#they have blood and guts and muscles and bones

[simp-for-love]

Mattheo sees his child for the first time

A/N: I was just thinking about dad Mattheo, and, oops, a small blurb? Drabble? Idk, just something came out.

Warnings: Brief references to trauma, emotional vulnerability, cursing words

Word count: ~670

The room hums with quiet voices and shuffling feet, but Mattheo hears none of it. Just the pounding in his ears. Just the weight of his own breath.

He stands there like a statue, leather jacket still on, fists clenched at his sides. His gaze is locked on the bundle in white. He just can't take his eyes off them. So fucking small. Wrapped in white, silent in the nurse's arms. Breathing. Alive.

And his.

He doesn't go to them. He can't. His feet might as well be cemented to the floor. Because if he gets too close, if he touches them...

The nurse says his name, soft and coaxing. Asks if he wants to hold them.

He doesn't answer. He just can't.

He was never a fearful man. On the contrary, others were afraid of him. But for the first time in a very long time, Mattheo Riddle is afraid. He is terrified.

Not of blood or death or the enemies who whisper his name like a curse. Not of Azkaban. Not of his family legacy. Not even of the darkness that claws up his spine.

No — he's afraid of this.

Of that tiny life.

Of touching something so clean, so pure, so impossibly untouched by the shadows he drags behind him. Terrified that his hands — hands that have broken bones, cast spells meant to harm, written blood-soaked promises — are not worthy. That if he just touches this child, something in them will break. That his darkness might seep into this little, perfect thing and ruin them forever.

You watch him from the bed, exhaustion in your limbs but love and soft understanding in your eyes. He can feel it, warm and undeserved. It burns worse than any dark magic spell.

He's done too much. Hurt too many. He never thought he deserved you in the first place. Not really. That's been his guilt to carry since the first time he let you sleep on his chest, wondering what kind of broken soul lets someone like you near. But this, this is even worse.

He's not supposed to have this.

Not you. Not this baby.

Not a future.

But your gaze, your love for him — it always tells him otherwise. That he's more than enough for you.

Then the baby stirs and opens their eyes.

Dark hazel, just like his.

It hits him like a Bludger to the chest, like a punch to the gut. Like someone took every shield he's ever built and shattered it in a second. His knees almost give. He swears, quietly, under his breath — a broken, soft sound.

They have his eyes.

Fuck.

They're beautiful. Perfect. And they're his. Part of him. A piece of something good buried beneath all the ruin.

His mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Just this low and dull ache in his chest. He doesn't know how something can be so small and still make him feel bigger than anything he's ever felt.

A nurse carefully steps forward and places the baby in his arms, and Mattheo panics, truly panics. He stiffens. Every muscle locks. He's holding them like they'll shatter if he breathes too hard. His heart's pounding, loud enough he swears they can hear it. His breath hitches unevenly.

This baby weighs almost nothing. But in his arms, they might as well be the whole fucking world.

He's held cursed artifacts, ancient grimoires, treasures men would kill for. But none of it has ever compared to the impossible weight of this tiny child in his arms. Not because they're heavy — but because they matter. More than anything ever has.

They make a small sound — not a cry, just... a soft sleepy noise.

He nearly falls apart.

You whisper his name. "Mattheo."

He looks at you with something wrecked in his eyes. Then back at them, like he can't believe that it is real.

The baby sighs against his chest, warm and trusting. Their hand twitches, curling loosely into the leather of his jacket. And he just... stands there.

Shaking. Silent. Changed.

"Shh, I've got you," he whispers, the promise rasped into the soft crown of their head. It isn't a threat, not this time — it's a vow. One that's heavier than any oath he's ever made.

[miasmaghoul]

Hi i have a gun. Please talk more about Swiss covered in blood 🔫

(please observe this post and my tags on it teehee)

warnings for blood, swiss being horny about the prospect of violence (and blood), blood and sweat licking, implications of future rough sex with blood as lube, blood spitting

There's an itch beneath his skin. Deep, burning, eating through sinuous muscle and right down to the bone. An urgency, an awful, aching need that demands something very specific. His blood's set to boil, chest heaving with every breath, heart slamming in time with the pounding drums filling his skull.

Calm down.

The words burst into his mind like fireworks, a rich growl that demands attention. Swiss' whole head twitches as he turns to face Mountain's kit, swaying in place. He's drooling, he can feel it dripping down his chin. Just like he can feel the sweat creeping down his spine. Mountain eyes him from behind his cymbals, whole body moving with the flow of his limbs.

I fuckin' can't.

Swiss bares his teeth when he fires it back, wishing he could run his tongue across sharp fangs instead. His glamour feels so impossibly oppressive when this urge strikes; the ache in his belly telling him to bare tooth and claw, to rip and tear and take -

Well I can smell you from here. Do something before you lose it.

Swiss flinches at the tone the words carry, even if they're only in his head. Mountain's eyes are so sharp behind his mask, demanding, and he doesn't spare Swiss another glance. Watching Rain climb up the center steps now instead while Swiss' insides start eating themselves. He wants to tear Mountain's throat out for it. He manages exactly one step forward.

Later.

A single word, but one that hits like a bus. Swiss sways on the spot.

...what?

You can rip my throat out later.

Mountain's reply is knowing, haughty. His eyes are back on Swiss now, and they glitter in the stage lights like precious gems brimming with mischief.

You think too loud sometimes, he taunts, and Copia will take the damage deposit out of your allowance.

Mountain winks, and just like that his attention is back on the drums.

The entire interaction lasts less than ten seconds, but it leaves Swiss breathless as a marathon. There's gray at the corners of his vision when he sinks to his knees, relishing the burn in his quads when he leans back. He feels drunk, swaying and shaky, every muscle in his torso gone taut in restraint. He chews the inside of his cheek, digs his nails into his palms. Little jolts of pain that shoot straight through him, raise goosebumps through the sweat.

It's not enough to answer the call rippling beneath his skin.

No matter how much he tries to hide his need in the unsubtle sensuality of his movements, it won't pass. Won't ebb or calm, a gnawing so deep in his chest that Swiss swears its about to cave in. He can taste Mountain between his teeth already, earthen iron that will sit heavy on his tongue long after he's feasted. He can picture the marks he'll leave on freckled skin, brutal and gouging and smeared in red.

"Fuck."

Swiss grunts it as he stands, still moving in time with music he doesn't hear. Can't, over the rush of his own blood. Blood. So much blood...

The light glints off Mountain's crash cymbal, off his mask beyond, and Swiss licks his lips.

He takes two steps back.

Mountain doesn't look at him.

He points at the other ghoul with a quivering finger, in case anyone watching had any doubt who his next action was meant for.

Mountain doesn't look at him.

Swiss shakes himself out, rolls his neck. Makes himself take a slow, deep breath. Narrows his focus as Dew and Aether fuck each other with every passing chord in the background. The shrieks of the crowd have long since faded beyond the tick of his earpiece and the ravenous hunger twisting his guts. His face splits into the most devious grin.

Still though, Mountain doesn't look, and oh Swiss burns.

He doesn't think twice before he steps forward, doesn't so much as pause when he draws his arm back on something like reflex.

The only thing more gratifying than the pain of striking that sonorous metal is the way Mountain jumps. Bounces on his stool like a startled little bunny rabbit, rhythm stuttering just enough for Swiss' cock to pulse with pride.

It takes a moment to feel the blood.

He blames being distracted by how wide Mountain's pupils had gone for his ignorance, but once the first droplet falls from his fingertip. Swiss raises his hand, at skin glistening with sweat and now something so much sweeter.

Mountain doesn't look away when Swiss lets his tongue loll out, flexing his fingers in the yellow light flooding the stage. It hides the ruby tint of the liquid trailing down his forearm - a real shame, if you were to ask Swiss. That is, if he had two brain cells left to rub together.

In fairness, Mountain doesn't seem to be faring much better.

Neither of them blink as the tip of Swiss' tongue meets the beaded end of one of those trails, and the taste makes his knees wobble. Iron, ash, sulfur and salt - if Swiss never tasted anything else again, he wouldn't complain. He licks a stripe up his arm, over the bump of his wrist, up to the fresh gash decorating the back of his hand. Every passing inch makes his breath come quicker, makes his mouth water, and Swiss can see the way Mountain's started chewing his lip. Swiss knows he must be hard as a rock just a couple feet away, so hot and filthy with effort that Swiss' balls ache at the thought of his scent alone.

Swiss presses the flat of his tongue to his wound at the same moment the light catches the cymbal again, and in the flash Swiss sees red speckled across the disc's surface. Decorating a drum head.

And, most importantly, two perfect droplets that landed square on Mountain's masked right cheek.

A brilliant series of images flare to life behind his eyes, then.

Of Mountain, ass up and drooling into red-stained sheets. Cheeks rich pink and streaked with tears as Swiss shoves three fingers inside, cock hanging heavy and already leaking onto the blanket below.

Of Swiss straddling him, nails raking down Mountain's back and digging into his hips to get him right where Swiss wants.

Of Swiss leaning down to sink his teeth into a muscled shoulder for a fresh mouthful of crimson ecstasy, while Mountain hisses and gasps and takes it.

Of Swiss seeing himself lean back to look down past his own bloodied chest to his throbbing length. Of trading his fingers for its fat head, nudging insistently against Mountain's woefully underprepared hole. Of his lips parting, of red streaming down, down, down, until it drools over his shaft and unholy fuck if Swiss doesn't get off this fucking stage soon he swears he's gonna rip his own heart out.

Swiss laps at the cut, until the pain becomes too intense, until he simply can't take anymore, and there's an odd calm about him as he reaches out to rap a knuckle against one of Mountain's shields. To make sure he has his full attention.

Just for you.

He spits a mouthful of blood onto the plexiglass, and as Mountain loses his place entirely he can't help but grin.

Swiss hopes there's blood on his teeth when he does.

[blue-rose-soul]

I really love your Devil’s bastard and Raised Together AUs because there’s a lot of familial drama but also lore associated with Lucifer and just what he can pass down to his children that is so fascinating.

https://youtube.com/shorts/MV4InNo3zCY?si=qM459R9-jSxE-6jR

I can imagine a scenario where something like this occurs and both Charlie and Alastor are pushed to unlocking the sleeping demons that lay sleeping inside them.

Imagine Charlie with red and white wings and Alastor with red and black wings, the hellfire being appearing over their horns and insane power emanating from them

Appreciate it! The big fun of this AU for me is definitely how it throws a monkey wrench right in the characters' usual dynamics. Lucifer going from implicitly threatening to murder Alastor to awkwardly stumbling around him. Alastor trying to manipulate Charlie without letting her assimilate him into her idealistic fantasy version of a brother-sister bond. Vaggie waking up from nightmares of having Alastor as a brother-in-law.

But yeah, it's also interesting to imagine what effect Lucifer's angelic DNA would have on his offspring. We don't know much about what Charlie actually is or how she's different from demons in general - Hellborn or sinner - or from either of her parents. Sinners are human souls, but based on the fact that they eat and sleep have toilets, they do seem to have all the same gears and whistles as living breathing humans. At the same time, they can twist their bodies into impossible shapes, grow to enormous sizes, even pull themselves back together after being ripped apart by anything that isn't an angelic weapon. And this isn't even mentioning any supernatural powers they may have like Sir Pentious's hypnosis or Alastor's - [gestures to all of him] - everything.

The idea of Alastor and Charlie unlocking some greater power does sound pretty cool! However, as they're already pretty demonic at their base, I would instead flavor it as them unlocking their sleeping angelic powers. After all, angels are said to be more powerful than demons in-universe, and this is power inherited from Lucifer. Plus, I love love love angels as monsters. I think that Charlie did experience a more mild form of what you're talking about after Sir Pentious was killed.

Of course, it wasn't quite the raw explosion of power I think you're thinking of, and the end result is still pretty demonic looking. But this is still power she inherited from Lucifer. But we're still early into the story, and it's fun to speculate what kind of greater power Charlie may unlock in the future.

(Alastor agrees.)

But back to the AU, the thought of them manifesting wings along with their greater powers at a later date would be sooooo fun. Maybe while facing off against the person who owns Alastor's soul (who I will say is Eve for the purposes of this AU). The both of them manifesting wings would be a nice way to visualize their shared bloodline. Plus, the addition of wings to Alastor's design may call to mind the peryton; a mythical creature with the appearance of a winged stag. A not-so-minor pet peeve of mine is when people say Alastor is a w**digo just because his deer-like appearance, and the peryton feels much more appropriate to his character.

Granted, he doesn't have any cultural ties to the peryton either aside from maaaaaybe his name (the name 'Alastor' has its origins in ancient Greece and the creature seems to be either Greek or Roman), but it does make for a great visual pun if you take 'peryton' to refer to radio signals.

[beloveds-embrace]

based on this, in which reader gets herself a pet. human reader x fae poly 141

Masterlist

It arrived on the windless night of a blood moon, when the palace gardens groaned beneath the weight of twilight and the fae refused to speak its name.

Hooves like thunder cracked through the sacred grove- guards scattered, maids screamed, and even the birds took flight. A monster, they had called it. An omen. A curse carved in flesh and antler.

It stood twice the height of a man, its coat the color of grave-ash and bone. Its antlers, sprawling, twisted branches, curved like cruel iron and dripped with a red too thick to be dew. And its eyes- gods, its eyes. Hollow pits of starlight and sorrow, as if someone had scooped the soul clean out of it and left only the husk of judgment behind.

A nightmare. A spirit of the dying woods.

And you- of course, you- had followed the trail of unease and found it standing alone in the frostbitten clearing, still as stone.

Simon was the first of them to find you. The maids had burst into his chamber in a flurry of panic, dresses half-tied, hair undone. “She’s in the gardens- with it!” one had shrieked. And though he would later claim it was the sense of duty that dragged him down the hall and into the trees, it was something more base that curled in his gut.

Fear.

He had thought it might be too late.

But there you were, soft and quiet and terribly unafraid.

The creature loomed before you, its head dipped low, antlers mere inches from your throat- and your hand… your hand was stroking its snout like it was nothing more than a skittish hound.

“There now,” you whispered, thumb rubbing a slow circle just below its glowing eye sockets. “You’re alright. You’re not so scary, are you, sweetheart?”

Simon’s body went taut, every muscle locked as he stepped from the trees, blade drawn, breath like winter in his lungs.

“Step. Back.” he’d have barked- only he didn’t; the words curled up and died in his throat.

Because the stag didn’t move.

Didn’t growl.

Didn’t even blink.

It merely stood there, regal and terrible, allowing you to fuss over it like you were some holy creature instead of a too-small, too-human queen with a ribbon loose in your hair and your gowns flowing freely.

And your voice- gods, your voice- was the softest he’d heard in months. Not the clipped elegance of the court-mask you wore, not the sharp-tongued wit you wielded to hold your place among serpents and silver smiles.

Just you.

Calling the monster a good boy.

The bestest boy.

After that, it never truly left.

The court howled. Lords and ladies twisted their pretty lips into horror, whispering stories of famine and madness wherever a Hollow Stag appeared. It had been centuries since one last walked beside fae- or anyone. But this one did.

It followed you, and you named it Thrain, and Simon wanted to curse you for you did not know that by naming such a terrible thing, you had allowed it close.

He huffed at the guards, growled at the courtiers, and once kicked a sconce clean off the wall when Johnny whistled at you from across the hall.

He tolerated your husbands, but only just.

Simon couldn’t look at it without remembering your hand brushing over death’s brow like it was silk. Kyle swore the thing glared at him every time he touched your elbow. Johnny made jokes, tried to offer it dried fruit, only to have Thrain snort directly in his face and blow his mohawk-braid loose.

But never you.

Never once did it bare its fangs to you.

Thrain was silent at your side, looming like a second shadow in the throne room, ever behind your chair, because no one had the courage or audacity to say it shouldn’t be allowed inside. When you took solitary picnics- because even with jewels and titles and sharpened fae smiles, you were still lonely- he followed.

You’d sit beneath the weeping trees, skirts spread across the moss, fingers tangled in the vines as your voice hummed old, human songs, and he’d curl his massive body around you. His head, crown of dripping antlers and all, would lower into your lap. You’d scratch behind his ears, resting your cheek against the dry velvet of his muzzle like he wasn’t made of nightmare and ruin.

Sometimes you’d whisper to him.

Your secrets.

Your weariness.

The truth you wouldn’t dare breathe to your husbands.

Because even now- even with John’s gaze growing hungrier by the day, even with Kyle’s hand brushing yours too long beneath shared parchments, even with Simon’s brooding presence lurking protectively near and Johnny’s restless, nervous laughter softening when you were tired-

You didn’t know if they loved you.

The human you; the one who had no glamour in her blood, no ancient fire in her bones.

But Thrain did.

And sometimes, that was enough.

[kittenintheden]

When I Think About You

surprise jorkin it PWP fic drop lol. enjoy.

Rating: Explicit Pairing: Astarion/Reader (You) Word Count: 1550 Content: 18+, jealousy, voyeurism, masturbation, mutual masturbation (sort of?), pillow humping, gender-neutral Tav/Reader

AO3 Link

You went to bed early tonight.

Well, earlier than you typically do. Not that Astarion has been paying you much attention. Hardly any, really. You’re just easy to miss.

Notice. You’re easy to notice. Because you’re so obvious.

Obviously annoying, obviously infuriating, obviously determined, and obviously infatuated with him. True, that had been his goal, but hells, you could blush a little less at his come-ons. Even if it does look cute on you.

Not that he thinks you’re cute. Not really.

The others are packing up their gear and turning in for the night. Astarion will take first watch like he typically does, have a quick trance, and get up in the early morning hours for a hunt. Easy. Routine.

So what if he’s falling into a routine with these people. It makes things simpler.

He should check on you. Just to make sure you’re not ill. For his health more than yours. These days, a headache could mean a rapid onset of calamari face. He’s doing everyone a favor, honestly.

When he approaches your tent, his steps slow to a stop as his ears pick up noise from inside your tent. You aren’t asleep.

And by the sound of it – and it’s a sound Astarion knows well – you aren’t alone.

He huffs an irritated breath through his nose. Gods damn it. He really thought he had you in the bag. There’s a shard of something sharp lodged beneath his rib. Annoyance, probably. Disappointment that he’s back to square one. Bitterness that he lost another competition, even when he’s doing what he does best.

Astarion turns to walk away. Takes three steps. Stops. Turns his head back toward the sound.

Who is it?

Who are you with?

He has his suspicions, but might as well take a quick peek to verify. His steps as he approaches are catlike. Not that you’d notice anyway, preoccupied as you are. He won’t look much. Only enough to see who stole his prize.

His mark. Who stole his mark.

Astarion pauses at the far side of your closed tent flap and finds a gap in the cloth. He leans in, eyes keen in the dark, and his mouth goes dry when he sees your hips grinding against someone, the length of your body pressed tight to theirs while you move over them. A blanket covers you both, but it doesn’t hide the passion of your movement.

He jerks his head away, a ball of tension aching in his gut. Ridiculous. He should go kill something. He walks toward the woods.

And stops with a sigh.

Astarion hates himself for it, this burning curiosity to know exactly who you’re riding so enthusiastically. Steeling himself, he creeps back and peeks once more through the split in the fabric.

You’re sitting up, now, showing him the long line of your spine in the center of your bare back as your hips continue to work. Every puff of breath through your lips is desperate, occasionally lilting up in a breathless moan.

Astarion worries his lip between his teeth. The muscles beneath your skin ripple, your blood thrumming so close and smelling so much of you, sweetened with the scent of arousal. If you’d just lean a little one way or the other, he could see who’s working you so… so…

There’s a flash of heat in his core followed by a sparking current of electricity, setting everything alight. He’d been doing his best to ignore the steady swell of his cock, but ignoring it is no longer an option as he goes hard as stone, the length of him straining toward his hip bone. Subconsciously, he cants his hips into the empty air and finds absolutely no relief. He has to swallow back a soft moan of his own.

The rolling globes of your arse are shaped perfectly beneath your thin wool blanket. Sharp, rocking thrusts against your playmate, against whichever lucky wretch currently feels the sticky heat of you while he watches.

Astarion lets his hand drift to the front of his breeches and sucks his breath in through his teeth when his palm grazes firmly over the covered head of his cock.

 You run a hand up your side and feel your own chest, maintaining your rhythm as you whimper.

Astarion’s fingers move to loosen his laces, lips parted as he begins to softly pant.

Your hand moves back down and you’re… yes, you’re putting your fingers between your legs, and you throw your head back with a gasp.

His fingers dip below his waistband and he curls in on himself with a huff as he takes himself in hand and begins to pump. Once, twice… ah, gods, that’s nice.

Though being under you would be even nicer.

Lucky sod. Who is it?

The blanket slips down over the curve of your arse, falling to one side and his breath catches as he realizes he’s about to get his answer.

Fabric falls aside and your incredible arse is grinding back and forth. You’re riding yourself to absolute delirium with…

A spare bedroll.

Astarion’s hand stutters to a stop and he doesn’t even breathe as realization hits him. You weren’t with someone else at all. The whole time, you’ve been furiously fucking yourself, grinding needily against your bedding for relief.

And somehow, some way, that makes him even harder. He mouths “oh, fuck” and goes back to stroking himself with renewed vigor. 

You’re desperately aroused, no longer trying to quiet your whimpers as you work your hips in circles against the bedroll while you rub yourself at the same time, your shoulders flushed with need. Your body undulates in wave after wave and Astarion feels quite certain that if he were inside you right now, he’d have come already. He puts his free hand over his mouth, pressing his palm to his lips to keep quiet.

You make a frustrated noise and swing your leg off the bedroll, and for a brief alarming moment, Astarion thinks you’re about to give up, and there’s no way he could let that stand. For either of you.

But then you shove the bedroll away with a huff and flop onto your back without opening your eyes, which is good news for Astarion, since you’d almost certainly see the silhouette of him outside your tent if you were paying attention. Instead, you spread your legs wide and give him a glorious view as one hand returns to its place between your legs and is quickly joined by the other.

Astarion shudders out a breath, the sound thankfully masked by your own rapid pants as you stroke yourself with one hand and trace around your entrance with the other. When you push two fingers inside and begin to pump in and out, Astarion’s knees threaten to give out as he picks up his pace. The tide of pleasure in his core rises and threatens to crest.

Gods, gods, he isn’t even fucking you and you’re still going to make him come before you do.

Your pretty little moans are too much. Your furrowed brow, your flushed cheeks, the way your thighs twitch and your belly shivers with the pleasure you’re lavishing on yourself. What a beauty you are, what a treat, what a-

“-arion,” you whisper, so quietly that he nearly misses it.

“Hah,” he breathes, his pleasure shuddering right on the edge of its peak. His mind must’ve filled that in. There’s no way you said what he thought you said.

He presses his face to the split in the fabric and leans against the tentpole, jerking himself firmly as he watches you arch your back up off the ground, lifting your hips into the air again, again, again, until your hands slow.

“Oh, Astarion,” you whisper just before you slam back down to earth and groan out your release, your slick making your skin shine in the low light.

“Sh-”

Astarion slams his hand over his mouth and ducks to the side, sinking silently to the ground around the corner of your tent just before he creams himself, a pulse of spend striping the ground beneath him, followed by another, and another. His head hangs heavily before him as he catches his breath and dazedly tries to piece together what the fuck just happened.

He sits back, chest heaving and ears ringing.

Then whips his head to the side when he hears you stir inside the tent and tentatively say, “... Hello? Is someone there?”

Astarion holds his breath, which does not help with his current state of floaty lightheadedness.

Then you say, “... Astarion?”

And the sound of his name on your lips sends another ripple of pleasure through him as his cock pulses and drips one last time for good measure.

It takes a minute, but you eventually convince yourself you were hearing things and settle down to sleep, presumably in a more relaxed state than when you first retired. Astarion waits until your breathing slows before he sneaks away, silently tucking himself back into his clothes.

He holds his breath the entire time.

On the other side of camp inside the safety of his own tent, he releases it in a rush, running his unused hand through his curls as realization finally catches up to him.

“Oh, no,” he whispers.

[saintsanddevils]

Void & Omen

Bob Reynolds/Void x Fem!Reader

Summary: When you meet Bob, that deadly power inside of you stirs, recognizing something just as equally dark and powerful in him. After all, like calls to like.

Warnings/Tags: Thunderbolts movie spoilers, no use of Y/N, blood & gore, dark thoughts, soulmates, canon typical violence & swearing (series will contain eventual smut)

Author’s Note: Reader’s powers are inspired by “The Bonds That Tie” book series by J Bree.

Word Count: 5K

Also posted on AO3

Masterlist

Part Two • Part Three • Part Four

————

A Few Weeks Ago…

There is something wrong with me. There always has been. Something that sleeps beneath my skin, waiting, watching. It slithers and coils around me, settling in my ribs as I breathe. It raises its head when it senses the rising tension around me, ready to strike. But I can’t let it.

If I do, we’re all dead.

That’s why I’m here, strapped to a hospital bed in the middle of Malaysia, as far from home as I can get. The bindings around my wrists and ankles are tight enough to hurt, but it helps to keep the cloying fear at bay. The pain grounds me, reminding me why I’m here. Why I chose to be here.

The doctors and scientists run around me with clipboards and beeping monitors. They observe and report. They whisper and nod. I’m just something living and breathing before them, something expendable.

Maybe I always was.

You’re a murderer. You deserve worse.

I flinch, my wrists twisting against the bindings. These thoughts… They’ve been growing steadily darker and louder ever since…

I swallow. Breathing in and out, slowly, remembering what my shitty therapist from childhood used to instruct me to do when panic surged through me like a tidal wave I was drowning in.

I can’t let that happen, not here. I don’t want to hurt anyone. Not when they’re going to help me.

A familiar doctor catches my attention as she approaches my bed. Her smile and cadence reassuring. “It seems the results on your charts align with what we’re looking for. Everything is good to go. Are you ready to proceed?”

Nerves rumble in my gut through my veins, but I shove it far from my expression as I try to give her as much of a confident smile as I can. “Yes.”

She must see something in my face that has her smile wavering. She casts a quick look at the other doctors before stepping forward, leaning down to my eye level. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. It’s completely voluntary. You can opt out whenever you want, but after this, you won’t be able to say no. It’s no longer a trial period. This is the real thing. Something you can’t escape.”

Escape.

The word echoes in my mind like a familiar tune I’ve grown accustomed to all my life. Something I’ve heard, like a lullaby that reverberates through my skin and settles in my bones. I’ve been running for so long, escaping is all I know how to do.

But for once, I don’t want to escape.

I give her a firm nod, determination settling my nerves. “I’m sure. Trust me.”

She stares a moment longer before nodding, squeezing my hand before turning to the other doctors and speaking with them.

While they surround me, poking and prodding my skin with various needles, hooking me to machines, I’m reminded of lab rats. How they’re used for experiments to see if drugs would be harmful or helpful for the human body. I feel like a lab rat with the attention and cold distance they put between me and their research.

The poster I saw on the street last week for this trial was ominous and off-putting, but it didn’t stop hope from budding like a small seed growing in my sternum. It bloomed the moment I stepped into the building, volunteering for this medical research study on the human body.

After speaking with many different doctors, it seemed they could… help me. Fix me. Make me whole again.

For years, I’ve felt this hole in my chest where blood, muscle, and tissue should be. Instead, it’s something rotten and coiling, full of regret, devastation, and grief. It’s planted there ever since my sister died touching my skin after pulling my hair and calling me names. It grew and grew, poisoning me when fear controlled those around me. It was palpable, tasting bitter on the tongue. My parents feared me the most. Maybe that’s why their deaths sent me fleeing in the night, afraid and lost. Hoping to escape what I’ve become.

The doctors say whatever is inside of me can be cured. That this curse will no longer plague me.

As the anesthesia hits and my consciousness fades, that hope rings through me with a song so unfamiliar and poetic, I fall into the dark with open arms.

