#(i have a scrape on my palm. bruise on the upper part of the same arm. and a bruise on the opposite knee)

[ambersky0319]

ughfhfgdhdchxhtvh its already 5am >:/

[words-writ-in-starlight]

day 3: "insults"

Zetian came back to their chambers an hour earlier than she was supposed to, and the black-winged line of her lashes couldn’t quite hide the red rims beneath. She was sitting stiff and straight in her wheelchair, the way that Yizhi had learned to read as a kind of pain, like an arm tensed thoughtlessly to protect a bruise. And—he noticed it with some alarm—her golden robes, laid carefully out over her legs with his own hands, were spotted here and there with blood. There was some on her knuckles, spotting her right sleeve, and she held her hand delicately in her lap, as if it hurt her.

“Zetian?” he was already asking, concerned, as the door swung shut behind her. “Are you all right? Did something happen?”

“I’m fine,” Zetian said, and buried her face in her hands.

Yizhi crossed the room in a rush, and knelt in front of her, so that he could look up at her face and her hands. One, her right hand, was bruised, two of the knuckles split, as if she had punched something with enough force to break skin. He didn’t think she was crying, but her hands trembled, just faintly, as she lifted them, briefly, and closed her fists against her face.

“Zetian,” Yizhi said again, reaching up toward her hands. He caught her right hand in both of his, avoiding the worst of the bruising, and tried to gently pull it down. She resisted for a moment, then caved, all at once, letting her fist fall open so that Yizhi could rest her palm on his and get a look at the damage. “Zetian. What happened? Did someone do this to you?”

“No,” Zetian said, voice very flat. Her eyes were closed, and her left hand was pressing against the crease between her brows without regard for the formal makeup on her face. She had been due to give a speech this morning, and it had gone off without a hitch, his steel-eyed Empress the perfect combination of untouchable magnificence and cold, mortal ruthlessness. Yizhi had kissed her hands and told her as much, and she had scoffed, pinched his arm, and told him to go do his job instead of doting on her like the protagonist in some saccharine romance. He had chuckled, and she had smiled, and they had parted ways with one more affectionate kiss to her knuckles. She had seemed—not fine, she hadn’t been fine in a while, but she had been clear-eyed and sure. That had been maybe six hours ago.

“Come with me,” Yizhi said, standing slowly and keeping a light hold of her hand, cradled in his palms like a wounded thing. “I’ll wash your hand off, and we can get you into some clean clothes, okay?”

Zetian opened her eyes, staring at their joined hands like she wasn’t seeing them, and reached out with her left hand to touch her split knuckles, investigating. Yizhi closed his hands over her injured right, frowning protectively, and Zetian pulled back, blinking at the half-dried blood on her fingertips.

“I punched a wall,” she said neutrally.

Yizhi blinked himself, twice, and then said, just as neutral, “Okay.”

She was fingering at the blood on her right sleeve, now. There was some paint coming off her hand onto the fabric, the vermillion of her huadian smudged on her forehead and the heel of her thumb. She didn’t seem to notice, absorbed in the act of rubbing the gold, heavily embroidered silk between her fingers.

“Zetian,” Yizhi repeated, softly, and crouched back down so that he could look up into her face again. “Please, tell me what happened.”

Zetian took a breath, a long, shuddering thing, and let it out in a weary gust.

“I—was trying to avoid—people for a little while,” she said, halting. “So I was in—the study. The big window, with the curtain.”

Yizhi nodded. He knew the one she meant—there was a deep window ledge, made up with cushions and a blanket, so that someone might sit there comfortably for a while. If that person was, say, an Empress in need of a moment to herself, the curtain could be closed to mostly conceal the window ledge and the person inside.

“I heard a pair of maids come in. I should have told them I was there, but I didn’t want to deal with the—everything.” Zetian made a communicative gesture to indicate the nervous prostrations and scraping that most of the servants directed toward her. She unapologetically relished the same behavior from the more insufferable upper class, but it made her uneasy to face it from those who had once been her peers. “So I stayed quiet. I left my wheelchair at the desk. I don’t think—I guess they thought it was supposed to be there.”

