperation—like he needed help and could think of no other way to convince her. 

It was her first, proper kiss. She’d imagined something different. Someone different. 

Not a vagrant half dead in a barn.

Gwyn rose to her feet, hating how her knees were wobbling. “CLOTHO!” she screamed, stepping back out into the cool world.

Overhead, thunder clapped a warning.

And the skies began pouring rain.

 -    - 

Gwyn was in the library, hidden far in the back when she heard the voices of other priestesses. “He can’t stay,” someone whispered. “I told Merrill as much.” “Where did he even come from?” asked another. Gwyn paused from her scroll, grateful for an excuse to rest her aching hand. 

“This isn’t the first time a man has tried to infiltrate.”

“I heard his throat was cut—”

“He was stabbed, supposedly. I told Clotho we ought to leave him to die—”

“That’s terrible.”

The priestesses had been forbidden from visiting the stranger, but Gwyn wasn’t a priestess. And she was curious given he’d kissed her right before passing out. Surely she deserved to see how he was progressing before he was kicked out of the temple? That man was the first interesting thing that had happened since she’d arrived six months before.

She waited until the voices floated away before putting her things away and blowing out her candle. No one paid her any mind as she walked the familiar stone halls, guided only by the silvery moonlight overhead. 

Gwyn knew exactly where he’d be, assuming he was still alive. He’d be closer to her tower where they kept people who’d committed egregious offenses. Gwyn had never seen that happen but she’d heard of a priestess who’d been stealing coins for a lover in a nearby village. The punishment was typically just long enough to cool whatever ardor existed between the lovers—men were fickle things. A week of no contact and they slunk off, moving on with a new, warmer body while the woman was left to pine. Gwyn pitied them both. Was that all love was? Close proximity ignited with physical touch? 

She wasn’t interested. 

Gwyn turned down the sharp corridor, ignoring the door that would take her up to her tower for the one at the far end of the hall. Pushing it open, she saw him lying on a cot, his shirt cut from his body and his chest wrapped in pristine white bandages. The blood had been washed from his body, leaving him utterly bare from the waist up. Gwyn thought there was something odd about him—something missing, though she couldn’t explain what, exactly. 

She was distracted by a trail of dark hair starting just beneath his navel, vanishing in the band of his pants. Cocking her head, she examined the hard muscle of him, made softer in sleep but still visible through his skin. Who was he, she wondered?

She didn’t realize he was awake until she glanced back at his face, meaning to leave. “You again,” he murmured in a midnight dark voice. “I thought I imagined you.”

Gwyn’s heart began thudding in her chest. “You passed out in the stables,” she told him. 

“Seemed like a safe option at the time,” he replied, groaning a little as he tried to sit up. 

“What happened to you?”

He glanced down at the bandage wrapped around his body. “A knife.”

“Did you rob someone?”

A smile tugged at his lips and Gwyn was struck by how beautiful he was. She was used to beautiful men—all her brothers had the good Vanserra genes, after all, passed down from the Sun King himself. And the lords at court were often quite handsome with the annoying quality of knowing it. This man, though, was different. Otherworldly in his beauty and radiating strength—strong jaw, high cheekbones, an aquiline nose and a full mouth. Those dark lashes didn’t hurt him, either, nor did how nicely his body was arranged.

“I’m a soldier, not a thief.”

“You’re a long way from the border,” Gwyn said, arms crossed over her chest. The man watched her for a moment, his amusement plain.

“What do you know about conflict in Avalon?”

Not much, admittedly. She’d never cared to, and it wasn’t like Eris shared with her. She was his obnoxious baby sister and not a trusted advisor. “What are you doing so far up north?”

“I’m looking for a princess,” he admitted, head cocked as he took her in. “The king sent me to retrieve her.”

Of fucking course he did. Gwyn blew out a breath. “He’s too good to come himself?”

He snorted a small laugh. “I suppose he’s quite busy with his soon-to-be-wife.”

“Wife?” she spluttered. “What woman in her right mind would marry Eris?”

The soldier laughed then, head tipping back as the throaty sound filled the small chamber. “I won’t tell him you said so,” he replied, wincing a little as he tried to draw a breath. “Princess.”

Gwyn only frowned. So Eris was getting married, and she was freed temporarily from exile. How very like him to send a messenger rather than fetch her himself. Gwyn swallowed the hurt, not wanting this man to see her anger. 

“I’ll tell him myself when we arrive. She must be out of options.”

“I hear she’s incredibly beautiful,” he countered, those eyes practically glowing feline in the dark. “And that he’s in love with her.”

“You must not know him well.” Eris wasn’t capable of love save for, perhaps, their mother. A wife, though? No, that was something political, an alliance that benefitted Eris so greatly he’d tie himself to the terms legally. Gwyn imagined she was likely beautiful and meek, the sort of woman that would stay out of his way. A woman he could discard without concern only to pick back up when she became necessary.

“Better than you think, princess,” the soldier countered. But Gwyn very much doubted that. This didn’t look like one of Eris’s personal guards, one of his most trusted. This looked like someone who could get stabbed on the side of the road without Eris caring too terribly much. Maybe he was hoping so he could snub Gwyn only to inform her he had sent someone, and how tragic that they’d never made it. Gwyn had enough of the entire thing.

“You should rest, then. It’s a long journey back to the palace.”

“Clotho was very kind, offering me this room. I offered to sleep in the stables.”

Gwyn didn’t care. She turned her back to him, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she went. She was too busy seething at Eris to fall on niceties. This was merely more proof that her family only ever saw her as a burden. It was only when she reached the door and heard the man groan again, settling back against that threadbare cot, that she wondered who he was.

“What’s your name, soldier?” she asked. 

There was a beat, and then— “Azriel,” he told her. Something in the air hummed for a moment before the world stilled again, some magic Gwyn didn’t recognize. Only the royals and the gods commanded magic—no simple soldier could have evoked such a response. It was merely a manifestation of her own anger or some desire to be more important than she was. The gods had long turned their gazes from her—had abandoned her entirely. 

“Sleep well, then, Az—” Gwyn choked on the name, unsure why she couldn’t say it. 

And maybe he knew it, because his mouth quirked to the side, even as he settled back to the bed, one hand on his bare stomach. Something about him seemed off—he didn’t look like Eris’s usual type. Though, to be fair, what did she really know about Eris anymore? Ever since their father died and he’d taken over, Eris was different. 

Maybe his soldiers were, too. 

[dollsburner]

Abience - chapter three

Miguel O’Hara x venom!reader

Words: 1 k (should’ve been longer but I’ve had some stressful days ✨

Content warning: violence, gun violence and venom eating someone’s head.

After taking on the venom symbiote, you decided to leave your home city so make sure your family doesn’t yet hurt. You were intent of living your life alone until you met Miguel and his adorable daughter.

Prologue

Chapter one

Chapter two

— you’re here :)

—

Your skin burned the urge to escape, you could almost feel its urge for violence burning under your skin. You kept your eyes on the ground trying to will your own rage into silence as Venom screamed to be let out. After a moment, something caught your eye. Irish had a flash bang grade on his belt, your eyes glinted with an idea.

You narrowed your eyes, you reached your arm around your body. Making a finger gun shape with your hip while you grinned wide, quickly Venom formed a needle like shape which shot out your finger and struck the flash bang on Irish’s hips.

It exploded with a flash of painful light, you could hear people yelling. Masky, Irish and the other men shouting. Venom grinned under your skin while its clawed hand took over your own, you turned around grabbing Irish by the face and with a flick of your arm. You tossed him across the room, he slammed into the wall. His head cracked against the wall.

The flash bang began to clear in the air, you stood up. Victoria and her friends took Masky’s shocked reaction as a chance to run away along with the other civilians, as the air began to clear. You ran and drove over the bar and hid behind it. Using Venom’s arm like that was already dangerous.

You cursed when bullets began raining down on the bar, Masky ordering them to kill you. There was the sound of bullets raining down on the bar, shattering glass of the bottle sending glass and drinks everywhere.

“Let me out.” Venom said, “There's no civilians in here and I’ll make sure to kill them all.”

“Fine. Fuck ‘em up.”

After a few moments of bullets raining down on the bar, the man paused looking between each other. Masky nudged his head towards the bar, one of the men walked towards the bar with the gun raised. As he got closer and closer to the bar, suddenly there was a large black clawed hand wrapped around his face as the symbiote stood up. Venom’s form wrapped around your own, their monstrously large teeth snapped as they lifted the man up off the ground.

“What the hell is that thing!?” One of the two nameless men without thinking, he began firing at Venom. Bullets landed in their own man Venom had in the air, after a second they threw the wounded man at the one who was firing at them.

Venom hopped over the bar, Masky firing on Venom. The bullets didn’t do anything against Venom as they lunged at Masky, grabbing his wrist holding his gun and crushing his bones with their hand. The man screamed.

“Keep him alive.” You said within Venom.

Masky was tossed away with a casual movement, Venom snarled with excitement as they turned to the man they threw the trigger happy man at. He grunted when pushing the body of his friend off himself.

Venom lunged towards him, grabbing him by the throat and lifting him up. Sharp teeth shaped into a grin, pure panic was in his eyes as Venom's mouth opened wide. The man let out a few fearful sputters before Venom’s teeth wrapped around his neck.

The body dropped to the floor with a thud, Venom drug their tongue across their teeth as felt more bullets being shot into their back. They turned around to look at Masky, his unbroken arm shooting a pistol. Venom let him shoot until the clip ran out, they listened to the click of the gun as Masky clicked rapidly.

“Who hired you?” You asked loudly, your voice mixed with Venom as they walked to Masky who began crawling back away from them, his back hitting the wall mbehind him. He sputtered in fear.

Venom stood over him, snarling while slamming their fist into the wall, “Who hired you!?”

“I don’t know!” Masky yelled, Venom picked him up with claws wrapped around his chest. Lifting him up off the ground, Venom snarled at the man, “Really! I don’t know! They’re anonymous! Just send the money and tell me to find out about the asset!”

“And what is the asset?” Venom snarled, and Masky shook his head rapidly,

“I don’t- I don’t know!” Masky yelled in fear.

“So there’s no reason to keep you alive.” Venom said, opening their jaw wide, getting ready to bite down but suddenly there was suddenly something attached to their back as Venom was suddenly getting pulled back. Masky slipping from their grip, Venom’s back slammed into the wall. They let out a growl of pain.

Venom snarled as it stared him down, Spider-Man standing across Venom. Those glowing red webs disappearing, Venom almost bounced with excitement as he watched the hero. “Finally! A good fight!”

“No! Don’t you dare!” You cursed underneath the creature, “Run!”

Venom sighed, creeping close to the hero. Gnashing their teeth while it flexed their claws. Venom wanted the fight, walking towards Spider-Man.

“Go!” You snapped again and Venom let out a growl of anger before they looked up at the sky light window over the club before looking back at Spider-Man. It reached back towards the wall, claws digging into the wall and promptly ripping a panel of the wall off and throwing it at the spider.

Spider-Man dodged it perfectly as expected but that was only the chance that Venom needed to pull another panel off the wall and throw that at the sky light, shattering it.

Raining glass down on Venom, you could hear Spider-Man curse but Venom extended their arm clinging to the edge of the broken sky light and used it to pull themself up, using that momentum to fling themself not only up and through the window but over the edge of the building.

Venom hit the ground before pulling away, revealing you standing in the street. You breathed as you felt adrenaline burn in your blood, you were standing in an alleyway looking side to side. Venom and yourself knew that Spider-Man would come after Venom but you needed to look harmless.

“Don’t heal me, understand?” You said, before promptly slamming yourself into the wall as hard as you could. Wincing in pain as you dropped to the floor but you drew in a breath and promptly let out a loud scream.