————

The In-Between…

The dark welcomes me, enveloping me as if we were old friends. I drift and dream.

And with dreams, come nightmares.

“What have you done?!” The words echo from a woman who looks so familiar, I can’t quite grasp exactly who she is.

A small body lies broken and lifeless before me, their eyes vacant and hollow, dripping black as if their tears are made of ink. Their skin glassy, as if they were a broken doll.

The woman continues to scream at me and when I stare back, she pales, stepping away from me. “What are you…”

I try to comfort her, stop her, help her, but she shoves away from me.

“This is your fault! You’re a monster!”

The dream morphs and fades, but the echo of the word “monster” rings through the dark. It’s only when the dream leaves that I realize the woman is my dead mother.

A new dream surfaces, this one just as suffocating. I’m trapped in a glass box. Sharp, needle-thin knives poking into my skin with every movement I make. Blood coats every inch of me, dripping from my skin. My eyes sting and my breaths come sharp and ragged. Voices echo outside of the box. I can barely make out the shapes of doctors and scientists and strange familiar faces all staring down at me.

“She deserves this.” One says, loud enough that it makes me flinch.

“Witch,” another spits.

“Murderer.”

“Monster.”

The term is so familiar, it doesn’t hurt as it should, but the knives ensure it does. They move, slowly, deliberately, sinking further into my skin. I scream and scream, but each word, every curse they hurl at me, it makes the blades cut deeper.

“She’d be better off dead.”

Tears fall fast down my cheeks, but it doesn’t stop the blinding pain from the sharp knives shredding me apart. Blood flowing down my limbs and pooling at my feet. Outside the box, they laugh and mock.

Please, I plead into the void. Please end this.

Please.

Something shifts. The hairs on my arms raise and there’s a strange sense of awareness. Like there’s something… other here.

Like I’m not alone.

“STOP.”

The dream-induced voices still at the command. When I look up from the puddle of blood at my feet, they’re gone. Shadows and dust in their wake.

When the pain disappears, so does the glass box and the blinding white room. Instead, raging wind caresses the stinging of my limbs. And when I glance down, the blood is gone. My arms and legs don’t sting or hurt. It’s all… gone.

In this new dream, I’m standing atop a cliff overlooking a restless sea.

This… This feels far more real than any dream before. Even before the blinding pain, this feels more solid. As if I’m actually here. The cold wind, sharp and unrelenting against my exposed skin. The clouds hanging heavily above with the smell of fresh rain in the air. It feels very real.

Too real.

“There you are.” A voice, deep and ominous, catches on the breeze.

I turn to find the dark silhouette of a man standing a few feet away. I can’t see any of his features, but it doesn’t matter. Something deep in my being tells me I know him. It pulls at my center, between my ribs, and I follow this feeling until I’m standing before him, staring up into a face dark and encased entirely in shadow. But his eyes… like living embers, they pierce into me. As if he, too, knows me. Feels as I do.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

I feel myself smile at the stranger’s words. As if his presence brings comfort where I was lost in chaos only moments before.

“You feel so…” I trail off, lost in the piercing ember of his gaze.

“Familiar?” If he could smile, I hear it in his voice.

I nod.

He steps closer, his hand raising to smooth back a strand of hair from my face. The touch is startlingly cold. But what’s frightening is how real it feels. Skin on skin. Fingertip to cheekbone.

This isn’t a dream. Or, at least, not a normal dream.

As if reading my thoughts or the emotions flitting across my features, he cups my cheek boldly. The touch feels so natural, I lean into it. His skin settling whatever rages deep within my chest.

“We are bound, you and I,” his words are whispered, soft and claiming. “Two souls meant to be intertwined for eternity. You were never meant to be alone. You will never be alone. Not while I exist.”

I close my eyes. Tears burning up my throat, threatening to fall. All I’ve ever been is alone. Entirely alone. I’m so sick of it.

“This isn’t real,” I whisper back.

His other hand is there, firm against my other cheek. He holds me, caresses me, like something precious. Like something whole. Like something worthy of affection.

“It’s not real, you’re right,” he says. “But soon enough, it will be.”

I furrow my brows. “What do you mean?”

His fingers reach to smooth the skin.

“I will find you, outside of this dream, this… in-between. And when I do,” he steps closer, forehead touching mine. “I will never let you go.”

The promise settles in my bones with a certainty I hope to hold on to.

“You’ll find me?” The hope is clear and whisper thin in my voice.

He nods against me, lips close to mine. “In every life, in every universe. Always.”

————

Present Day…

I wake in a panic. Lungs bursting as my eyes open to find I’m locked inside something that resembles a casket with a glass lid. It’s too dark to see clearly as my fingers flatten against the plexiglass, stifling anxiety clawing at my skin. Beads of sweat coat me like oil as I push and push at the glass.

Get out get out get out—

With one last shove, the lid is thrown open and crisp air hits me. I breathe deep as I crawl out of the strange crate, falling to the hard floor. Nausea rips through me and I’m hurling everything in my gut onto the floor.

There’s noise and voices around me, farther away, but I don’t care. My entire body is slumped and aching on the concrete floor. When I finally gain my senses and feel more present, I scan my surroundings. Various crates and boxes pile high around the strange casket I was lying in. The outline of my body is still there and monitors beep and sound as I try to stand. My legs are shaky, breaths coming rapidly, but I’m here. I’m… alive.

Why is that such a shock?

I stare down at the casket, trying to recall how I got there. The last thing I remember…

I remember lying on a table, talking to scientists and doctors about my condition. About the trial they would put me through. I remember strange dreams… but as I reach for them, they fade from my grasp. Typical.

“I-I-I’m Bob,” a voice sounds from farther in the room, but it’s so familiar, I still. “I told you, I’m, uh… Yeah, Bob.”

“Jesus Christ, stop saying Bob.” Another voice huffs in annoyance.

On shaking legs and bare feet, I creep around a stack of crates to find a group of strange-looking people. Three of them are dress heavily in gear and armor, guns pointed at a man in hospital garb, similar to my own. His dark wavy hair hangs in his face, framing pale features as he holds his hands up in surrender. His hands shake and his voice trembles as he stands there, watching as the three others bicker.

Something is frighteningly familiar about this man. Maybe that’s why I step forward without thought. When my feet move a gun shell on the floor, it alerts the others to my presence.

Guns whip around and are pointing at me within seconds.

“What the hell?” A tall man with a shield and mask shakes his head. “How many of these guys are in here?”

The short blonde woman near him points her gun at my head. “Who are you?”

I furrow my brows, raising my hands in surrender like the other guy. “Who are you? I just woke up in this place and I barely understand what’s going on.”

She slightly lowers her gun, most likely sensing I’m not truly a threat. Before she can answer, the other woman, this one with dark hair, strides forward. “I’m not sure what’s happening here, but you’re all exhausting, and my job is done.”

She tries to move away towards the large doors, but the blonde raises her gun at her. “Well, see my job is to keep an eye on you. So no, you’re not going to go anywhere, anymore.”

While they bicker and threaten, I lower my hands and glance over at the other guy— Bob, if I heard him correctly earlier. He’s staring at me with furrowed brows and pinched lips. When our eyes meet, something inside of me, that thing that coils beneath my skin, stirs.

How do I know him?

“Okay,” the blonde’s voice catches my attention as she points her gun away, raising her hands. “It’s clear we have all worked for Valentina in some sort of shadow ops capacity.”

Who the hell is Valentina?

I look back at Bob and he’s still staring at me, lost and confused. When I catch his eye, he looks swiftly away, fingers twitching as he shifts from foot to foot. Something in me wants to step forward and smooth the confusion from his face, reassuring him. That scares me more than the guns and weapons still being pointed in this room.

“Yeah, so?” The masked guy speaks up with obvious annoyance.

“So, all of this stuff is O.X.E.’s secrets. But, so are we.”

I look around at the crates. Secrets… O.X.E. was the name of the company I trialed with. I didn’t think much of it at the time, just hopeful that someone could help me. Maybe even save me.

I catch sight of another open casket not far from the doors, but this one isn’t mine. My eyes flit to Bob again, to the matching patient clothes I also wear. He looks just as disoriented and cautious as I do. Did he do the trial as well? What did he want? To become something more?

He’s no longer looking at me, but I can sense he’s still very much aware of me. Every breath I take. Just as I am of him. Instead, he watches the armed group come to a steady realization.

The dark haired woman nods her head. “Which makes us liabilities that no one would miss.”

“Well, speak for yourself.” The masked man, who’s really starting to annoy me, scoffs.

“Don’t you see? We are the evidence and this is the shredder,” the blonde emphasizes. “She wants us gone.”

They continue to argue, but it seems they won’t kill each other anymore. At least, for now.

As they talk and bicker, something inside of me shifts. The air begins to smell of sulfur, the temperature slowly rising. It’s subtle enough that normal human senses can’t tell the difference, but it’s enough to make me still, assessing. I glance around, noticing the large vats in the ceiling above us. They’re big enough to take up the entire roof.

Just as I realize what we’re standing in, it dawns on me. That thing inside of me, the thing I’ve felt beneath my skin, in my ribs, in my head— it’s still there.

They… I swallow, panic creeping up my spine at an alarming rate. They didn’t cure me.

The blood drains from my face as I step back, bumping into a crate. The group stills at the sound, whirling to me with various alert expressions.

“What’s going on with her?” The dark haired woman questions.

And suddenly, that thing in my chest, in my head, in my skin, it talks to me.

Her name is Ava Starr.

I almost fall backwards at the sound. I stare wide eyed at the woman. At Ava.

“Okay, you’re really starting to freak me out.”

My head swivels to the masked man and the voice is back. John Walker, former Captain America.

My chest begins to vibrate with heaving breaths. The room feels entirely too small and an incessant pounding continues in my ears. I grip at my chest, wondering if I rip at my skin and muscle, tearing at the bone, I can finally take whatever is inside of me, out.

“Breathe.”

The word echoes in my head, but it’s not my own. Not the same voice that was speaking before. No, this one is deeper, masculine.

My eyes catch on Bob again. Only this time, he’s staring at me with a level, sure gaze. Something steady and sure. Something grounding.

That thing inside me stills. It breathes at the command. It releases the tension in my muscles, the shaking in my limbs. It steadies me.

Whatever beast or monster hidden beneath my skin is tamed by that voice. And it’s curious and awake, vibrating in my chest like a living thing.

I ignore the feeling, hoping it goes away as I tear my gaze from him. Hoping this strange feeling of wanting to be closer to him will dissipate.

The blonde with the heavy accent raises a brow at me. “You alright?”

Yelena Belova, former Red Room assassin.

“We need to get out of here,” I whisper, but it’s loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.

The masked guy, John, shakes his head. “Yeah, no shit.”

“No,” I shake my head. “Can’t you feel it? The temperature is rising. It’s getting hotter in here.”

The group looks around before seeing the open vats above us.

“I think we’re in an incinerator,” Ava confirms.

“They’re going to burn us,” Yelena nods. “Destroy the evidence.”

“How would you know?” John calls out, clearly annoyed.

She gives him a bland look. “Why else would she send us here to kill each other? We’re obviously everything Valentina doesn’t want tied to her. We’re expendable.”

Dread pools in my stomach at the notion. Burning alive is not how I envisioned how I would die.

“Well,” Ava sighs. “I’m not sticking around to burn.”

In seconds, Ava is gone. Disappearing entirely as if she were a ghost.

Suddenly, blaring alarms ring through the room. I curl into myself, holding my hands over my ears. The sound rattles whatever is in me and the veins in my arms catch my attention. They shift from their normal blue to a deep navy to black before shifting back to normal again. It’s constant as the alarm rings and pulses against my skin.

I stare in horror. What the hell?

When the alarm finally stops, I glance up to find Bob is closer to me. His dark eyes are on me, on my arms, and I notice a strange gleam in his eyes that flashes before sputtering out like a dying fire.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

I stare a moment longer, wondering if I imagined the flaring ring of light in his eyes. I slowly nod. “I’m fine.”

He stays assessing me, as if… as if he’s ensuring I really am alright. As if he truly cares.

Ava is now shaking and holding her own ears in front of the still-sealed door. She pants before turning to the rest of us.

“Thanks for that,” John huffs. “Looks like none of us are leaving.”

Just as he says that, the lights flicker and new light casts the room in dark crimson. The air begins to fill with the smell of sulfur and ash. A clock begins to tick in the room. Red numbers next to one of the doors starts to count down. And it’s going incredibly fast.

John sighs. “Okay, fine, it’s an incinerator.”

“Oh boy,” Bob huffs, staring up at the ceiling. “That is no way to go.”

“How would you like to die today, Bob?”

Yelena shakes her head. “We’ll need to find a way out. Look around, we have to find some sort of panel or something to open the doors.”

Bob holds a hand out to me, gesturing to help me up from my crouched position.

“Thanks,” I murmur as I reach to take his hand.

The second our skin touches, my eyes dilate and the hair on my arms raise, goosebumps spreading up my limbs. A spark of vibrating energy pulses between us. Something living and tangible. It stirs whatever lies dormant inside of me.

Like calls to like, it whispers.

Bob searches my eyes, his are just as dilated and wide. His lips part, an exhale escaping him as he stares.

“Why do I feel like I know you?” He whispers.

I hesitate, but the confession slips from me like water through fingers. “You feel it too?”

He nods, his hand tightening around mine. “It’s strange. I don’t think we’ve ever met, but,” his eyes scan my face and it feels as if he were softly touching every part he’s looking at. “I feel like I’ve known you for a very long time.”

My breath catches.

And then, he smiles, nervous and small, a huff of laughter escaping him.

“What?”

He shakes his head. “It’s funny, every part of me tells me I know you, but I don’t even know your name.”

A small smile spreads on my lips. I whisper my name and the sound must resonate something in him cause he whispers it back, tentative and gentle. Almost reverent.

“And you’re Bob,” I smile wider. I nod to the clothes he’s wearing. “Looks like we both were looking for something more in our lives and didn’t expect this to happen instead.”

His smile freezes, eyes hardening before he swallows. “What makes you think that?”

I hesitate again, but this time, I willingly let him see that vulnerability. “I was looking for something more, too.”

He stares at me, questions flitting across his gaze.

“I found something!”

We both turn, our hands drifting apart and the live-wire energy dissipating as we find Yelena and Ava trying to open a panel on the side of one of the doors. When we make our way over, John punches the wires with his shield and Ava disappears again, shifting through the metal door.

The seconds begin to count down and the heat rises in the room. Fire and smoke start to sputter from the vats above. Unconsciously, I back into something solid behind me. Bob. His shoulder bumps into mine and his sturdy presence at my back is reassuring, calming the rising panic of being trapped in a room waiting to burn us all alive.

The clock flares in our peripheral, counting down, down, down, and the door still hasn’t opened.

“She’s coming back, right?” John’s question is full of broken hope.

My hands start to tremble, fear coursing through my veins. I can’t die here. I don’t want to die.

The thought must’ve been said aloud because Bob’s hand is sliding into mine, squeezing.

“You’re not going to die.” That voice, his voice, says in my mind. “I won’t let you.”

That pulsing energy between our skin continues at the touch. It’s comforting in this moment, even as the ticking of the countdown echoes through the room.

00:05

Bob steps closer, his torso encasing my back as the fire begins to burn brighter in the vats above.

00:04

I feel him tense, readying himself. His hand tightening in mine.

00:03

When I turn my face to look up at him, his eyes are already on me.

At least I won’t be alone.

00:02

The door screeches open, startling all of us. Ava stands before the control panel, gesturing for us to run.

Bob grips my hand tighter in his as we bolt. He pulls me with him while we run through the doorway, following after the others. I grip him tighter, ensuring we never let go.

When the incinerator fully ignites, torching everything in its wake, the pressure and velocity of the raging fire throws us all off our feet, flying forward. Rocks and stone crash above as my body slams into a wall harshly, bones and neck cracking against stone before I slump to the ground. Consciousness fades in and out, my head and body pounding with sharp bolts of pain. Just as the dark claims me, the last thing I feel is Bob’s calloused hand still cradling my own.

————

The In-Between…

I wake to the sound of screaming. The room is blinding white, fluorescent lights flickering above. It smells of antiseptic and something metallic. When the light dissipates, I see someone lying on a table, their small body convulsing. Their hair whips around as their restrained limbs and skin pulse with creeping black veins.

Realization dawns on me as I step closer.

It’s… it’s me. But I’m… much younger.

I remember this. I was nine when my power came into being. When it consumed me like a poison and sprang out of me like a disease.

Tears flow down her small cheeks as she struggles, a piece of cloth tied in her mouth to try and keep her screams quiet. I try to run forward, to help her, free her, but I’m frozen in place, my feet stuck to the floor. Something is keeping me from her.

In the corner of the room, a shadow bleeds from the white walls. It’s darkness dripping like ink as it spreads along the floor and tile. It stretches, like a hand, across the floor until it reaches younger me. She stills for a moment, before her eyes roll back into her head, veins bulging. I stare in horror as those veins begin to darken before black pulses along her skin to the beat of her heart.

I try to step away, to leave, but my legs won’t let me. I’m stuck in place, forced to watch.

From the shadows, something bleeds into the room, rising from it as if it were a doorway. They’re covered in the darkness, but it’s thick like ink or oil, dripping from their hair and skin. When the figure moves, I’m struck with the familiarity of their movement.

When their eyes meet mine, I shrink back. Their eyes are glowing chips of onyx, a black void as they stare back at me. But it’s not their eyes or features dripping in the black liquid, it’s the familiarity of their face and body. I’d know them anywhere.

Because it’s me.

I stare at myself with abject horror as they cock their head to the side, assessing me as if I were prey.

When my younger self convulses again on the table, it catches the creature’s attention— my attention. That thing that is-me-but-isn’t-me slithers forward, hovering over younger us. And that’s when I see it. The fading light emanating from the little girl’s chest. It’s faint, but brilliant. I see my other self hone in on that light.

“Stop!” I shout.

The other me stills, it’s slimy gaze meeting mine. “You cannot stop what is inevitable.”

I shake my head. “This isn’t real.”

It smiles and it’s something I’ve never seen on my own face. Something feral and hungry. “What makes you think it’s not?”

Younger me’s skin is ashen now, her dark veins bulging.

“What are you doing to her?” I try to step forward, but I’m held back, again.

The other me shrugs. “What you were born to become.”

The smell of rot and decay fill the air as the creature’s fingers trail a path up her small arm. Wherever it touches, the skin dies, withering. Nausea rises in my gut as younger me tries to twist away from her, but it’s no use. The light in her chest sputters. And when her eyes meet mine from across the room, I watch as a tear falls to the floor, her mouth gasping through uneven breaths.

“Stop!” I scream. “Stop you’re hurting her!”

The other me, the creature, tsks. “Always trying to be the hero.” It looks at me again and this time, it’s something final and knowing, like an omen. “You’ll never be the hero. You’re the one they all fear. What they’ll always fear. All you can do is embrace it.”

Her hand punches through the little girl’s chest and blood sprays the table and wall. Her scream reverberates off the walls as the monstrous version of me tears the light from her chest.

When its hand rises from the bone and muscle, blood drips down the pale skin, mixing with the strange dark liquid already coating its limbs. And in the creature’s hand, something shines bright and brilliant, like a diamond. It glitters and the light it casts feels almost sacred.

And the little girl is still. Eerily still.

“No,” I choke out, hands shaking. “No, this is wrong. This isn’t how any of this happened.”

Those pitless eyes stare into the brilliant light with awe and raw hunger. “It does not matter. It’s what you are made for. Just like him.”

I still. “Who?”

It turns their head to me, those depthless eyes void of any emotion. “Like calls to like.”

Something emerges from the darkness behind the other me. It’s form tall and imposing, a silhouette of a man. His eyes glow with a strange ember, the only light in his body made of shadow.

This time, when I step back, my feet are freed from whatever force that kept me prisoner. I’m able to back away slowly as the shadowed man tilts his head to the side, watching me.

“There you are.”

That voice…

The walls start to fracture and shake, groans echoing as the room begins to stir. The lights flicker above and everything starts to vibrate beneath my feet. The brilliant light still cradled in the hands of the dark version of me begins to sputter until it’s dim and fading. The other me takes one last look at me, scrambling against the wall, before opening her mouth and swallowing the light whole.

I tear my gaze away, only to immediately find Bob standing there, eyes wide and terrified as he stares back. I open my mouth to question him, but the room continues to crack and shake violently. The floor heaves and gives and a fissure opens beneath me, hurtling me into a swirling dark void below.

The last thing I hear is Bob screaming my name before the darkness swallows me whole.

Part Two

[megalony]

Nurse Nightingale

This is a new Evan Buckley imagine that I had a little idea for. I hope you will all like it, please let me know what you think.

Any feedback is always appreciated. And I am thinking about doing a follow up or two for this one.

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@teenwolfbitches28 @mandmilovehim @jooniesbears-blog

Evan Buckley Masterlist

Summary: When Evan's leg gets crushed by the fire truck, no one can calm him down or ease his agony. Except one nurse who has a magic touch, and she happens to be the only person Evan will listen to while in hospital.

Enjoy.

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

"We're here! Let's get him out!"

"You're gonna be alright. Just keep those eyes open, okay?"

It was too hard for Bobby to try and force a smile onto his face. The only expression he could muster was a twisted look of anguish that made his lips wobble and pull down at the corners and had him close to tears.

He slid his hand down and tried to grip Evan's hand, but it didn't seem to be the right move when Evan clenched Bobby's hand so tight that he cut off his circulation. His nails punctured into the back of Bobby's hand and the Captain could almost feel the agony rolling from Evan through him in large waves that were all consuming and frightening.

And when Bobby dared to look down a the end of the stretcher, he hated the sight he was met with.

Dramatic chunks of flesh that had been hacked apart and looked like a butcher's dream. A gut-wrenching sight where skin and muscle had been split apart and the bone was visible even to the untrained eye. Bobby could see breaks in the bone and splinters of bone pushing out at odd angles. He could see through the gauze that was moulding into Evan's wound from soaking up all the blood that the strap around his thigh couldn't cut off.

It didn't look good.

Both Eddie and Hen had been doing their best to make him comfortable on the ride down here, but it was hard. They couldn't give him any morphine, not when he was going to need X-rays and scans and an emergency operation. Morphine and anaesthetic didn't always mix well and Evan had a bad track history with medications causing severe reactions.

All they could give him was the gas and air tube to breathe through and although it had done nothing to take the edge off, Evan had been breathing it in since the moment they got him in the ambulance. His teeth had punctured through the plastic tube they were going to have to replace.

"Let's get you inside, you're gonna be just fine." Hen's voice was soothing, but Evan couldn't believe her words.

He didn't feel fine.

He didn't feel as if he was going to be fine or make a swift recovery from this.

He felt like he was going to be put under anaesthetic and wake up with one leg. He could feel each piece of tattered skin desperately trying to cling to his leg. He could feel his leg pulsing and aching from where the blood supply had been cut off mid-way down his thigh. Evan felt like his body was on fire, his leg was disconnected and each breath was becoming harder to take.

When Eddie reached across to try and take the gas and air tube from his grip, a deep growl emmited from Evan's lips and he clenched his hand tight around the tube.

He pulled the strange looking tube back to his lips and inhaled three fast, choked breaths. The tubes were always switched and cleaned out after every use, but Evan had a feeling they would have to bin this one. He had chomped down so hard on the tube that he had left puncture indents in the plastic.

"No! It f-fucking kills-"

"Buck, you can have more pain relief once you're inside, I swear. Please, please we have to move you now." Eddie felt horrible when he had to prize Evan's fingers from the gas and air, he felt like he was taking the only air supply Evan had left like it was going to kill him to part with it.

He hated how desperate Evan was for some sort of relief that they couldn't give him and he hated the cry that choked past Evan's lips the moment Eddie managed to toss the tube to the floor so it was out of reach. But once it was out the way, Eddie swiftly kicked his foot out and clipped off the breaks so they could move him.

Bobby leaned down and took Evan's hand once they all climbed down and were on the move. He held Evan's hand high to his chest as Evan started to thrash around on the gurney.

His chest stuttered up and down and repeatedly pushed back to the point the gurney was shaking and about to unlock and lower down. His free hand curled into a fist and slammed into the metal frame harsh enough to split some of the skin around his knuckles.

He was in agony. He needed it to stop.

"No, pl- no… stop! Help!" A horrible sob broke free from Evan's lips when the gurney wheeled over the threshold into the emergency room. He couldn't get his thoughts in order. The one and only thing that was crystal clear in his mind was that he needed someone to make the pain go away. He needed it to stop. He needed help.

Bobby tightened his hand around Evan's and leaned down so he could talk to him better because he knew Evan was now having a hard time concentrating and taking things in. Who wouldn't in his state?

"We're getting you help Buck, the pain won't last much longer."

"I wa- I want-" Evan broke off into an animalistic howl when the gurney jolted over the threshold of reception and towards the cubicles and the shock sent his leg jerking. Shockwaves rattled up and down his spine and both legs shook as if he had been electrocuted.

He lifted his head and shoulders, doing his best to sit up although he wasn't sure what he was doing, he just wanted to move.

He wanted the pain to stop.

Tears flushed down his face and a broken sob left his lips as all the lights started to blur his vision and he could feel everything turning upside down and making him sway until his head flopped back down on the gurney.

Was he dying? Were his last moments going to be spent in the emergency room, holding onto the one person who had seen him through thick and thin during this job? Was his last moments going to be spent in crippling agony, clinging to Bobby's hand as he wished for everything to stop, for things to have gone differently?

Was Evan going to die at such a young age, with no one to leave behind? He had no family of his own. No partner, no children, no significant others to mourn his loss. He hadn't done enough with his life. He hadn't saved enough people, he hadn't made enough of a difference yet. Evan didn't want to die; his life was still unfinished.

Evan let out another sob while the team paused the gurney in the hallway and Eddie moved to flag someone down. This was a dire emergency, they needed a doctor here now and they needed Evan taken to theatre before he lost his leg.

"Trauma room five!"

That was all the team needed to hear and they made quick work of getting Evan into the room where at least three nurses were hovering around like flies. They seemed desperate to get a look at the wound so they knew exactly what they were going to be treating and which specialist they were going to have to call to sort this out.

Eddie hurried backwards, pulling the gurney along with him while Hen was on the other end pushing it forward and Bobby was beside them. Their Captain had changed tactics from holding Evan's hand to pinning his shoulders down to stop him from either trying to get up or rolling off the gurney. Evan's actions were uncoordinated and erratic, they didn't know what was going through his head or what he was trying to do.

Once the gurney was in place, Eddie's hands moved to his hips and he looked around the team, including Chimney who was stood towards the doors filling the nurses in on their situation.

How were they going to get him onto the bed? They couldn't move him from the gurney without giving him another wave of torture.

"Okay Buck, try and help us out here." Hen seemed to be speaking to herself rather than to Evan because he wasn't listening or paying any attention to her.

He didn't seem to realise that the buckle over his waist that had kept him secure on the gurney had now been unclipped. But he realised the moment Hen and Eddie were stood on either side of him and he felt their hands on his waist that they were about to move him.

"Off! Fuck off!"

A round of 'don't touch me' and 'leave me the fuck alone' spluttered past Evan's bloodied lips, causing everyone in the room to pause. He had been stuttering through the simplest of words since they got him in the ambulance, but now he was riled up he wasn't quieting down. And his expletives had been loud and clear.

He never swore. Evan never swore when the occasion called for it. When his parents mistreated him, when patients blamed him or lashed out at him. When someone started a bar fight with him and swung at him, when someone was rude to him and Christopher when they were out. Evan never swore or lashed out, he let people shout and swear at him without lashing back because he was such a laid back and easy-going person.

For him to be hitting them and swearing at them showed just how much agony he was in and how this torture was hacking away at his mind and making him delirious.

His arms thrashed at his sides and he fought off the hands trying to push him back down on the gurney.