She paused there, tongue touching her front teeth, breathing. Her gaze was fixed on some nowhere place over Yizhi’s shoulder, and the lines of her face were hard, angry, but also oddly uncertain. Yizhi didn’t move, just waited, holding onto her injured hand.

After a moment, Zetian stirred again, and said, “I heard them—talking. About…”

She didn’t finish, but then, she didn’t need to.

Yizhi had loved Zetian for a long time, now that he let himself think about it. He had thought, somewhat ashamed of himself for his favoritism, that losing anyone else would be easy, as long as she was with him.

It had not been easy.

They didn’t dare to say his name during daylight hours, unsure of how the raw wound would show itself, too afraid to let anyone else see the depth of their loss. They were both as defensive as lost children, unwilling to let an outsider even look at their hurts, let alone try to touch them. Instead, Zetian and Yizhi curled together and talked in whispers, in the dark, and hid their bloody hearts in each other’s hands.

“Oh,” Yizhi said, quietly. “They—what did they say?”

Zetian’s eyes snapped to his, and all the confused distance was gone, leaving a flame that burned white in its place. Her meridians stirred, he could feel them through his touch at her wrist, and the simple spirit metal headpiece she wore in daily business glimmered as if it was under a brilliant light.

“They said,” she said, a deadly hiss, “that the best thing he ever did was die. They said that he had nothing worth living for. They said,” she went on, voice getting louder, “that he was a murderer, and an animal, and a stupid one at that, too stupid to run for his life. They said that he—he probably raped all his concubine pilots, and they must have been grateful to die just to get away from him, and that I abandoned him to die in the Bird, and that I was right. They said that I was a hero for leaving him behind!”

Zetian was shouting now, almost screaming, throat raw and eyes red and running with the force of her anger. She had reversed Yizhi’s grip on her right hand, and now she was clutching him so tightly it hurt, grinding the bones together, while her left hand was clawed in the cloth of her robe, twisted, knuckles standing out pale against her skin.

“They said that I haven’t held a funeral for him because he didn’t deserve to be remembered—that he killed his whole family and he should have just—”

She stopped, choking on her words, as if she was forcing them out through a stranglehold. Then she spat, “They said that he should have just let the army shoot him, and then all his concubine pilots would still be alive, and we’d all be a lot better off.”

Zetian was shaking, her whole body vibrating under Yizhi’s grip, so that she looked almost like he had, shuddering while his system fought to survive withdrawal. She was crying properly now, ragged sobs of rage and grief, and that awful look of lost, helpless confusion was back beneath it all, and Yizhi—

Yizhi didn’t know what to do to make her feel better, because he was feeling a sudden upswell of sympathy for Zetian’s decision to punch a wall.

He wanted to punch a wall, too. Or, even better, he wanted to go down to the security office and demand every surveillance video from the entire building, and go over them with a fine-toothed comb to find everyone who had ever spoken a single one of those thoughts aloud. Then he could deliver them all up to Zetian on a silver platter, and maybe that would make the glaring emptiness, where they had all-too-quickly come to depend on another person, less painful.

“We haven’t held a funeral because we don’t know he’s dead,” Yizhi finally said. His voice was weak, fragile-sounding, and he realized when he spoke that he was crying too. Not Zetian’s wracking sobs, but a steady trickle that dripped from his jaw and clogged his throat.

“I told him that!” Zetian said, the words torn out of her chest. She was curled over in her chair, clinging to Yizhi like he was the last hope of rescue after a shipwreck, and crying almost into her knees, hand pressed over her mouth. “I said that right to his face, I said that he should have just taken a bullet rather than let them force him into piloting! I said—I said he had nothing worth living for, and those girls had everything, and he should have died rather than—and he agreed with me! He agreed with me, and then he—and then—”

Yizhi gave up on grace and pulled Zetian bodily out of her chair, into his lap on the floor. He wasn’t big enough for it to be comfortable, for either of them—his shoulders too narrow, his limbs too delicate—but she didn’t hesitate to follow his lead. She pressed her face into his shoulder and he fisted one hand in her robes, and felt her take a great shuddering gasp of air, every fiber taut and shivering with emotion.