—

Tag list: (crossed out names that didn’t tag and feel free to yell at me if I got them wrong✨)

@deputy-videogamer @salsa-reads-stuff @khaleesihavilliard @kirke-is-my-name @ohantonia @queenofspades403 @cicithemess2000 @local-mr-frog @peachyxholic @koyukiki @forwardvoid @hazysliverwitch @mxjss @lostprince @its-sappho-biotch @renn-pumkin-head @alice-the-nerd @clover-w-anxiety @loser-alert @timotheesrealgf @reptisoil @lilacsinjuly @angel-shaw @jolly-kevin @rqdior

[infinite-orangepeel]

“get too close to your muse & you, the artist, will lose all ability to decipher one shade from the next on your palette. keep your distance…”

fall quarter begins at the curly roots of eddie munson’s ineffable head, runs its’ labyrinthian course through passageways of blue veins & black ink, & ends at a set of hairy crimson painted toes.

steve finds himself squandering every waking moment of his lifeblood & attention somewhere, egregiously, in the middle.

“say you’re drawing a bed of flowers,” his professor lectured a few weeks back, “what happens if you put your nose in the middle of those flowers & try to recreate the details on your canvas? you come up with color and shape, sure, but it’s blurry—isn’t it? it’s a big blobby blur of nothing. that’s not very good life drawing, i’m afraid.”

flash forward to the present—

the bed is firm but comfortable. reminding you of its’ presence.

it doesn’t encourage daydreaming &, yet, steve is ignoring the better advice of his mentor & pressing his curious nose directly into the bud of an all too striking flower.

he knows the intimate contact could kill the rose, is aware of the thorns lining the stem, but he can’t stay away.

he’s struck by fear and temptation and self-loathing and a beauty that stings like a slap across the face.

eddie’s his roommate, his friend, his muse for the most important project of steve’s career as an art student.

& getting too close is lethal, so he creates a sort of optical illusion.

designs an environment in which he can pretend they are star-crossed lovers in a broken world that won’t let them be together. in which touch is a small death each and every time.

steve flits to eddie like a dragonfly to water—

never touching.

never spending too much time in his orbit before making up an excuse to leave & jerk off to the smell of old cigarettes in the bathroom.

everything he really wants to say sits in the back of his throat like a painful, malignant lump & gets spat out onto his sketchbook in a tragically romantic exorcism.

doing the dishes next to him is enough to drive him insane.

drawing him, butt-naked, is another story.

“is it supposed to be so….erotic?”

eddie arches an eyebrow as steve traces the outline of his cock into his sketchbook.

“it’s not that erotic,” steve says, blushing into his charcoals, “besides no one will know it’s you. it’s art.”

art is supposed to be weird & naked. now, hold still, & let me draw you.”

it’s definitely erotic.

there are roses—de-thorned, for safety—shrouding eddie’s dick & leaving a trail of pink petals across his pale thighs.

eddie’s hand is draped over his head; exuding a certain brattiness, lust, boredom—

as if he’s lying there because he wants someone, like steve, to stumble upon him & use his body the way it so clearly needs to be.

his lips are parted on the precipice of whispering some filthy secret into steve’s ear while milking him like a simple farm girl with nothing better to do.

fuck.

he can’t be this close to eddie without losing his mind.

fuck. fuck. fuck.

it’s just a body. just limbs and a huge cock and—

eddie’s quiet for a little while which is rare for him, before he pipes up again.

“what if we painted the flowers together?”

steve wipes the sweat from his brow, drops his pencil, and looks up at eddie across the mattress. working overtime to avoid staring at the erection sticking out amongst the bouquet of roses.

“the piece isn’t supposed to be very colorful. i’m going for muted tones. that’s why i picked the pale pinks and whites.”

eddie giggles a little and, it’s so cute, steve has to pinch his own thigh through his shorts just to maintain composure.

“i don’t think you’re understanding—the colors wouldn’t change much. except for some more white, if you catch my drift,” eddie pumps his hand over his cock several times and mimes cumming stop the petals, “might look cool. might get you extra points with that asshole professor of yours. you’ve said he likes ‘shock value.’”

“i—i guess you’re right. that’s a pretty….different and unique….um….idea. yeah.”

it’s like this that steve strips naked and clambers as close to eddie as he can possibly get without laying a finger on him. adhering to the rules—keeping a particular distance between artist & muse.

they lay side by side. sunlight streaming in through the blinds & bathing eddie’s spindly fingers in gold as he touches himself.

“harrington, don’t act like you haven’t been dreaming about this since day one,” eddie snarks, “i’ve seen the way you look at me, sweetheart. your eyes are gonna burn holes in my ass if you’re not careful. touch that pretty cock of yours, lemme see you.”

before steve can do anything about it or change his mind, he’s got a fist wrapped around his own cock and the other hand pinching his nipples. left and right, back and forth, dragging his nails through the hair sprouting around them.

“didn’t think you thought about me like that,” steve whines, watching as eddie edges himself methodically—

moving faster, slower, squeezing at the base, thumbing over the slit, cupping his balls, slapping the insides of his own thighs until they match the pink petals.

“i like a little pain,” he comments when he catches steve’s wide eyes, “and i’ve always was hallucinating the first time i walked into this room and saw you on the bed—thought i was going into the light and seeing an angel.”

“you’re so full of it.”

“i’d like to be full of you,” eddie breathes against steve’s neck, not allowing his lips to pass the barrier, “but i don’t know if you can handle me, big boy. you’re blushing like a nervous little schoolgirl.”

“am not—”

“are too, &, you’re about to cum just listening to my voice. it’s so crystal clear. look at you—fucking yourself so stupid.”

eddie looks so beautiful.

laying there like a forsaken god locked out of heaven.

steve’s been so good about keeping his hands to himself, about keeping his nose out of the flowers, but desire and temptation are stronger than any amount of remaining willpower he has.

he grabs eddie’s shoulder with his freehand & kisses him until they’re both seeing stars.

celestial explosions of pleasure & truth & this thing that’s been growing violently between them since the moment they first met.

“i’m cumming. i’m gonna—fuck steve, it’s gonna be on the flowers—i hope that’s okay—”

they cum in tandem over petals of pink and white and thornless stems.

steve gets an A+.

taglist (message me to be added or removed at any time <3): @estrellami-1 @disastardly @ilovecupcakesandtea @the-redthread @asbealthgn @bestofbucky @vampireinthesun @carlyv @shrimply-a-menace @lordrrascal @malachitedevil @anxiouseds @gay-little-bitch @jhrc666 @pinkdaisies1998 @perseus-notjackson @eiddets @corroded-coffin-groupie @three-possums-playing-human @stevesbipanic @plutoshelm @arkenstoned @indiearr @they-reap-what-we-sow @gleek4twd @bunnyweasley23 @livingoutload @a-little-unsteddie @novelnovella @neverlandwaitingforme @swiss-cheeze

[the-sound-of-her-wings]

We Have the Past to Bury

❀ Premise: A traumatic figure from your past reappears, causing you to reveal yourself as an Inferni to the Crows for the first time. They try to comfort you after you win the fight. Based on this ask. ❀ Pairing: Fem!Inferni!Reader x Kaz Brekker ❀ Word Count: 2,211 ❀ Content Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Nightmare Sequence Involving Fire, Death by Fire, People being burned alive, Angst to Fluff

Everything is on fire. The floor, the ceilings, the walls. You are in the center of it, wailing, trying not to catch fire. You stumble to the floor. A flaming beam falls next to you and you scream. The fire begins to slowly encircle you, growing ever closer. You bury your head in your knees, too scared to move. Suddenly, there is a loud wooshing sound, followed by footsteps.

You hear some adults talking but you don’t recognize their voices.

“It’s okay, little one.” You hear.

You look up and see kind, dark eyes looking into yours. The man has crouched down to your level in order to make you feel comfortable. He holds out his hand to you, and you take it.

You gasp for breath as you awaken from the nightmare. Thankfully, the tent you share with Inej is already empty. You take a few deep breaths to slow down your heart rate before preparing yourself for the day ahead.

“You’re up rather late today, something keeping you awake at night?” Nina asks with a wink and a sly glance at Kaz.

“Just needed more rest,” You lie.

Kaz gives you a look, but you just shake your head. You'll talk about it another time.

“I saved you some breakfast,” Inej says, throwing you an apple.

“Thanks,” You reply, catching it.

“We’ve got one more day of travel until we reach the intercept point,” Kaz states, gesturing to a map laid out on a table in the center of camp.

“You know, it’s a little unfair that we have to travel on foot when Alina gets a horse and carriage,” Jesper comments.

“Horses aren’t good spies,” Matthias retorts without elaborating.

“She needs to be obvious. We don’t,” Nina adds.

“Doesn’t make it any less fair,” Jesper says.

“Wylan, is our path clear?” Kaz asks, ignoring the conversation.

“Kaz…” Wylan says, his binoculars showing the number of troops vastly outnumber their small team, “I think the Darkling’s army took a detour.” He did not pack enough explosives for this.

“He’s here?” You ask, your stomach dropping.

“Does anyone know how to defeat the Darkling without the sun summoner?” Jesper asks.

“We don’t need to defeat him. We just have to stall.” Kaz replies, taking the binoculars from Wylan and taking a look for himself.

“Can we ambush them?” Matthias asks.

“There’s too many,” Kaz says.

“Do they know we’re here?” Inej asks.

“The heartrenders do. There are at least two of them- they appear to be guarding the Darkling,” Nina says.

“Do we have to engage?” You question, swaying back and forth to try and quell your anxiety.

“We don’t have a choice,” Kaz states.

You grip the lighter in your pocket- the lighter they don’t know about- and release it, “Okay,”

It starts with an explosion. Wylan’s able to wipe out about a third of the Darkling’s forces before the battle even really begins. You, Inej, and Matthias all run in ahead of the others. You’re able to take out about ten people on your own with just your knives. Everyone tries to hold their own, but there are too many people.

The Darkling walks toward the group, leisurely. His two heart renders have a hold of the group, attempting to knock everyone unconscious to make them easier to kill.

“Pathetic,” He says.

The others aren’t sure what happens at first. There is a flash of light, so bright, so hot, they're not sure they saw anything at all. When it fades, the two heartrenders are lying on the ground, covered in black soot. You are standing in front of the Darkling, sleeves completely burnt off. You storm towards him, putting up a circle of fire around the perimeter, preventing him from leaving and any of your friends from getting in.

“Y/N!” Kaz yells after you. He backs away from the flames, knowing there’s no way to reach you now.

“Hello, y/n.”

“You do not get to speak to them like that.” You reply, dagger pointing towards him.

“Oh, get rid of that silly thing,” He rips it from your hand with his power. “You’re much more powerful without it.”

“Am I?” You retort, “Or am I just more useful to you like this.”

“You shouldn’t repress your nature. It’s unhealthy,” He says.

“Why are you doing this?”

“They have taken everything from us. They have abused us and used us, and hated us for far too long. The Otkazat'sya deserve nothing.”

“As if you have not used me. As if you did not use Genya. As if you have not sacrificed thousands of us in pursuit of your justice. Can you even call it that, with everything you’ve done?” You taunt, drawing out the lighter you keep in your pocket for emergencies.

“Freedom doesn’t come without sacrifice. Every choice I made was for the betterment of the Grisha.”

“Do not justify yourself to me,” You say, thumb pressed against the lighter, ready to light it at any second. “Do not think you can win me over with your words. Our people have suffered because of you.”

“They would have killed all of us,” The Darkling says. “This is the only way to show them we are stronger. That they should never dare to lay a finger on us.”

“You’ve lived so long and you are still trying to rule with fear. Grisha die every day. They are abused every day. And you think the solution is to make them hate us more?”

“They will hate us regardless.”

“You are a fool, Aleksander,” You say. The world around you erupts in an explosion of flames and darkness. When the dust clears, all that remains are the charred remains of the people you killed.

You put out the ring of fire, and see your friends still fighting. They are holding their own, those left behind being abandoned by their leader, but you don’t care.

The bullet Jesper had intended to kill the person he was fighting melts before it can hit them. The person is also gone, turned into ash. He stares after you when you walk past him, having never seen you do anything like that before.

The Grisha surrounding Nina aren’t as lucky. They erupt into flames, despite a tilemaker being among them. The air is too hot to hold any humidity. You have made the air hostile to water. The Grisha scream in agony, begging you to put out the fire as their flesh becomes rilled with burns- you ignore them.

“Y/N?” Nina calls.

Inej looks up, removing her knife from the last Grisha she had been fighting. She watches as a man tries to attack you, but you simply put up your hand- and then his head is gone. Matthias sees it too. He knows the power you are exhibiting is the reason his culture hates witches. Inej glances back at Nina, Jesper, and Wylan who are staring at you, concerned.