They needed him off the gurney and onto the bed, but Evan wasn't making any of this easy. The more Evan thrashed around, the harder he would make it on his leg and the more pain he was going to give himself. Not to mention moving and disrupting his leg could cause damage to the split blood vessels and torn muscles and the bone that was splintered in multiple places.

The nurses hovering around seemed intent on staying out the way. They could see that it would be easier if Evan's own team transferred him onto the bed, he might not fight quite as much and he might be more comfortable with them than with strangers.

But it was going to be a long night if Evan was going to be fighting this much about being moved a few feet. He was being lined up for a portable X-ray, his leg would be assessed, packed and checked for the kind of surgery he would need. He had to be hooked up to monitors and then they would get him on medication.

Hen and Eddie busied themselves carefully twisting Evan onto his right side so they could place a slip sheet beneath him but once he was rolled onto his back again, his hands were moving. He smacked Eddie in the shoulder with a surprising amount of force before he fisted Bobby's shirt in his hands.

"Make. It. Stop."

"Buck, if you want the pain to stop you have to let us move you." Bobby held his arms while Eddie and Hen pulled the sheet on the count of three.

Evan screamed. His voice crumbled and the sound pierced through the air when he was jostled onto the trauma bed and the gurney was shunned out of the way.

The agony short-circuited his mind and had his thoughts tumbling out of order and sent his blood curdling like sour milk. How long had he been like this? How bad was his leg? Was it going to be amputated, or did they have chance of saving it? How much longer was he going to have to suffer like this?

His senses came back to him in one big hit like the truck had collapsed on him all over again when someone tried to touch his leg. And his left leg- the one that wasn't currently split open- automatically jerked and twitched from the pain that radiated throughout his whole nervous system that had been shot to pieces by now.

He did his best to sit up. He didn't want to be laid down because it was making him feel woozy and sick.

He felt a bit better when someone angled the bed up so he wasn't laid flat on his back. He was barely sitting upright and still felt mostly laid down, but it was better than nothing.

His upper lip curled and he huffed when someone started undoing the buttons on his shirt. What were they doing? Why were they stripping him down? His trouser leg had already been cut off near the bottom of his boxers to expose the full extent of his injuries. He gruffed and groaned when he was leant forward and his shirt was pulled off him completely.

But when cold stickers attached to his chest and wires clipped in place, he started to get uncomfy. The ECG machine beeped to life, showing his erratic heartbeat that was far too fast for his own good. And when a blood pressure cuff was slid onto his arm, Evan reeled his arms to his chest and closed his eyes.

The numbers were too high. He was getting more and more unsettled and he was going to crash if this carried on.

He barely felt the lady tapping the back of his hand and inserting a cannula into his vein.

"Help. Help me." His head angled back until he was imbedding the back of his head into the pillow and his elbows jammed down into the bed, arching his chest and back up off the bed.

"…blood thinners now, and get a dose of morphine ready. Get the leg in place for a quick X-ray, and I want the anaesthesiologist in here now."

A bubbling scream erupted from his lips and his body writhed when his right leg was moved. Their touch was tender and slow but Evan felt like his leg was hanging on by a single thread that was about to snap. He didn't like the foam blocks placed on either side of his leg to get a clear X-ray. He didn't like them moving the wires and straps around his fragmented skin to make the shot clearer.

And he hated the small, portable X-ray that was wheeled over his leg and felt like half of his body was stuck in a tanning machine.

All the surrounding bodies stepped back so pictures could be taken and every time his leg was adjusted, his split knuckles bashed into the bedframe and he screamed. Guttural, horrendous sounds vibrated past his lips and spit foamed around his mouth as his pain was amplified into sound.

Maybe it would be better if they just chopped the leg off. He wouldn't be in agony if they simply knocked him out and took it off. He wouldn't have this pain, this suffering, this agonising wait.

Blood and spit foamed past his lips and Acidic tears stained his already bloodshot cheeks as his chest started to shudder up and down against the bed.

He moved his trembling hands to the ECG wires that felt like they had been superglued to his chest. He ripped them off without a second thought and tried to throw them away. He snagged the cannula from his wrist, not caring that even more blood was leaving his body and was going to drain him dry. He had to make the pain stop or he had to die. Those were the only two viable options Evan could comprehend.

"Mr Buckley calm down. You need to let us help you."

"Buck no don't do that. Stop it!" There was an odd sense of authority in Hen's voice but it fell upon deaf ears.

"Kill me!" His words screamed through the air and had everyone wincing and jerking away from him. They weren't going to do that, but they could understand why he was begging them to end it. The pain was overwhelming and he wanted it to stop. They had to help him. They had to do something now.

But when one of the doctors grabbed Evan's wrist and shoulder and tried to pin him to the bed, all Hell broke loose. A deafening roar left Evan's lips, his body jerked up from the bed and he thrust his bloodied hand into the doctor's jaw.

The doctor stumbled back, knocking into the ECG machine before Eddie grabbed him, saving him from a harsh landing on the floor. Both his hands moved to cradle his jaw that had almost clicked out of place and spots danced before his eyes as he leaned into Eddie until his sights and senses came back to him.

He coughed into his hands, anger and resentment in his eyes before he looked around the room.

"Where the Hell is (Y/n)? She can handle trauma patients like him."

It was clear the team wanted to bite back and respond that Evan would be a model patient under any other circumstance. He wasn't naturally like this, these were exceptional circumstances with horrible agonising pain that he couldn't deal with.

But before the team could respond, the doctor was leaving the room with a hand cradling his bruised jaw.

He stormed through the emergency room, peeking into each room and cubicle he passed and he looked towards the nurse's station before his eyes finally set on the one person he knew could handle the trauma that was Mr Buckley.

"(Y/n)!"

Turning on her heels, (Y/n) looked around for the familiar voice of Logan, one of the doctors she didn't have much dealings with since he tended to stay out of the emergency room if he could help it.

When she locked eyes with him, her jaw went slack and she wasn't sure whether to smile or panic. Someone had punched him. He had blood smeared onto his jaw and mouth which was starting to swell and the veins in his neck were popping out in fury.

"Logan, what happened?" She set down the paperwork in her hand and headed towards him, but confusion was swarming her head.

Why was he asking for her? If he was hurt she wasn't exactly the first nurse he would go to.

"Trauma bay five. He's all yours."

A deep sigh left (Y/n)'s lips and her shoulders slacked. Great. She was being handed a patient that Logan clearly couldn't handle. She always got those cases. The drunks, the frightened patients, the ones who needed a psyche exam, they were all the patients who nobody else wanted to deal with and (Y/n) was left to calm them down.

She would admit she had a way with most of the patients, she seemed to have an aura they could associate with and she was a calming presence, but that didn't mean she always had to be the one to look after the patients.

She pointed her finger at Logan as she went to walk past him. "You're lucky I'm free; you owe me."

It was pure luck that she didn't already have a patient to care for, she was free at this moment and her break could be postponed to help a soul in need. But Logan was going to owe her for this. If she needed a shift swap he was going to have to pay up and agree no matter what day it was.

Her hand moved to her temple and she tried to rub away the migraine as she headed to room five. Not that she really needed the room number, the screams and havoc were leaking out into the hall and it was clear which room had the troubled patient.

Bobby dragged his hand through his hair and twisted to look at the doorway while Hen and Eddie moved over to Evan. Hen busied herself holding Evan's hips down to the bed while Eddie grabbed his wrists, bracing one knee on the side of the bed so he could lean over Evan and pin him down as he struggled.

A round of "No!" and "Fuck off!" was spat at them, but neither of them listened.

"This is for your own good, if you want that leg then stop fighting us."

The remaining doctor and nurses looked at the X-ray images, conferring together in the corner of the room about the damage to the bone. They were all in agreement. They could save the leg if the blood vessels could be repaired and the nerves were in tact, and judging by the way his leg jerked and reacted to stimulant, he had a chance.

"Give me your hand for the IV." Hen turned around with a huff and pinned the right side of her chest and hip down into Evan's abdomen to try and keep him still and in place.

She tried to take his hand when Eddie let go of his wrist, but she couldn't get a good grasp when Evan started throwing his arm out at her. He wasn't opposed to elbowing, hitting and punching his colleagues if they were going to continue pinning him to the bed like this.

They were lucky he hadn't been restrained to the bed already for punching a doctor. Bobby was going to have to have a few conversations and do some pleading to make sure the doctor didn't sue or try and cause problems for Evan after this. But the doctor hadn't seemed vengeful, he seemed to understand that Evan was acting out of trauma and the worst agony of his life.

With a deep breath and a new pair of gloves snapped onto her hands, (Y/n) walked into the room. She took a moment to look at the chart and the name of the person she needed to assess and help before she weaved around who she presumed were his colleagues with how frantically concerned they were for him and how they hadn't left his side yet.

"Alright mister Buckley, if you want that surgery you're going to need some help. Will you let me help you?"

(Y/n)'s voice broke through the air and caused the few people around her to step back as if she were a Goddess walking amongst them. Her hands settled on the bedframe and she pushed up on her toes so she was leaning close to the patient. Not enough to overpower or frighten him, but enough so he could see her face and see that she was a helping hand, not someone here to hurt him and cause him further agony.

He finally stopped writhing and lashing out at those trying to keep him stable on the bed and he cracked his eyes open just enough to see (Y/n) through the halo of light that surrounded her.

The meek mumbling of "Help," was all Evan could spit out and it was all (Y/n) needed to smile and rest a hand on his forearm.

He looked worse than she expected. His leg was split apart with torn muscles and ligaments breaking free and a broken bone that had fractured into smaller broken pieces that were going to be Hell to put back together again. He looked like a fragmented puzzle and if all the pieces weren't there, they might not be able to make something else fit in their place.

"Alright then, let's get you back to normal."

Her voice was so soft, so lulling that Evan let his eyes fall closed and he gave in to the shaking in his system. He was vibrating as he writhed and trembled from side to side, but he was a lot less volatile now that he wasn't fighting and hitting at everyone around him.

She could feel how flushed he was as she pressed the back of her gloved hand against his temple, and he smelt of smoke and dirt and burnt rubber. An odd combination for the emergency room.

"Has he had any morphine?" (Y/n) looked up while she carefully took Evan's left hand in hers and started to clean the blood so she could see where the cannula had been before he clearly ripped it free from his vein.

"Not yet."

"No wonder he's fighting you." Her words were quiet because she wasn't chiding anyone, but it was clear he was fighting because of the untold pain he was in. His leg was torn in half and they expected him not to put up a fight when each little movement felt like they were sawing him apart.

She expertly slid the cannula back into his hand and when the nurse opposite her handed over some tape, (Y/n) taped it in place before she laid his hand back down on his chest.

"I won't disrespect you by asking how bad the pain is. Let's assume it's one hundred and give two doses of morphine, how does that sound?"

(Y/n) was as gentle as she could be when she lifted Evan's eyelids and shone a light across his pupils that were already constricted, but they were still adjusting well to light. She wouldn't be so rude as to ask how much pain he was in because it was clear he was at the top of the pain scale. He needed morphine now and then he would need anaesthetic and they could get him to surgery.

"Please." Was the only word Evan could fathom and before he could stop himself, he reached his shaking hand up and clamped it down around (Y/n)'s arm.

She paused briefly, unsure whether he was going to ask for something else or if he was just seeking reassurance or if indeed he might lash out at her and tell her to leave him alone too. But his grip tightened on her arm and he pulled her closer. He wanted help. She was helping him. She was being kind to him. He needed her assistance.

Once the nurse opposite (Y/n) had given Evan two doses of morphine, (Y/n) began to attach the monitoring stickers back to his chest and she kept an eye on his heartbeat.

"How are his nerves?"

(Y/n) couldn't stop herself from smiling when she heard Evan mutter "They're broken," through gritted teeth. So he still had some sense of humour left within him even in his state.

"Oh, I don't think so. Let us check for nerve response, and then we can get you anaesthatised and up to surgery. Okay?"

He nodded but still kept tight hold over (Y/n)'s arm which meant she had to twist and press her left hip into the bed frame so she could look towards his legs.

Her free hand moved down to his leg where the plastic strap was cutting tightly into his thigh to cut off the blood supply and she carefully pressed her hand down to keep his leg firmly in place.

"Try and hold still, I promise this won't take long." She murmured softly and squeezed his arm despite the little movement she had left in her hand that was going numb from his grip on her forearm.

(Y/n) watched carefully, along with the other people crowding into the room as the doctor began testing for nerve responses. He poked a small pin into various nerve points around Evan's leg, avoiding the tattered and broken skin but checking all around.

Each time the needle prodded his skin, Evan's leg twitched and he groaned. Spit froffed at his mouth and his head and shoulders pressed down into the bed, but he tried to steel himself and hold still. When a particular nerve sent his leg jolting, Evan snapped his eyes closed and let go of the nurse's arm in favour of grabbing her hand. He squeezed so tightly he felt her arm jerk and he was sure he had hurt her, but he couldn't find it within himself to let go.

He needed something to ground him, and right now, (Y/n) was that sense of gravity.

"Nerves are still in tact, and blood vessels look like they can be repaired. We have to move quickly. Get the anaesthesiologist in here now."

He needed to go straight to an operating room so they could start patching him up. If they didn't move quickly the blood vessels might not be repairable, hi leg couldn't survive much longer with no blood supply.

"Let's get you settled, hm?" (Y/n)'s voice was so lulling that Evan hummed and agreed but he had no idea what she was talking about.

He kept his eyes closed but he wouldn't let go of her hand, so it had to be the other nurse who got some medicine injected into his IV to settle his heartbeat. And she also prepared something for his blood pressure to get it lowered ready for surgery to take place.

"We can prep you now." (Y/n) ran her free hand up and down his arm from his wrist to his elbow and she squeezed his hand while the doctor asked his colleagues to leave the room.

Each of them leaned over to either squeeze his shoulder or whisper something in his ear, telling him they would be right here when he came out of surgery and that he would be just fine. Exactly what he needed to hear to keep him calm and settled.

He stayed compliant, but he did surprise all of them left in the room by coiling (Y/n)'s arm to his chest. He took deep wheezing breaths as he bound her arm against his bare, burning chest and clutched at her forearm with his free hand.

The anaesthesiologist checked Evan's chart while his leg was shifted and kept in place and the bed was lowered so he was flat on his back again.

"Okay Mr Buckley, once this is in your system, we'll get this mask on you and I'll need you to start counting for me. Don't worry, when you wake up your leg will be as good as new." The newest doctor seemed calm and attentive with a charming smile that Evan couldn't see as his eyes were tightly closed and he was clinging to (Y/n) like she was his lifeline that he couldn't bear to lose.

The doctor fiddled with the medicine trolley and once a large dose was in Evan's system to work with the anaesthesia, he found the mask and got the tank turned on.

Evan whimpered again, trying his best to wriggle and twist away, but he was far more compliant now and he was starting to become drowsy. He couldn't fight them even if he wanted to.

A quiet "Let me," passed (Y/n)'s lips as she took the mask and gently held it over Evan's mouth and nose while the doctor asked him to start counting.

He didn't count like he had been asked, but he tried to mutter something which was as good as.

The shaking started to subside the more anaesthesia he inhaled until he was loosening his grip on (Y/n)'s hand and arm which would no doubt be bruised come morning. He began to drift into a calm, delirious state with the last thing he heard being that nurse's sweet lulling voice flooding his ears.

"You're gonna be okay."

***

Shivers coursed up and down (Y/n)'s skin when she felt a pair of hands clasping around her shoulders, pulling her onto her back foot with some enthusiasm.

Her head twisted to the left and she stepped away from the room he was just about to head into. Amy. One of the other nurses working on ward B today. She was holding onto (Y/n) with a bright smile and before she even spoke, she twisted (Y/n) away from the patient room she was about to enter and turned her to face the nurse's station instead.

"If this is your way of asking for a break, I can't. I have to change the dressings on Mrs Mitchell." (Y/n) pointed to the room she had been trying to enter and she smiled brightly as Amy finally let go of her shoulders.

If she wanted (Y/n) to take a break with her she was going to be let down. (Y/n) had patients to tend to and so did Amy, they would have to wait until lunch to have their next break.

Her arms folded over her chest and she waited while Amy's smile changed to that cheeky look with a glimmer of hope and pleading in her eyes that made (Y/n) narrow her eyes in curiosity.

"Actually, you have another patient who needs you more. Room eight."

For a moment, (Y/n) just stared at her friend who was no longer smiling and was now fully pleading with her for a patient swap. It wasn't as if they all had to care for the same patient every day, they were changed onto different wards and sent to the emergency room or the CT scans, they drifted everywhere in the hospital. But there weren't many times when anyone asked for a swap.

(Y/n) leaned around Amy and looked at the whiteboard on the far wall until she saw whose name was written down for room eight.

"Why?" Her arms folded over her chest and her head angled to one side as she waited for Amy to explain.

It was Mr Buckley in room eight. He wasn't a bad patient, he wasn't a fighter- only that one time two days ago in the emergency room when he was brought in. He didn't shout or swear anymore and he hadn't been rude or offended anyone. He was simply adjusting to a big set back in his life, a fireman with a severely broken leg wasn't going to be a happy patient.

"He's refusing any help, come on (Y/n) please? You got him under control in the emergency room, he might listen to you."

A quiet "Fine," tumbled past (Y/n)'s lips and her arms dropped from her chest as Amy grinned and hugged her.

"Thank you."

She didn't see why he was such a bad patient. He just needed people to be patient with him and talk to him. He needed people to understand where he was coming from and how life changing this was, he was in extreme pain and they were expecting him to be the model patient and not be upset or gruff or angry or rude.

When she entered the room, she quietly closed the door behind her and took a look at the notes. He was going to be signed up for physio next week, as they were expecting him to be in here for a little while before they could think about sending him home.

He hadn't gotten out of bed yet. They would need to get him up and mobile on his crutches because the sooner he was stable on his crutches, the sooner he could start his recovery. The pins in his legs were holding the bone together and as long as he kept his weight mostly on his good leg, he could walk around on crutches without any problems.

"Hi there," (Y/n) spoke softly when she noticed he had finally opened his eyes to see who was here.

He was sat up in bed, his arms folded over his chest and his head tilted to one side like he was about to topple out of bed. His right leg was held up in a sling to make him more comfortable, but he didn't seem too happy about that either.

At least he wasn't glaring or sneering at (Y/n). When he looked at her, his expression stayed mostly blank, but he didn't look unsettled or unhappy and (Y/n) counted that as a win.

"Alright Mr Buckley, are we getting up today?" (Y/n) rounded the bed and stood at his side with her hands on her hips and that same smile that Evan could see when he thought back to the pain that brought him here.

But her smile wasn't enough to lighten Evan's mood.

"No."

He couldn't find it in himself to turn his head away from her, but he adverted his eyes down to look at his hands. He didn't want to get up. He didn't want to fall on the floor or heave himself around or resort to crawling if he couldn't hold his weight up with a bum leg. Staying put and becoming a hermit seemed the easier option. At least until the team or Maddie came to visit and he was forced to sit up or move around.

But he couldn't stop sneaking a few glances at the nurse stood at his side. She was determined, he would give her that, and she didn't seem unhappy. The few times Evan had seen her since he had been here, she had always smiled in such a way that made his stomach turn to mush.

She was kind, she didn't get angry with him when he had shouted and screamed in the emergency room. She didn't tell him to stop or calm down, she didn't diminish the pain he had been in and she had understood his trauma.

Evan wouldn't give the other nurses the time of day. He wouldn't have them trying to drag him out of bed, he wouldn't listen when they told him to stop pouting or when they asked why he was so upset, as if they couldn't see the problem.

"And why not?"

Leaning forward, (Y/n) folded her arms on the plastic bedframe and arched her lower back out while she smiled across at him.

With how desperate he seemed to be to want to leave, she thought he would have been up moving about without help. (Y/n) thought he would be falling over, grabbing a walker, throwing his crutches and doing everything possible to try and get out of this bed and speed up his recovery. She hadn't expected him to be in a slump like this.

"Look at me." A grimace flooded Evan's face as he motioned to his leg.

He hated to look down at his leg and see that horrible plaster cast that went from the middle of his thigh right down to his foot. Only the very upper portion of his thigh and his toes were visible, the rest of his leg was in a cast. He couldn't itch his leg, he couldn't move his knee which was slightly bent to make it easier to move around in this stupid cast.

But when he looked up at (Y/n), he was surprised to see a grin on her face and see how she was biting down on her lower lip.

"I'm looking, and I see a big strong fireman perfectly capable to stand up if he accepts some help. Will you let me help you up please?"

As soon as her words registered in his ears he found himself looking her up and down. He was taller than her, he probably weighed two of her with all the training he had done this last year- training that he couldn't keep up until his leg was healed. He would overpower her if he was unbalanced and he would end up knocking them both to the floor and he could hurt her.

But the way she was smiling at him was making Evan's grimace disappear no matter how desperate he was to keep it plastered across his face.

He could feel his heartbeat increasing the longer she looked at him and he was relieved he was no longer on an ECG or she might have thought there was something wrong with him.

She was looking at him like the world wasn't ending when she knew it was. She knew what Evan did for a living and she must realise that a fireman with a bum leg wasn't going to be able to do his job. How could he do his job if he couldn't run? If he couldn't hurry in an emergency or carry someone on his shoulders or lift a heavy weight that was crushing someone or blocking an exit.

There was so much Evan wouldn't be able to do if his leg didn't gain back the strength he had before. If these pins didn't hold his bone in place and he lost his leg then he would lose everything.

But here was (Y/n), looking at Evan like he was the strongest, most mesmerising person she had ever seen. She looked at him like she couldn't see the cast on his leg and thought he could just get up and walk like he used to. She had faith in him that Evan didn't feel for himself.

"I think we can get you up."

Evan felt like he was turning to jelly and he watched, dumbfounded as she started to help him like this was their routine that they did every day.

His wide eyes focused on her as she carefully eased his cast from the sling elevating it from the bed. She didn't seem put out or weighed down when she manoeuvred his leg down onto the bed.

And Evan couldn't help but gasp when she took his hands. He couldn't stop himself from squeezing her hands even though he had no idea what she was trying to do. His parted lips began to blush while he let her move his hands to her shoulders so she could reach out for his legs and carefully swing them around over the edge of the bed. Now he was sitting up on the side of the bed and (Y/n) had moved herself in between his legs.

If this were a different situation, if he weren't crippled in hospital like this, he might have done something rash. He might have moved his hands from her shoulders to her waist. He might have pulled her closer or tried his luck with kissing her.

His hands squeezed her shoulders while he felt (Y/n)'s hands move to grip his underarms like she was bracing herself to take some of his weight. And he found himself letting out a short breath that almost sounded like a laugh.

"I'll hurt you, I can't lean on you." He shook his head as he looked her up and down and sank his teeth into his lower lip harsh enough to draw a spot of blood.

He didn't want to lean his weight onto her and push her down. Evan was heavy, he knew that and he knew that the height difference wasn't going to do them any favours. Besides, he didn't want to get up. He wanted to sit and wallow in his misery and dwell on how his life was going to change. He didn't like change, whether it was permanent or temporary, and this definitely felt permanent to him.

He almost jumped when he felt (Y/n) squeezing his arms and the way her head tilted to one side and subsequently leaned closer to him made Evan's breath catch in his throat.

"Neither of us are fragile, once you're up we'll get a crutch under your arm. Trust me, you won't hurt me and I won't let you fall."

He trusted her.

He wasn't quite sure why, he hardly knew her and he had more reason to wait for Eddie or Bobby to visit and see if they would help him up rather than depending on a nurse he could potentially hurt. But for some odd reason, Evan felt comfortable with her and he felt like he could trust her enough to save him from a harsh fall, in any aspect of the word.

Evan let go of her shoulder with his right hand to press his palm into the bed, he needed some support to push himself up. But his left hand stayed tight on her shoulder and he inched closer until he was sat on the very edge of the bed.

The contemplation must have been clear on his face because (Y/n) squeezed his arm and coached him. "Weight on your left foot, once we get you up just bend your right leg until only your toes are touching the floor. And don't be afraid to lean on me, that's what I'm here for."

He didn't quite believe that last part, but Evan found himself nodding along as he tried to push forward.

He wouldn't have been able to do this without her holding onto him. She was stood in front of him like a railing preventing him from falling into deep waters. He was leaning on her without realising it, without wanting to and he wobbled to the left until (Y/n) leaned with him and straightened him up.

She kept tight hold of his arms and levelled him out while he scraped his right leg back and pressed his toes into the floor. It was hard to balance on one leg, this was something Evan hadn't done for a long time, not even in training did he try and stand or balance or move on one leg. But having (Y/n) in front of him like a guard rail was really helping; she was keeping him up.

"Are you okay, does your leg feel alright?"

"Stings like a bitch, but that's normal."

For once in what felt like a lifetime, Evan managed a smile that he knew was the first smile since this gut-wrenching accident happened.

He was standing up. Even if he didn't particularly want to be up and moving about and he wanted to be wallowing in his self-pity, he was up now and he was going to start making progress as of now.

"Okay, try and hold still for a second…" Reaching her arm out, (Y/n) balanced Evan with one hand and stretched out to grab one of the crutches propped up beside the bedside table.

A soft "Here we go," passed her lips as she pressed the crutch up under Evan's right arm, but she tilted her head back to stare up at him when he didn't let go of her. He wouldn't look away from her. He was looking at her with those wide eyes and parted lips as soft breaths mingled with hers. She couldn't find the will to say anything, she simply kept hold of him and kept the crutch in place, waiting patiently for Evan to make the next move.

It took Evan at least a minute to unhook his hand from (Y/n)'s shoulder and hold onto the crutch instead.

And once he was leaning on that one crutch, (Y/n) held onto the second one and propped it beneath his other arm, but he seemed very reluctant to let her go this time.

"I've still got you." (Y/n) spoke before she could think better of it and she squeezed both hands on his biceps to show that even if he let go of her, she wasn't going to let go of him. She would wait until he was properly supported on his own feet.

She wasn't going to let him fall.

Evan really didn't want to let go, but he forced his trembling hand to unlatch from her shoulder and hold onto both crutches. It was a lot harder than he thought to stay balanced on one leg. He found himself wavering forwards towards (Y/n) until she slid her hands down and quickly held onto his torso instead.

A quiet laugh left her lips which sounded like music to Evan's ears and he looked down as she squeezed his waist and looked down.

"I think we might need to do some core exercises, but you'll get there."

"Thank you." Evan was starting to feel better already when (Y/n) looked up at him with that beautiful, beaming smile. "You're a real nurse Nightingale, aren't you?"

"I have my moments." When she tilted her head back, (Y/n) found herself lost in those deep blue eyes that captured her full attention. She couldn't seem to look anywhere else and her stomach tightened when Evan continued to smile at her.

She would never have thought such a simple gesture as helping him up would have made him so grateful or that he would be smiling at her like this. She could have gotten lost in those eyes forever and the way they creased and zoomed in on her made her hold her breath in anticipation.

"I'll do those exercises, if you're the one to train me."

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Vil Schoenheit: The Shape of You

Rollo voice) that witch is showing too much bare skin

I noticed that Vil sounds a lot gentler in his Relax in Room vignettes… Maybe he comes across that way when he’s not scolding someone 😭

Rise and Shine!

You stopped in Vil’s doorway, as if bound by a spell, transfixed at the sight of him.

He was a creature of beauty and grace, even in the earliest hours of the morning. Vil knelt upon his mattress, one leg raised behind him, toes pointing to the ceiling. The form reminded you of a gazelle with its sturdy antlers and pointed hooves.

His arms reached behind his head and, elbows bent, he locked his fingers together. A slow exhale as he stretched, releasing the tension that had built up in his body overnight. You saw a swan beating its wings, hear a song blowing free across a flowered clearing.

His arms straightened and swiveled to his front. He shifted to his other leg and foot.