“I told him,” she said into his robes, as if confessing a capital crime, “that if he was going to rape me, he should at least be honest about it. I didn’t say it like that, but he knew—he knew.”

Yizhi closed his eyes, resting his cheek on her hair, and felt his own breathing hitch. Zetian kept talking, like she couldn’t stop the flow of words now that she had started.

“What if he—what if he thought I still thought of him like that? What if he saved me because he thought—he thought that he was worthless, or a monster, or that we’d be better off? What if—”

“Stop,” Yizhi said, barely a whisper. He wasn’t even sure Zetian could hear him, over her own voice, her own guilt. But she stopped, and just sat and shivered in his arms.

Yizhi took a moment to breathe, her headpiece digging into his temple as he tried to find words.

“He saved us,” Yizhi finally said, slow and careful, “because he wanted us to live. Because he loved us. We can’t—it’s not fair to him, to spend all our time trying to decide if he loved us because he hated himself. That won’t—it won’t help us. And it won’t help him.”

“I was so awful to him,” Zetian said.

“Well,” Yizhi said, managing a brittle laugh through his tears, “sometimes you’re awful. Sometimes he was too. And me, every now and then. What matters is that we try to fix it.”

Yizhi shifted his weight, and carefully lowered both of them down onto the carpet, curled up on their sides, face-to-face. Zetian’s makeup was ruined, her blotchy flush showing through, and he was sure he didn’t look much better. He thought, for a moment, about how they had slept curled up like this the night before the attack on Zhou province. But then, they had been framing another body between them, hands lightly linked over his abdomen, his hands touching them hesitantly every once in a while, anxiously, as if he thought they might disappear.

Now, in the Empress’ quarters, they laid there together on the floor. The light outside the window began to darken, and Zetian’s tears dried, leaving her makeup smeared in ghoulish streaks down her face, and Yizhi kept holding her injured right hand to his chest.

Yizhi didn’t know how long they had been laying there when Zetian spoke, quietly, her voice clear and her eyes closed.

“I miss him.”

“Me too,” Yizhi whispered.

“I want to find those maids and kill them.”

“Me too.”

“We probably shouldn’t do that.”

“No. I could have them reprimanded, though.”

“Do that.”

“Okay,” Yizhi said, and bent his head to kiss the tips of her fingers. “If you let me clean your hand.”

“Okay,” Zetian said. “In a little while.”

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

Their Doll 11

Silent scream

B.Barnes x Stark!Reader, S.Rogers x Stark!Reader

series synopsis:  y/n Stark, all records of her non existent, and yet Hydra still find her. When she is kidnapped by a certain super-soldier and no one believes her, she finds herself searching for unexpected familiarity in her not-so-distant past.

Series Warnings: smut, violence, torture, swearing

Chapter Summary: y/n gets shut up

Warnings: mentions of violence, swearing

A/n: The timeline in this has been altered, as there I things I wanted to include but I also wanted this fic to follow the storyline/timeline of Winter Soldier and Civil war.So for purposes of this fanfic, Peter Parker was discovered by Tony at a much younger age - when he was bitten - and has been an intern with him since, almost like a protégée.(For the purposes of this story Peter was bitten much younger too - more like when he was 9 or ten rather than 14/15)

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

"Fuck you." I snapped, mustering all the saliva I could before spitting it at his face. He flinched back when it splattered over his cheek, his fingers swiping through the spittle before he was shaking it from them and standing back to his full height.

"It appears this one is never going to cooperate. If she won't give us information, why let our experimentations on her possibly...benefit the girl the the future?" The general spoke menacingly to the guards behind me. "How about way find a way to shut her up?"

My heat thudded so hard in my chest it was like someone was punching me from the inside, all air knocked from my lungs before I was being hoisted up to my feet again with two rough grips on my upper arms. My chest heaving, I coughed a ragged breath before composing myself. The glint of the silver blade in the corner of my vision sent my eyes bugging out of my skull and my mind into a flat panic.