The knife in Kaz’s hand melts as it goes into the skull of the last standing Grisha. His glove catches fire slightly, but you put it out instantly. You do not put out the last Grisha.

“Please… please..” He pleads.

“You were made from dust. Return to it,” You hiss. His ashes float away in the wind.

You offer your hand to Kaz, who stumbled backward once the knife was melted. He takes it, and when he stands, he gets close to your face. You immediately drop his gloved hand and begin walking away. You give yourself a light one more time and scorch the earth behind you with the symbol of the crows.

“We’re done here,” You state, making your way back to camp. Tears begin to roll down your face as you walk.

XXXXX

You stare deeply into the fire, holding your knees to your chest. Inej and Nina sit on either side of you.

“You’ve done that before,” Matthias states, sitting on the opposite side of the fire. Nina shoots him a look.

“Many times.” You reply, “You never get used to the screams.” You feel Inej’s hand on your shoulder, but you are too tired to shrug off her affection. Nina tries to pick the ashes that still remain out of your hair.

“You don’t,” He agrees.

“Do you remember the first person you killed?” You ask.

He nods. They don’t say it, but Nina and Inej remember, too.

“Do you regret it?”

“No. Do you?”

You say nothing, just stare deeper into the fire.

“They would have killed us. It was self-defense.” Matthias replies, unsure of how to comfort you. No one’s really sure how to comfort you, but they are all trying their best.

“I know,” You say.

“Are you sure you don’t want something to eat? Jesper and Wylan made a soup for us,” Nina asks.

“It is edible,” Inej adds. It was distinctly not edible the last time they tried to make something, so you appreciate the addition.

“I’m fine, thank you.” You respond.

“Well, we all know that’s a lie.” Nina retorts. “Eating might make you feel better.”

“It won’t. But you’re right, I should eat.” You relent.

Nina gets up from her seat and pours you a bowl of soup. It is decent.

“Thank you,” You say, partially uncurling from your position to allow you to eat easier.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” Inej asks.

“Not particularly.” You respond.

“Oh, are we wallowing in despair over here?” Jesper asks, mildly drunk, holding a mug of vodka in hand. Wesper is attached to him at the hip, considerably drunker. You reduce the size of the fire just in case one of them might hurt themselves.

“Maybe a little,” You state. “Thank you for the soup.”

“You melted one of my bullets. It was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.” Jesper compliments.

“The wall of fire was pretty cool, too,” Wylan adds.

“Uh- thanks?” You reply.

“I think we should celebrate. You kicked ass today,” Jesper says.

Wylan nods in agreement.

“It wasn’t just me.” You say, reducing your own contributions.

“Then there’s even more reason to celebrate! We sent the Darkling running.” He cheers before taking a big swig.

“There’s always time for a little dancing, isn’t there?” Nina says, smirking at Matthias.

“A drink wouldn’t hurt,” Inej comments, trying to convince herself to participate.

“I think I’ll just get some rest. I’ll celebrate tomorrow,” You state, standing up. You place the bowl on the table and head to your tent, not paying attention to whatever’s going on behind you.

Kaz is waiting for you when you enter. He’s holding all the knives you left in people’s skulls on the battlefield- the one’s that he thought were your only weapon until you started turning people to ash.

“I’m sorry.” You say, reflexively. You’re not really sure what you are apologizing for. Sorry I didn’t tell you I was an inferni this entire time? Sorry I didn’t tell you that I know the Darkling? Sorry I burnt your glove and melted your knife?

“We all have our secrets.” He dismisses. “I wanted to make sure these got back to you.” He says, handing you the knives with the hilt pointed toward you.

“Thank you, Kaz.” You say, putting them in your pocket.

“You haven’t treated your wounds,” He states, noticing cuts and scrapes on your arms and the ash built up around your fingers.

“It’s nothing,” You reply, “Nina took care of the most severe one’s already.”

Kaz glances behind you outside of the tent to see the others dancing with no music. Nina is teaching Matthias how to Waltz, while Wylan and Jesper are taking turns twirling each other. Inej is swaying back and forth, supportively.

“They seem to be in a good mood,” He comments.

“I suppose they’re just happy to be alive.” You state.

You stand in silence, not really sure what you want to say to each other.

“I don’t like using the small sciences.” You say.

“I won’t make you use it,” Kaz replies, even though it’s the wrong option strategically. Everyone saw how powerful you were.

"The Darkling used to make me use them. He used to make me do all sorts of things I didn't want to do. He said they were necessary. He said-" You ramble.

"What he said doesn't matter. You're not under his control anymore. You're not his." Kaz retorts, making a fist.

"He said we were pathetic. And it made me so angry. I don't want to be that angry ever again." You vent, tears in your eyes. "I almost hurt you."

"You didn't." He states.

"But-"

"Y/N, you didn't hurt me. You didn't hurt any of us." Kaz interrupts. He takes both of your hands to try and calm you down.

“I’ll get you another dagger. To replace the one I melted,” You promise as he lets go. You wipe away the tears from your eyes with the back of your hand.

“You’ll need a new dress.” He responds. “You burned the sleeves off of this one.”

“Thank you,” You say.

Kaz nods and walks past you to leave.

“Kaz? Could you stay here tonight?” You ask. “I don’t… I don’t think I want to be alone.”

“Then you won’t be,” He replies.

[dindjiarin]

Six Days, Part I - (Sierra Six x F!Reader)

Being stuck in a room with Sierra Six for a week causes more drama than you thought.

This was a 16 hour fever dream. It's probably going to be a two-parter, but this one ends satisfyingly anyway! I had to get this out of my head because ✨️Sierra Six deserves a lil kiss✨️ 😌

Beginning / Ending / Prequel

TAGS: Smut, One Bed, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst, Six x F!Reader

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI 18+, sexual content, blood/wounds/death, poor knowledge of wound care.

WORD COUNT: 7.9k

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

I

The knife slashes diagonally across your upper thigh, cutting deep enough you see … yellow? That’s probably not good, your mind flashes. You stumble forward, holding the wound.

The man who had just given it to you tries to grab you again; he was careless where the knife in his right hand went, as long as you weren’t killed. His gloved hand snatches at your left arm, but his attempt ends abruptly. You feel his body fall to the floor with a thump. You hadn’t even heard the gunshot, but there in front of you appears a disheveled Six, his firearm still pointed down the hallway behind you. 

His eyes drop to your hands clutched around your bloody leg, and he closes the distance between the two of you in a second.

“You’re okay. Can you run?” He sounds calm.

One hand reaches out to gingerly touch the side of your face; he tilts his head to peer into your eyes. It won’t cross your mind until later that he’s trying to keep you from panicking. 

“I-” your voice breaks. “I think so, yeah.” 

Six nods, thankful that your adrenaline has taken hold; even he'd be making noise with that kind of injury. That wound was certainly going to require several stitches. 

“Hold on to me.”

He indicates his belt, wanting to keep you close behind him but needing to keep his arms free. You comply gladly, curling your fingers through a belt loop. Though still scared, your body responds automatically to the protectiveness emanating from the man who has watched over you for the last four months. 

He sweeps through the house, following the escape route he’d had planned from the very day he got here. You try not to see but the specter of death is unavoidable. Black-clothed, anonymous bodies lay strewn across broken glass. Debris extends throughout the house, but mercifully the kitchen is corpse-free. Six guides you across the room, and he reaches out for the garage door. As it swings open, Six curses. 

“What’s wrong?” You whisper to his back.

He hesitates, then states, “A friend did me a favor.”

He doesn’t move toward the broken body lying next to the vehicle - it’s clear by the angle of the man’s neck that he’s beyond help. 

“We’re even,” Six solemnizes over the man.

He says it so quietly that you’re sure you weren’t meant to hear. You feel a prickle in your nose like you’re near tears. You don’t know if it’s the situation or the fact that you’ve never seen the reticent man show any strong emotion, but you scrutinize the back of his head, trying to understand what’s inside.

“I’m sorry, Six,” you breathe. You drop your hand from his belt to give him space.

Six doesn’t respond. 

You can’t really tell the difference between the man lying there and the other bodyguards that had been rotated through over the past week. Six had hidden the fact that he knew the man well; you’d never seen them interact.

He steps over to the driver’s door cautiously. You wince as your adrenaline starts to fade and the distraction of Six’s body is gone. Ensuring no joy-riders are hiding in the backseat, he climbs in and starts the car. As the engine springs to life, he observes you standing still in the headlights and deadpans, “You stayin’ here?” 

*****************************

The two of you burst into the tiny apartment, not initially noticing the fact that it’s shockingly small: one chair, one bed, one bathroom. Without warning, he scoops you up into his arms and heads into the bathroom, flicking on the single bulb. He sets you gently on the countertop. He bends to grab a first-aid kit from the cabinet, and you wobble without his support, lightheaded from blood loss and exhaustion. His hands steady you and he stares into your eyes, willing you to be composed. You blink twice, realizing his face has never been this close to you - ever. You smile shyly, and he frowns. Clearly, he thinks you’re in shock. Your heart is racing but it has very little to do with the night’s events.

You’d been half-expecting an assault for some time now, and you’d prepared yourself as best a normal person could. Sure, you were scared - nothing would ever be the same now. But you had survived, thanks to Six, and the cold, animal part of your brain knew that was all that mattered. No, the thudding of your pulse was the fault of the ever-present magnetism you felt for the man working before you.

“I’m going to cut your jeans,” Six states.

You nod, mind racing with thoughts too silly to vocalize. He pulls a folding knife from his pocket and gingerly slices away the front half of the already-cut pant leg. You’re left with what resembles a pant-mullet and you giggle a little hysterically at the ridiculous thought. 

He peeks up at you, now certain you’re in shock, “Lean against the mirror.” 

You obey, your eyes lifting to the ceiling as you recline. Six rises from his hunched position, standing so close that you can still see his face out of the bottom of your vision.

“Tell me when you need a break.” His voice is gentle, but you notice his jaw clenching. His hands settle on your skin. “Deep breath.” 

Then the pain blinds you. You’d been silently crying in the car, the constant burning feeling in your leg causing you to grind your teeth, fidget, do anything you could to distract yourself. But the bite of the needle through your torn, pained flesh as he stitches you back together is much worse.

You slam your palms down against the edge of the counter, gripping tight - your sheer willpower the only thing keeping you from thrashing against him. You take deep breaths as he instructed, trying to leave your body behind. 

Your mind wanders to earlier in the night, before chaos reigned, when Six had actually agreed to play a video game with you. You’d let him pick the game, and he’d chosen a first-person shooter (because of course he did). You’d still beaten the trained assassin. He’d sat beside you on the couch, his body heating your right side, and when you won the match, you’d sworn the side of his mouth turned up a little at your gloating. You’d spent most of your time together trying to make the man laugh, so you’d take anything he gave you. When he beat you in the next round, you’d been a sore loser - accusing him of cheating. You had poked his side, gently, and he had actually laughed. Okay, you checked yourself, it was more like a snort, but it counted. 

But then he had admitted to it, “Gotta use everything to your advantage. I could see your location on your side of the screen.” 

You gasped, “You’re a screen-looker!”

“A what?” He scoffed. “There’s a name for it? And not even a creative one.” 

“Yeah, for cheaters who screen-look.” You glared.

He’d rolled his eyes, then met your stare with his own, much more intense one. His face might be guarded, but his eyes expressed his feelings. He always tried to hide it, but everything was written there among the blue. Your heart had lurched, your breathing requiring thought. For God’s sake, he was so close. His eyes weakly flickered down to your parted lips; but then he had stood, walked a few paces away from the couch. 

“It’s late. You should get some sleep.”

Rattled, you followed his lead. You knew he wanted you in your room; he always did his rounds once you turned in for the night. You had stood and stretched upwards, relieving your back. You never saw the guilty way his eyes followed the curves of your body as you moved, nor the way his jaw ticked as you bent to turn off the gaming console. 

When you’d turned around, he had been perfectly composed. You had passed by him as close as you dared, close enough to hear the gum he was chewing, and muttered, “Goodnight, cheater.” 