Behind him, sunlight streamed in through a large window. The glass panes bore a lattice of diamonds, painting Vil’s bed with shards of color. His silken top hung loose, the muscles in his chest flexing beneath a layer of milky skin. He was haloed in gold, as if blessed by a godly being of beauty.

You felt like you’ve intruded on something sacred, seen something that you shouldn’t have. Vil’s me time. And more of Vil than you’d ever dreamed you’d be exposed to. Bashful at the thought, you peeled your eyes away.

A question, quiet but hard, rose from Vil.

“Are you certain that you’re fully awake? You still look dazed—like you’ve just woken up.”

“I-I’m awake!” you insisted (unconvincingly, if Vil’s furrowed brows were anything to go by).

Sighing, he drew himself out of bed and strode over. You strained to keep your eyes from trailing to places they didn’t belong. His face—you focused on it. Barren but beautiful, with a delicate pale pink mouth, a straight nose, shapely arches for brows, and long wispy lashes.

You were so lost in him that you almost missed what he was saying.

“Join me for my morning stretches,” Vil advised. “It will do you some good—it gets the blood pumping and helps with circulation. That should help you properly wake up your body.”

“If you think that’ll help… How should I get started, teach?”

“Well,” he replied with a faint laugh, “it seems you’ve still got the energy to be cheeky with me.”

With one hand, Vil gestured for yours. You sheepishly offered it, then the other when he motioned again. The areas where he made contact seemed to tingle and burn, as though his very touch was toxic.

He was, you realized, standing close to you. Maybe too close.

His front flush with your back, you could feel the heat radiating off of him. Just a step, and you'd crash right into him, his heart slamming into your skin and bones. Collison with a wave of poison, dressed up nicely in a shapely perfume bottle.

You swallowed nervously.

“Assuming the correct posture is important. We wouldn’t want to pull or strain a muscle,” Vil explained, guiding you through the motions.

One arm was extended, palm up. The other laid perpendicular on the back of the elbow. Then extended arm closed like the jaws of a beast, and you could feel a pressure building where it clamped down.

“Hold that for fifteen seconds, then switch to the other side and do the same. I will show you the next stretch after that.”

The instructions flitted against your ear, setting your stomach churning. It was like you had swallowed an entire jar of butterflies which swarmed in your gut. You tried to bat them down, tried to ground your thoughts before they floated away again.

“Y-Yes, I understand, thank you.”

“Do you?” Vil smirked. “My, what a fast learner. If only all my students were this obedient, I would have far less grief."

He pressed a quick peck to your temples. You burned, body going slack from the shock. So much for stretching.

Vil only chuckled as he pulled back, brushing slender fingers along your shoulders. "Now then, no time to dawdle. There's another day awaiting us, sweet potato."

[arabella0001]

chakra therapy

pairing: naruto uzumaki x reader (6k+ words)

Orochimaru’s latest jutsu leaves Naruto completely cut off from his chakra—until he realizes there’s one exception: you. Shikamaru said you should stay close for ‘research purposes.’ Pretty sure he didn’t mean it like this.”

cn: light sub/dom, overstimulation, breeding kink, praise, slight degrading kink

Naruto had always have feelings for you, though his clumsy, boyish nature kept him from ever admitting it outright. Instead, he showed it through actions. Subtlety wasn’t exactly his strong suit, but the signs were there, stitched into every impulsive action, every unfiltered laugh, every poorly hidden glance. Always hovering nearby, whether or not his presence was necessary. Nodding along, brow furrowed in concentration, even when half the words went over his head.

And then, of course, there were the looks—quick, unintentional, darting away the second he thought he’d been caught.

Every goddamn time. A split-second too long tracking the way fabric molded against curves, the unconscious clench of his jaw when bare skin teased his periphery. The sharp swallow whenever thighs squeezed together, whenever movement dragged his attention somewhere it had no business lingering. He told himself to stop looking, but instincts had other plans—reaction first, regret second.

Of course, you had noticed.

You weren’t stupid, nor were you blind. Naruto was always attractive. Too much muscle packed into that golden skin, those sharp, untamed eyes promising trouble if you let them linger too long.

The strength in his form, honed through years of relentless training. Even his foolish antics, the way he could make you laugh without effort, it was driving you mad. And yet, you never acted on it. You wanted him to be the first to break. To say it, to give in without your help.

But apparently, something else decided to help him instead.

It happened during the latest mission to bring Sasuke back. Orochimaru, infamous for his twisted experiments, had unleashed a forbidden jutsu at the last second before Naruto was being overpowered. It wasn’t a direct attack, no blood spilled, no broken bones. But the effect was insidious.

Naruto could no longer feel his chakra.

Not entirely absent, but distant. Muted echoes drifting in a void, unreachable no matter how desperately he tried. The realization had rattled him in a way that no physical injury ever had.

Now, in the clinic, everyone scrambled to find a way to undo it. The nurse flipped frantically through scrolls, searching for information.

Kakashi, ever the steady one, offered his calm reassurance.

“We’ll fix this. No need to panic.”

Sakura, frustrated and worried in equal measure, smacked Naruto lightly upside the head.

“Snap out of it, idiot! Freaking out isn’t going to fix anything.”Shikamaru, arms crossed, brows furrowed in thought, muttered,

“This is a drag… but if it’s a sensory disruption, we need a trigger to reverse it.”

Despite all their efforts, nothing changed.

You weren’t sure what to do either. But instinct, the same instinct that drove Naruto to protect you whenever you were in danger , had you moving to his side before you could think twice.

You reached for him, voice softer, laking the usual teasing bite. You try to sound steady despite the nervous energy curling in your gut.

“Naruto, breath. Come on, you seriously think I’d let you break that easily?”

Your fingers brushed against his forearm. a simple, grounding touch.

The room stilled.

His head snapped up, eyes blown wide, searching, frantic, until they landed on the source. Still there, still touching him. The words left his mouth without thought, louder than necessary. “I CAN FEEL IT.”

Everyone else froze at his reaction, the intensity in his expression a stark contrast to the depressing energy from moments ago.

Naruto’s breath hitched, his lips parted, and for a second, it wasn’t confusion on his face, it was need. Need to touch you.

You blinked, eyes flickering to where your hand met his skin. “What?”

Shikamaru, ever the skeptic, reached forward and pressed his fingers to Naruto’s shoulder.

Nothing.

Naruto shook his head. “No. Just her.”

A weighted silence followed, thick with unspoken implications.

Shikamaru exhaled slowly, his sharp gaze darting between you and Naruto before something in his expression shifted, a knowing look.

Then, with an almost smug amusement, he murmured, “Well, well… That’s interesting.”

Naruto stiffened, fingers twitching at his sides, his breath coming shorter. His ears burned scarlet, the flush creeping down his throat, disappearing beneath the dip of his collar. His thighs tensed. As if it took everything in him to stay still.

Because suddenly, it all made sense. Why his skin burned beneath your fingers. Why his breath had turned shallow, pupils blown wide. And worse, why the heat in his stare felt nothing like panic anymore.

The next day, Naruto found himself in Shikamaru’s room with you.

Shikamaru sat cross-legged at his desk, a scroll half-unrolled in front of him, fingers lazily tapping against the wood as he exhaled.

“I’ll go through Konoha’s records and archives,” he said, his voice carrying that usual bored indifference, though his sharp gaze betrayed how seriously he was taking it. “If there’s a way to cancel Orochimaru’s jutsu, I’ll find it. But until then…”

He lazily tilted his head toward you before looking back at Naruto.

“You should stick with her.”

Naruto flinched slightly at that, but Shikamaru wasn’t even trying to hide his sly smile.

“You know. For… research purposes.”

Naruto scowled, crossing his arms. “Tch. You make it sound weird, but yeah, yeah, whatever.”

He turned to you, rubbing the back of his head with a sheepish grin. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”

You raised a brow, leaning in slightly. “What’s different from before?”

Naruto immediately tensed, face heating up. “No! I mean—yeah. But not like—!” He cut himself off, groaning loudly before whipping around toward the door. “I’m leaving!”

You just grinned and Shikamaru let out a chuckle, nodding with sly eyes at you as you exit through the door, trailing after Naruto

The walk through the village was quiet for a moment. For once, Naruto was too quiet. Which, honestly, was worse.

A huff of breath, fingers rubbing at the back of his neck, shoulders squared like he was bracing for an attack. And then, with the grace of a man walking into his own execution “Wanna hang out?”

You smiled, feigning surprise. “Are you asking me on a date, Naruto?”

Immediate regret. Air lodged somewhere between his throat and lungs, a violent cough shaking his frame as he stumbled over nothing.

“Wha—?! WHAT’S UP WITH YOU!?” He groaned, muttering under his breath as he kicked at a loose stone on the road. “Tch, forget it.”

You laughed, nudging him with your shoulder. “Relax, idiot. I’m messing with you. Come on, where to? Ramen, training, or do we sit around your place and get competitive over that lame Wind Shuriken game again?”

You paused, thinking for a second before adding “Hm. Actually, it will be helpful to play that game in your current state.”

Naruto huffed, pouting slightly as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. “It’s not lame. You just suck at it.”

You gasped dramatically. “Excuse me?! I literally beat you last time!”

“You cheated!”

“You’re just mad I outplayed you.”

The banter continued as you made your way toward Naruto’s apartment, his earlier flustered state easing into something familiar, something comfortable.

But what you didn’t know—what Naruto wasn’t telling you—was that before he saw you today, he had already had a conversation with Shikamaru, earlier that morning.

——————————

Shikamaru stood near the Hokage building, arms crossed as he eyed Naruto lazily.

“So… how long are you gonna keep pretending?”

Naruto, mid-stretch, froze. His back immediately stiffened before he turned, frowning. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Shikamaru gave him a deadpan look. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. The thing with her.”

Naruto’s eye twitched. “There’s no ‘thing.’”

Shikamaru barely held back an eye-roll. “Right. And the fact that she’s the only person who can break that jutsu? That’s just bad luck?”

Naruto groaned loudly, running a hand through his hair. “Shut up. That doesn’t mean anything.”

Shikamaru sighed, shaking his head. “You’re really hopeless, huh?” He glanced at him, smirking. “You do realize you’re not getting out of this without her figuring it out, right?”

Naruto crossed his arms stubbornly. “Yeah? And what if she doesn’t feel the same way? What if she—”

“Avoids you?” Shikamaru interrupted smoothly, tilting his head. “You really think that’s how she’d react?”

Naruto opened his mouth to argue, only to pause.…Would you?

Shikamaru saw the hesitation flash across his face and smiled knowingly.

“Thought so.”

——————————

Back in the present, by the time you both arrived at Naruto’s place, after a while he began being tense again.

Not because of the hangout itself, you two did this all the time. Whether it was eating, training, or killing time at his place, it was normal.

Except it wasn’t normal anymore.

Because now, every time you looked at him, every time you leaned in slightly, every time your hands brushed, he remember that damn conversation with Shikamaru.

Cross-legged on the floor, the game board stretched between you two, a silent battlefield waiting to be conquered.

It was a Konoha classic: a two-player match where you had to align your chakra-infused tiles to mimic the perfect arc of a shuriken’s flight. Each tile had different wind currents, and only through precise movements and strategy could you outmaneuver your opponent’s trajectory.

Naruto sucked at it.

Not because he was dumb—but because his instincts always made him play fast, aggressive, going for power instead of precision. And the fact that he doesn’t feel the chakra like before made it worse. You, on the other hand, knew exactly how to read his movements, how to bait him into making the wrong moves.

And it pissed him off. Expecially right now.

“Tch—dammit!” Naruto groaned as he stared at the board, his last move completely blocked.

You bit back a grin, tilting your head. “What’s wrong, hero? Not as easy as a real shuriken throw?”

Naruto scowled. “This stupid game is rigged. Who the hell has time to plan this far ahead?”

“People who think before they act.” You hummed, tapping a finger against your lips in mock thought. “But hey, don’t feel bad. I can help you to feel your chakra, remember?”

His face burned immediately. Yeah, right. Back to reality.

You moved before he could protest, reaching over to slide a tile into place. A simple reach, fingers gliding over the board, but the shift brought warm skin against his, thighs brushing, arms pressing together for just a second too long.

The same electric sensation that grounded him yesterday, that pulled him out of his suffocating void was again, the warm, unmistakable pulse of your chakra.

His throat went dry, swallowing as a slow, pulsing ache settled deep in his belly, building with every touch.

You didn’t pull away. Instead, you let your fingers linger on his wrist, feeling the slight tremor beneath his skin. “Nervous?”

Naruto stutter. “N-no. Continue”

But his voice betrayed him, cracking slightly, low and strained.

Oh. This was fun.

Your fingers ghosted up his arm, teasing the hypersensitive skin, barely touching his forearm before curling around his bicep just enough to make his cock twitch.

Naruto’s breath hitched, chest rising in a stuttering gasp.

Your smirk deepened. “Relax, Naruto. I’m just getting comfortable.”

A blatant lie. And you think he knew it, or at least sense something by the way he is sending you a glare.

You shifted closer, brushing your thigh against his. The heat of his body—always so naturally warm—seeped into you, and the moment your breath ghosted against his ear, he physically jolted.

His chakra, what little he could feel, was flickering wildly. Every brush of your fingertips sent ripples of sensation through his body, as if his nerves were waking up one by one, tuned only to you.

His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, his chest heaving as if he couldn’t get enough air.

He wanted to say something, anything, but his mind was a mess. It was too much, the sensation of your hands trailing slow, your teasing, the undeniable pull of your chakra weaving into his.

“Or do you want me to help you more?” Your voice, closer to his ear, make his impossible to move an inch.

He wanted to say something. Beg, maybe. Or tell you to stop before he lost every last ounce of restraint. But the way your nails teased closer to the waistband of his pants? Fuck. His mind had gone blank.

He don’t know how it escalated into this. Why are you doing this? Aren’t you two friends? I mean, he is insanly in love with you but…why would you?

“H-Hey…” His voice was strained, hands gripping his knees. “We should stop—”

You didn’t stop. How could you? You know he feels closer to normal before that cursed jutsu…or maybe more than normal.

Instead, your fingers trailed dangerously lower, tracing the waistband of his pants, not enough to touch, just enough to threaten.

“Wha—“

Naruto practically tore himself away, breath ragged, face burning. “I—I can’t. I don’t wanna—” He clenched his fists, eyes squeezing shut. “I don’t wanna use you.”

The sudden seriousness in his voice made you pause. He wasn’t just embarrassed anymore. He was struggling.

You tilted your head, watching him closely.

“Use me?”

He exhaled hard, his like sandpaper in his throat. “I just really, really want you. T-to keep touching me.”

The admission came out like a confession he wasn’t ready to say aloud, his knuckles white from how hard he was gripping himself.

You licked your lips, feeling your own pulse quicken. And then, as if deciding for both of you, you leaned in, voice smooth.

“But you’re not using me.”

The words slotted into place like a key turning in a lock. And just like that, the dam holding him back cracked.

And just as his uncertain and vulnerable gaze snapped to you, you let your fingers skim over his collarbone, nails lightly dragging making him feel overwhelmed.

The second your lips brushed against his ear, his fingers clenched at your hips, an involuntary whimper breaking free. You grinned, amused at the way his body trembled next to you.

The escape was clumsy, like a man barely holding onto the last thread of control.

“Naruto…” Your voice was lower now, testing. “Focus”

His throat bobbed, eyes dark and completely wrecked. This is wrong. His mind chaotic, messy, he can’t continue like that.

And then, just like that, he snapped.

“STOP!”

His head tipped just slightly, muscles locked in place, as if terrified to move.

Before be can’t control himself, Shikamaru’s voice maddening bim, he jut burst out—loud, desperate, like something that had been clawing to escape.

“I don’t want this just because of this jutsu think!” his breath uneavsn before continuing “It feel wrong, hiding it from you and I—I like you, okay?”

You pause for a second, you can’t say you didn’t felt your stomach curl as he finally admitted, but right now? Right now you are too aroused to even think straight.

“Oh, Naruto. But i knew.”

His entire face burned, staring at you “What did you mean you knew???”

You shrugged, looking unaffected with a grin on your face. “You think i didn’t notice? How you look at me? I just wanted to see when you’d break.”

Naruto looked utterly betrayed. His mouth opened, closed— groaning loudly, covering his face. “You’re evil.”

You laughed, tipping his chin back up with a single finger. “And you love it.”

Naruto swallowed hard.

And then, before he could stop you, you pressed your lips to his, swallowing the helpless groan that spilled from him.

His mouth parted before he could think, the taste of you intoxicating while his hands gripping at your waist like he couldn’t help himself.

The sound that tore from him was unintentional—a hushed, wrecked thing, barely a whisper against your mouth.

His body reacting before his mind could catch up, unsure if he wanted to push you away or pull you in and never let go. His mouth parted instinctively, desperate, pliant, letting you take everything you wanted from him.

When you tugged at his hair, he gasped—a sharp, wrecked little sound that sent a thrill through you. You didn’t hesitate, fingers tugging slightly as you pushed him down onto the floor, straddling him.

Naruto’s hands instinctively grabbed your butt, pulling you closer.

“F-Fuck—” His voice was wrecked, already breathless, already losing it.

You leaned into his ear, letting your breath fan against his skin. “Also, i like you too.”

His entire body shuddered beneath you.

His chakra latched onto yours, sinking into you, heat pooling in every place your bodies touched.

And when your lips traced the shell of his ear, when your hips pressed just slightly against his painfully hard cock, Naruto let out a broken moan, his hips shifting beneath you instinctively, desperate for any kind of friction.

Your hips rolled against him, just a tease and his whole body tensed, thighs pressing together, his grip on you tightening.

His head tipped back, exposing the length of his throat as a helpless, needy moan spilled from his lips, his body begging without words.

Naruto was shaking beneath you, his breath ragged, uneven, pupils blown wide as his hands trembled against your waist. You felt them, those rough, calloused fingers gripping you like he was afraid to let go.

For all his stubbornness, all his fire, he was melting under you, pupils blow wide feeling his hands squeezing your butt harder.

Then, hesitantly, cautiously, his hands moved up. The moment his fingers brushed against your chest, you felt it—a hesitant, almost reverent touch, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed.

Like he thought you might stop him.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you let out a slow, pleased hum, pressing into his touch just enough to let him know.

His fingers tightened, palms cupping, kneading, thumbs brushing over your nipples through the fabric, and fuck—Naruto was a fast learner. His hands were warm, eager, your body pressing firmer into his hands. He swallowed thickly, his voice rough as he murmured,

“You feel… fuck. You feel so good.”

It was the way he said it—the raw need in his voice, the awe beneath it—that made heat coil low in your stomach.

But as nice as this was, you had something else in mind.

Before Naruto could get too comfortable, you suddenly gripped his wrists, pulling his hands away.

He made a frustrated sound, confused, but before he could protest, you moved, taking him with you as you stand up.

Naruto blinked at you, still disoriented, panting, his body flushed with heat as he sat there, his hands still twitching, aching to touch you again.

Then, you did something unexpected. For him, at least. You sank to your knees in front of him.

Naruto froze.

His entire body locked up, his breath caught in his throat, looking down at you.

“W-Wait, what—”

He started to reach for you again, but you caught his wrists again, stopping him.

“No touching.”

Naruto let out a small, broken whine, fingers twitching in your grasp. “What—why—?”

You grinned up at him, a slow, wicked thing. “Because I want you to behave.”

His breath shuddered, his entire body going rigid at the way you said it.

Watching as he shifted uncomfortably, with a blush on his face, clearly torn between his desperate need to touch you and the fact that you weren’t letting him.

He was always the fighter, always the reckless one, always pushing forward without thinking. But now? Now, you had him right where you wanted him.

“Naruto,” you murmured, tilting your head. “You like this, don’t you?”

His breath came short, shaky, his jaw clenching, his body betrayed him, giving all the answers you know.

He swallowed hard, glaring down at you with that wild, unsteady gaze, his voice strained.

“You sure—”

You leaned in, lips barely ghosting over his stomach, feeling the way his muscles tightened violently under your touch.

“Shhh.”

His hands fisting uselessly in the air, unable to do anything except sit there and take it.

Letting your nails rake lightly down his sides, the sensation just enough to make him squirm.

“You’re so tense,” you murmured, voice laced with amusement. “I thought you liked being in control, baby.”

Naruto whimpered, shaking his head, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Y-You’re cheating.”

You smirked, tilting your head. “Oh? And what are you gonna do about it?”

His jaw clenched, his eyes dark and completely wrecked. “L-Let me touch you.”

You hummed, running your lips over his stomach again, your tongue barely flicking against the heat of his skin.

Naruto jolted like you’d shocked him, breath catching on a choked gasp. 'F-Fuck—Please”

And there it was. That one magic word.

Your smile widened, and you finally let go of his wrists, letting him decide. But you saw him already submitting, his hands fisted into his own shirt, gripping it impatiently, every nerve in his body alight with anticipation.

You dragged your nails down his pants, exposing him, and as you feel the muscles twitch beneath your fingertips, the way his legs tensed, shifting restlessly. His whole body was a mess of sensitivity, his chakra curling around you like it was clinging for dear life.

His head tilting back, exposing the long line of his straining throat. You licked your lips, taking your time. His hips jerked slightly when your breath ghosted over his long, thick cock, precum leaking from his tip.

The second your tongue flicked over him, Naruto let out a broken, wrecked gasp. He was trying so damn hard to stay still, the desperation radiating off of him.

“F-fuck!”

You started slow, letting your tongue trace hot, wet circles, humming as you taste his precum and pulling away just when you felt him shudder under you.

“You’re shaking, pretty boy.” you murmured against his skin with a sweet, taunting voice. “Can’t handle it?”

Naruto let out a whimper, his breath hitching.

“N-No, —”

He cut himself off with a loud moan when you start sucking, hollowing your cheeks just enough to take him all. His fingers flew to your hair instantly, gripping slightly, making you dripping already between your thighs. But you weren’t about to let him have control.

You pulled off just enough to let your breath ghost over him, grinning when you heard the pathetic sound that left his lips, his thighs clenching around you in pure, helpless frustration.

“P-Please!”

You hummed, dragging your nails up his stomach, feeling his muscles jump under your touch.

“Please what, Naruto?”

His fingers tugging into your hair, chasing your open mouth before replying with a desperate voice.

“Please don’t stop”

“Good boy.”

The second your mouth wrapped around him again, Naruto’s head slammed back, a ragged, broken moan tearing from his lips. His entire body seized up, thighs tensing, hands fisting into the sheets like he was fighting for his life. But the fight was already lost.

Then you took him deeper.

When your throat flexed around his cock, tight and wet, swallowing him down to the base, his hips bucked—uncontrolled, desperate. A strangled gasp escaped him, somewhere between a plea and a curse, his fingers twitching like he wanted to grab your hair and fuck himself deeper but was too wrecked to even try.

And then you locked eyes with him.

Fuck.

The sight alone nearly undid him—his cock disappearing between your lips, drool glistening at the corners of your mouth, those wide, knowing eyes staring straight into his soul like you were drinking in every second of his unraveling. Heat slammed through his core, pleasure twisting sharp and brutal in his gut.

‘Shit—fuck—’ His voice was wrecked, shaking, pure desperation spilling from his lips as your tongue curled around him, sucking with slow, deliberate precision, like you wanted to ruin him.

And god, you were—pulling him deeper, taking him whole, like he was nothing but something to be used, devoured, wrecked.

Naruto’s whole body arched, back bowing off the floor, a raw, shaking gasp ripped from his lips, his fingers tugging at your hair as he lost it.

He whimpered, broken and breathless, his body shuddering violently, his thighs clamping around you as he came hard. So fucking hard.

Pleasure slammed through him in waves, crashing over him so hard his vision went white. Naruto pushed your head further, riding his orgasm with weak moves and letting you swallow all his load.

You clean him off with slow, languid licks until his body finally, finally sagged, spent and shaking, his breath coming in soft, shuddering gasps.

You look at him—how beautiful he looked. His head lolled back, his chest heaving, his entire body still trembling, his skin flushed, damp with sweat. His hands twitched uselessly, like he still couldn’t quite remember how to function.

“Damn, hero.”

Naruto groaned, covering his flustered face with his arm, still trying to catch his breath.

“Sh-Shut up.”

For a long momeng, Naruto didn’t move, he looked at you intensely, the aftermath of what you had just done still lingering in his muscles.

It was subtle at first, the way his gaze turned serious, the way his posture straightened, the tension in his shoulders unraveling into something else. That familiar, feral gleam sparking to life.

Before you could even register what was happening, Naruto moved fast. One second, you were still kneeling on the floor, feeling satisfied, smug. The next? Your back hit the mattress, breath punched from your lungs as Naruto hauled you up and tossed you onto the bed like you weighed nothing.

“Wha—?!”

Your protest was immediately cut off by the weight of his body pressing firmly against yours, his mouth at your ear, voice low and dangerous.

“You think you can just do that to me and get away with it?”

Your stomach flipped. Your breath hitched as his hands gripped your thighs, spreading them apart effortlessly, his body pressing you further into his bed. Squirming while trying to move, his grip tightened.

“Nuh-uh.” His voice was taunting, drenched in amusement. “You had your fun. Now it’s my turn.”

Even if your face flushed, you still shot back, “Oh, so you finally grew a backbone?”

Naruto just laughed, low and rough, his fingers teasing the hem of your clothes, playing with the fabric.

“You really don’t get it, do you?”

With zero hesitation, he ripped your shirt clean off. You gasp, your hands instinctively moving to cover yourself, but Naruto was faster.

“Nope.”

He grabbed your wrists, pinning them down above your head, eyes drinking you in like he’d been starving for this. And then, so casually it made your stomach twist, he muttered,

“Damn. You’re even better than I imagined.” Your blush deepened and his smirk widened. “You think I haven’t thought about this?”

His touch dragged rough and sure, tracing every inch of you like he owned it. Fingers trailed down your torso, skimming over your stomach, nails grazing just enough to make you shiver. “You have no idea what you’ve done to me, do you?”

You opened your mouth to respond, only to be silenced when his hands finally moved between your legs, parting them fully, thumbs digging into your inner thighs.

His breath was hot against your skin, his voice gravelly, hungry.

“I’ve wanted to have you for so long.”

Your entire body jolted the moment Naruto’s fingers curled into the waistband of your pants, dragging them down with excruciating slowness, like he wanted you to feel every second of it. His grip on your thighs was firm—possessive—spreading you open without hesitation, without asking, like he was owed this. Like he wasn’t giving you a choice.

And when his fingers slid through the slick, dripping mess he’d already made of you, a low groan rumbled from his chest, dark and satisfied. He dragged his fingertips through the heat, parting you with slow, teasing strokes before pulling back to admire the way your wetness clung to him.

“Mmm,” he murmured, biting his lip. “All this for me?”

You barely had time to suck in a breath before his head dipped lower, tongue pressing against your soaked panties, running slow and deliberate over the damp fabric. The first warm, wet stroke had you gasping, thighs jerking as the pleasure struck too fast, too sudden.

Naruto groaned against you, breath hot through the thin barrier of lace. Your panties were shoved aside, and his mouth was on you, tongue dragging through your folds, slow and filthy, before closing around your clit and sucking. Hard.

A choked moan ripped from your throat, hands flying into his hair, gripping, pulling, but Naruto didn’t let up—if anything, the firm weight of his tongue only pressed deeper, flicking over your swollen bud before closing his lips around it and sucking with obscene precision.

Your hips jerked against his mouth, body twisting under the intensity, the sheer heat of it, but Naruto only growled, tightening his grip on your thighs, forcing them apart every time you tried to clamp them shut.

“Shh,”he murmured, tongue flicking against your clit, voice mocking against your dripping cunt. “I thought you liked teasing?”

“N-Naruto—!”

The sharp whimper that tore from you when he sucked harder was embarrassing, but fuck—he wanted it. Wanted to hear every gasp, every shaky moan, wanted to feel you break on his tongue.

“Come on, baby. Give it to me.”