So, I did what any rational person with my capabilities would do. I began to hum the deep melody - one a seldom sung - and a smirk crawled its way onto my now curved lips. Clearly, the general was prepared, but the two guards behind we weren't so lucky.

A desperate cry pierced my tune, harmonising with my voice as I heard the havoc I was causing. This was the first time I'd enjoyed a kill, the very first time I'd wanted to use my powers for such a horrific reason. I'd only ever used this part of my power a few times, but this was the only time I'd been fully lucid whilst doing so.

Some people want nothing more than to blow their enemies' brains out, and trust me when I tell you; It felt good.

However, luck was never on my side, and the General had come full prepared. He wasn't even affected, it must've been something to do with the funny earpiece he was wearing.

As my eyes met his, the General's face held non of the cocky, smug tones that I'd expect. No, the only word I could use to describe his old and crinkled features was pure ire, and it was directed at me.

"You conniving, vile little bitch!" He snarled, the flash of silver weeding a sense of utter and complete dread, tangled with fear inside of me, uprooting my confidence. I don't remember a lot after that, to tell you the truth. I know the blade sliced along my throat. I know everything was rained black. And that's about it.

...

Awakening with a gasp was the last thing I expected to happen. The sight of the blade risen in front of the general burned into my mind, almost as if it'd been scorned against my flesh. But here I was: awake, gasping for breath, completely surrounded by doctors I'd never seen before.

My hand instantly flew to my neck, a stinging sensation pulsing from the delicate skin. I hissed as my sweaty palm made contact with the bandage, the material corse and scratchy against my skin. As a doctor waddled over to me, needle in hand, I flailed desperately, a silent scream ripping from my throat.

Hang on a second-

Silent scream? I tried again, the shrill noise that should be tearing from me simply vanishing as it hit my throat. My eyes widened with the realisation, my bottom lip wobbling as I suddenly pieces together what had happened.

He said he'd have to shut me up, didn't he? The thought made me want to scream loudly, that the blade had touched my skin and left me with no defence.

They took away the hell they'd reigned upon me, something I'd wished I could be rid of for years, and now I was disappointed. Maybe this was their plan all along, that little voice in my head sang. The tears pricked at my eyes, which rolled back lazily as the scratch of the needle poked at my neck.

...

My calloused fingers ran over the cut tirelessly, trying to itch somewhere that I could never seem to find. I don't know how long I was sedated for, but since waking up the bleeding had stopped and there was now an offensive red line that slid horizontally across my neck.

Every time I touched it, it coaxed a wince from me, and yet that's all I seemed to do. It was like poking a bruise, I guess. The more it hurts the more you want to do it.

They'd returned me to my cell, clearly very little need for restraints against my weakened, starved and dehydrated body. I could see the flesh thinning on my arms, my ribs pressing painfully against my skin. Not only could I see the hunger, but I could feel it.

Manifesting, biting, gnawing hunger. The type that are you from inside out, devouring everything of you until the only thing you could think about was eating. Huh, I guess I was already at that stage then.

My eyes remained locked in place, glossy with the endless tears as I stared at the floor. If I really looked hard enough, the still wet blood smeared over the floors of the hallway resembled something close to strawberry jam. The thoughts of the sickly sweat substance spread over a perfectly toasted piece of bread, accompanied with a big glass of fresh orange juice and washed down by a large coffee made my mouth water. The booming rumble in my stomach made the groan, even more drawn out than expected when I remembered all I'd get to eat today: a small bread roll and a tiny glass of water.

Sadly, the sink in my cell did not contain drinking water. The liquid was so discoloured that I purposely avoided washing me hands, preferring to possible have my own germs coating my hands than whatever they were giving me. I'm not kicking you about, I genuinely think the water was filtered through a clump of fucking horse shit, mixed with fish guts and complimented with a hint of rotting fruit. If I could help it, I'd be dodging that water like the plague (if it didn't contain one already) for the rest of my life.

I'm not really sure why, but my head snapped up in surprise why the door sprang open, a single guard entering.