“Goodnight, loser.” He’d said, shrugging at you as you closed the bedroom door. You’d laughed at that, and as soon as your door had closed, he’d allowed himself to smirk.

He stuck the needle through a particularly sensitive section of your leg, and you were thrust back into your new reality. The safe house wasn’t safe anymore, and people had died because of you. Including Six’s friend. He’d probably request an entirely new team now; one that would replace him. He’d be free of the assignment he’d had for too long. You’d heard him say once that most assignments don't last longer than a week, and he’d been stuck babysitting you for months.

Your eyes close again, and a sob escapes.

He stops, “I'm just over halfway. You need a break?”

You shake your head, “Get it over with.”

The next stitches are as painful as the others. But then you feel his hands leave your skin, and you hear something fall in the trash can - bloody material, maybe. You hear Six wash his hands in the sink next to you, then dry them with a towel. Exhaustion tinges your every thought, now. It’d been nearly a full day since you’d slept.

Tears fall from your closed eyes, unbidden. Gently, but quickly, his fingers wipe away the liquid, and your eyelids flutter open at the contact. The ugly light causes you to squint, but you see Six lean toward you. His right arm slips under your legs, his left snakes around your back, and he lifts you from the counter. You softly cling to his neck. He’s careful not to jar your leg as he maneuvers out of the bathroom and across the room. The bed dips with your weight as he sets you down on top of the covers. Instead of moving you again, he lays a different blanket across your body. He leaves your wound uncovered. 

“Don’t let that touch your leg. Need to keep it as clean as possible, and the last time these were washed, cell phones still had visible antennas.”

“Yes, sir.” You say sleepily. It’d been a long day, a longer night, and though your leg was still paining you, the temptation of the abyss was greater. 

Six watches you fall asleep from the red wingback chair in the corner. He was grateful it was thickly padded - he wasn’t sure he could sit in a plastic chair with the bruises he had. There was no couch, and only one bed, but he wasn’t going to sleep anyway.

He wanted to believe that this safe house, two hours away from the previous, was off-the-books enough for his enemies to have overlooked it.

We’re fine here, he was nearly chanting to himself, willing it to be true. But he wasn’t going to relax, wasn’t going to get complacent. Not when he had a job to do.

*****************************

II

Six’s entire body ached. He hadn’t moved from his chair except to use the bathroom. He was completely still, his arms folded across his body. He wanted to check the perimeter; he wanted to see what was going on outside. Maybe they were setting up for a raid out there. Maybe they were already on their way inside. Or maybe they had one or two agents doing recon, trying to get a confirmed sighting of him or of you. And if it was the latter, him exiting the building would be the opposite of helpful. But god, he hated sitting here feeling useless.

His eyes kept dancing over your sleeping form. You’d slept fitfully at first, but you seem peaceful now, despite it being nearly mid-afternoon. Six wouldn’t dream of waking you unless necessary. The chair creaks as he leans forward, his elbows on his knees, hands covering his face. 

How could he have found out? What didn’t I do?

He couldn’t carry the heaviness in his heart. His whole life had been about protecting others; his brother, buddies in prison, strangers, and now you. It’s all he knew, it’s all he wanted to do. Now, because of him, Denver was dead. 

Six had asked him to help beef up security for a few days. There’d been word that something was likely to go down soon and Six had looked to one of the few men he truly trusted for help. He grimaced, mourning the dead man; he’d saved Denver’s ass three separate times, each one becoming a joke between them about life debts. Six wished he could’ve been there a fourth time, but he also knew he wouldn’t have altered a thing. 

You hadn’t been asleep like he’d assumed so he had broken the pattern in their established rounds to find you. He’d felt nearly panicked searching the house, and when he recognized what he was feeling, he’d grunted, trying to shake it off like a broken toe or a stab wound. It had hurt nearly as badly. He’d shot two men and gotten into blows with a third before finally seeing you at the end of the hallway as you left the bathroom, and of course, he had shot the fourth: your friend, the knife-wielder. Six would never forget the way his body had sagged with relief at finding you. 

No, even if he had known that he had a choice that night between you and Denver, he wouldn’t have hesitated in his answer.

And there’s the problem. He somehow knows my answer, too.

*****************************

You sat up quickly, knowing you’d slept longer than normal as the golden light streamed through the small, frosted window. Hoping to neutralize the hunger pains, you threw off the blanket and swung your legs over the side of the bed, hissing at the new pain. 

“Well, don’t undo all my hardwork.” Six’s favorite tone with you was exasperation; like a man whose patience was always at its limit, but never beyond.

“It’s fine, doctor,” you toss back sarcastically, “I just forgot about it.” 

“You - forgot - about the gash in your leg?”

“...yes.” 

He rolls his eyes, a hand passing over his face. You’re about to thank him for stitching you up, since he’s apparently sensitive about it, when your stomach growls. 

“Is there anything to eat?” 

“Yeah.” 

You bite your lip and narrow your eyes at him. “Okay, I guess I will make us some food.”

He doesn’t move except to pick up a book from the shelf. 

You hobble over to the kitchenette and see the world’s worst pantry. Canned peaches, olives, green beans, and chicken - the latter of which you gag over. There’s a mini-fridge on the counter next to the hot plate. You open that and see a carton of eggs. Wonder how old those are. The carton seemed new, so you open it and are pleasantly surprised by twelve fresh eggs. 

A few minutes later, you’ve made two chopped olive omelettes. There are no plates, but there is a roll of paper towels. You walk slowly toward the chair Six has taken up residence in, an omelette on a makeshift paper plate in your hand. He sees the movement and looks up from the book. He stands and leans forward to take it from you, with a curt, “Thank you.” 

“So, what do we do now?” You ask. Your mouth is half-full of egg and you’re nearly unintelligible. 

“We wait.”

“For what?”

“For things to get quiet.” 

“Mmm.” You nod, still chewing. “Okay, then what?”

He looks up from his own food, answering, “We move. Further away.” 

“Okay. And by ‘we’, you mean you’re not leaving?” You keep the nervousness out of your voice.

“What-? Where would I be going?” Genuinely not anticipating your question, Six’s eyebrows knit together. He blinks, gears turning in his head. 

It finally clicks for him and he frowns; you’re a little confused how your question could irritate him, but you can’t stop the satisfied grin blooming on your face. The soulful eyes, the little curl of hair resting on his forehead, Six is one of the most handsome men you’ve ever met, as well as a good friend, and the thought of leaving you apparently never even crossed his mind.

“And now you’re smiling?” He’s now totally bewildered. 

Six is doing his damndest to put distance between the two of you emotionally, but you seem to be happy about …him staying with you? After assuming he’d leave you in this mess? He is speechless, his food forgotten momentarily.

“Nothing, really. Don’t worry about it. I just woke up, I’m still loopy.” You awkwardly smile again. You realize he’s not going to be satisfied with that, but you’re definitely not admitting your thoughts. So, you edit and try again.

“Okay, well, I figured since the original team is gone, a new one would be coming. Also,” you pause, knowing he’s against emotional oversharing, “I am very sorry about that. I know it doesn’t mean anything in the grand scheme, but I feel terrible. How do you get used to a life like this? People dying for you? My project wasn’t that incredible. There are more intelligent, more experimental chemists than me. There is no way my knowledge was worth that.”

You set your partially-eaten food down beside you, no longer hungry. 

“You don’t get used to it.”

He answers your first question in the rawest voice you’ve heard from him. His eyes bore holes into the floor, desperately wanting to come clean, to relieve you of your guilt. They didn’t die for you, they died for him. 

You try to catch his eye, to raise him from whatever mood suddenly snagged him, but he won’t look at you. He’s conflicted. Not only is he hiding the truth from you, but you still believe he’s capable of leaving you at the first bit of trouble, that he’ll give you up to another protection detail at his earliest opportunity. Six decides he cannot sit any longer. He rises, still avoiding your face, checks his gun, and walks to the door.

“I’m going to do a perimeter check; probably be gone ten minutes. I’ll knock in that pattern I showed you.” He pauses then adds, “If I don’t, there’s a trapdoor in the bathroom.”  

“Alright,” you say quietly, your eyes on his back. Confused by his behavior and unable to let him leave in that manner, you can’t help but stage-whisper, “Please be safe, Six.” 

You can’t see the way his throat constricts, the way he closes his eyes and lets your words soak in. Then he’s gone.

You mark the time with the analog clock on the bookshelf, and busy yourself by exploring the infinitesimal room. Your college dorm had been larger than this. The bathroom door is closed, and when you open it to find the trapdoor - just in case - the door hits the toilet bowl. 

“Wow,” you wonder. “How did we both fit in here last night?”

You crouch to explore the grimy linoleum for the hidden seam, but you don’t see anything. Your eyes strain and your head bobs from side to side, trying to see something. But you find nothing. Maybe he’s confused this place with a different tiny, foreign safe house. Unwilling at the moment to actually feel around the gross floor, you’re content to just believe he’ll knock in the correct pattern.

You turn back into the main room, and pick up the book Six had been reading off the chair. A trashy bodice-ripper? How in the hell had he kept a straight face? You cover your mouth to stifle a laugh. There’s no way he’d actually even read the title. He - for sure - had been trying and failing to seem preoccupied while you cooked. You’d get even with him for that.

You sprawl out on the bed, the book still in hand. You skip to a third of the way through, hoping to find the good parts, and sure enough: pure bodice-ripping. Again, you laugh out loud at the absurdity of the emotionally-repressed man you know reading this. Feeling this.

That sparks an idea in you; it had been a good long while since you’d been allowed to be completely alone. The waistband of your mangled jeans is loose enough to slip your hand down, and you engross yourself in a particularly dirty passage. 

You're totally absorbed by the filthy story when the front door flies open and Six barrels through, shutting it as quietly as he could compared to his violent entrance. He flinches at your aborted scream, watches as your hand rips out of your jeans and you scoot up against the wall, trying to seem like you were not doing what you were definitely just doing. 

The two of you stare at each other for a breath too long. Knowing he won’t - or can’t - you break the silence, “See anything?”

He short-circuits for a second, “No, you’re wearing jeans.” And then he realizes what you were actually asking about, “Oh, no. Nothing.” 

His face is flushed and he can’t meet your eyes anymore. You’re under the impression you’ve mortified him, but he knows if he keeps looking at your excited, glowing face for a second longer, he’ll make a decision you could both regret.

“I’m really sorry. Why didn’t you knock?” You titter at the ridiculous situation. But you’re less embarrassed than you thought you’d be. It hits you suddenly that Six has always made you feel safe in a multitude of ways, and maybe... maybe you don’t mind being caught by him.

“I did knock. You didn’t answer. Hence the busted door.” 

“Oh.” You peer up at him sheepishly.

He doesn’t make a reply, so you question, “Why were you pretending to read this?”

“Hm?” He settles his firearm back in its holster. 

Six takes a long, calming breath, then meets your eyes. He’s as stoic as can be - except, now you're starting to wonder if it’s a front. You’d long felt like there was an electricity between the two of you. You’d seen Six’s eyes on you more than they should be, you’d feel his hand hover over your lower back sometimes when he walked you to your room, sending chills through you. He was reliable, protective, witty - he was also kind and selfless, though he let few people see it. But only in your daydreams could you believe he had any real feelings for you. 

…so why did he just react that way? Wouldn’t a normal bodyguard apologize (right or wrong) and move on? They wouldn’t have to stand there and collect themselves, surely.

Or I’m just seeing what I want to, you chastise yourself.

“I know you were not actually reading this.” You tease, waving the book in the air.

“And how do you know that?” It’s clear he doesn’t even know what the book is about. He folds his arms across his chest and you attempt to discreetly ogle the vein on his bicep.

The smirk on your face warns him that you’re about to say something he’d rather not hear, “You wanna know how I know you weren’t reading this book of trashy erotica?” You heavily emphasize the words, and his eyes go wide. “Want me to read some aloud?”

He lunges toward you and snatches the book. “No. No, I do not.” 

He absolutely cannot let you read porn aloud to him, he would lose all semblance of control. Six was already losing it, and that thought has him grumbling under his breath. Unthinkingly, he glances at the page you had open and he groans. This is what you were masturbating to? Fuck, shit. He shouldn’t have looked. His teeth grind together. 