The command sent a shockwave through your spine. Your stomach clenched tight, the pleasure twisting sharp and hot inside you, flooding your system too fast, too intense. Your thighs trembled, body arching into his mouth as heat rushed through you, tearing a cry from your lips.

But Naruto didn’t stop.

Didn’t let you breathe, didn’t let you recover. He kept going—licking, sucking, dragging his tongue through the mess of your orgasm, coaxing every last spasm from you while his grip remained tight, keeping you spread open, keeping you at his mercy.

When you tried to twist away, panting, overstimulated, a wrecked “N-No—“ falling from your lips, Naruto only laughed.

“One more.”

You whimpered, tried to push him away, but he didn’t let you as his mouth worked you all over again. Your vision blurred, legs trembling so violently you thought they might give out completely.

“You can do it, baby. Just one more.”

“Naruto, I-I can’t” your voice cracking into broken moans.

“Shh. You wanted to tease me, right?” His breath was hot, merciless against your skin. “You can take it.” You sobbed, your body writhing beneath him as your nails dragging down his arms, he groaned when he felt how easily his fingers sank into you, how ready you were. The pressure inside you built higher, tighter, until it felt like you might break apart, cumming again, harder, messier than before.

“So good. You taste so good.”

Your voice broke, your body convulsing, and still, Naruto kept going, groaning against your skin, drinking in every last drop. By the time he finally pulled away, you were wrecked. Still twitching from the aftershocks, chest heaving with a dazed expression on your face. Naruto come back over you, licking his lips and smirking down at you.

“Damn,” he murmured, “I should’ve done this sooner.”

You were too out of it to even glare. He leaned in, voice low, teasing.

“Think you can handle one more?”

Your eyes widen before stuttering “You’re insane-“ but Naruto laughed at you with that stupid smile of him.

“Oh, you’re in trouble now, baby.”

His voice was hoarse, thick with hunger, as the swollen head of his cock dragged through your folds, teasing, slick with how ready you were for him. And then, without warning, he drove himself inside—deep, stretching you open around his thick length, forcing a choked moan from your throat.

Mouths parted in tandem, bodies tensing at the overwhelming sensation, every brutal snap of his hips sending shockwaves through you. Each thrust was sharp, relentless, burying him to the hilt, making you take all of him, over and over.

The room was filled with it—the wet, obscene sounds of him fucking you, filthy and raw, a stark contrast to the way he had you pinned, wrists locked above your head, helpless beneath the force of it.

"Shit—you’re sucking me in so fucking good," he groaned, his voice low, unsteady, almost desperate. "Like you are made for me."

Your moan broke into a sob, the stretch, the depth, the way his cock dragged against your walls just right making you shudder helplessly beneath him. And Naruto could feel it, how your walls wrapped harder around his cock, pulling him deeper, trying to keep him inside. He’d never felt anything like this. It was only you.

His hips snapped harder, faster, his fingers digging into your skin as he moan into your ear.

"You take me so fucking well." His lips brushed the shell of your ear, taunting. "You like this, huh? Like being fucked like you belong to me?"

You whimpered, your voice breaking. "Y-Yes, yes, Naruto!”

"Yeah? You need it, don’t you?" His voice was mocking, knowing, his grip tightening as he thrust deeper, dragging a filthy moan from your throat.

You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, the pleasure too much, too sharp, too deep.

"Say it." His fingers slid up your body, wrapping around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your pulse hammer against his palm. "Tell me how much you fucking need me."

Your moan broke into a sob, your body trembling beneath him, on the edge of something devastating.

"I need you so bad, baby, please—"

He groaned, his hand tightening just slightly, his cock hitting so deep your vision blurred. Your nails dug into the sheets, your voice nothing but a breathless whimper and his hand slid lower, pressing between your legs, fingers rubbing slow, teasing circles over your clit. Your whole body jerked, your breath catching on a sharp cry.

"That’s it." His voice was pure sin, his pace unrelenting. "You’re gonna cum for me again, yeah?"

Your moans turned desperate, high-pitched and pleading, your body grinding back against him, needing more, needing everything.

"Come on, baby. Let me feel it."

You could barely breathe, barely think, his words sending heat surging through you, tipping you closer, closer—

"That’s my good girl."

Your orgasm tore through you, blinding, all-consuming, your whole body convulsing, legs shaking, nails raking down the mattress.

Your walls clenched around him, fluttering, sucking him in deeper, making Naruto snarl, his breath shuddering as he fought to hold on.

"F-Fuck—“

Your voice was wrecked, almost incoherent, "Naruto—please—please, I want it—want you to cum inside me—"

His pace stuttered, his whole body shuddering at your words.

"Shit—“

You turned your head, breath hot, desperate against his ear.

"I’d let you do it anytime—"

Naruto groaned, loud, broken, his grip on your hips bruising.

"Yeah? You wanna be my little cumdump, baby?"

Your voice was pleading, breathless, needy. "Yes, yes! Please!”

Naruto’s hips snapped forward one last time, burying himself as deep as he could go, a wrecked, guttural moan tearing from his throat as he came. His whole body shuddering violently, he leg a loud while his cock pulsing inside, filling you up.

His fingers curled into the sheets, his jaw clenched tight, eyes squeezed shut as pleasure slammed through him in waves, his chakra burning, surging, spilling into yours.

And then, finally—his body sagged, his forehead pressing into your shoulder, his breath still ragged, uneven.

He was still inside you, still panting, feeling how you are trembling against him, his body glowing with heat, skin damp with sweat.

He lets his forehead lean against your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck while arms wrapped around you like he had no intention of letting go.

For a while, neither of you moved.

The silence wasn’t awkward, it was comfortable, necessary.

His fingers dragged up and down your spine absentmindedly, barely-there touches that sent the occasional shiver through your body. He was still breathing heavily, still coming down, deep inside you, reluctant to pull away.

He sighed, shiftin as his lips brushed against your temple, soft, barely a whisper. Then, your cheek. Your jaw. Your throat.

Each kiss was slow, warm, unhurried, his hands roaming gently, lazily, like he was trying to memorize every inch of you. It wasn’t lustful anymore. It was something else. Something Naruto had never really put into words before, making your heart stuttered.

"I like you.” his voice was hoarse, vulnerable.

And before you could say anything, he kept going.

"I like you so fucking much." His nose brushed against your skin, his lips pressing against your shoulder "I think I have for a long time."

Your chest ached, in a way that made you want to pull him closer, hold onto him forever.

You smiled softly, running your fingers through his damp hair. "I know, dumbass."

Naruto snorted, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder. "Yeah, yeah. You always knew."

A pause.

Then his lips pressed against your collarbone, your chest, your stomach.

"I really, really like you."

You let out a breathless laugh, brushing his bangs from his face. "I got that part, baby"

Naruto just grinned, kissing lower, nipping, teasing, worshipping.

"Good. Just making sure."

Eventually, Naruto pulled away, rolling onto his back, still keeping you close with his arms lazily slung around your waist. You were comfortable, warm, tangled up together, his fingers still idly playing with your skin, tracing patterns across your hip.

Naruto blinked, staring at his hand for a second, his brows furrowing. You noticed immediately, shifting slightly.

"What?"

He opened and closed his fist and slowly, he flexed his fingers, his expression shifting.

"No way! I can feel it."

He said it so quietly, so disbelievingly, that you barely registered it.

Right as Naruto was staring at his hand in shock, his phone buzzed from the floor.

Still dazed, he reached over, glancing at the screen. A message. From Shikamaru.

"So I think I figured it out. Looks like the jutsu suppresses chakra externally, but it’s possible for it to gradually reactivate under the right… conditions."

Another buzz.

"Prolonged exposure to a strong external chakra source, repeated stimulation, or deep physical synchronization might accelerate restoration."

Naruto blinked. He read it twice and the started laughing.

You frowned, propping yourself up on your elbow.

Naruto just shook his head, still grinning, tossing the phone onto the bed after replying.

"Myeah. Just found out. Thanks anyway!”

You stared at him, unimpressed. "That’s it? Your chakra is back?”

He grinned harder, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Yup.”

"Unbelievable."

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you on top of him, his fingers trailing lazy patterns on all of your body.

Your breath evened out, limbs growing heavy, molding into his frame as if you had always belonged there. As if this had always been meant to happen. As if this his touch, his presence, the way he held you like you were something precious—had been inevitable from the start.

[tsunaso]

“OH MY SWEET SUMMER CHILD”

pairing. Omega!Mikey x Omega!Sanzu x Alpha!male reader

synopsis. karma reduced Sanzu Haruchiyo to nothing and took another omega down with him. — 5.7k words part one.

warnings. mdni, nsfw, amab reader, dead dove, drugging, bitching, degradation, dubcon (due to altered state), dark omegaverse, humiliation, feminization, overstimulation, breeding, knotting, forced submission.

Sanzu didn’t know how much time had passed.

Minutes? Hours? It didn’t matter.

The heat was settling into his bones, wrapping around his spine like a slow, venomous snake. His body felt wrong—too hot, too needy, too fucking weak. He hated it. Hated the way his scent grew richer with every passing second, filling the room with a sickly sweetness that made his stomach turn.

It wasn’t his scent. Not the scent of an alpha.

The realization sent a fresh wave of rage crashing into his ribs, but it was a hollow kind of anger—desperate, useless.

The door creaked open, and Sanzu barely lifted his head before the thick, heavy presence of M/n’s scent filled the room. It should have been oppressive. It should have made Sanzu bristle with defiance.

Instead, it just made his stomach twist.

M/n strolled in leisurely, the smirk on his face downright amused as he took in the pathetic sight before him. “Well, well,” he mused, crouching beside Sanzu. “It’s setting in faster than I expected. You must have had a lot of suppressed omegan traits for it to be hitting this hard.”

Sanzu clenched his jaw, refusing to acknowledge him, but he knew—knew—M/n could hear the way his breathing had changed. Shallow. Unsteady. Desperate.

“Still in denial?” M/n hummed, his voice dropping into something lower, darker. “That’s cute.” He reached forward, barely ghosting his fingers over Sanzu’s jaw.

A violent shudder wracked Sanzu’s body. His own skin felt wrong, hypersensitive in ways he didn’t understand. He wanted to pull away, to snarl, to bite—but the moment M/n’s fingers brushed over his scent glands, his body froze.

Felt good.

No. No, no, no, no.

Sanzu jerked away with a choked noise, his breath coming out uneven. His entire body was trembling, his muscles twitching like he was going to rip himself apart. His scent thickened with frustration, humiliation, and something else—something darker.

M/n clicked his tongue. “Pathetic,” he muttered, standing up. “You should be grateful we’re keeping you. If I let you go now, you’d be torn apart by the first alpha that caught your scent. Maybe that’s what you deserve, though.”

Sanzu’s stomach twisted violently. His instincts recoiled at the thought—exposed, helpless, left to fend for himself in a world where he was nothing.

No pack. No status. No protection.

He needed—

Sanzu stopped breathing for a second.

He needed protection.

His body was crying for it, his instincts clawing at his mind, screaming at him to find someone stronger to keep him safe. He bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood, but it didn’t matter—the panic was already setting in.

He needed—

The door opened again.

A sharp, unmistakable scent flooded the room, cutting through the haze in Sanzu’s mind like a blade.

Omega.

But not just any omega.

Him.

Sanzu’s body reacted before his mind even caught up. His scent spiked—needy, desperate, craving.

Fucking disgusting.

He felt bile rise in his throat, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the unbearable pull in his gut. The part of his mind still clinging to reason was screaming—raging against the betrayal of his own body, but it was already too late.

Because the omega had already noticed.

He stepped into the room without hesitation, his black eyes locking onto Sanzu with something close to boredom. His scent was sharp, unwavering, and infinitely stronger than what Sanzu remembered from that alleyway.

And Sanzu—

Sanzu leaned toward him.

It was so fucking small—just a shift in posture, the way his breath caught slightly in his throat—but it was enough.

The omega’s lips curled. “Are you serious?”

Sanzu swallowed thickly, his throat too dry, too tight. He wanted to say something, anything, but his body was moving on its own, drawn toward the closest source of comfort.

The omega took a step forward. Sanzu flinched.

Not from fear.

From restraint.

From the unbearable, crawling need under his skin.

A sharp scoff cut through the thick air. “That’s fucking disgusting,” the omega muttered, his voice filled with pure, unfiltered disgust.

Sanzu trembled violently. His breath stuttered, his scent betraying him even more, turning unbearably needy. He wanted to scream, wanted to rip off his own skin, wanted to run—but he couldn’t.

His body was begging.

And the omega could smell it.

M/n chuckled darkly from the doorway. “Ah… seems like he’s really starting to feel it now.”

The omega barely acknowledged him, his gaze still pinned on Sanzu like he was something rotten stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

Sanzu wanted to hate him. Wanted to spit in his face, snarl, demand that he wipe that fucking look off his—

But all he could do was stare, trembling, desperate, as his body betrayed him more and more with every second.

The omega sighed, voice thick with irritation. “What a waste,” he muttered. Then, after a moment, he tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing.

“…Does he even know my name?”

Sanzu stiffened.

A slow, cruel smirk spread across M/n’s lips. “Oh,” he exhaled, amusement flickering in his voice. “He really doesn’t, does he?”

Sanzu’s stomach dropped.

The omega—the omega he had tried to take—stepped closer, just enough that Sanzu could feel the ghost of his pheromones press against his skin. He crouched down, leveling Sanzu with a blank stare.

“You really don’t know?” he murmured.

Sanzu’s mouth went dry.

The omega’s expression barely shifted, but something in his gaze sharpened.

“Sano Manjiro,” he said flatly. “But you—” His lips twitched up in a cruel, humorless smirk.

“You can call me Mikey.”

Sanzu’s heart pounded in his chest.

Mikey.

That name—he knew that name.

The second in command of Bonten. The most dangerous omega in the city. The untouchable king of the underworld.

The one fucking omega he should have never, ever laid his hands on.

Mikey stood up, rolling his shoulders like this conversation had already bored him.

“Keep him,” he muttered to M/n, already turning away. “I don’t care.”

The door shut behind him, and just like that—his presence was gone.

Sanzu barely heard M/n’s chuckle, low and dark in the back of his throat.

“Well,” M/n hummed, stepping closer, reaching down to cup Sanzu’s trembling jaw.

“Now you know.”

　　　　　　　　· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

Sanzu was losing.

His body was drenched in sweat, slick and trembling, heat curling through every inch of him like a wildfire he couldn’t put out. His breathing was ragged, uneven, little whimpering noises slipping from his throat no matter how hard he tried to choke them back.

Everything hurt—his stomach ached, his thighs shook, his hole clenched around nothing, desperate for relief that wouldn’t come.

It was so wrong—so fucking wrong—and yet, no matter how hard he fought it, his body was needy in ways he couldn’t ignore.

His pussy—no, not pussy, not that—his hole was aching, fluttering open and empty, making his hips twitch against the mattress.

And worse?

His dick—his useless, pitiful dick—was soft.

No knot. No hardness. Just a sad little thing, sticky with leaking slick, resting against his stomach, completely ignored by his own heat.

His body wasn’t asking to be fucked like an alpha. It wasn’t even acknowledging that part of him anymore.

It was begging to be bred.

Sanzu bit his lip so hard it split, blood mixing with the embarrassing, syrupy sweet scent pouring off him. His thighs pressed together, trying to rub some kind of friction against his swollen, puffy entrance, but it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

The door creaked open, and Sanzu’s entire body froze.

A thick, powerful scent flooded the room—alpha.

His body reacted immediately, thighs tensing, hole fluttering pathetically. His head snapped up, and through the feverish haze clouding his mind, he registered M/n standing in the doorway, watching him with pure amusement.

“Tch.”

M/n stepped forward slowly, hands tucked in his pockets, completely unbothered by the thick, humiliating scent in the room. His sharp gaze flicked lazily over Sanzu’s wrecked form—his sweat-drenched skin, the way his legs shook, the pathetic mess of slick and shame pooling beneath him.

His lips curled.

“Look at you.”

Sanzu trembled.

M/n crouched beside him, resting an elbow on his knee, tilting his head. “What happened to all that attitude, hm?” he murmured, voice low, mocking. “You were barking so loud before. Now look at you—”

His eyes flickered lower, to Sanzu’s shamefully soft dick.

A slow, wicked smirk spread across M/n’s face.

“…Well. That’s disappointing.”

Sanzu’s stomach twisted into knots.

M/n reached out, gripping his chin, forcing Sanzu’s dazed, glassy eyes to meet his own. “Not even hard?” he murmured. His thumb ghosted over Sanzu’s lower lip, pressing down slightly, smirking when Sanzu’s mouth parted automatically.

“So useless.”

Sanzu let out a shaky breath, his fingers digging into the sheets. His entire body was burning, every nerve screaming for relief, but the humiliation coiling in his stomach was just as unbearable.

M/n hummed, tilting his head slightly. “I wonder…”

His free hand drifted lower, over the curve of Sanzu’s waist, his soft, pathetic belly, down to his thighs, which tensed beneath his touch.

Sanzu stiffened.

No. No, no—

But M/n ignored him, pushing his thighs apart effortlessly, exposing the soaked, puffy mess between his legs.

Sanzu whimpered.

“Awww,” M/n cooed, mocking, watching the way Sanzu’s slick dripped down onto the sheets. “All swollen and puffy. Poor thing. No wonder you’re suffering so much.”

His fingers ghosted over the sensitive, twitching entrance, making Sanzu’s entire body jerk violently. A choked, humiliating little gasp escaped him, before he could even stop it.

M/n’s smirk widened.

“Sensitive, aren’t we?”

Sanzu’s chest heaved, his thighs twitching, trying to press back together, but M/n’s grip on him was iron-strong.

The worst part?

His hole fluttered, clenching around nothing, desperately sucking in the air, trying to get something—anything inside.

M/n chuckled.

His fingers dragged lower, tracing the slick-drenched, swollen mess between Sanzu’s legs, his touch so light it made Sanzu’s breath hitch violently.

“Such a cute little pussy.”

Sanzu’s eyes went wide.

His heart slammed against his ribs.

“No,” he rasped, shaking his head, voice wrecked, barely there. “No, I—”

But M/n tapped a finger against his twitching, leaking hole, and whatever Sanzu was about to say vanished in a broken, needy little sob.

His body betrayed him.

M/n grinned.

“Ohhh,” he exhaled, mocking delight dripping from his voice. “You like that?” He pressed a little firmer, watching the way Sanzu’s entrance fluttered around the touch, how his body instinctively tried to take him in.

Sanzu’s breathing stuttered.

Tears burned at the corners of his eyes.

M/n leaned in, voice dropping to a low purr.

“Come on,” he murmured. “Say it.”

Sanzu shook his head, lips parted, breath coming in ragged little pants.

M/n’s smirk turned ruthless.

His thumb dragged down, slick gathering on his fingers, pressing just barely against Sanzu’s puffy, twitching pussy, pushing in just enough to make Sanzu’s entire body jerk violently.

A sharp, broken cry ripped from his throat.

M/n hummed, amused.

“There we go,” he murmured. “Just like a good little omega.”

Sanzu’s chest heaved, his entire body trembling as the heat twisted deeper, spreading through his veins like molten lava. His fingers dug into the sheets, his thighs quivering, still trying—weakly, uselessly—to press together, to hide himself from the hungry, amused gaze drinking him in.

But M/n wouldn’t let him.

“You’re still fighting?” M/n mused, tilting his head, his thumb dragging slow, lazy circles against the puffy, leaking mess between Sanzu’s legs.

Sanzu twitched violently, a humiliating, sharp gasp tearing from his throat.

It was too much.

The heat had already wrecked him, stripped him of everything, made his body hypersensitive—and now M/n was toying with him, pushing against the swollen, fluttering entrance just enough to make Sanzu’s instincts claw at his mind.

His body knew what it needed.

It was begging for it.

But M/n wasn’t giving it to him.

Not yet.

Sanzu bit down on his lip, his vision blurry, heat pooling low and deep in his gut. He wanted to scream, wanted to curse and fight, but the moment M/n pressed his fingers in a little deeper, a broken little sob escaped him instead.

M/n grinned.

“There we go,” he murmured, voice sickly sweet, mocking. “I knew you’d sound cute when you finally stopped pretending.”

Sanzu whimpered, hips jerking forward against his will, chasing more, desperate, needy—

M/n’s fingers vanished.

A sharp cry ripped from Sanzu’s throat, his body arching off the bed, his hole clenching around nothing, sucking in the empty air.

M/n laughed.

“Awww,” he cooed, reaching out to cup Sanzu’s jaw, tilting his flushed, tear-streaked face up toward him. “Poor little thing. Did you want something?”

Sanzu’s lips parted, breath hitching, his entire body burning. His scent spiked, thick with helpless, desperate need.

But he still wouldn’t say it.

M/n sighed, shaking his head, disappointed. “Still acting tough?”

Sanzu shuddered.

Then—

A sharp slap landed against his inner thigh, stinging, making him flinch and jerk.

M/n’s tone darkened.

“Say it.”

Sanzu’s chest rose and fell rapidly, his pulse pounding in his ears. His pride was dangling by a thread, fragile, barely holding on—

M/n’s fingers dragged lower again, teasing over the slick, messy folds, his thumb pressing against the sensitive, twitching entrance.

Sanzu gasped, thighs trembling, his body trying to sink down onto it.

But M/n still wouldn’t give it to him.

“Beg.”

Sanzu whimpered, fingers clenching into the sheets so hard his knuckles turned white. His mouth opened, but no words came out, just ragged little breaths, humiliated, broken noises.

He couldn’t.

He wouldn’t.

Another sharp slap to his inner thigh made him jolt violently, and M/n grabbed his chin again, forcing their eyes to meet.

“Be a good girl,” M/n murmured, his smirk widening, voice dripping with cruel amusement. “Tell me what you need.”

Sanzu’s vision blurred. His body ached, twitched, desperation clawing at his mind. His heat was devouring him, instincts screaming, pleading, demanding—

The words ripped from his throat before he could stop them.

“Please.”

M/n’s eyes gleamed.

Sanzu shuddered, tears spilling down his flushed cheeks, humiliation burning through him hotter than the heat itself.

M/n hummed, dragging his fingers lazily over Sanzu’s needy, dripping hole, making him whimper, squirm, gasp.

“Please what?”

Sanzu bit his lip, his throat tight, chest heaving. He couldn’t say it.

But his body was screaming it for him.

M/n sighed in mock sympathy. “Such a dumb little thing.”

Then—

His fingers pushed inside.

Sanzu gasped, his entire body arching off the mattress, a sharp, wrecked moan tearing from his throat.

It felt too good.

The stretch, the fullness, the way M/n’s fingers curled just right, pressing against something deep inside him, making his hole clench down, sucking his fingers deeper.

His useless, pathetic d*ck twitched against his stomach, leaking slick and precum, but still—still—not even half-hard.

His body had no use for it.

Only his soft, soaking-wet pussy mattered now.

M/n groaned, watching the way Sanzu’s swollen entrance clenched greedily around his fingers. “Ohhh, you were made for this.”

Sanzu let out a pitiful little whimper, his entire body trembling, his hips rolling down into the touch, chasing more, more, more—

M/n’s fingers slid out.

Sanzu sobbed.

“No,” he choked out, his hole clenching around nothing, slick dripping down his thighs, making a mess of the sheets beneath him. “No, no, please—”

M/n chuckled, his fingers coated in slick, watching the ruined, broken mess before him.

“Look at you,” he murmured, amused. “So desperate. So empty.”

Sanzu’s entire body shuddered.

M/n shifted, undoing his belt, pulling his pants down just enough to free his aching, heavy cock, already slick with precum, flushed, throbbing.

Sanzu’s breath hitched.

M/n’s fingers curled around his soft, dripping pussy, giving it a slow, teasing rub, making Sanzu cry out, his hips jerking forward.

“Want me to fill you up, sweetheart?” M/n murmured, mocking, taunting, rubbing his thick, leaking tip against the sensitive, twitching hole.

Sanzu nodded weakly, panting, lost, his body begging for it.

M/n’s smirk widened.

“Use your words.”

Sanzu’s breath came out in a ragged sob.

“Please, Alpha—”

M/n’s hands gripped his thighs, spreading him wider, holding him open and exposed.

Then—

He thrust in.

Sanzu’s back arched off the mattress, his entire body seizing, a sharp, broken scream ripping from his throat as his aching, swollen pussy was finally, finally filled.

It was too much.

It was perfect.

M/n groaned. “Oh, you were made for this.”

Then, he started moving.

Sanzu screamed.

It was too much—too deep, too good, the stretch burning hot and perfect as M/n’s cock forced him open, shoving inside with a single, brutal thrust.

His pussy clenched down immediately, desperate, needy, sucking M/n’s cock deeper, like his body knew exactly what it was made for.

Sanzu’s thighs trembled, his breath stuttering into a wrecked sob, and when M/n pulled back, only to slam in again, even harder, his body arched violently off the bed.

“Ohhh,” M/n groaned, hands gripping Sanzu’s hips hard enough to bruise, holding him still, pinned, completely at his mercy. “So fucking tight.”

Sanzu let out a broken whimper, his hands scrabbling at the sheets, his mind fogged and empty, drowned beneath the overwhelming, unbearable pleasure.

His useless little dick was still soft, twitching against his stomach, dripping helpless little beads of slick and precum—completely forgotten.

His body didn’t care about it anymore.

His body only wanted cock.

M/n’s hands slid up, gripping Sanzu’s waist, before he slammed him down onto his length, forcing him to take it all.

Sanzu screamed.

A sharp, wet slap echoed in the room as M/n’s hips smacked against Sanzu’s, stuffing him full, over and over, his pussy gushing slick, making a mess of both of them.

“Fuck,” M/n grunted, forcing Sanzu’s legs wider, watching his puffy, swollen little hole stretch around his thick length, sucking him deeper with every thrust.

“You like this, huh?” M/n mocked, snapping his hips forward, watching the way Sanzu cried out, his breath ragged, gasping, desperate. “This cute little pussy was made to be fucked, wasn’t it?”

Sanzu shook his head weakly, whimpering, but his body betrayed him completely.

His hips rolled back automatically, chasing each thrust, his insides clenching down, begging to be filled, bred, ruined.

M/n laughed.

“Look at you,” he murmured, voice dripping with pure amusement, watching the way Sanzu’s hole clenched greedily, slick dripping between his thighs.

“You’re just a fcking pussy now, aren’t you?”

Sanzu let out a choked sob, humiliation burning through him, but he couldn’t stop.

Couldn’t stop taking it.

Couldn’t stop wanting it.

Couldn’t stop needing it.

M/n grinned, leaning down, his breath hot against Sanzu’s ear.

“Say it.”

Sanzu’s breath hitched violently, his body shuddering, overwhelmed, his vision blurred with tears.

He couldn’t.

He wouldn’t.

But then—

M/n’s fingers slid down, rubbing over his slick, swollen little dick, sending a white-hot spark of pleasure straight through him.

Sanzu screamed.

His entire body jerked violently, his pussy squeezing around M/n’s cock, soaking both of them in even more slick.

M/n chuckled, low and dark, his pace picking up, fucking into Sanzu even harder.

“Say it,” he growled, gripping his throat, his other hand still toying with Sanzu’s soaked little dick, stroking it in tight, warm palm.

Sanzu’s mind broke.

“I’m just a pussy!” he sobbed, screaming it, his body convulsing, drowning in mindless, unbearable pleasure.

“Good girl.”

M/n slammed into him one final time, shoving his cock as far as it could go with out catching on his knot, holding him there as his release spilled inside, filling Sanzu with hot, thick cum.

Sanzu let out a wrecked, broken moan, his back arching, his entire body shuddering violently as his own release ripped through him.

His pussy clamped down hard, milking M/n’s cock, desperate to be bred, his heat finally satisfied.

For now.

M/n pulled back slightly, watching as his cum dripped out, running down Sanzu’s thighs, pooling on the ruined sheets.