"The general requires your presence." He deadpanned, eyes cold as eyes and sharp as a knife as they stabbed through me. I wanted to fight back, stay glued to the spot and snap back some snarky remark, but in my current condition I almost couldn't bring myself to care where I was about to be taken, or why for that matter.

I stood without a word, silently following the man until we reached an unfamiliar metal door. I found it almost laughable, really, that they'd reduced my strength so much, that no one even considered putting me any sort of restraints anymore.

The door was pushed open with a child-like whine emitting from its rusty hinges, the metal scraping over the concrete floor painfully. The guard simply grabbed my arm before tugging me into the room, letting the door shut behind his with a hollow thunk.

"Ah, she has arrived!" The general's voice exclaimed, a deviant smile spreading over his thin lips. "And just in time to meet Mr Pierce, too." He said menacingly.

I felt embarrassed, exposed, stood before the room of men. My hair was a mess, tears streaking my reddened face, eyes puffy from crying and the only clothes a wore was a now-battered hospital gown. My eyes darted around nervously, trying to avoid the blonde man sat before me, chin resting in his palm as he surveyed me.

"Why is this one...important?" The man asked, eyeing me up and down before his eyes seemed to fixate on my neck. The scar.

"This," the general spoke, but Mr Pierce kept his eyes on me, "is Miss y/n Stark." Mr Pierce's eyes widened ever so slightly, but it was barely noticeable.

"As in Tony Stark?" Pierce pondered.

"The very same." The general smirked.

"She seems awfully...quiet, for a Stark." Pierce said with almost a hint of disgust, eyes still glued to my shaking frame.

"That's because we shut her up." The general snapped, awfully harshly.

"Is that the scar? How fresh is it?" Pierce jabbed his questions, curiosity clearly becoming him in the moment.

"Indeed. Our doctors here are very good, Sir. They had her all patched up and out of bandages in just three days." The general bragged, shoulders back and head held high as if he was posing for a portrait.

"I see." Pierce mused, brows furrowed in thought. "What do you plan to do with her? Now that she can't tell you anything?"

"Oh, trust me, sir. She wasn't giving anything up either way," he paused, striding over to me and yanking my head back with a fistful of hair, my back mow  pressed to his chest and his mouth at my ear, "isn't that right, sweetheart?"he clarified, and I didn't hesitate to nod my head as much as his grip would allow.

"So why isn't she dead?" Pierce gritted, seemingly annoyed. "It's not like Tony's attached to her, he never looked for her and I've never even heard him mention her."

"But then they'll keep coming. I don't want the avengers on my back, and I'm sure you don't either." Pierce hummed in agreement. "She's with them - her and that Captain America guy arrived together - so why not use her to send a message?" The general suggested.

...

That's how I found myself tied up, wrists bound and gun to my head as I sat shakily in a chair in the middle of the quinjet. I had no clue how long I'd been since that day, but I do know that I had been sedated once again. The flimsy hospital gown allowed a shiver to chill me, skin  forming goosebumps as I sat before the open door or the quinjet.

"You will tell them exactly as I just did. Got it?" The general pressed, pushing the gun into my head hard enough to make by head throb. Tears biting at my eyes, I nodded furiously, now determined to live with the promise of being free again. "Good. Soldat, make sure she gets back to New York without being seen, I'd hate to have to spill more blood than we intended." The general demanded, a figure rustling its way out of the shadows at the edge of the room. A gasp tore from my throat at the sight of him - clad in black leather and arm as silver as the moon. The soldier - my soldier.

But he simple stared through me, eyes blank and clouded in a coldness I'd never had directed at me from him before.

"And make sure you don't fail this time, soldat." The general snapped. The soldier nodded solemnly, the echoing of boots thudding filling both their ears as the general walked off the ship.

[actress4him]

In Irons 2 - The Dark Storm

(Prompt #6 for Summer of Whump)

Let me know if you’d like to be on the taglist!

Taglist: @a-series-of-whumpy-events , @darthsutrich

Previous | Next

Warnings: lady whumpee with male whumpers, brief (unrealized) fear of noncon, capture, mild blood, forced labor

.

.