Oblivious, you bounce off the bed onto your good leg and say, “Since there’s no one out there, we need food for dinner. Is a store nearby?” 

“I’ll go." He immediately takes the diversion. "Gotta find a new doorknob, anyway. You stay here, and listen for my knock.” He pins you with another exasperated look. 

You huff, “Okay, jesus.”

You want to push him, ask him for the book back, ask him if you’re allowed to continue, but you can see he’s on edge. So you let it go.

He tosses the book unceremoniously on the highest shelf which you can’t reach. You glare at his backside, but he’s gone without turning around.

Six doesn’t get surprised. He doesn't let emotion get the better of him often, and in the past hour you’ve done it twice in two very different ways. He takes a deep breath, and swears again to build one more wall. He can’t let you continue being in danger because of him.

But, part of him knows there’s not much he can really do; leaving would only make you vulnerable and leave him lost. He couldn’t leave your fate up to strangers. No, he knew staying was still the best option. He just needed to stop entangling himself in you. Six’s best chance at protecting you long-term was to convince everyone else that you meant nothing to him. That meant getting through this current shitshow, and disengaging from you. You deserved a normal, boring life. A life where you wouldn’t be hunted, used as a pawn, just to hurt him.

*****************************

Six didn’t speak to you again the entire night. He hadn’t been able to get much with the cash he’d had on hand, but dinner was satisfying enough. You’d handed him his portion on another paper towel, and he had nodded his thanks, but that was just about the only communication he gave you all night. He’d fixed the door and you’d teased him about being handy, but his only response had been to stick his palm out for one of the screws you'd been holding.

He then picked up a book, pointedly avoiding his earlier choice, and actually read all evening while you snuck glances at the way the light from the dusty reading lamp caught his fair hair, his tense face. He had pretended not to notice, but each time your head tilted toward him, he realized his feelings might not be quite so one-sided.

Sure, he knew you were attracted to him; after all, he was trained to notice the little things. The difference between your genuine smile and the polite ones you gave the other bodyguards; the way you unconsciously broke his personal space, brushing past him, poking him; and the way you tried to take care of him. He'd never had that, never had someone bring him glasses of water while he sat at his laptop, ask him how he felt about a certain song, what his favorite flavor of gum was.

But he was afraid it was more Stockholm Syndrome, or boredom, than genuine affection. You were a good person, and bringing someone a glass of water wasn't a Declaration of Intent. So, he had ignored the numerous times you turned to him - written them off as restlessness.

Now, the sheets scratch your face and you rub your eyes, sleep calling you once again. You roll over to face Six, still in his chair, to ask him to join you. Not for anything nefarious, but because you know he must be exhausted. The past thirty-six hours had been stressful, and your method of coping with humor had been at his expense.

Your eyes adjust with the dim lamplight and you see the book drooping from one limp hand, his eyes closed and head tilted to the side. Happy he was finally getting some rest, you shuffle off of the bed, take the book and mark his place before setting it on the shelf. You grab the plush blanket he had given you last night and drape it over his much-larger body. It didn’t fully cover him, but it’d do.

You gaze down at him, admiring his vulnerable form. Six meant more to you than you cared to tell him. No family, a workaholic with coworkers for friends, you’d let yourself grow fond of the reserved, self-sacrificing blonde man with the affinity for chewing gum. It was the closest you’d been to a person in over a year. No matter what he considered you - a client, a ward, a burden - you considered him a friend.

“Thanks for always being there, Six,” you whisper, knowing he wouldn’t hear. You softly kiss the top of his hair, then get back in bed. The abyss welcomes you back. You must’ve been dreaming when you heard what sounded like a defeated groan.

*****************************

III

You wake the next morning to Six seated on the opposite corner of the bed, his gun in pieces. You prop yourself up on your left elbow and watch as he painstakingly cleans each part. 

“Can you teach me how to do that?”

He lowers the barrel in his hands, turning to you. You’re backlit by the small window on the far wall, and he curses inwardly. You look sleepy, domestic. Something pure and stable that he knows he’ll never have. 

“Yeah, I can.”

He twists a little in place to fully face you, and you crawl a little closer to see the parts. He picks up a piece and hands it to you, extremely careful not to touch you.

“This,” he explains, “is the slide. It’s what chambers a new round and ejects the old casing.” He hands you a paper towel, again obviously avoiding your skin. “I like a softer cloth, but I don’t have anything blood-free. Gently rub the interior.” He instructs.

You do as he asks, working in silence. You hold it up to him for inspection, a smile, disproportionately proud of your simple task, beams on your face. He responds with a faint smile, and places the slide on another towel designated for finished parts. 

“Can you show me how to-” You falter as he turns his heavy eyes back to you. “Like, if I needed to, how to use it?” You hesitantly ask, hoping you weren’t bothering him. You’re not a fan of firearms, they’ve always made you nervous. But if push came to shove, you’d prefer not to be using the gun as a club. 

Six is not quite so nervous around guns, and he nods, agreeing that you should have every possible manner of defending yourself. 

“Sure.”

You watch in silent admiration as he puts his weapon back together faster than you’d ever be able to, meeting his eye at the end and giving him a dramatic, impressed look. He smiles again, a shade more than earlier. 

You slide over to sit beside him, your legs dangling off the bed. He spends the next few minutes helping you find your way around the gun. He still refuses to touch you, and it gets more noticeable with every second. He even sets the gun on the bed for you to pick up rather than hand it to you. You wilt a little at that, sure now that you’ve pushed him away even further than you thought. You can’t help but feel a pit in your stomach. He’s never been a touchy-feely, overly-friendly person; why did you make him so uncomfortable yesterday? You want to kick yourself. 

You watch as he stifles a yawn. 

“Didn’t you sleep?” You ask incredulously.

“I slept enough.” 

“No, you didn’t.” 

Six sneaks a quick, longing glance at you, replaying last night’s feeling of your lips on his hair. How he’d woken up at your touch. How could he have slept after that? He’d warred with himself about climbing up beside you, holding you close. But Six didn’t want to push this now. He knew there was a power imbalance here (although most of the time it felt to him like you were the one in control) and he didn’t want your feelings out of gratitude or survival. He’d compromised with himself by letting his mind free; he imagined your breathy sighs as you slept curled against him, how perfectly you’d fit alongside his body, the feeling of your hair between his fingers. He tears himself away.

“Please take a nap. You’re no good to either of us dead on your feet like this.” 

“For a corpse, I think I look pretty good.” 

“Six, for god’s sake, it’s daylight and it’s been silent for days. I promise I will wake you at any noise.” Your voice drips with earnesty, “I promise.” 

He rubs his brow, knowing you’re right. “Yeah, okay.” His eyes are intent upon you, “You promise.” 

You nod twice in quick succession and he makes a face like he’s accepting a plea bargain. He stands, then all but collapses onto the same side of the bed where you’ve been sleeping. You take up vigil in his chair, and it doesn’t take him long to fall asleep.

After an hour, your legs begin to cramp, and you start pacing the tiny apartment. Still feeling a little guilty for yesterday, you wonder if there’s any gum nearby. Maybe a vending machine? You assess Sleeping Beauty: still breathing deeply. You tiptoe over to the door and unlock it. Six’s rhythm is unchanged by the sound of the deadbolt, so you slowly pull the door open. Peeking your head out, you see a featureless, white hallway; several other plain-looking doors leading to God-knows-where; and there, at the end and nearly out of sight due to the alcove it’s in, is a glowing vending machine. You pat your pocket and find two coins. Should be enough, you hope. You’re unfamiliar with the local currency, and honestly you’re not even totally sure which country you’re in. You prop the door open, just in case, and cautiously step out into the hallway.

Ears straining for any noise at all, you begin your trek. Keeping your feet as close to the baseboards as you can, you make as little sound as possible. Eventually you reach the vending machine, and you’re right - you have no idea which country this is as you don’t even recognize the language. But you can identify a pack of chewing gum anywhere. It’s only one of the coins, so you pop it in and get your reward. Uneventfully, you return to the room, quietly slipping the door closed, and deadbolting it shut.

Six sleeps for another few hours, while you spend time making lunch for when he wakes up, and reading some of the other, mostly boring, novels scattered around. One novel piques your interest with a convoluted plot which helps time pass. The book makes you feel uneasy, makes you start to wonder about your own situation. It really doesn’t make sense for Six to still be assigned to you over some biochemical project that never even made it to the testing stage. The fact that someone had actually attacked you made even less sense. None of your research was on your person, and it’s not like you had memorized every single formula. Maybe Six knew more than he’d told you. 

Thinking about Six makes you grow lonely, wishing selfishly he would wake. You’re debating getting in bed and taking a nap with him, your only inhibitor being your promise, when he stirs. He shoots up like a dead man raised from the grave, his hand going to his side where his weapon usually rests.

“Everything’s fine,” you assure him.

“Mmph,” he grumbles. You’re trying not to stare at him, but he looks so uncharacteristically soft, you can’t help it. He pretends not to notice, thankfully. Six tosses the covers off, and picks his gun up from the nightstand. He walks to the door and listens. Satisfied, he turns around and sits back on the mattress. 

“I can make lunch-” he starts to offer, but you cut him off.

“I already made you some,” you swiftly grab the sandwich from the mini-fridge and deliver it to him. After he takes it, you pull the gum from your pocket, extending it towards him, too.

His eyes jump from you to the gum and back again twice. “Where’d you squirrel that away?” He jokes, thinking you took it from your previous residence. Then he remembers the machine outside. His face tightens, “You didn’t leave the room, did you?”

“... don’t be mad at me,” you begin slowly, dropping your hand to your side.

“Dammit.” Six hisses. “Dammit, you promised.” He’s off the bed again, towering over you. 

He shakes his head, disbelieving. He’s still in the hyper-alert mode he has been used to for twenty years. But his eyes keep catching on your pouting lips. He’s finding temptation difficult to ignore when all he can think about is how those lips would make him feel.

“I upheld my promise! There were no noises!” You know it’s not a real defense.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to keep his mind on the problem. “Did you see anyone? Did anyone see you?”

“No to the first, and honestly, I can’t answer the second.”

His mouth opens to retort, but he closes it, thinking better of whatever he was going to say. He raises his hands in supplication and slowly states, “You can’t go out there alone.” 

“I wanted to do something nice.” You explain. “But I am sorry. I was trying to ease some small amount of stress for you, not add to it.”

Six snorts and looks away. You'd put yourself in danger to make him happy. How was he supposed to react to that?

When he turns back to you a moment later, he reaches to take your wrist. Goosebumps appear down your arm, but he tries to ignore them. You loosen your grip on the small paper package, allowing him to take your peace offering. You don’t want him to let go of your wrist, and he doesn’t. His hand is hot, his thumb rubbing languidly across your skin. 

“Thank you,” he says sincerely. “But shockingly, you take priority over gum.” His tone deepens and he orders again, “Do not go anywhere alone.” 

He’s not trying to turn you on, but with his rough hand holding yours, his authoritative face inches from your own, and his protective demands, you feel the tension coiling.

“Mhm, noted,” you respond. 

Your blood feels hot. Surely he can feel your pulse thrumming? You try to shake yourself out of the rising heat you feel. Take a cold shower, you thirsty bitch, you mentally jar yourself.

“You wanna relax? Make my job a little easier? It’s like you’re trying to kill me yourself.” Six accuses playfully, finally releasing your wrist, where - yes - he had been enjoying your quickening pulse. 

His soulful eyes dance between yours. You feel flames licking up your body, your stomach tightening in anticipation. Am I killing him? The way he’s killing me? Your heart is hammering, body screaming for him to touch you again. 

“Little dramatic,” you snort, surprised it comes out in a normal tone of voice. Turning away from him, you walk towards the bathroom.

And you’re not sure what possesses you, you’re half-sure he can’t stand you, but still you hear yourself say, “I’m going to shower. Am I allowed to do that alone, Six?” 

His head snaps, his intense stare nearly stopping your breath. You watch him swallow hard and you wonder what he’s thinking. Your chin tilts upward, eyes locked with his, confirming every pass you’ve ever made at him.