Sanzu was wrecked.

His breath came in ragged, choked sobs, his thighs twitching violently, his entire body overheated, soaked, ruined. His puffy, abused little hole was still fluttering, gaping, leaking M/n’s cum onto the sheets beneath him, his body still crying for more.

But his heat wasn’t over.

His instincts weren’t satisfied.

His pathetic little clit—his soft, useless excuse of a dick—twitched against his stomach, dripping slick, ignored, forgotten, completely useless to the heat wracking his body.

And then—

A new scent flooded the room.

Sharp. Cold. Omega.

Mikey.

Sanzu’s entire body tensed violently, his breath catching, his dazed, glassy eyes barely able to focus as he turned his head.

Mikey stood in the doorway, his dark, empty eyes dragging over Sanzu’s ruined form, his lips curling into a slow, disgusted smirk.

“Still in heat?”

Sanzu shuddered, a fresh wave of humiliation burning through him.

Because Mikey was right.

His body was still aching.

Still needy.

Still empty.

And Mikey could smell it.

M/n hummed, casual, lazy, watching as Mikey stepped closer, his movements slow, deliberate, his scent curling around Sanzu like a noose.

“I was wondering when you’d give in,” M/n murmured, tilting his head. “Figured you’d be too disgusted to touch him.”

Mikey’s smirk widened. “I am disgusted.”

His sharp gaze dropped to Sanzu’s trembling, slick-drenched thighs, his ruined little clit twitching uselessly, and a low, mocking chuckle slipped from his lips.

“But he’s already dripping for me, isn’t he?”

Sanzu let out a soft, broken noise, his shame and desperation mixing into something unbearable.

Mikey stepped closer, the mattress dipping as he crawled over Sanzu’s body. At some point Mikey must off taken off his clothes because Mikey was pressing down against him, his own useless dick rubbing against Sanzu’s stomach, leaking precum.

Sanzu’s entire body tensed violently at the skin-on-skin contact, his instincts screaming at him to submit.

Mikey’s lips brushed against his ear, his voice a cold whisper.

“Little bitch,” he murmured.

Then—

His teeth sank into Sanzu’s scent gland.

Sanzu screamed.

His whole body arched off the bed, his clit twitching violently, slick gushing out of him, his heat kicking up even stronger as Mikey’s dominant omega scent poured into him.

Mikey licked over the bite slowly, savoring Sanzu’s pathetic little sobs.

“You’re so fcking weak,” he whispered, his hand dragging down Sanzu’s trembling stomach, his fingers ghosting over his pathetic, useless little clit.

Sanzu flinched violently, letting out a wrecked little whimper, because Mikey was touching it like it was a real pussy.

Mikey grinned.

“Awww,” he cooed, mocking, rubbing his fingers over the soft, twitching flesh, watching Sanzu’s entire body jerk uncontrollably.

“Look at this cute little clit.”

Sanzu sobbed.

Mikey’s fingers pinched it, rolled it between his fingers, rubbing tight little circles, and Sanzu’s breath hitched violently, his legs trembling as his body reacted against his will.

“Doesn’t even get hard anymore, does it?” Mikey murmured, his voice pure condescension.

Sanzu whimpered, shaking his head weakly, his body fighting him, his hips rolling into Mikey’s touch despite himself.

“Poor thing,” Mikey purred. “Bet it feels even better when I play with this messy little pussy, huh?”

His fingers dragged lower, teasing Sanzu’s drenched fluttering little hole, and Sanzu sobbed, his thighs twitching open even wider.

“Such a cute little thing,” Mikey whispered, mocking, taunting, pressing a single finger inside, watching Sanzu’s wrecked expression twist in unbearable pleasure.

Then—

M/n grabbed Mikey’s chin, yanking him up.

The omega snarled, but M/n just smirked.

“You’re awfully worked up for someone who wasn’t interested,” M/n murmured, his fingers dragging over Mikey’s entrance, rubbing over his slick-drenched hole.

Mikey’s breath hitched.

A sharp, violent shudder ran down his spine, his thighs twitching, pressing together instinctively, but M/n’s hand was already there, keeping them spread wide.

“Fuck off,” Mikey snapped, voice low, biting—but it wasn’t as sharp as it should’ve been.

Because his scent was changing.

It was subtle at first—just the slightest shift, something thicker, sweeter, mixing with the overpowering heat-heavy scent already filling the room.

M/n inhaled deeply, his grin widening.

“Ohhh,” he exhaled, his thumb brushing over Mikey’s slick entrance, feeling the way it fluttered under his touch.

“You’re feeling it now, aren’t you?”

Mikey tensed violently.

Because he was.

It had started the moment he walked into the room. The moment Sanzu’s ruined, heat-heavy scent hit him, the moment M/n’s thick alpha pheromones wrapped around him like a noose.

His body had reacted instantly.

He’d felt the tug in his gut, the slow, creeping burn pooling low in his stomach, the way his own slick started leaking out of him before he could even process it.

Sympathy heat.

He wasn’t even in his own cycle—his body was just responding to the scent of another omega in distress, to the dominant alpha presence pressing down on him.

It was natural. Instinctive.

And completely fucking disgusting.

Mikey clenched his teeth, his thighs trembling, his body fighting itself—but it was too late.

M/n chuckled darkly.

“You walked in here thinking you were better than him,” he mused, pressing his fingers against Mikey’s twitching, slick hole, watching the way it clenched down, desperate for something to fill it.

Mikey let out a sharp breath, his back arching slightly, his useless little dick twitching against his stomach.

M/n leaned in, his lips brushing against Mikey’s flushed, overheated ear.

“But now you’re just as bad,” he whispered.

Then—

He pushed a finger inside.

Mikey gasped, violently, his entire body jerking, his hole clenching down tight around M/n’s finger, sucking it deeper.

Sanzu watched.

Watched the omega who had mocked him, who had called him pathetic, who had looked at him with nothing but disgust—

Now writhing, panting, falling apart just as fast.

The realization sent a fresh pulse of slick out of Sanzu’s swollen, puffy little pussy, his thighs shaking, his own heat spiking again.

Mikey bit his lip hard, his breath ragged, his fingers gripping the sheets beneath him.

“Still trying to act tough?” M/n mocked, crooking his finger, pressing against that deep, sensitive spot inside.

Mikey let out a sharp, wrecked noise, his hips jerking forward, chasing the touch against his will.

Sanzu shuddered.

Because he recognized it.

That exact moment.

The moment when your body stopped listening to you.

When instincts took over completely.

M/n grinned.

“There it is.”

Mikey let out a ragged breath, his thighs twitching, his hole clenching hard around M/n’s fingers.

M/n leaned in, voice low, teasing.

“Do you get it now?”

Mikey trembled.

M/n dragged his fingers out slowly, leaving Mikey’s wet, clenching hole twitching around nothing, before pressing his slick-coated fingers against Sanzu’s entrance instead.

Sanzu gasped, his entire body arching, his soft, dripping little clit twitching uselessly against his stomach.

Mikey watched.

Watched as Sanzu’s puffy little pussy clenched around M/n’s fingers, his pretty little hole sucking them in greedily, instinctively.

Watched as Sanzu sobbed, wrecked, broken, completely lost in heat.

Watched as his own body reacted.

Slick dripped down his thighs, his entrance fluttering, aching, needing.

M/n smirked, watching both of them now.

“Two desperate little omegas,” he murmured, dragging Sanzu closer, grinding his slick-drenched pussy against Mikey’s dripping dick.

The contact was electric.

Both omegas let out a sharp, broken moan, their bodies trembling, reacting, needing more.

“Aw, fuck,” M/n chuckled, watching them twitch and whimper, their little cocks rubbing together, leaking slick.

“You’re both fucking ruined, aren’t you?”

Mikey growled weakly, trying to pull away—but the moment he moved, his dick dragged against Sanzu’s swollen pussy again, sending a sharp, violent pulse of heat through both of them.

Sanzu sobbed.

Mikey gasped, eyes wide, breath ragged.

M/n groaned, gripping Mikey’s hips, his hands strong, bruising, keeping him still.

M/n lined himself up.

Pressed the thick, leaking tip of his cock against Mikey’s twitching little hole.

Mikey’s breath caught.

He tensed.

M/n leaned in, voice low, rough, cruel.

“Since you think you’re so much better than him…”

Then—

He thrust in.

Mikey screamed.

His back arched violently, his hole clenching down around M/n’s cock, trying to suck him deeper, his heat finally, fully taking over.

M/n let out a low, satisfied groan, burying himself to the hilt, feeling Mikey’s tight, desperate little hole twitch and squeeze around him.

Sanzu watched, shaking, helpless.

Watched the strongest omega he knew finally submit.

And M/n?

M/n just grinned, grabbing Sanzu by the waist, forcing him forward, pressing their bodies together.

“Now,” he murmured, dragging his thick, hard cck out of Mikey’s soaked hole, lining himself up with Sanzu’s ruined, twitching pssy instead.

“Let’s see which one of you can take me better.”

Then—

He f*cked them both.

And neither omega stood a chance.

Sanzu’s wrecked little pussy clenched down greedily as M/n’s thick cock slammed into him, shoving him forward onto Mikey, their sweaty, slick-drenched bodies grinding together, their soft, useless little dicks rubbing with every brutal thrust.

Mikey’s mouth fell open, a wrecked, choked moan spilling out, his entrance fluttering pathetically, still slick with M/n’s release from the first round.

And now—

Now, he had Sanzu’s heat-soaked body pinned against him, rubbing against his aching, twitching, desperate little hole.

“You two are so f*cking filthy,” M/n groaned, his grip bruising as he slammed into Sanzu harder, faster, forcing the other omega’s body to grind against Mikey’s.

Sanzu sobbed, whimpering, broken, his legs shaking violently, his hole so swollen and abused it could barely hold M/n’s thick length inside.

But his body refused to let go.

Every thrust forced slick out of him, drenching both omegas in his heat-drunk mess.

Mikey hissed, his own body reacting, his entrance clenching, his hips bucking forward to meet the friction.

M/n grinned.

“Awww,” he mocked, watching Mikey’s wrecked expression twist in unbearable pleasure. “I thought you hated him?”

Mikey’s breath hitched violently.

M/n dragged Sanzu off his cock, watching his swollen, puffy little pussy clench around nothing, his slick dripping onto the sheets.

Sanzu whined loudly, his entire body jerking forward, desperate, needy, lost.

And just as quickly—

M/n shoved into Mikey instead.

Mikey cried out, his back arching, his hole stretching wide, swallowing M/n’s cock so deep his entire body shook.

Sanzu watched helplessly, watched as M/n buried himself to the hilt, stuffing Mikey full in one sharp thrust, watched as Mikey let out the most wrecked little whimper, his slick gushing around the thick length inside him.

“Alpha—” Mikey choked, voice wrecked, humiliated, needy.

M/n’s grin widened.

“Ohhh, you’re calling me Alpha now?” he taunted, grabbing Mikey’s throat, forcing him to look up.

Mikey’s legs twitched violently, his face flushed, his breathing ragged.

M/n fucked into him harder, dragging another broken moan from the smaller omega’s throat.

Sanzu whimpered, his thighs clenching together, his own pussy throbbing, aching, his slick-covered clit twitching against his stomach.

“Look at you,” M/n murmured, watching as both omegas trembled beneath him, their bodies writhing, leaking, begging for more.

He reached down, gripping both of their chins, forcing them to look up at him.

“You’re both nothing but little cock-drunk whores now, huh?”

Sanzu sobbed, his body too far gone, his heat too overwhelming, his mind too ruined to do anything but nod.

Mikey squeezed his eyes shut, his lips trembling—but his body betrayed him too.

Because he nodded just the same.

M/n groaned, dragging himself out of Mikey, grabbing Sanzu, shoving back into his soaked little pussy instead, watching as the pink-haired omega collapsed backward, his entire body trembling, shaking, his pussy fluttering, welcoming every brutal thrust.

Mikey was panting heavily, his hole clenching around nothing, his body aching for more.

M/n smirked. “See, Mikey?”

He reached down, grabbing Mikey’s hips, lifting him slightly, positioning him over Sanzu’s heat-soaked body.

“Since you’re both so desperate, why don’t you fuck each other for me?”

Mikey’s breath stuttered.

Sanzu let out a wrecked, soft little sob, his body already moving on instinct, his hips rolling upward, rubbing against Mikey’s swollen, slick hole.

Both omegas gasped.

Mikey twitched violently, his fingers digging into Sanzu’s skin, his heat-soaked body grinding down automatically.

Slick poured out of them both, mixing together, making a disgusting, messy pool beneath them.

M/n groaned at the sight, gripping both of their waists, forcing them to grind harder.

“Fuck, look at you two,” he muttered, watching as they writhed together, slick-drunk and heat-crazed, rubbing their little pssies against each other, whimpering, gasping, too lost in need to care about anything else.

“You were supposed to hate each other,” he chuckled, his fingers digging in, keeping them moving, making them chase the pleasure.

“But now you’re nothing but my desperate little omega toys.”

Mikey let out a wrecked moan, his body shaking violently, his hole clenching down around nothing, his heat consuming him.

Sanzu was already gone, too deep in submissive omega bliss, his thighs trembling, his slick-covered clit twitching, completely, utterly broken.

M/n groaned.

“Since you both worked so hard—”

He grabbed Mikey, slamming him back down onto his cock.

Mikey screamed, his entire body arching, his hole sucking M/n’s length so deep his stomach bulged slightly.

Sanzu watched, panting, twitching, his own pussy clenching around nothing, jealous, needy, wrecked.

M/n fucked into Mikey harder, his pace brutal, merciless, making the omega collapse forward onto Sanzu’s chest.

Sanzu could feel the way Mikey trembled, the way his body shook, could feel the overwhelming heat radiating off of him.

And then—

M/n slammed in deep, biting down on Mikey’s scent gland, filling him, stuffing him full of thick, hot cum.

Mikey screamed, wrecked, mindless.

His hole clenched around M/n’s knot, locking him in place, milking him, his own release spilling out of him, mixing with the slick covering both omegas.

And then—

Sanzu whimpered.

Still empty.

Still aching.

Still needing.

M/n grinned, looking down at his ruined little omegas.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he murmured, dragging his fingers through Sanzu’s dripping slick.

“You’re next.”

And Sanzu?

Sanzu knew—

He would never escape this.

And worse?

He didn’t want to.

[amie-777]

the time has arrived that i write for domesticated Simon

TW: mentions of cutting/dieting (loosing weight)

MDNI

That man has a buzz. It is convenient; no waiting 'till his hair is dry after a shower; easy styled in the mornings; and he looks slutty.

Already stretching the army regulations with his mask, he is required to have his facial hair shaved. Cut down to his skin, so you help him shave it. Every time Price calls, it's trimming time.

You straddle his lap in the bathroom, bent over his jaw to reach the small stubbles. This is what he earns himself; time with you right before getting deployed.

On the mission there are usually long waiting hours, spent eating awful food or playing cards with the cheater Kyle or he'll remember you; how your hair tickled his ear, how your fingers stretched his skin to reach stubborn hair. How you massage some cream into his scarred cheeks and how you press a kiss to his temple climbing down from him.

He honors it. If he were to die out here, he would at least have something to hold onto. Smelling the remnants of your scent, feeling your nimble fingers on his skin.

Ghost's muscles sit heavy on his bones. Meant to fuel him, lift him and his teammates. An absolute beast out in the field. But can’t resist his sweet tooth, whatever you bake and cook, he devours it.

Imagine him having to cut back some weight before a deployment, it's better for his safety to put on a bit more strength. So as a good girlfriend wife you suffer with Simon.

No cookies, icecream, crisps anything. You two mealprep and up your protein, eat loads of veggies and throw longing glances at the chocolate.

It is late at night, when you awake. Patting the cold space besides your side of the bed to confirm that Simon once again is out of bed. Hearing the crustles from the kitchen you go to investigate, finding Simon stuffing his face with his favorite crisps. There is chocolate sauce stuck to his lips and the folded carboard box of cereals lies guilty on the counter.

Stemming your hands at your waist and staring at him.

"I's no' wha' i' looks like, luv."

“Maybe we have to incorporate a balanced diet.” You chuckle and join him eating.

When Simon returns from deployment everything is too loud. It is why you unplug the lamp on your nightstand (it buzzes) and you lower the volume of the TV. You let in fresh air and don't wash the sheets. Lay out some clothes and prepare a light meal.

He comes through the door and it is like everytime. He is in shabbles, duct tape holding him together. Nicks on his body and blood seeping from the holes. There is gun greese residue on his hands, MRE’s stuck behind his molars and that awful grainy granola bar from Soap in his pocket, pokes his thigh. Suddenly he is there, standing in the doorway. “Luv.” You let him arrive, let him take off his muddy shoes and let him drop the bags by the door.

You massage the eyeblack away; use a make up removal that doesn't trigger his sensitive skin, and you wash him under the warm shower. Cup a hand to collect the water and rinse off the longer hair, careful not to let it drip onto his face. For the new wounds you apply a wound healing cream that doesn't sting his nose. Turn him so he doesn’t see himself in the mirror, help him dress.

And then you let him rest, as long as he needs to.

Simon felt worthless being this craddled. But he has been fighting for far too long, and it feels so good to nuzzle in your neck. Let himself feel how his heart slows down. What he doesn’t let you do is feed him, he will be babied but not to this degree. And the food you give him is filling, not upsetting his stomach, and absolutely giving him back his appetite.

If you keep going like this, luv? You’ll be married twice at least.

Thank youu for reading. (I have the gut feeling that this is awful and that I haven't done Simon justice yet.)

[rainrot4me]

Creeps when their victim fights back? Like literally full on attacks them and gets so hits in. Jeff and Tim please 🥺

๑ Warning: Blood and violence

── .✦

✦ . jeff the killer

You got him good—right across the face with the steak knife you managed to swipe from your knife block in the kitchen when you had the sneaking suspicion that someone had broken into your home. If only he hadn’t forgotten to shut the window behind him, he wouldn’t have to be in this situation. Blood drips from a fresh gash under his eye, and for a moment, he just… stares at you.

Then he grins.

Wide. Too wide.

“Oh… you wanna play, huh?”

He licks the blood off his lip as it trickles down his cheek, manic glee in his eyes, body trembling with excitement. You’ve just made this so much worse. Now he’s not just toying with you—now it’s personal.

“You wanna play all big and brave now?” he laughs, knife twirling in his fingers. “Let’s see how long you last once I start taking fingers off your hands.”

✦ . ticci toby

You knock him back with a punch to the jaw, and for a second, he just blinks, recognizing the waves of pressure pulsing through his muscles.

Then the demeaning laughter starts.

It’s jittery, disjointed, almost like he’s mocking your sad-ass effort, and it doesn’t stop—his shoulders shaking, eyes wide behind his goggles.

“Ohhh shit, you’re fiesty! Whe-Where’d that come from?”

He’s suddenly on you again, fast and overpowering, every movement unpredictable. He’s grinning, drooling, buzzing with adrenaline, and now he’s not pulling his hits anymore. This was just a hit mission to him, but now it’s become a valid excuse to let out all the nervous energy he’s been swimming in for the past week. Turns out not pulling your punches is a great way to relieve stress.

“Come on, hit me again!” he barks, ducking another swing before slamming his fist into your nose so hard you hear the bone crack on impact. “I’ll make you fe-feel it this time!”

✦ . eyeless jack

He was just hungry, how was he supposed to know the lone hiker he decided to stalk would be strapped? You catch him by surprise—pocket knife blade to his ribs, cutting deep through his hoodie. He stumbles, hand clenching over the wound as a few drops of black blood hit the forest floor.

And he looks up slowly.

His breathing deepens, face unreadable beneath the mask. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t make a sound, just tilts his head… then comes at you like a bat out of hell, like a dog that’s been held back from a sprinting rabbit.

“…You’ll regret that,” he murmurs as he knocks you to the ground, slamming your head down onto the earth.

Now it’s not a mid-afternoon meal, it’s him taking his time sinking his claws into each side of your throat and watching as your pupils fog up.

✦ . masky (tim wright)

He had lost you in the winding hallways of your house, getting turned around as he rushed to find where you were hiding. He didn’t realize the thudding footsteps were coming from behind him. You slam a dining chair across his back, and he crashes to the floor with a curse. He’s up fast, staggering, pulling off the mask with a snarl. His lip is bleeding.

“You… piece of shit—”

His eyes are furious, wild, the kind of look you only see when you swat at a pissed-off grizzly bear.

“Come ‘ere.”

He wipes his mouth, then steps forward—intimidating, all broad shoulders and cold fury. He’s not laughing, not teasing, he’s ready to rip your head off of your neck.

He makes sure to hurt you now, not because he has to, but because you practically asked for it.

✦ . hoody (brian thomas)

He was never a big fan of combat, preferring to just deliver a bullet to the head and be done with it. But when you kicked his pistol across the room and wrestled him to the ground, he didn’t expect the knee to the gut. You knock him back shuffling to your feet and trying to stand your ground. His mask slips up slightly as his back hits the wall.

He exhales hard.

Then he starts chuckling like you just delivered some shitty joke. That thought doesn’t stop the pit of dread from growing in your gut.

“Oh… alright then.”

He adjusts the hood, rising to his full height. His body language is calm, but there’s an edge now. He would’ve been alright with just popping a piece of lead into your skull, but he doesn’t find that thought satisfying anymore.

“This is your funeral, sweetheart,” he mutters, voice like gravel. You don’t even see him move, let alone have time to react, before you feel the back of your skull slam into the hardwood below.

✦ . ben drowned

You land a punch square to his chest hard enough to knock the air out of him. He glitches out in a flicker of green code before reappearing, hovering just above the ground. He’s usually able to dodge hits without effort, but somehow, you managed to leave an ache in his fizzled body.

“…Did you just hit me?”

He looks almost impressed.

Then his grin twists downwards into an unnatural frown, almost as if his skin is pulling off of his bones.

“That’s not very nice.”

Reality around you distorts—walls ripple, lights flicker, and your reflection turns to static. Now you’re not just fighting Ben, you’re being actively transitioned into code, skin pixelating and flickering quicker than you can react.

It’s only when you feel your fingers begin to evaporate up to your arm that the elf begins to giggle to himself. You’re code now, and Ben is hitting the delete button over and over and over…

✦ . clockwork

It wasn’t your fault that you ended up in this trashy dive bar on the side of the interstate this late. But, it is your fault that you decided starting a drunken fight with the stitched-face girl across the room was a good idea. Your fist hits her jaw—and to your surprise, she stumbles back with a hiss.

Then her laughter rings out, sharp and delighted.

“Oooh, sweetheart, that was cute.”

She wipes a trickle of blood from her lip with the back of her hand, clock eye ticking loud in the quickly-emptying bar.

“I was gonna end it quick,” she says, stepping forward with a wicked smile. “But now? Now I’m gonna enjoy every second.”

She dodges your next swing easily, dancing around you, coiling like a predator playing with its food. She’ll let you drunkenly stumble around her, nearly knocking a few punches, but she’ll make sure you feel the ones she busts into the side of your jaw.

✦ . laughing jack

It’s unfortunate that you and your friends were the ones that ended up stuck in Jack’s fun house, but when the clown picks out his victims, there’s no stopping him. He’s cornering your group, long limbs swinging with the horrible humming erupting from his throat. With a rush of bravery, you slap him across the face. Hard.

Everything goes still.

Then, he giggles.

It bubbles into full-on howls of laughter, bending backward, clutching his sides like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever experienced.

“Oh, ho ho ho! My stars! You’ve got some spunk!”

He straightens up, grin splitting wide across his chalk-white face, eyes alight with wicked glee, glowing bright white in the ever-changing colors of the circus lights.

“Let’s see how long you can keep it.”

The lights flicker out, the room is spinning, and all you hear is the ragged screaming of your friends behind you. They cry for help, but your fists can’t hit what you can’t see.

✦ . slenderman

It’s closing in, whatever it is. Whatever has been chasing your nightmares, fueling your fears, and coiling at the edges of your vision. Finally, you catch it—just a silhouette, but enough for you to see. You throw everything you have into a punch and your knuckles actually connect. You hit something, even if it’s barely tangible. It’s like punching fog, and yet there’s a deep rumble, like the forest itself just recoiled from the impact.

The air around you freezes, suddenly becoming very difficult to inhale.

Everything stops. The static in your brain, the noises outside your window, even the dust in the air halts.

He doesn’t move at first, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t need to.

Then, the tendrils rise.

“Unfortunate,” his voice echoes inside your skull like thunder. “I had such high hopes for you.”

Then the pain in your skull doubles, no, triples. It feels like your brain is melting, head splitting nausea that brings you to your knees. It’s only when you see the red drops dribbling on the ground that you realize every hole in your face is gushing blood. And it won’t stop, not until your brain is resorted to mush.

꩜ .ᐟ

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (39/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Addicted is the only word to describe Charles.

Warnings: 18+ (mentions of sex, male masturbation, cunniligus, breeding kink and choking (if you squint)), angst and fluff

Word Count: 3.8k

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A/N: tbh, I'd be on my knees for this Charles in a heartbeat. feedback is appreciated!

Your fingertips on Charles' naked thigh make his brain short-circuit. 

Your unexpected, gentle touch shoots like lightning through his skin like lightning and then through his veins until the heat spreads throughout his body and his muscles are on fire. His heart is beating so hard that he fears it will break his bones and jump out of his chest. He can hear the blood pounding in his ears, goosebumps are spreading across his skin – but when he looks at you, he can no longer think clearly.

He never would have expected you to be so close again. He could never have dreamt of it.

After the night before yesterday, he no longer believed that he would be able to feel your touch again.

The memory of you fleeing from the bed is as deeply ingrained in his thoughts as your touch and your expression when you came on his thigh. 

He had to hold back the whole evening the day before. To be honest, he had struggled with himself and forced himself to behave normally, even though all he could think about was you sitting on his lap and him rubbing you over his bulge until his damn phone rang. And even though he jerked off in the shower after his workout, it definitely wasn't enough to satisfy his craving for you. His hand is not you – and by God, he's addicted to your touch.

When you touched his hand in the car on the way to dinner with his family and played with his fingers as if it were the most natural thing in the world, it had taken him an incredible amount of strength and willpower to keep the car in the lane and not to pull over to the nearest lay-by or parking lot and rearrange your guts. 

He is extremely embarrassed by how much like a horny teenager he acts as soon as you are around. 

Since you first shared a bed and you unconsciously pressed against him in your sleep, he can no longer get the feeling of your body against his out of his head. The way you snuggled up against him, how your curves perfectly matched his. And you still had your pajamas on then. 

He feels very ashamed of how good you felt when you lay in his arms and cried. How soft your skin was on his, how warm you were – how perfect. He would have liked to give himself a slap or two because your dilemma had been so profitable for him personally. That he could hold you and protect you. That he could feel you. 

And your touch hasn't stopped since. Your fingertips on his bare shoulder, your palm on his stubbled cheek when he told you he was jealous of Lando and your friendship, even though that was never entirely true, of course. Your legs between his, your hand on his chest and your lips on his neck as you poured your hearts out at dawn and purple skies. 

But even though he is addicted to your closeness and the feeling you evoke in him like a drug addict, it's not as if he actively or consciously sought your touch. Like two magnets, you hadn't been able to separate after the night, whether it was at breakfast or when you were in his embrace when he told you how good your touch felt and that you shouldn't stop. 

And as if his prayers had been answered – you definitely hadn't stopped. You had intertwined your fingers, felt his heartbeat under your hand. And for a moment he had enjoyed it and let himself be carried away. 

His hands on your hips, his palms on your cheeks and his nose on yours. None of his touches had been conscious, but the result of his desire, which he suppressed so as not to jeopardize your friendship. How can a simple touch make his cock so painfully hard that he has to arrange his erection in his pants so that it is not visible to everyone?