And well, he tried, didn’t he? Six is a strong man. He’d been stabbed, shot, he’d fallen from great heights, been pepper-sprayed - and through everything, he’d kept on fighting. But this? The slow drip of you over the past few months had been bad enough, but stuck in this room with you nearly begging for him? He wasn’t strong enough for that.

“No. You’re not,” he growls.

He crosses the room in two strides, his arms enfolding you. He grunts as he lifts you up and backs you into the wall; at the same time his lips come hard against yours, months of repressed feeling apparent in his grip, his fevered kiss.

Your legs curl around his waist, tugging him closer, and your hands move down him - everything you can reach, you want to feel. Your hands press in his hair, his beard, they caress his throat before dropping to feel the beat of his heart through his wide chest. Your frenzied movements send him wild. He had no idea giving in would feel this good; he’s already forgotten about the shower. 

You feel the wall disappear as he moves toward the bed. His knee bends on the soft surface as he lays you onto the blankets. You feel his weight pressing into you, grounding you to him. His left hand slides up your shirt, breaking his kiss to remove it fully. He tugs his own off by the collar, and the sight of his bare chest makes you gasp. Intensely defined muscles riddled with scars and tattoos decorate his body. He's lived a hard life. You’re breathing heavily, chest heaving, and he makes a lustful noise at the sight. He unclasps your bra, replacing it with his mouth. 

“Oh,” you throw your head back at the feeling, and he makes another deep, rumbling sound at your approval.

His pants go next, leaving him in dark red briefs. He pauses and regards your pants, your wounded leg. 

“Um, carefully, I guess?” You shrug. 

He moves his hands appreciatively along your sides, stopping when he reaches your waistband. Six’s beard scratches your sensitive skin as he plants kisses lovingly around your thigh. He’s hoping you understand it’s his apology for not killing the man before he ever touched you. He unbuttons your frayed, fucked-up jeans and places a large hand over the cut on the outside of your leg to protect it while he pulls the material down, your underwear also going. 

As he leans back over you, you can’t help but admire him, your eyes brimming with fondness at his care. His burning chest presses into yours, and you can feel his muscles flexing as his hands grope your body.

Your hands go to his hair once more, clutching him to you. His tongue skates over the hollow at the base of your throat - you inhale sharply at the sensation. His thigh shifts between your legs, and the pressure on your most sensitive area causes you to tilt your hips back and forth, riding him a little. Six notes your reaction greedily; he presses his thigh into you harshly and you whine. He places a large hand around the base of your throat, and continues his mouth’s path upward until he reaches your jaw, spurred on by the obscene moans you’re making. 

“Sweetheart, you’re making me blush," his breath caresses your ear.

One of your hands cradles his chin while the other snakes along his body, pushing his briefs down - he kicks them off. The feeling of his thick, naked thighs against your own nearly distracts you from your goal. But you find him quickly - you knew he would be big there, too - and you relish the way his powerful body goes slack at your touch. In your peripheral, you can see his biceps shake at the tension building in him. Your thumb brushes over a vein, and you shiver as he lets go of the most wrecked groan you’ve ever heard him make. 

You lean up to capture his lips and swallow the sound he just made. His hand plunges into your hair, cradling your head while the other palms your lower back; he grunts as he leans back onto his heels, easily taking you with him. His mouth connects with yours, and his hand slides to the curve of your ass. 

Your thighs straddle him in this kneeling position, and you grind along his smooth erection. His hand on your ass encourages your rhythm. His other arm falls from your hair to wrap around your midsection, holding you tight to him. Six’s kisses are deep, desperate, but tender somehow. It makes you want him everywhere - you want to know nothing but him. You rock forward far enough that his tip catches at your center. 

He stills your movement, keeping you in limbo. He leans his head back to see you. You can feel the strength in his muscles, so you don’t even attempt to fight him for the friction you’re craving. Artlessly pushing back the hair that had fallen in your face, he then rests his palm on your cheek, thumb brushing your swollen bottom lip. 

He shifts his body for a better angle, then slowly - so slowly - pushes up into you. Six’s eyes are almost entirely black, the smallest bit of blue rings his blown pupils as he drinks in your whimper. You didn’t think you could be more turned on, but the look in his eyes is so hungry. He sucks a line of kisses up your neck and the sensation of the warm trail cooling on your skin causes you to clench down on him; he grunts again at that.

You sigh in relief when his hip bones sit flush with yours. You’ve been so ready for this man, the considerable stretch doesn’t hurt in the slightest. You breathlessly laugh; utter bliss surging through you. You don’t try to move, knowing instinctively that he’s in charge. 

“Mmm,” he hums gruffly, running a hand through your hair. 

You feel him twitch inside you, and you want to ask him what he just thought about, but he pulls out and thrusts up into you without warning. You cry out, but he’s not done. He does it again, then again, snapping his hips brutally. You’re getting what you wanted, he’s driving up into you and it is overwhelming; Six is destroying you, piece by piece. His arms flex as they hold you still, his stomach muscles jump at the strain underneath your slack hands. Sweat begins to shine on both of you; the slick reward for his exertion somehow making you wetter elsewhere. A lock of dirty blonde comes free, swinging against his forehead; and you’re mesmerized by the masculine beauty of Sierra Six.

His pattern slows briefly to lay you both back down. His right hand finds its home in your hair, before he begins a deeper, more sensual pace. You gasp out his name at the new feeling, the intimacy. He’s weakened your body so thoroughly that he is absolutely fucking you senseless into the mattress despite his slower pace. You grasp at the bedsheets above your head; you can hear the bed creaking with the force of him. His lips press against your forehead, breathing heavy. One hand cradles the base of your skull while the other plants against the wall for leverage. He tilts his head to rest against yours, and it’s clear he’s all but making love to you at this point. The knot in your stomach gets more tenuous with each and every one of his touches. 

You try to reign in your gasps, your cries, but his left hand falls between where you’re joined, and your attempt at being quiet ends entirely.

His lips brush your ear and he growls, “Should’ve known you’d be as loud in bed as you are every other fucking day.” 

“You love it,” you choke out, smiling smugly.

His voice is heady, “It is that obvious?”

You’re in sensation overload, the feeling of Six pushing inside you, the rhythmic motion of his hand, and that look in his eyes has your body taut as a bowstring. Your hands reach up to frame his face, wanting to hold him, when you're surprised by the tension in your abdomen snapping viciously. You writhe up beneath him, fucking him back, never breaking eye contact. You feel yourself repeatedly clench down as you come apart for him, finally closing your eyes when you breathe out his name. Six possessively parts your lips with his, groans echoing in the space between kisses as he lets go, too. His hips begin to stutter; his abdominal muscles jerk as he buries himself deep within you, spending himself nearly as powerfully as you did.

His head drops to your collarbone and you press another kiss to his hair. Six raises up on his forearms, memorizing the way you look underneath him. His lips meet yours again softly before he carefully eases himself from you. He wraps a muscle-bound arm around you, tugging you to him. Six scoots both of you a few inches onto a pillow and throws the covers over you.

Diffused, indigo light from the window indicates that sunset has just occurred, and you can’t help but hope tomorrow doesn't come. Staying here in this comfortable, intimate twilight world was the only place you cared to exist. You feel Six’s chest press into your back then retreat, and his exhale tickles your ear. The tattoo on his left forearm lay across your naked breast, and you don’t stop yourself from tracing it. 

“That feels wonderful,” his sigh is gravelly. You shift further into him and he responds by pulling you tighter, settling you flush against his body.

“I won’t stop, then,” you promise him quietly. 

He sighs, and within a few moments, you feel his breathing deepen. You keep your promise until you drift away, too.

[starwrighter]

I am not a baby!! (yes you are)

(Ao3) (Masterpost) (Previous) (Next)

(Chapter 8)

Cutting through the water with practiced ease, he snapped his tail, an audible crack sounding as he boosted forwards. A rotten egg. He was tasked with watching a rotten egg. Did Father think him incompetent? A mockery of his skills and a slight against him as a person. Why did he have to guard a dead egg while the others fought reapers and patrolled dangerous waters?

Safe shallows, a place mainly inhabited by herbivores, bright and colorful. His tail dragged uncomfortably against the seabed waters too shallow for this form to move at full capability. The egg was in site, floating at the surface. Strangely, it smelled better than it had before. There was still the lingering scent of festering rot but weaker than before.

Peaking through the see-through bottom, the egg appeared to be empty. Not a peep was heard inside the egg, lights glowing brightly. All the babies who lived for more than a few seconds had eggs that glowed inside. This egg wasn't glowing before, but now it was, and there still wasn't a baby.

Did it hatch while he wasn't watching it? They were under the assumption the egg was dead. If it hatched earlier, no one would've been there to protect them. Fragile creatures with a tendency to die spontaneously. They stood no chance on their own. The shallows were relatively safe, with barely any predators, if the baby did hatch its body should still be floating around here somewhere.

Using his arms to drag himself through the shallows, some oddities began to arise. Metal boxes that used to be firmly planted into the ground were gone, fish frazzled, drifting curiously towards something in the distance.

Damian had expected a corpse or the sight of red blood from a baby freshly killed. A metal building standing strong near the borders of the grassy plateaus was something he never would've expected. It was a purer white, maintained, or recently built. Unlike any of the buildings in Jellyshroom caves or the deep grand reef, this building was active, functioning not a speck of rust-coating metal tubes.

Like the previous buildings, part of it was see-through. He couldn't help but wonder if this baby would be like the friendly, curious one who'd stare at everything through the clear barrier in awe. The babies never strayed too far from their nests unless they were migrating or collecting materials. Chances were, if a hatchling were alive, it'd be in there. Drifting over to the see-through tube, he peered inside...

It was tiny...

Smaller than any of the babies that ever hatched. Larger than the Peepers swimming around the base, yet no bigger than a Mesmer. Smaller than what Father said he was when he hatched more than a thousand years ago. A hatchling running in circles, more active and excited than any of the other babies ever were. Running too fast for him to get a good look, it was unclear whether this was normal behavior of a healthy hatchling.

When the hatchling finally exhausted himself, it slowed down to a pace. Fluffy black hair with splotches of white barely reached his ears, the hatchling occasionally running pudgy fingers through it. His face was a bit red, but a feeling of excitement radiated off the child in consistent waves.

Tap...Tap...Tap

Claws clinking against the tube, the hatchling froze in place. Vibrant, blue eyes stared directly at Damian, widened, shocked by his sudden appearance. It wasn't his intention to scare the hatchling, he just wanted to check on them. Preparing to give another gentler tap, the hatchling raises his arms, a tool in his hands, a flash of light blasting Damian in the face. Not quite blinding but blurring his vision enough for the baby to dart away deeper into the tube so he couldn't see him anymore. A shy hatchling was easier to keep alive, but it still hurt seeing the baby hiding from him.

For a minute, he entertained the thought of keeping the hatchling's existence a secret. To bond and secure his place as favorite sibling early on. Only remembering the sheer fragileness of the children changed his mind. Being the favorite of a dead child would do him no good. If the hatchling was smart enough to survive this long, he'd be smart enough to see that Damian is the superior sibling.

"Father, the hatchling from the shallows is still alive,"

The utter chaos that erupted through the bond was almost worth risking a potential title.

@ashoutinthedarkness @avelnfear @meira-3919 @thought-u-said-dragon-queen @hugsandchaos @blep-23 @zeldomnyo @bytheoldwillowtree @justwannabecat @shepherdsheart @starlightcat04 @stargazing-bookwyrm @pupstim @dragongoblet

[yandere-toons]

IN MY DEFENCE

Bakugou Katsuki – Platonic Scenario

WARNING: yandere, strong and bloody violence, guns, swearing throughout, morally ambiguous reader, toxic mindset.

WORD COUNT: 4.195

"Does he even want us on this mission?"

From out the darkness overhanging an awning slunk a blending of scales and skin. A man below the neck; a viper above; a triangular skull bisected by diamond-shaped eyes; a forked tongue undulating and licking; a rounded crest mottled and flared—nature's grotesque experiments had found a new beast to assemble.

He wound a coil of tongue around lead, colouring it morbid yellow, before stuffing it into the top of a magazine and locking it in place. A ring of light spiralled off the barrel as he took aim, the oblong proportions of his head forcing his neck to twist hard.

A lone bullet whistled low before the crack alerted Katsuki; and you collapsed at almost the same instant to one knee, and thence to the road.

Kirishima dove to catch your head before it split on the asphalt, and the skin on his arms metamorphosed into flesh-coloured rock. He hunkered down close against you, his back to the noise, his body crumbling to grit, then growing back stonier by the second.

A fever of resentment cooked inside Katsuki as though he'd been fed hot charcoal fresh out of a furnace. "What the hell did you do?" his voice rose ten decibels with each syllable, and the skin on his cheeks turned purple as he bellowed out a heap of breath on the last word.

Many a young heart cried out in fear at the depth of his rage, which flowed without ceasing, as foam at the mouth of a rabid dog.

Katsuki charged the villain faster than he could blink, arms outstretched to the point of aching, palms up to reveal the flex of his hands. There ignited the essence of a bomb, the biological incarnation of a lit match, of flint against steel, glistening and accumulating sweat in obeisance to him.

A thunderous roar and hiss on par with artillery fire wrested peace from every eardrum in the district. The maw of this inferno drank up the earth's light, engulfing it in a near infinite storm of colour. The sun returned swiftly, but the spectre of the bomb danced still in the eyes of each observer, clawing out bursts of black and white that fuzzed round the edges like sparking wires.

You shooed away the hand of another and hovered your own above the gaping wound. There arose the song of metal bending, and the bullet levitated from where it had lodged in your femur. The sudden collision with bone shattered the bullet into tiny, gore-drenched chunks.

Kaminari went rigid as a drop of blood snaked along the bullet, bloated at one end and splattered down. He reeled towards Kirishima, his hands spread wide, grasping at the air. "Can't you do it? Your Quirk makes you way better at this kind of thing than me!"

A few metres away, an explosion devastated the road, and a golden glow of embers flashed across Kirishima's serrated teeth. "Listen to me, you gotta man up!" his expression hardened by the sobering reality of the battlefield, but his voice remained clear and true: the sound of encouragement passed from friend to friend. "I've only got two hands, so I need you to pick up the slack!"

Gulping his last protest, Kaminari crossed his hands over the wound and steeled himself against the slippery flow of blood. "Bakugou's gonna kill me." His chest heaved with a breath so deep he seemed keen to disappear underwater, and he dove into the mess of blood gushing from your thigh.

Kirishima listened to the string of obscenities running amok, some he'd heard before, others mixed in with profanities he'd never imagined in his darkest days. "I think he's a little distracted."

Blood spurted from the wound, bubbling over his fingers, lapping at them with a warm tongue, and Kaminari struggled to keep down the lump in his throat. "Gross," he whined, scrunching his face to the brim with wrinkles. "I so wish I had gloves right now." Kaminari glanced wistfully at Katsuki, whose hands lay shielded in puffs of cloth.

The laughter of the nearly departed wheezed out from under your haggard breathing. "I'll remember that when you take a bullet."

As the pallid white waves swept across his cheeks, Kaminari pronked with a start, his mind's eye now teeming with grisly visions. He let out a weak laugh, almost choked with comic horror, and hoped the levity would ease your pain a little. Every hinge of his smile begged to collapse, but Kaminari forced his muscles to hold it together until you once again propped your neck against Kirishima's arm.

With a flick of your hand, the bullet reversed its course and sliced clean through the wasted left ear of he who had fired it.

A drizzle of red encircled the road beneath his feet as the villain wrenched wide his mouth, hissing, teetering towards escape.

Before Katsuki could bound forth and give chase, Kaminari leapt in front of him and pressed both hands to his chest. His whole body spasmed at that moment, and Katsuki jumped back, his fists twitching. He swallowed down the urge to knock Kaminari out of his way, wrenching a shred of control from what burned through his entrails.

"Dude, we got him! He's totally on the run!" Kaminari laughed goodhumouredly. A glob of blood hopped from his palm, smearing his fingerprints on Katsuki's costume, but as Katsuki fidgeted, the shape mangled into confusing streaks.

Shame churned in his stomach as Katsuki watched the blood fall and answered for himself who had spilt it.

A whisper laden with groans drew his attention over his shoulder, where you had wormed your way into the fetal position. Kirishima knelt at your side and took your hands in his own, sweat trickling down his face. "Squeeze as hard as you can, buddy, you know I can take it!"

"I'm not done yet," muttered Katsuki, dazed by the state of the mission and your deteriorating health, his eyes fixed on the retreating figure's battered form. He seized Kaminari by the back of his jacket and flung him to the pavement. "Until I blow his fucking head off!"

Kaminari braced, rolling until his elbows pressed against his chest and his screams of terror faded into the air. He winced at the scrapes on his hands as he slammed his palms down and lurched to a stop on his belly, the shock propelling a jolt across his spine as he reached out for Katsuki.

The path forward, now unobstructed, promised the sweetest opportunity to crush and dominate his enemy, and it thrilled Katsuki; the ambition to inflict upon this villain a pain like none had suffered before, or indeed ever would again, rampaged ahead of all other desires.

His pulse throbbed in every limb, threatening to burst from his neck, and the details of the world round him warped in and out of focus. Hearing nothing but his own breath and heart, he threw his arms back, splayed his fingers, and bent his knees.

Blast after blast sent Katsuki sprawling into the street, each one picking up speed and hurtling him closer to the villain. Smoke and flames streaked across the Musutafu skyline, obscuring that entire part of the world, the black of the smoke and the red of the flames as intense as a sunrise after a moonless night.

The villain had fled into an office building, the door riven and clashed shut, pinned with a chair. He walked backwards into a cubicle, counting the seconds, pistol trained on anything that broke through the barricade. Yet putting his other hand on the grip to steady the first hand seemed too great an effort;—sweat beaded on his palms, turning his limbs to mush.

Katsuki wove in the air with the tenacity of a guided missile, landing with such force that steam billowed everywhere. He pulled himself up to his full height, rolled his shoulders, and cracked his neck back and forth over one shoulder. But first, he thrust a laugh between his teeth, then heaved in another breath and took aim.

Bricks and mortar flew into every corner of the office on wings of smoke, one smashing into the villain's face. The trauma ripped the pistol from his hand the instant after his index finger clenched the trigger on impulse. With a scuff of his shoes on the concrete, he tumbled backwards, his skull caroming off the floor.

The muzzle blast revealed the dark spread rushing down his chin, the numbness of his dislocated jaw, and the silhouette rising from the edge of the rubble in the distance. In the darkness of the ruins, everything touched by sunlight appeared fulgent and blurred.

The demoniacal passion that beat in the throat of anyone bold enough to summon it drove Katsuki's voice to the brink of distortion. "Come out and fight me!" every remaining window in the building cracked at the sound of his challenge.

Katsuki stuck his boot atop the heap of rubble nearest to the entrance and listened, controlling every breath and holding every upset. Amidst the rustling of dust, the injured man's grunting stirred the blood in his veins, and Katsuki let out a yell and leapt towards the source, releasing every bestial urge he possessed.

Two explosions, one from each hand, propelled him higher, reaching their apogee above the murmurs of pain. There, Katsuki swung his arms overhead, blasting the ceiling with precision, setting it ablaze, and plunged downwards with his legs outstretched, poised to stomp the life from the voice. Instead of the crunch of bones under overwhelming pressure, he heard the sound of splinters.

The concrete fissured beneath his feet and a shockwave went up in a puff of smoke, followed by a faint scream from ten paces away. Katsuki lifted his head to see the outline of the villain, who shuddered before him and scrambled in the opposite direction. Periodic whimpers and curses escaped from the gap between his fingers, and each time Katsuki seemed to take pride in this weakness.

Every few seconds, his hand snapped with a crackle of sparks. A mist of light draped in ribbons across his face, the glint of burning orange shining more clearly than ever against the sea of black. At that moment, his canines shone prominently, baring and grinding his teeth until his mouth vibrated with menace.

The villain looked into the abyss of smoke, and in the eyes that looked back, there was no reflection of the hero, only the light of a mind that shrieked with primal hatred and fed on vile fantasies. The same red colour that poured from his nostrils floated in the darkness, shadowing him.

Katsuki swung his arm, puncturing the column of smoke and drawing it back as a curtain. The longer he beheld the villain, the more veins bumped along his temples and muscles bulged like sinewy ropes in his neck. There came the sound of an old record scratching and a firecracker popping, flanked by a flash of light on either side of Katsuki.

As soon as the villain staggered away, a gloved hand struck him in the chest; that horrible moment of death pierced him and the inescapable realisation that he was seeing his own through the eyes of another.

The force of the blast doubled in intensity, pain and heat flooding through his body like a grenade, splintering his sternum and filling his ribcage with shrapnel. A crater opened up in the wall behind him as concrete slammed against his spine, and his feet lifted high enough to never again touch the ground.

Through the din, the hero roared in a trance of vengeance, his voice growing more and more animalistic. Katsuki reached for the villain's heart, his arms tremulous, barely able to catch his breath. He struck with all the strength of his body, his eyes bloodshot from the smoke that sucked the air from his lungs.

From the inside of his gauntlet protruded a metal pin;—as he bent his finger to hook it, an instantaneous surge of rage shot through him. When he loosed the pin, a single word, "Die," burst forth, a word that packed a lifetime of contempt and rancour.

A swirl of the most vivid reds and oranges, hot and unquenchable as the core of a forest fire, tasted the air through the tubes of his gauntlets and soared infernal. An explosion more powerful than the loudest clap of thunder rang out, and everything opposite Katsuki burst into embers and spatter.

A whirlwind of flame and smoke pushed the unburnt pieces of concrete into darkness. Thick soot and ash blackened each window, and with a loud crash, shards of glass rained down into the street. The hiss and echo of shrapnel cascaded through the air, flying on the wind, before the explosion waned to a booming rumble.

Sizzling steam wafted through the air, exhaling the sticky fumes of sweat and blood. The hard soles of his combat boots thudded against fissures in the pavement. Smoke arose from his slick forehead, stinking at the hero as he stalked through the clouds of dust, and the threads of his costume stretched as his chest grew heavier.

These huffs and puffs fell short of his eyes, which glowered at all before them. The wildness that had possessed him withered to its usual ache once the sun gilded his face. With each step more driven than the last, the gloom of the wreckage and those whom it buried slipped further and further from his mind.

Katsuki hovered as close as he could without stepping on you. Dollops of blood dripped from the spikes of his hair and stood vibrant against the black of his costume.

"Hey, Bakubro!" Kirishima scanned the street in the vain hope that he would find the villain handcuffed, not reduced to the meat paste one wiped from their shoe. "Where's the villain?"

The muscles in Katsuki's face contracted, as did the muscles in his fingers, which curled inwards to throttle even the memory of the villain. For a moment, a sour calm passed over him, and the twitching in his cheeks subsided. "I blew his ass to pieces."

"Serves him right." You spat out a glob of blood and phlegm onto the asphalt.

A swell of pride drew from Katsuki a chuckle both brief and spirited, for his eyes lit up as the glow of his brightest explosion. The primordial anger that boiled within him gave way to the triumph and bloodlust espoused only by those who relished the battlefield.

Kirishima, whence he sat with hands clasped about your own, slackened them and recoiled a tad, his face blanching and on the verge of contortion. "What? But we can't just..." he bit his tongue as Katsuki swooped down on him.

"We made a judgement call, shitty hair!" He swung his arm wide. "So back the hell off!"

Another wheezing gasp escaped you, but it shrank to a torn, guttural pant as the moribund life inside failed to regain its strength.

As the short distance from the pavement drew his eye back and forth, back and forth, Kaminari eased his hands about your underarms and hauled you up to his chest. The first step to the pavement shot through your body a convulsion of spitting, flailing, and snorting. Froth and drool gelled in your mouth, and blood emptied from your nose into your throat.

The instant Kaminari dropped you and flinched back, wincing at his own carelessness, the skin on his arm erupted with invisible flame and rocketed closer. The centre of his face seemed to cave in on impact, spewing viscous strings of snot in blood and saliva in tears.

Katsuki struck him hard on the wrist, and Kaminari fell over backwards, cracking his nose with his own hand.