He can't even imagine what would have happened if Pierre and Kika hadn't entered your apartment without getting a raging boner.

It would definitely be smarter if he at least made a reasonable effort to stay away from you a little and not look for your touch every second. But even when you were sitting in the car with Kika and Pierre, he had longed for you. And it had taken about three turns in Pierre's SUV before he had reached out for you and wrapped his long fingers around a calf. Thank heavens you even held out your leg so that he could grab it better. 

From that moment on, he became more shameless around you, even though he cringed inwardly every time. For example, when you were standing in front of the bed in the furniture store and he whispered to you that you should lie down on the bed so that he could see what you looked like in it before he bought it. And that he insists that you continue to share the bed. Of course, only under the pretext that you can sleep better if you fall asleep snuggled up together.

He didn't hesitate for a moment to lift you off the couch and onto Jori's terrace, only to lie down on it himself so that he could then pull you onto him with your full weight. He had seen the insecurity in your face, the way you shifted from one foot to the other, but he had also seen a sparkle in your eyes – desire perhaps? – and nothing in this world could have stopped him from feeling your weight on him. 

You felt perfect on top of him when he wrapped his arms around you and pressed you against him so hard that there was a chance you might leave an imprint of your head on his chest if you ever got up again. His lips found their place on the crown of your head and his hand found your bare skin under your shirt as you snuggled up to him and giggled that he was very comfortable despite his muscles. 

What went through his mind when he offered you that he could lie on top of you, he doesn't know himself. But something about being able to burn all the things that have caused him so much pain in the last few weeks had made him brave and maybe a little crazy. His hand in your hair, the other under your sweater on your spine. His lips on your nose and forehead. 

Then let's stay here. On this couch. It's not as comfortable as our bed, but at least I'll have you lying on top of me.

Charles fears he is losing his mind. 

He lost his mind when he asked you if you would snuggle with him and his heart skipped a beat when you assured him that friends can snuggle too. When he put your leg over his hip. When you pressed your face against his neck and inhaled his scent. He had to move your leg down onto his legs, otherwise you would have felt his hard-on. And all because you touched his neck. 

He didn't even know how sensitive his muscular neck was until you brushed your lips over the soft skin there. And as if there was a switch in his body, blood shoots to his cock every time you come anywhere near his neck. As if his body were programmed to react to your gentle touch. Just as his heart reacts to your closeness. 

He couldn't wait to introduce you to his family. The fact that his maman had already taken you into her heart had only encouraged him more to keep you close to him – in whatever way. Be it as a friend, as it was unspokenly agreed, or as more – as his family now saw you. 

Another crucial point that made him more bold. Because if you didn't want to address the matter and clarify it, then surely you have no problem with him leaning far out of the window and demanding your closeness? 

Are you a good girl, mon amour? 

He is so happy that you get along so well with his family and that they have apparently adopted you outright. The way they have taken you into their midst – even if it meant that he had to sit on that damn stool all evening. But every time he looked at your beaming face, it was worth the back pain. 

He would do anything to see you happy. And he definitely wasn't lying when he told his mom that you're “the absolute best thing that could have happened to him.” 

He has never felt so good or so loved by anyone else, even if you only consider him your best friend. This is a fact that he tries to ignore, but it is repeatedly brought to his attention whether he likes it or not. 

Every time he looks at you, he hears Joris voice in his head, whispering best friend to him, along with the question of whether he loves you, which he has left unanswered. He can't answer the question, he doesn't want to answer the question, because if he were to answer it in the affirmative, then – then – 

Your hands on his naked back, your ass on the back of his thighs, your palms on his chest. 

If you only see him as your best friend, how come you looked so indescribably divine when you came on his leg? Why do you assure him that nothing changes when he touches you intimately, when his whole world is shaken by the way you cling to him and moan when he runs his tongue along your neck?

He would have liked to throw you on your back and rip your shirt open to get to your naked skin faster. He would have sucked, licked, bitten, if you had let him. He would have pushed his face between your thighs and tasted you on his tongue until you came for him several times, burying your hands in his dark hair and moaning his name. 

But you weren't ready yet. And he definitely wasn't going to risk everything. 

Look at me, mon amour. Look at me when you come for me. 

Even if he suffered a severe concussion in the next race, he would never be able to forget the look on your face. What his hand looked like on your throat. How your ass felt in his hand. 

How you left the bed because you felt uncomfortable because of him. 

He doesn't know where it all went wrong. One moment you were moaning his name, his fingertips had felt the curve of your boobs and you had snuggled up to him – and then you were gone, unreachable and distant. He didn't buy the excuse that you weren't tired for a second. But why would you leave him?

Had he crossed a line? Did you feel pushed when he rocked you back and forth on his thigh to make you feel pleasure? What happened in the few minutes you were lying in bed cuddling that you found his closeness so unbearable that you had to flee the bed?

Was he too forward? Too – too non-platonic, that he frightened you with his behavior? Did you feel so uncomfortable about his touch, his comments, that you saw no other way out than to create an insurmountable physical distance that unconsciously shattered his heart?

He had sworn to himself that he would do everything to maintain this friendship. And if that meant giving you this space, not touching you anymore, not calling you mon amour, then he would do so without hesitation, even if it hurt him more than he would ever admit. 

Calling you mon ami felt strange and forced. Your cheek burned on his palm as he touched you one last time. A selfish move he couldn't suppress, that he had to claim for himself before moving away from you so that you wouldn't give up on this friendship. 

The night on the couch had been hell – and not just because the cushion was uncomfortable. Charles had barely been able to get any sleep because his thoughts revolved only around you, the look in your eyes and the tears that had rolled down your cheeks.

He would keep his distance, as little as possible and as much as necessary, so that you would continue to tolerate him around you. He would do anything to save this friendship, even if it meant swallowing his feelings. 

He didn't know what was happening to him when you brought him breakfast the next morning. Apparently, the night on the couch had been the right direction, the first right step to keep you around, which is why he invited you to his boat as a makeshift solution – under the pretext of having to take photos for his Instagram profile – but had forwarded the tickets he had booked for the two of you to Pierre so that they would at least not expire. 

There would be time to visit Paris during Christmas. Hopefully. 

The day on the boat went much better than he had imagined. Although he held back and didn't touch you under any circumstances, you had been as close emotionally as friends could be, which was certainly due in part to the alcohol. Or maybe it was his honesty when he called to you over the roar of the ocean that he was afraid that things between you would never be the same again. That he would lose you. 

And you looked so beautiful lying next to him on the sun bed. So carefree, as if nothing had ever happened between you. As if you had never been anything but friends. And when you assured him that you would like to work with him, he would have liked to kiss you until there was no air left in his lungs. 

You would work with him. Spend time with him – voluntarily. You would travel the world with him, see the most beautiful places and get to know different cultures – with him. And maybe, just maybe, you would fall in love with him at some point during your journey together, give yourself to him, just like you did once before.

An imagination he clung to as he touched himself in the shower a short time later. How your lips would feel on his. Your mouth on his cock, your tongue on the soft underside of his dick. 

He imagined you lying on the bed in front of him – his new bed – face down, ass up, while he slowly and deeply pushed into you, knocking you over the edge. How your skin would feel, naked and warm as he filled you up with his load, how it would run sticky and hot down your thighs, only for him to catch it with the tip of his tongue and lap it up and stuff it back inside you until you were crying with pleasure and overstimulation. 

He sincerely hopes that the walls of the boat were thick enough. 

What he had hoped for, but couldn't have imagined, was the moment when you smiled at him the next morning. After he had confessed to you, without thinking about what boundaries he would cross or what ocean he would cross, that he couldn't be without you anymore – and you had replied that you couldn't live without him either. 

Another step in the right direction. 

Another step when his mother told you that she had prepared your bed – singular – for you – and you didn't instinctively refuse to share the room with him. You could have gone home, you could have asked Charles to sleep on the couch or to get another room. 

But even when he looked at you and promised you that he would do everything in his power to fix this friendship and to keep you from turning away from him completely, you didn't push him away. He had laid his heart open to you as much as he could without having to answer in the affirmative to that lingering question. 

You are the first thing he thinks about in the morning. You are the person he looks forward to seeing most when he comes home. 

And even when he revealed to you that he couldn't stop thinking about how you feel, you didn't back down. When he confessed to you that you may be his best friend, but you're also so much more and that he craves you. 

You didn't leave. 

Quite the opposite. 

The thought that he carried around with him for a whole day, that you feel uncomfortable around him, that the distance between you is the right thing, is swept away with just one touch. Erased. Non-existent. 

He wants to kiss you, feel your skin against his, claim you for himself. But all he can do is stare at your hand lying on his. He doesn't even feel the tears of joy rolling down his cheeks. All he feels is your hand on his. 

He can't answer the question Joris asked him with words, without risking losing his heart to you forever, but the Monegasque can squeeze your hand. Twice. 

Your fingertips on Charles' thigh make his brain short-circuit, as your hand squeezes his. 

Twice.

[transboyswitchytales]

Dirty Paws and Gentle Kisses

Part 1 - You were trapped in the body of a wolf. An old curse. In the day you were a beast and in the night a witch again . You first met Agatha because you came to kill Evenora. Agatha’s mother cursed you to the body of a wolf as punishment. Where will fate take you from there?

Warnings: WOLF GORE / Bloody / Violence / Nicky Grief / Found Family / Kidnapping / Mind Control / Hallucinations / RioxRxAgatha / Wolf Curse / Killing / Eating People / WOLF BITES / MDNI 18+ /

AgathaRioxCursed Reader

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You first met Agatha in the cold winter of 1750. Most towns were worried about sickness and the devil cursing their newborns. 

You ate wild animals raw, and tried to stay out of sight. But it was an impossible task these days. 

You’d tracked her scent to a forest far outside of Salem. 

It was the moment right before sunset.

Your cursed animal form was only tracked by the changing of the moon. 

At night, you would return to your witch form, and in the day, you would become a beast once more.  

You were bound to the cursed body. Fur and paws, to walk on all fours like a mutt. 

Your turn would come soon. You saw her, she was gorgeous even back then, even at a distance. The snow gently fell around her, like she was an angel. 

It was eerily quiet. And your plan was to be patient, to wait for her to fall asleep. To wait for Evanora to emerge, but you didn’t see the old crone. 

And you didn’t know Agatha had clocked you hours ago.

 Not until you stalked just a little closer and she spoke to you in the silent darkness. 

“I am not your meal.” She poked with a fire ember with her stick, “Alas, poor creature, you are not only a beast, are you?” Agatha said, and her eyes turned to you. You went to pounce, but the sunlight broke behind the horizon; it was night once more, and you gasped in pain. 

A pain you knew too well. 

Your back was always the first to break. 

The bones snapping as you split the skin of your canine form. The hair and muscles bursting at the seams, as your bloody human form broke free once more. 

You pushed the guts and wolf fur off of your shoulders. Standing up, off all fours, now you try to ignore the pain, steam coming off of your blood-soaked body. Your red, soaked feet stain the snow beneath you.

You finally look into the blue eyes of the young witch. 

She’s even more beautiful now. You can’t hurt her.  

“You are not Evanora.” You state as the sky changes color, as your naked body stands in front of her now. Agatha looks more impressed than horrified or disgusted.

She eyes your nudity with something close to arousal, but you don’t think about that. 

The witch answers you plainly.  

“No, I am not. If you are looking for my mother. You can find her corpse in the woods of Salem, along with the rest of her coven of rule followers.”

You don’t decode her obvious malicious feelings for her mother. You just try to stick to the facts. Not interested in spending too much time here. 

“You killed her?” You ask outright, and Agatha studies you for a moment before nodding once. Like she hadn’t actually talked about it yet. It was not long ago. Maybe she hadn’t come to terms with it yet. 

“Well, I guess you saved me from my vengeance. Have a good rest of your night.” You say and turn your naked bloody ass away from the witch but she stops you. Her young voice sounds too old now in the night, like she’d experienced more than most. 

“She did this to you? My mother cursed you.”

You wonder why she sounds needy for your company. 

You turn and Agatha uses the stick to point to a fallen log next to the fire, near her own seat. It had been so long since anyone had shared a fire with you. Since anyone had shown you any kindness whatsoever. You had become used to being a beast. 

To being feared. 

You didn’t remember what manners even were at this point. 

You walk over to the log and sit, and she reaches behind her back, and you move to get up and run. Like the creature of survival that the world has made you become. 

Agatha hears the twig snap and turns, seeming desperate to calm you. She puts a hand up.  

“Whoa! Easy sweet thing, I’m just getting you a blanket.” She says, keeping one hand up, and moving slower now, and you feel a little torn. But you ease your naked ass back down, and she pulls out a big grey wool blanket and hands it to you. You wrap it around your wet, bloody shoulders. Realizig she doesn’t know you don’t really get cold often, but perhaps this was about the nudity. You forgot that people didn’t do nudity.  

“I know of you. They speak of you in all towns.” Agatha muses like she’s telling a campfire story. 

You eye her curiously, not sure you want her to continue. She doesn’t read your expressions but you ask; 

“They know what I am?”

Agatha seems to be delighted to tell you now.

“Of course not, they think you are biblical. They think you are Lilith or of Liliths doing. Coming back for the good church woman. They pray to their saints and their virgin Mary. They use your wolf form like a fable for children and wayward outspoken wives. They say you are a bedmate of witches, that you teach them how to make love in satanic ways. They whisper to each other; ‘Do not play at night by a bonfire Liliths hound will devour you’ or ‘behave and eat your dinner or the wolf will get you,’ or ‘do not touch yourself before god, for Lilith's wolf form will turn you into a harlot.’” Agatha scoffs at the end. Shaking her head and biting her bottom lip like it’s such a great legacy you have. 

You wonder if she herself wants to be feared, perhaps she’d given up on being loved. But you feel ashamed at her stories, not proud. Your gaze drops into the fire now, leting the light burn your eyes. 

And Agatha is watching you again, and seems to think you don’t find these stories funny. Not like she had. So she changes the conversation, and you wonder if it’s fear you will leave her alone again. Or if perhaps her wicked curiosity is finally winning out. 

“My mother turned you. You were…a witch?” Agatha asks, and you know she can read your magical signature. You practiced the craft, of course. But you didn’t usually get this far in communication with someone else to be called such a thing anymore. You’d been cursed for so long now. And Agatha was but a babe to you in comparision of age. 

You nod once, not used to speaking this much. 

“You have been alone a long time, then?” She asks, and you study her face now, the soft way she looks in the light. You wonder if you’ll ever forget her scent now that you’ve smelled it.

“Are you asking if I have become domesticated? Who would want Lilith's hound around?” You scoff at the absurdity of anyone wanting you. 

Agatha smirks now, and you don’t understand why in that moment. 

But you found out. 

Agatha became your everything after that night. 

You became Agatha’s protector for many years, both against danger and loneliness. She whispered secrets to your fluffy ear as she ate berries by the river. You killed witch hunters for her, snapping their necks with the force of your jaw. Young Agatha waited for you each night to turn into a human once more and she snuggled into your naked, bloody side. You taught her magic her mother had been afraid to. You taught her more about mind control, and she’d learned fast. She tried to stay awake every night and would eventually fall asleep again. In the morning she’d have a moment of disappointment that you hadn’t kept her awake, and that you couldn’t speak to her as a wolf. 

You were at her companion, her teacher, her confidant. You both traveled to different towns. She’d developed a crush you realized. She tried to kiss you one night and you had reminded her that you were much older. Agatha didn’t take your rejection, continuing to attempt to woo you. You kept her at arms length until she was older, and older she grew. 

Agatha grew into an amazing witch, wiser, more powerful, more murderous. 

You found one night as you turned you couldn’t resist her anymore. 

And you taught her just like the folk tales, what it meant to make love by firelight from a beast. 

It was beautiful for a long time. 

And then it got even better. 

You were there the day Agatha met Rio. Agatha had summoned Rio from a dark book she’d found. You had told her not to do it for you. But Agatha swore she’d undo the curse her mother had given you. That you would marry and have children together. You never believed her. 

So when she summoned Death, you were ready to defend your witch to the death. 

But Rio took off her skull mask and studied you. 

“So is she your familiar?” She asked Agatha but stared at you. 

You snarled at the term, body ready to pounce, to wound. You couldn’t kill Death, but you could injure her so that Agatha could get away. 

“I would not do that if I were you.” Agatha warned, but Rio wasn’t persuaded. She tried to get closer to you. “She’s not domesticated like that, she doesnt’ like to be touched, not even by me. And I love her.” Agatha said the last part and thought you heard hurt in the witches words. 

“What?” Rio asked, but bent down to you. She put her hand out, and your lip raised and you growled deep in your throat. It filled the space with the vibrations. “Hey, pup, you have no reason to fear me,” Rio said, and you backed away from her. 

Agatha kneeled next to Rio on the forest floor, putting her hand out to you. As if perhaps your lover could entice you to be kind to Death. 

“Let’s play, ok? I just want to be your friend.” Rio said, and you didn’t believe her, not yet. 

“Rio, can you change her back?” Agatha asked and turned to Death, realizing perhaps this was a mistake. 

Rio thought for a moment before shaking her head. She did look sorry though, like she wanted to help.  

“I wish I could, but Evenora did a number on you, sweet beast. I think there’s a reason you are stuck like this. Cursed like this, and I cannot lift it.” Rio spoke to you even though Agatha asked the question. 

You moved to leave them alone, aware of their pheromones. Knowing they already were attracted to each other. You moved to leave them, to rid yourself of them both. 

Agatha deserved someone who wouldn’t turn into a monster in the light of day. And Death may be a monster, but your gut didn’t say so. Perhaps they would be good for one another. 

You however, knew you didn’t deserve good things. So you’d say goodbye to Agatha. As horrible as that was, and as much as you didn’t want to. 

You sprinted now, getting distance between heartbreak. 

Agatha yelled for you, you heard her cry out in grief,  as you ran into the forest. 

You hadn’t expected Rio to be the one to run after you. Or that she would be quick enough to get one over on you, but she was all powerful. 

But Rio wasn’t about to let you run, she tackled you to the ground, and you bit her hard in the shoulder. Where her neck and shoulder met you whipped your wolf head back and forth to try and break her. It was a moronic idea. 

“Damn, you got a set of canines pooch.” Rio hissed as you didn’t let go of her meaty shoulder. “I’m not taking Agatha away from you. I just want to be a part of it, come on. Get to know me! You might like me around!” Rio asked, and you bit harder.

But her one hand slowly moved to your ear, you didn’t even let Agatha pet you. It had been something that had always bothered your lover.  

But as Rio’s hand moved into your thick tufts of fur, you found a new feeling. Something you’d never experienced before. A chemical release…joy? And you unhinged your jaw, letting go of Death from your bite. And Rio signed at the release of pressure, but scratched behind your ears and then your neck. 

You had never really been pet before. And you were unsure that you should have not allowed Agatha this intimacy. It felt so good, so warm and welcoming. Your wolf body didn’t feel it’s usual pain as Rio made sure her sharp nails got into your fur and really got the good spots, and deep too. 

You tried your best not to allow your tail to wag. 

“You’ve been hurting for so long, huh? You don’t need to hate me. I am the beginning and the end of all things. Perhaps you can trust another soul? I won’t harm you, and I swear I’ll protect your witch. The one who summoned me, you care for her. Let me in, see if you like me, huh?” Rio asked, and she moved to scratch your neck, and your furry behind plopped down. Rio smiled at your obvious enjoyment to her touch. 

She’d never experienced someone like you before. But she’d heard stories of you. And now that she was here, Rio wanted to help Agatha. She wanted to break you free from this.  

The years moved by like endless cycles of the moon. 

You watched them try everything to change you back. 

No such luck. 

Other beautiful things did happen though, by accident as it turns out. 

You helped Father Nicky with Rio. 

At first you were sure it was just Rio and Agatha. But Aggie showed you with magic….he was the best of the three of you. She swore she spoke no spell he was made from love. 

You’d been so afraid he’d come out with fur. 

You hadn’t expected to growl at Rio as Agatha gave birth. As Rio stole your family time. 

But Nicky didn’t come out with whiskers, he was beautiful. 

Nicky took naps slept on your hairy stomach. With Agatha curled around you both, she pushing her face into your furry neck. She felt at ease cuddled against you in the woods as your newborn slept.

It was hard to only get to talk to your family half the time. And you ached for Rio still. 

There were so many ways you felt you’d failed your son and wife. You couldn’t help her care for him in the day. But somehow you three made it work. Even as you traveled and Agatha would get exhausted from carrying your son. You made quick work of becoming his personal horse. 

Nicky loved riding on your back, Agatha always reminded him to hold onto your fur between your shoulders. But he giggled and kicked your ribs to go faster. 

You protected your family. You licked your son’s tears when he fell. You growled at anyone who tried looked at Agatha funny. You hunted for their dinner. 

But wolf of witch, you could only protect so much. 

So you were powerless as you watched your child grow sick. 

You were stuck in wolf form as Agatha buried your child. Unable to console her. 

You were bound to your beast form to watch the end of your family. 

You found out there were worse curses than being chained to an animal form. 

Losing Agatha. 

Losing Rio. 

Losing Nicholas. 

That was the curse you had now, much worse than a wet nose and fluffy tail. 

It was 2024, and you were in the middle of Tongass Forest in Alaska. It had over 17 million acres. Besides the odd bear and hunter, you never saw people.

The winters were harsh and the summers felt long. 

You were alone. 

It was on purpose, it was better this way.  

So you hadn’t seen it coming. 

You’d smelled Agatha before, but it was usually a hallucination. A trick of your cabin fever. This long alone in the forest did things to your senses. 

Sometimes you thought you heard Nicky laughing and playing tag in the sunlight in wood. So you were no stranger to the tricks of the mind. 

You had a small campsite in the middle of nowhere. It was a few things: a tent, an old rifle, and your drawings. You kept paper and a graphite stick, you’d drawn so many illustrations of; Rio, Nicky, and Agatha. You hung them on a long wire from two trees. They were stuck to  clothespins. Everytime the wind picked up the drawings of your loved ones fluttered like wings of a butterfly. You stared at the drawings like ghosts were your only company in madness. 

You had collected some river rocks in a small circle, and had a fire in it, an axe stuck out of a trunk, and stacked wood you’d cut. You didn’t make a fire often, as you didn’t want anyone to find you from the smoke. You packed your stuff up after each full moon and would hike to find a new area. 

So when the night came again, and you walked naked and bloody after shedding your second skin, and you’d gone to relax at the campsite. 

You never in your wildest dreams had hadn’t expected Agatha. 

You had stopped hoping for Rio long ago. 

And you sure as shit didn’t expect a coven of strange witches. 

And a boy…who looked so much like Nicky. But his eyes weren’t right, and his curls didn’t match. So you knew your mind hadn’t made him up.  

You stopped and stared at the group. They all stared back at your naked form. 

Rio was the first to move as she grabbed the wool blanket you’d saved from the first night with Agatha. The one they both used to wrap around your human form after shifting. The one you used to tick Nicky into. 

“Holy shit! You are Lilith's Hound!” One of the witches said, and Agatha snapped at the witch named ‘Jen’. Knowing you hated that nickname. But Rio slowly approached you with the blanket. Like you were the same animal she’d met in the wood that first day. Not someone she’d made a child with, not someone she’d had a marriage ceremony with. Not someone she’d claimed to love for eternity. 

But her eyes held those feelings still. And you studied her as she wrapped the blanket around you and then ran her hands up and down your arms to warm you. 

“Hey, how's my sweet pup?” Rio asked, and you turned your chin away from her. Looking over at Agatha whose eyes filled with tears at seeing you again. Seeming to be feeling so many things all at once. But she was rooted to her spot. Like she hadn’t really believed they could find you. 

You look back at Rio. 

“Is this real? Or am I?” You ask, and Rio looks upset by the ideathat  you’d hallucinated them. 

“It’s real, we’re here. Took forever to find you, you are one hard soul to trace.” Death said, and you reached out a dirty hand, and Rio didn’t move. She froze to her spot now.  

You touched her cheek, and she closed her eyes like the feeling of you touching her was all she’d ever wanted. 

Like everything could be ok again. 

“Am I dead?” You ask, figuring the next time you’d see your wife, it would be death. 

Rio’s eyes shot open, and her jaw set. 

“No, no, it’s not your time. I’ve been looking for you for so long, and you kept running away.”

Your finger trails down to her jaw, and Rio tries to not react but you know her micro expressions better than that. She was enjoying your touch more than words could say.  

You look over at the teenage boy, who looks extremely nervous at you, covered in blood and naked. Though he’s staring at you now that you are wrapped in a blanket. 

“Who’s he?” You asked Rio. 

“I’m Billy, I want to help.” He answers for her and you look over at Agatha. Who’s tears  are now running down her cheeks. There was a time where you would have consoled her, or even licked her tears, that was not now. 

Agatha’s voice chook but she spoke now. 

“I told you I’d change you back. I promised.” Agatha whispered into the night, and you stepped back, bridging the blanket around your shoulders tighter. The whole coven steps forward like they’re afraid you’ll run. The hair on the back of your neck stood now. 

But Agatha is the one who closes the distance to stop you. 

Billy opens his mouth to speak, and Rio puts her hand behind her to stop him. 

“You aren’t here. This isn’t real. And I don’t-” You start to drop the blanket but Agatha grabs the blanket and pulls you against her clothes body. She hugs you close to her chest, and you stiffen instantly. 

“I’m sorry it took me so long to figure it out. I’m sorry I abandoned you. After….I shouldn’t have. Rio told me you….I-” Agatha doesn’t know where to start, and you pull your face back and she does the same to look into your eyes. 

“You smell different, new body?” You ask, and someone behind laughs. Agatha puts her hand on your blood-crusted face, and she leans her forehead against yours. Like she’s finally able to breathe now that she’s found you. 

She’s older but something about the act reminds you of your first week with her. 

“I missed you whiskers,” Agatha whispered for only you to hear. You put a hand on her waist, and she almost moans but stifles the sound a little at you touching her again. Like she was finally home. 

It takes some awkward moments after that. 

The coven makes itself at home at your campsite. You are introduced to each witch, and you excuse yourself once you build them a fire. You keep eyeing the teenager who seems to be bursting from within, like he has so much he wants to talk to you about. 

But you aren’t interested in any of the coven. You don’t care why Jen smells like wolfsbane, you don’t want to know why Alice has a leash and collar in her hand. And you don’t know why Lilia keeps looking into the sky as if she’s waiting for you to turn back in daylight. These witches had a plan, and you didn’t like that. 

Agatha and Rio stand as you turn to leave the coven. 

“I’m going to go clean up.” You point to the water not far from them. But both Agatha and Rio look nervous that you are going to run away. “I’ll only be a minute.” You attempt to reassure and reach over to your tent, grabbing a brick of bar soap you’d bartered forever ago from a tribal witch. Then you find a flannel and jeans you’d stolen from an abandoned campsite. You walk away, and you can hear Agatha and Rio bickering if they should follow you. 

You throw the clothes onto the tree branch and then walk into the ice-cold water. You were used to it now. Because of your wolf form you ran hot no matter what now. You submerge your head for almost two whole minutes. Letting your lungs burn before you break the surface and take a deep breath. Turning to the shore, you don’t need your wolf nose to know that your two wives are watching you. Unable to give you space it seemed.  

Rio’s sitting at the base of the tree with your clothes. Agatha is standing by the water’s edge, looking ready to jump into the water.

Something was up for sure.  

You eye them but take the bar soap and start to scrub your face and hair. Bloody water ripples from around your body. It takes longer than you’d like to admit to get clean. It had been a minute since you’d needed to be presentable. You usually just dunked into the water and then sat under the stars naked. 

But you dressed struggling with the buttons but Agatha came over and did them for you. You eyed her curiously, still not sure she was here. You’d forgotten how weird clothes felt on your skin. But her touch felt like a gravitational pull, like it had nothing to do with the buttons. 

“Why are you here?” Your tone isn’t warm. 