"Dumbass!" thundering footfalls commanded his attention, snarling out a venom that would give even the fiercest of beasts pause. "What the hell are you doing?" Kaminari shivered at his reflection, for in the same eyes that brooded over him, there lay a familiar glaze of fear.

With one hand clamped over his nose to stymie the flow of blood, Kaminari squinted through tears. He pulled his knees close and curled into a ball, his side to Katsuki. Despite the congestion in his throat, which Kaminari fought down to the best of his ability, he looked Katsuki squarely in the face.

"We have to move them! We can't just leave them in the street!"

A howl of an outburst so rancid it transcended words, a drive to demolish anything that moved, poured out of Katsuki between teeth squeezed so tight his jaw cried for relief. Nightmarish tension warped the muscles of his face, and he pivoted away from Kaminari, intent on checking your condition.

"Shut up and let me think for a minute!"

You had fallen into silence, the fatigue taking over, the road seeming fused to your skin, the agony so sharp your heart thrashed and stole the light from your vision.

"Go for Recovery Girl! Tell her we need a medevac!"

Kaminari slapped a hand on his earpiece, flooding every hero channel he could locate with a distress signal.

Katsuki spied it moments before Kirishima drawled his name: the swirl of fog over your eyes as Death trotted near.

He snapped his head up and fixed his most intense stare, a mixture of madness and wrath, on Kaminari's back. "Now!" Katsuki lunged for Kaminari, who cowered back, gnashing his teeth and pushing out searing breath. "I don't care who she's with! Bring her here now!"

A miniature explosion shimmered and evaporated from his palm, which Katsuki shoved into Kaminari's face. A line of froth trailed after each word and splashed Kaminari, who wrenched one eye shut and turned to block the droplets with his hand.

Upon seeing Katsuki towering over him, blotting out the sun, Kaminari hunched forward to make himself smaller.

In that instant, as another frantic shout dangled from the tip of Katsuki's tongue, a wretched terror stole the sound from his world. The shrillest ringing, like bullets raining down on him from all sides, shook his sanity, and a cold sweat plunged down his spine. Warmth drained from the most blistering explosions, and chilling tendrils writhed in his stomach.

The phantom pressure of breathlessness, of a sharp heel against his chest, dug at his heart.

Where reinforcements should have charged in unison, the vacant, lifeless road stretched on, beguiling his wide eyes into staring, twitching with the sickness of a revelation most dire. As Katsuki watched the bend in its infinite, absolute distance, one thought of dreadful proportion stuck in his mind: "No one's coming."

The cacophonous voice scratched at his ears again, but the sharpness of his adrenaline-fuelled senses directed him towards the smell of blood.

Kirishima opened his arms as a final, desperate obstacle, lips drawn narrow, flesh bared and hardened. "Bakugou, you saw what happened with Kaminari! If you move 'em now, they might die!"

Katsuki stopped short, reaching one upturned hand. "Take a look at 'em, shitty hair! They're dying anyway!"

First casting his eyes behind, Kirishima meditated on the truth in those words.

The metal shells of his knee guards skidded across the asphalt as Katsuki shouldered Kirishima aside and hurled himself on the ground before you. Freed of all hesitation, he cradled you for a moment, secured you on his back, and made sure to keep his eyes forward.

Black blood, curdled and rancid like old soup, matted his gloves. The tremor in his legs and the stone in his throat came not from his nauseous spring up, nor from the sweltering rush on which he arced through the sky.

* * *

Katsuki paced a uniform sea of white sandstone, staring into the distance at an unreachable target, a target that chased him from sterile wall to sterile wall. He cursed under his breath, as if chanting a spell, at himself for not acting sooner, and at all the scum that abandoned you on the field. His gauntlets rattled with every swing of his arm, skin smeared with soot and blood.

Every three or four laps, a new wave of doubt seized him, and Katsuki paused to watch your breathing, assuring himself that it hadn't ceased or grown errant. Each time, he searched for the barest hint of consciousness, and each time, the pressure of frustration clenched his chest a little tighter.

His shadow loomed over your bedside, slathered with debris and reeking of scorched death, silent as though he could menace the wound out of you.

At the faint creak of a handle turning and a door sliding open on its hinges, Katsuki wheeled round on the entrance and flung out his arm. A light that rivalled the sun bathed his palm with sweat, but Aizawa's dark eyes peered out still from beneath a veil of shaggy hair.

"Where the hell were you?" Katsuki thrust his hand forth, each word aloft from the bombilation of sparks.

Shota Aizawa, a man whom the undead would welcome into their ranks, faced this threat with reddened eyes half overcome by slumping lids: "Your actions today broke more laws than I can count."

Katsuki swiped a ribbon of smoke through the air and neared the foot of the bed, a strip of muscle in his cheek bulging and pulsing. "I ain't apologising for shit! That bastard got every bit of what he deserved!"

A glimmer of scarlet flared to life from deep behind Aizawa's eyes, and the tips of his frayed hair began to levitate. "If you value your career, I suggest you stand down immediately."

Recovery Girl trudged over, her eyes closed in exhaustion, her legs still moving with an impeccable sense of direction. She trailed the hem of her coat on all the dust of the hospital floor. "I told him to take a break I don't know how many times, but he won't leave his friend's side."

The pulp of Katsuki's stomach knotted, and the hairs on his neck bristled. "We're not friends!" He dragged on the last word, voice heavy and exasperated, as though it were an accusation he fought off daily.

Recovery Girl scolded him, pursing her lips and shaking her head, then took up with Aizawa, who lingered on him for a minute.

"They're just some idiot on my team." Katsuki turned to you again, eyes frozen and puffy, haunted by the thought that your hollowed skin looked fit for a casket.

All signs of the convulsion had been wiped from your mouth and dumped inside a steel bin. A blanket, bleached and prone to tangles, pooled thinly over you, and Katsuki drew it forth into a more complete covering. "Hey," he called, as though pulling you out of training, "I know you're hurt, but don't die."

There was a gentleness of mien then, followed at once by a droop in his posture. "Okay?"

The chatter of flapping gums and popping saliva was a needle down his ear, and Katsuki stiffened, his face gnarled once more, before rounding on the noise. "Old lady, get your ass over here and fix this!"

* * *

The head of the academy, his white fur neatly tucked behind his suit vest and chequered trousers, crept up the slope of the chair. A diagonal scar ran from the centre of his forehead down his right cheek, exposing a stripe of pink skin, dulled with time and deprived of fur. A cup of steaming tea in hand, he sat no taller than a small child.

The autumnal air flowed in, cool and refreshing, through the ajar window that Aizawa had hastened to shut.

Principal Nezu replaced the sound with a most pleasant and disarming one, his voice lowering everyone's blood pressure until it cheered death and destruction. "Bakugou's conduct was no doubt reckless, and we shall assign him extra duties for the remainder of the month."

"That's it?"

A forepaw shot out, silencing him.

"We all agree it was excessive force, but young Bakugou acted in defence of a fallen comrade. The fact of the matter is, villains outnumber heroes ten to one, and they will only grow larger unless we as a school do our part." Principal Nezu set his teacup down carefully on his saucer, his head bowed and his eyes closed.

His beady eyes turned black as stone in the reddish haze of dusk. "It falls on our shoulders to train the next generation. Like never before, we need students who can meet this threat. Students who can push the limits of what heroism means."

Nezu slid forward with his elbows, linked his forepaws, uplifted his mouth with permanence, threaded each finger through the others, and rubbed his hands. "We must never encourage lethal force, but if our students are to succeed, they need also recognise when it may be necessary."

Aizawa took one last look at the after-action report before pulling himself to his feet, leaving the folder open to the description of the villain: "Unidentified, body recovered in pieces from a ten-kilogram detonation at close range, all other remains vapourised in the blast."

Do anything you want with my work, but never make me boring!

[honey-minded-hivemind]

for a naga au, have you considered having the reader be a human, that the x-men thing is a baby who was born deformed so they got abandoned? So they’re like “poor little dude, abandoned. But I can help!”

and reader just here panicking

Oh h*ck yeah! And worry not, they have excellent healers and their own venom, which helps speed along growth of naga traits- Oh, Reader will be in for it, won't they? That being said, let's see:

You weren't sure how this happened.

You didn't think snake people existed. Yet here you were, in a large, hidden nest, full of smaller snake people, and being watched over by larger ones.

The largest of them are giant compared to you, their tails long and winding, splayed over the cavern hidden behind a waterfall you'd lived near. They keep making concerned noises, poking at your legs and making small hisses each time they bent or jerked. The smaller ones would have likely been your age if human, but their tails, while smaller than their elders', were still long, as thick as a small tree in some places. The colors among their scales ranged from lilacs and pinks to oranges and blacks, grays and browns to blues and golds. Every color you could think of was there, with some of them being iridescent or pearlescent.

Why were you there?

You made the mistake of rescuing one of the smaller ones. It had been caught in a trap, a large net that kept its form suspended and away from the ground or trees, tight enough in some places to cut through their scales. You'd found them, writhing in pain and hissing desperately, and while you knew it was likely deadly and might have venom... It was part human, it was a living being, sentient. It deserved to be free, to not be hurt or displayed as a trophy. And with that, you loosened the ropes from where they were tied, soon releasing the creature with a loud THUMP. For a moment it looked at you, eyes wide and curious, before it slithered off, back to wherever it came from.

The people who had set the trap found you, your hands stained with a bit of the blood that had been on the ropes, and had immediately chased you. It didn't matter how far you ran or where you tried to hide, they hunted you until you had nowhere left to run and nowhere left to hide. Just as you thought you were to be killed, tossed off the waterfall into a rocky pool below-

HIIIIISSSSSSSS!

Giant versions of the creature you saved came hurtling from the water, fangs flashing down as they tore into your would-be killers. You managed to hide in a tangled bush during the bloody fray, hunching yourself down and into a ball and staying as quiet and still as possible. The noises of the fight drifted over the rush of water, until it finally died out with a loud CRACK. Shivering, you buried yourself deeper in the dirt and leaves, praying to be left alone...

Only for large, clawed hands to snag you up from your hiding spot, a surprised hiss coming from a large snake thing. It had dark eyes, and orange and black scales dotting its face and shoulders. It's tongue flicked out, almost as though scenting you, only to immediately feel at your legs.

You kicked out at it, reflex more than anything.

It froze, eyes wide, and with the loudest cry, it called the other snakes over. Whatever the problem was... it had something to do with your... legs?

They just kept, poking at them, making sad and scared noises, while looking between each other and back at the waterfall. Eventually they seemed to reach an agreement, and forcibly brought you with them, kicking and crying out the whole way.

Which led to now, being tucked into their nest, alongside the smaller snake creature you saved and its companions, who were watching you carefully, all while hissing between each other and one of the adult creatures watching over you.

You'd lasted for two whole days without sleep before you were squeezed between the coils of the adult who first found you. It was trying to make gentle hisses, tapping lightly at your neck, then your knees. You weren't sure what it was trying to say, until one hand was holding your head still, the other holding your wrists together.

"No, nonononono," you mutter, trying to pull back, yet the creature just tightened both its tail and claws, and just as quick-

It bit you.

A pained yelp escaped you as you felt the rush of venom enter your veins, and tears entered your eyes as you struggled. All the creature did was press a kiss to the wound, using the hand previously steadying you to stroke your hair, making soft hisses and rubbing its cheek against yours. It was getting harder and harder to stay focused, the heat from its scales and the steady rhythm of its caresses and nuzzles soothing a part of you, while the other part felt hazier and hazier. Soon, your head felt stuffed, as though full of cotton, causing you to slump into the grip around you. A pleased noise comes from the bundle around you, further putting you at ease. Everything feels so warm... So calm... All sleepy and soft like a small bunny in its burrow. A relaxed sigh leaves your lips, being met with a rumbling purr from around you. And just as soon as your eyes slip closed, youre met by a soft, gentle darkness, sweeping you into quiet slumber...

(Can y'all guess which X-Teen they saved?)

(To answer which X-Teen they saved... it was Scott. And he was the first to think, "oh, wow, they're a deformed naga, poor little guy.. Aaaaaw, they saved me! So cute💕 Wait, I need to tell the Professor and Logan and Storm and-")