“I found a spell, and a caster… that could free you.” Agatha says, and you see her right eye twitch, the way you’d learn she always lied. 

You turn to Rio. 

“Why are you really here?” You asked her and she didn’t hesitate to tell the whole truth. 

“Agatha tried to acquire the Scarlet Witch’s powers so she could be powerful enough to change you back. She didn’t feel like an apology would be enough for you to come back. Then the Scarlet Witch trapped her in a spell for three years. That kid is the now-dead witch's son. He broke Aggie out, they walked the road. Which he made real because he has his mom's chaos magic. Agatha got her powers back, I killed her. Billy and Agatha went and found Tommy, Scarlet’s other kid. Billy used his chaos magic to give her a body again. Agatha summoned me and told me we were getting the band back together. So we spent the last four months tracking you down. And she’s got our wedding rings in her pocket. We’re renewing our vows after we get you out of the wolf spell. Surprise.” Rio says, and Agatha fumes at her other wife. 

“RIO!” She scolds loudly. 

“She deserves the truth!” Rio shrugged. 

“WE SAID WE WERE GOING TO EASE INTO IT!” Agatha snapped, and you stepped away from Agatha, and her fingers were too slow to grab your shirt to stop you. 

“I don’t need your help. I’m doing fine.” You say and zip up your jeans. They’re too big for you but they work with the old leather belt. You loop it to the smallest one. Stepping away from them to keep the distance.  

“You are not doing fine sweet pup. None of us are. We aren’t complete without each other.” Rio says carefully, and you scoff at Death. There was so much wrong with all of what she’d said. 

“You’ve not seen me in a long time! How do you know I haven’t moved on!” You want it to hurt, and it works. 

Agatha’s face darkened with pain, jealousy, and betrayal. You were her first love, you’d taken her virginity, you’d fathered her child. You were her wife. No one else would ever get to touch you. Rio was the only one who would ever understand. You three swore to never love another soul. You’d made a blood pact in fact. You still had the scar. 

But Rio didn’t take the bait of your obvious barb. 

“Because I’ve kept my eye on you over the past century! You haven’t let anyone in! You sleep under the stars and move the second I find you! Which is rude by the way!” Rio tried to make it sound like she found it funny but you knew better. You’d wished she’d catch you for so long, but then you knew you couldn’t confront her. 

No, love had made you soft and weak. Love only hurt you, it was better to be alone. No one to hurt you, no one to hurt. 

“Better to avoid you,” You say cooly at Rio and then turn to an upset Agatha,” better to be alone.”

You walk back towards the coven, but your wives stomp after you. You burst into the campsite to see the four witches talking around the fire. Their expressions growing to confusion as you look more upset than before. 

“So is that a no on the vows!” Rio teases, but her voice gives her away, she’s hurt too.  

“Can we talk about this?” Agatha shouts, and you stop in front of Billy. 

“Stand up.” You say to him, and he doe,s but he looks frightened. You lean over and sniff him, and everyone looks uncomfortable at your action. You hadn’t been around people much, and social customers were still not your strong suit. 

“You reek of chaos magic. You should let Agatha teach you. Or you’ll regret it.” You say, but what you were really doing was seeing if they told the truth. Rio was a trickster by nature as Death, but she didn’t lie to you. You were hoping this was the first time, you didn’t like the idea of chaos magic. 

“She said you’d teach me too, after I change you. That you were important, that you are the best teacher. That you taught her.” Billys voice shook a little, and you realized he was intimidated by you. In the past you’d say something to stop his fear, now you were glad. Let him fear you, better that way. 

“I’m not a teacher. And she’s mistaken, I’m not that kind of witch anymore. I’m just a feral wolf in Alaska. A beast like any other, nothing special, kid.”

“No you are like padfoot!”

“What?” You are confused and the goth teenager looks embarrassed. He looks at Alice for help but his eyes fall to you again as he explains. 

“Harry Potter? Um right you don’t know pop culture out here…Um….he’s a character in a book Padfoot is an animagus. A man who can change into a wolf! He’s a godfather too, though, he’s like…good.” Billy says, feeling stupid now at the comparison. 

“I’m not good. Don’t give me a nickname like a common house pet. I’ve eaten a fucking man whole. I’m a monster, not something to be around.” You warn him. 

 You turn to see Lilia, Alice and Jen who seem to be hanging on your every word. “You can all stay here tonight, but in the morning I’ll be gone.”

“Because you’ll shift into wolf form, but you’ll be back..right?” Billy asked, and you remembered Nicky asking you the same thing. Making you promise you’d shift back into his parent. Afraid one day you’d get stuck and not come back to tuck him into bed. He’d get so nervous too, begging you to keep Mama and him safe. You’d failed your son. 

Looking at this teenager saying the same words made you sick.

Your face morphed into a grimace at him, and he didn’t understand why. 

“No, I’m leaving tonight. I’m not interested in your offer.” You state and he looks so sad at your answer. 

“What! We came all this way to reunite you with your family! To lift your curse! Agatha won’t let us do jack shit until we got you! Fuck even Rio’s been insuferable!” Jen yelled at you, only to have Alice slap her shoulder at your obviously menacing face. 

“You came on a fool’s errand. No one can fix me. And I’m not safe to be around. Go back, follow the stream so you don’t get lost. Don’t let the poachers see you. Don’t travel at night.” You give your advice and walk to your tent. 

“I was afraid I’d have to do this. But it’s for your own good, my sweet soft paws.” Rio said, and before you could move away from her, she touched your head, and your world went black. 

More coming soon...

AO3

MasterList

[bunji-enthusiast]

sʟᴇᴇᴘɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋᴛᴏᴘ

Summary || Change was always a weird process, and currently, that is what happened. Shit gets rough, sure. But atleast you have each other, right?

WC: 4k

A/N: snatched this absolute domestic fluff from this post. Also was starting to get way too long, so this is part 1. The idea will come to a head in a later part. Timeline is set during season 2 obviously. (Whaaat am I doing)

Part 1 (here) | Part 2

Surprised was not nearly enough of a word to describe the way you felt about Rex, it was, in every sense of the word —

Relieving?

Yeah, that. You weren’t sure what it was to have caused such a change, whatever it was that stirred. But if it was such a close brush with death that made him perceive things differently, then you rather wouldn’t try to understand that part, scary. Your own dance with death was terrifying enough, and you've been in these situations before! Yet the only difference that pertained to the truth was the fact you felt such an utter gut swirling incessantly in the pits of your stomach. Like it was telling you with everything it could muster to stay alive, stay out of the fight.

Don’t. Move.

You remembered the whole damn thing ever since you’ve gotten hospitalized.

Moreover, you were also a hero, and heroes unfortunately defend and fight. Which Rex managed to do a lot more of than you were able to, much to your self-chagrin.

Though it was more of adrenaline and a very pissed off Rex Splode that drove him to finally finish the fight with the Lizard League, which made you laugh. Because you couldn’t even manage to contribute much as you had been taken out of commission halfway through the fight, while later when you had awoken in your own room, the homely smell of sterilization and the wayward energies of death permeating the atmosphere made you come to a swift realization of what had happened.

[“Fuckin’ asshole..” You muttered, clutching the side of your abdomen. Suddenly in the midst of your own struggle, you got blasted sideways, slamming your body against another wall. You let out a pained groan, your eyes immediately settling on seeing the bodies of the multiple copies of Dupli-Kate laying astray, innards out for bacteria to invade.

You could hear both Rex and Rae shouting in disbelief, Rae more vocal as to Rex more evenly. Though you swore you could hear the hurt in their tones, which was exactly fair.

You swore with everything in you to not throw up, the smell was far too familiar. Yet coming from a fellow guardian, it just made you sick to your stomach. A problem you really didn’t need right now. None of the Lizard League members were currently paying attention to you, fortunately enough.

That sudden inability of gratitude made you uncomfortable, so you stood up, despite every muscle and bone in your body screaming at you to stay down. You moved, and you attacked the female member of the league; she struck back in retaliation, tearing her attention away from Rex. He gasped in pain as he held his side, stepping back twice, eyes weary with worry and precipitation.

Despite the worry — Rex figured you could handle her on your own, you always had a way with these things, so he turned his gaze to Rae to see how she was doing. Seeing that she had already killed the man dressed in black and scaled orange spots, he had a slight brief moment of relief. Then turned to the largest man in the room.

You on the other hand weren’t paying attention to the main part of the fight, keeping your focus on killing the woman in front of you. Your vision thrummed with blood, adrenaline coursing in your veins as you narrowly avoided her attacks, you didn’t prove to be lucky with every single dodge however. Wincing, you clamped down on your jaw, trying to despell the evidential reality of your condition.

“Just stay down already,” The lizard woman sneers, her confidence palpable as you two wrestle for control, arms interlocked in a vice grip. “And your death will be a quick one.”

You didn’t respond, you wanted to. But didn’t, you truly couldn’t muster the energy necessary. She also really was starting to make your blood boil. You shook your head, surging forward with energy, thrusting a punch to her face. Watching the way her expression shifted as she fell backwards within her surprise. “Looks like I'm not the only one.” You snorted with a half-smirk, heaving a heavy breath as you continued forward. Granted, you could’ve used your ability, but you needed a certain level of concentration for it to work.

And your concentration was beginning to falter in the midst of it all, that you were really hating on right now. You did not need your body giving out on you right now.

You staggered as you threw another punch, then another, not letting the woman have time to react to your attacks. She threw up right as you threw a gut-punch, good process you noticed. Anything for you at this point went, and anything would be good right now. “You bitch!--” The lizard woman gasped as she grabbed the neck fabric of your costume, yanking you back, trying to garner distance. But you struggled, straining against the force as you bashed any part of her body possible. Anything to turn her into mush, make her stop moving.

Your body began slowing down, your vision catching dots of blood spattering everywhere. For good organization red was a stylish color, but in the transparent eye of a human, not so much. The alive and the dead, it didn’t bode too well.

God everything hurts.

Then your vision swam in black dotted spots, feeling the way your awareness slipped away from you. Fatally unconscious.]

You winced as you grabbed the side of your head, the memories of it all rushing back to you as you regained your awareness. “Shit…” You hissed out.

The room was small to say the least, but not suffocating fortunately.

You tore your gaze away from your bed, shifting around as you looked for somebody. You were worried about the states of your teammates, though, now you had thought of it. It was likely that they were hospitalized as well.

Though you weren’t sure if you could say the same about Kate, her fate was spelled out loud and clear to all three of you back in that situation.

Suddenly someone came into the room, a nurse, maybe. She called out, alerting other staff to your now very awake status. Now apparently, from what you’ve heard coming from the few staff attending to you, checking your vital signs and health, is that you had been in this case — relatively well off compared to the others. Abdominal tearing to your muscle, multiple trauma fractures to your skeleton. You couldn’t retain all of it, but the explanation made enough sense. Soon enough, the clamor of the small group died down, seeing as that your vitals were satisfactory levels. Able to be monitored once in every little while without predominant worry.

Then, in the depths of your self-suffocating silence, a familiar voice of a very insufferable (but annoyingly reliable) old man cuts into your hearing.

It’s Cecil Stedman, the Director of the Global Defense Agency — the man who’s seen and done more than most could imagine. His grizzled, yet composed presence is unmistakable, a sharp contrast to the machine-like efficiency of the GDA’s medical team working behind him. His white hair, long and wispy, catches the dim light as he steps forward, his usual air of authority tempered with something else... maybe even a hint of concern.

"You're awake," he says, his voice surprisingly gentle, though with that characteristic coldness that’s always present in his tone. "I thought we might need to call in the whole damn hospital for you, but it seems you’ve got more fight left in you than I thought."

Was it really that bad?

You feel the sharp sting of movement as you try to adjust yourself, gritting your teeth at the pain coursing through your body. A sigh escapes you, a strange mix of frustration and relief. You’re alive. But at what cost? You glance over at Cecil, whose eyes, though steely, are focused on you with a keen awareness.

"Where… where are the others?" You rasp out, your throat dry.

Cecil offers a half-smile — an expression that somehow carries both reassurance and a sense of grim determination. "Rex Splode and Rae are both in stable condition. They were near death, but they’ll make it. A bit of a mess, but that’s nothing we can’t handle. As for the others..." His face darkens briefly, the air growing heavier. "One of us didn’t make it. Not sure what happened to her yet, but it doesn’t look good."

You nod solemnly. A lump forms in your throat as the weight of the situation settles in. Another fallen comrade. Another loss in a long string of them, you knew, hoped otherwise – but no. You clench your fists under the blanket, angry at the helplessness of it all.

Cecil watches you for a moment, his posture relaxed but ever observant. "I know you’re pissed off," he mutters, "And you have every right to be. But you did your part. You and the others did your best, and that’s all anyone could ask for."

You lock eyes with him, the words hanging in the air. Cecil always had a way of saying things that didn’t necessarily comfort, but at least they didn’t sugarcoat reality. "Thanks for the update," you reply, though your voice betrays the exhaustion that weighs on you.

There’s a moment of silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s just the kind of quiet that only seems to exist between people who’ve seen too much — and have lived through it all anyway.

"You always seem to pull through," Cecil finally speaks, his tone almost reflective. "You’re a lot tougher than you give yourself credit for."

A small, self-deprecating laugh escapes you. "If it wasn’t for this damn hospital, I wouldn’t be here." You glance around, your eyes trailing over the sterile white walls again. "Why here though? The Pentagon?"

Cecil looks at you with a wry smirk, as though this is a question he’s been asked a thousand times before. "Where else would you want to wake up after almost dying? Besides, we’ve got the best medical team this side of the planet. It’s not just about the injuries. It’s about making sure you’re fit enough to get back out there when duty calls."

He pauses, letting the weight of his words settle in. "You’re part of something bigger now. Whether you want to be or not."

The truth in those words hits hard, and you feel that familiar twinge of uncertainty that always accompanies Cecil's philosophy.

"We can be the good guys, or the guys that save the world. We can’t be both," you repeat, almost by reflex, as if it’s something you’ve heard a thousand times before.

Cecil’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a quiet acknowledgment in his gaze. "Exactly," he says softly. "It’s a harsh truth, but it’s the truth. We do what we have to do for the greater good, even if it means making sacrifices."

You want to say something — argue, maybe. But the words don’t come. Instead, you let out a breath, staring at the ceiling. "I didn’t ask for this… any of it," you murmur, more to yourself than to him.

Cecil’s response is calm, as it always is when it matters most. "None of us did. But it’s our responsibility now." He pauses again, his eyes narrowing with a subtle intensity. "You can rest now. We’ve got things covered. But when you’re back on your feet, I’m sure there’ll be more to do. There always is."

You nod, your thoughts clouding as you try to process the gravity of what he’s saying. There’s no rest for the weary in this line of work. Still, you have to admit that part of you feels a bit of relief that at least the people around you — your team — are going to make it through this. Even if it means facing the next battle head-on.

the days will stretch on, and you know you’ll get back in the fight. Because that’s what heroes do. They keep going, even when the world seems to be falling apart.

During the duration of your recovery, you were able to move around without the worry of pain stopping you. Initially you had been unable to, your legs limp as noodles. You had a quiet laugh about that part, but you hated not having the freedom of movement, however, you had to take it easy and listen to the staff. A familiar routine to be sure, but this was a much more devastating case.

God, you could actually remember right before the fight ensued, what Rex had said about pizza. You wondered, if the situation had gone different, that you all would’ve been sitting back at HQ — munching on that damn pizza, along with whatever else had been ordered.

Though today, before visiting Rex; you decided to visit your other friend.

Rachel.

You can’t imagine whatever the ordeal for her in that fight was, no doubt terrifying. Knowing her obvious ability to shrink in size, you could only imagine the details when you strode up to the window, clutching your stomach. There was a viewing window, easy enough for people to peer through if they wanted too, check up on their loved ones. One for every room obviously.

She was lying in a hospitable coffin, soundly asleep. The damn thing may as well have been one, considering her very prudent state. Earning your scars, willingly or unwillingly; was one aspect that any hero could be excitable for. But through the wisdom of the pain, it makes you very wise otherwise. Leaving you with some festering pit of depression, but unfortunately, it's something nobody is prepared for regardless.

You sighed, trudging forward despite your soreness, making your rounds – greeting some familiar staff here and there on the way to Rex’s room.

The room was quieter than it had been for days. Even the hum of the building’s usual bustle seemed to have taken a break, leaving only the sound of footsteps as you made your way to Rex’s room. He was supposed to be recovering, but you weren’t entirely convinced. After all, Rex was stubborn, and if anyone could push their limits just to prove they were fine, it was him. You knocked gently, not wanting to surprise him too much, but you knew that wouldn't stop him from blowing up in some sarcastic, Rex Splode fashion.

The door creaked open, revealing the sight of him sprawled out on his bed. His usual sharp demeanor was nowhere to be found—just exhaustion, but still, a faint, familiar smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth when he saw you.

"Great, here to tell me how much of an idiot I am for almost getting myself killed?" Rex said, his voice hoarse but laced with humor, his usual sarcasm evident even through the tiredness.

You leaned against the doorframe, watching him for a moment before shaking your head. "I was more concerned about you, actually. You seemed like you were barely hanging in there after the fight." You shot back, noting the one of the few other times you’ve managed to visit him.

Rex waved a hand dismissively, propping himself up on his elbow. "I'm fine. You know me, never been better." He flashed a cocky grin, but you caught the way his eyes flickered to the bandages wrapped around his torso. Though the bandages were barely present despite the hospital dress, you could see it. A slight shift in the air told you that he was just trying to hide it behind bravado.

"You nearly died, Rex," you said softly, stepping further into the room, moving towards his bed. The tension between you both was always there, thick and suffocating, but lately... things felt different. You weren’t sure what it was, but something had shifted between you two after everything with the Lizard League. Maybe it was the close calls, the way you both kept ending up on the same team even after all the chaos. Maybe it was how, despite all of his flaws, Rex had found a way to matter in your life, in ways that were harder to ignore with each passing day.

Rex shrugged, not meeting your gaze, and rubbed a hand through his hair (whatever was there despite the headdress), his eyes glancing anywhere but at you. "Guess I’m not invincible. Wouldn’t be the first time I messed up."

The memory hit you like a sudden wave, and you couldn’t help but lean back against the wall as it flooded your thoughts. The mission—the mission. It felt like ages ago, but it still burned with a clarity that felt so vivid you almost imagined you could still feel the heat of it, the adrenaline, the uncertainty.

Not that he had entirely messed up though, this was something different. What it reminded you of.

[The two of you had been briefed about the mission at the Guardians' headquarters. A villain by the name of Kael the Tyrant had been wreaking havoc in the city, but it was more than just typical bad guy stuff. He had an entire crew of hired muscle—bounty hunters, mercenaries, the usual scum—and Kael had a plan that involved unleashing an ancient device that could cripple the city in ways no one could fully anticipate.

It was supposed to be a standard mission, you’d thought. You and Rex—just the two of you, no big team, no backup. They didn’t pair you up often, not for missions this high-stakes. But this time, the Guardians thought it was best if you and Rex could handle it yourselves. A test, they’d said.

At least, that’s how it felt when Rex shrugged, a cocky grin on his face. “Guess we’re gonna have to do this the old-fashioned way. Don’t get too used to it.” He flashed you that mischievous glint in his eyes, like this was just another run-of-the-mill mission, like the stakes weren’t as high as they actually were.

You hadn’t thought much of it then, but looking back, you realized how wrong you’d been

It started out as typical, with you both taking down the smaller henchmen in the streets. The crowd was thick, Kael’s mercenaries everywhere—civilians scattered, too terrified to help themselves. Rex’s usual boisterous banter kept things light, though he definitely looked like he was in his element, picking off bad guys left and right with those explosive blasts of his. You were doing what you always did—darting in and out of spaces they couldn’t track you, making sure no one got the drop on either of you.

But as always with these missions, things escalated.

Kael wasn’t just hiding behind his hired goons. He had something bigger planned, a huge contraption built into the side of a building—a machine capable of releasing toxic gas into the air, capable of scrambling the city’s tech for hours. When the mercs realized you were onto them, they launched a full-out counterattack—something brutal, and definitely not part of the original plan.

That’s when everything took a turn.

You were behind a stack of crates, your heart racing, trying to catch your breath. You had a few cuts—nothing serious. Rex wasn’t in much better shape, though his typical cocky smirk had disappeared, replaced with a fire that could’ve lit the entire city.

Then, without warning, one of the mercenaries caught you—his fist slamming into your ribs before you had time to dodge.

The pain was sharp, immediate, and for a split second, you thought you might not recover from it in time. The villain’s grip tightened on you, and everything around you blurred, except for the rush of panic building in your chest.

That was when Rex exploded into the scene, literally.

“Get your filthy hands off her!” His voice was a low growl as he tore through the mercenary like a hurricane. With a snap of his fingers, Rex launched one of his explosive bursts, sending the villain flying backward. You could see the fury in his eyes, that rage and protectiveness you rarely saw.

You’d never seen Rex quite like that before.

But just as quickly, another mercenary, this one larger and more armored than the rest, charged at him from behind, knocking Rex to the ground with a heavy hit. The force of the strike caused a crack in the pavement beneath him. You gasped, trying to make your way to him, but the pain in your side from the mercenary’s earlier blow had slowed you down.

And then it happened.

A massive explosion.

You felt it before you saw it—a blast so forceful, it knocked you off your feet. The impact rattled your bones, and the world spun. You barely had time to recover before Rex was back on his feet, his body tense with anger as he shouted at you, “Stay down! I’m not losing you!”

But it was too late. That explosion—one from Kael’s hired gun, one that had hit too close to you—had shredded the side of your armor. You could feel blood welling under your clothes as you staggered to your feet, barely able to hold yourself up.

Rex turned then, his eyes locked on you, full of concern—and it was there, in that fleeting moment, that something between you snapped. You didn’t have time to analyze it, though. The villain had already turned, heading straight for the machine.

“Rex—go!” you managed to gasp out, pain lancing through your side. “We’ve got to stop him! The machine!”

But Rex wasn’t listening. Not now. Not when you were hurt. Not when he was pissed.

“No,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “I’m not leaving you.”

You couldn’t stop him, though, and at that point, neither could you really move to stop him. Rex charged forward with reckless abandon, the fury in his gaze blinding as he launched everything he had into the mercenary. It was explosive—not just in power, but in the sheer frustration that made every hit feel like it was landing for all the wrong reasons. Rex wasn’t just fighting to stop the guy. He was fighting to make them pay for what they’d done to you.

He didn’t stop until the mercenary was out of commission, and even then, Rex only paused long enough to check on you—his hand on your shoulder, his breath shallow from exhaustion, eyes filled with a protective fire you hadn’t seen before.

“You’re not dying on my watch,” he muttered, voice rough.

It wasn’t just the injury. It was the way he looked at you, like something inside him had cracked wide open, something neither of you had dared to acknowledge before.

“I’m fine,” you tried to assure him, but even you could hear the lie in your voice.

Rex wasn’t fooled. “No, you’re not. And I’m going to make sure it stays that way.”

He helped you up, half-carrying you to the machine after dispatching the rest of Kael’s men. The battle wasn’t over yet, but it was clear that something between the two of you had shifted. That recklessness, that protective instinct… It was like a door had opened.

And you couldn’t say you hadn’t felt it too.

The mission ended in victory—Kael’s device was shut down, the city was safe, but the cost had been more than just the injuries. It had been the moment you realized Rex cared more than he let on. Maybe even more than he was ready to admit.]

You blinked, the memory fading back into the quiet of the present, but it stayed with you—a constant reminder of how things had shifted, the beginning of everything. Rex, the way he had cared then, was still the same Rex that stood beside you now, even if he had trouble saying it aloud.

You could still feel the weight of it—the lingering tension between you, the unspoken words hanging in the air between your words, and just how much you were starting to care.

You sat on the edge of his bed, the space between you a quiet reminder of the unspoken things. There was always something there, lingering in the back of your mind. He had this ability to make you feel like you were too much and not enough at the same time, but right now, you weren’t going to let that stop you.

"Everybody fucks up, Rex," you said, leaning closer. "But you're allowed to care about your life. You don’t have to be so reckless all the time. You’ve got people who care about you."

A slow breath left his lips, the sharp edge of his usual attitude softened by exhaustion. "Yeah, well, you’re one of them, huh?" His voice was quieter now, less teasing and more... real. For a split second, you could have sworn you saw the barest trace of something more in his gaze—something uncertain, but earnest.

Your heart skipped a beat. You fought the urge to push it away, to say something witty and deflect. Instead, you simply nodded, your voice barely a whisper. "Yeah. I care about you, Rex."

There was a long pause, and for a moment, the room was still. The usual sarcastic comebacks, the way Rex would usually brush off anything sincere, wasn’t there. He didn’t try to mask the vulnerability that was creeping into the space between you.

"You know, I’m not great with... this stuff," he muttered, his voice almost vulnerable in a way you rarely saw. "The caring, the emotions, the... whatever this is." He looked at you, his gaze intense and searching, like he was waiting for you to confirm something, anything.

You reached out, gently placing your hand on his, a simple touch that carried more weight than either of you could probably express in words.

"I get it," you said, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. "I’m not exactly good with this stuff either."

Rex's lips quirked into that familiar grin, though it felt more tired than usual. "Yeah, well, maybe that’s why we're both a mess."

You smiled softly, feeling the warmth of his hand against yours. "Maybe," you agreed.

There was no grand confession, no dramatic moment, just the quiet understanding that hung between you both. But somehow, that felt like enough.

Rex stared at you for a moment longer before his grin returned, though this time it was laced with something deeper. "So, you planning on sticking around and making sure I don’t blow myself up again?"

Your smile softened as you leaned back, looking up at him. "Yeah, I think I’ll stay for a while."

The space between you two wasn’t quite so distant anymore, and as you sat there with him, the tension felt... different. More real. You weren’t sure where things would go, but right now, this—just this moment—felt like the beginning of something neither of you had been brave enough to face before.

[syoddeye]

say more about davy jones ghost, please..?

i mean, big nasty brute ghost? yeah. ten times more disgusting than davy jones price. price has decorum. he holds fast to loose ideals. he has the patience to bide his time after plucking you out of the sea. he'll at least give you the chance to come to him.

ghost, though?

cw: he saved you but did he, non-consensual touch, mouth inspection-ish

the air reeks of brine and rot. the scent of pure death clings to him. staring up at the sun-bleached skull attached to the man's face, you'd rather take your chances with the sharks—let them strip you bone-clean. at least you wouldn't have to meet the hollow, pitiless hunger in the eyes staring down at you.

the skin of ghost's hands is roughened by both time and cruelty. joints covered in barnacles, the texture a wet sandpaper. the kind of flesh that hasn't known smooth human skin in decades, unless he's gutting a screaming sailor neck to navel. if he ever feels the itch, he has a crew at his disposal. it's just fucking.

but you—you're different. trembling, ruined, your pretty dress soaked and stuck to every curve of your body. it isn't lust, not exactly. lust does not fully account for the sick thrill that each shudder, each pitiful noise you can't quite swallow, shivers through him. he steps closer, blood surging south at the tiny, scared noise you make.

he tests the waters. gives his men a show. look, but don't touch. two fingers, shriveled and slick, press against your mouth, and you freeze. he waits, glaring at you until your lips part. then they slide in, rough with scars, scraping his calcareous passengers over your tongue. your breath hitches, draws thin and tight, and when you choke around the intrusion, he tilts his head, listening. every sound, every broken whimper—fuckin' beautiful.

when he presses down, pinning the muscle, your eyes dart wildly, searching for help among the crew. he clicks his tongue. eyes on him, no one else.

when he pulls back, a thick string of your drool webs to his fingers. he examines it with a kind of detached curiosity, exhaling hard through his nose when it snaps. beneath the skull, his eyes cut to his first mate, barking an order. "i'll be below."

his gaze drops back to you. "me and the missus've got things to discuss."