The smell of the ocean and the sun on her face is exactly like she had always imagined it. Adelaide leans onto the rail of the deck of The Golden Rose and breathes it all in, a smile playing on her lips.

She’d purchased passage on the ship using part of her own dowry. It seemed appropriate. The dowry came with her, after all, so why not leave with her? She didn’t take all of it, of course. Some of it had already been spent, and some she left as consolation for Charles.

Now they’re three days into a week long journey that will take her down the coast to a new port, hopefully far enough away that no one she knows will ever find her. She’ll start her life over there. It’s an intimidating thought, living as a single woman with no parents, but it will be far better than married life had been. It has to be.

Suddenly the ship bursts into a flurry of sound and activity. Adelaide whirls around, watching as the captain barks out orders and rushes to take the wheel for himself. Sailors practically fly around the ship, untying ropes and letting out sails and scurrying up and down stairs.

She looks out to sea again, searching the water for any sign of what’s happening. There’s nothing but choppy, deep blue as far as the eye can see.

The captain shouts another order and Adelaide darts across the deck, unable to fully appreciate her newfound range of motion past the pounding of her heart in her chest. Practically slamming into the rail, she grips it with both hands until her knuckles turn white, staring back behind them.

There’s a ship there. A large ship, easily twice the size of The Golden Rose, with a hull and sails that haven’t seen nearly as much care and attention. A black flag flies from the mast, its crest hard to make out in the harsh wind.

And it’s gaining on them, fast.

“Captain! What is that ship?” She barely remembers to drop her voice into a deeper register. But no one is paying her any mind, anyway, and her question goes unanswered.

A horrible scraping sound fills the air, and Adelaide is nearly knocked off her feet by the jolt that shakes the deck. Did they just...run into us? The expressions on the faces of the sailors are growing more frantic, sending her heart racing even faster.

Then the ship is pulling up beside them, huge and looming above her head, still bumping up against the side as it goes, and she stumbles backwards away from the railing. Just in time, too, because people are beginning to swing down onto The Rose’s deck, and they have weapons.

Adelaide scrambles further away until her back hits the railing on the other side, eyes wide as she stares at first the rough-looking men landing one by one, then the flag whose crest she can finally see.

It’s a skull over crossed swords.

Pirates.

They spread out quickly, some disappearing below deck to do who knows what while others immediately set upon the sailors. The men are strong, but they’re not fighters, not like the pirates. Thankfully there’s no bloodshed, but it’s not long before each sailor is either knocked down or pinned.

And another pirate is headed straight for her.

Part of her wants to cower, but she steels herself, clenches her fists, and stares him down. No fear. She can’t show fear. Fear is to these men like blood to a shark.

A hand hooks into her cravat and yanks her forward, and she tries her best not to flinch. He’s dirty, beard unkempt, missing teeth as he sneers at her. Everything she would expect a pirate to be.

“You look young and fit enough.” He looks her up and down as if to confirm it, and her skin crawls. For a moment she forgets she’s not a girl, and suddenly it’s Charles hovering over her again, and her heart lodges somewhere in her throat.

“‘Ey Marshall! You wanna keep this one? He looks like a good enough worker.”

He. Worker. Her throat feels slightly less constricted at the realization, but she still doesn’t want to be kept. Her eyes dart up to the dark-haired pirate that hangs over the rail of the upper deck.

“Sure. Take him back.”

Suddenly she’s being dragged by the neck across the ship, toward the pirate ship. “No, no, I don’t -” She doesn’t even know what she’s trying to say, or why she thinks it might do any good, but there’s no chance to complete the thought before the man wraps a strong arm around her waist and they’re being ripped upward, feet leaving the deck without warning. A yelp escapes her involuntarily, and it’s far from masculine. The pirate only guffaws at her.

Once they’ve safely landed on the second ship and the rope they were hanging from is put away, she’s mostly ignored for the next several minutes. She even wonders if she could make an escape, but there are so many men everywhere. Crates are being tossed from hand to hand, barrels rolled up planks from one ship to the other. The Golden Rose is being swiftly stripped of all the goods that she was carrying.

Three more men are brought onboard, members of The Rose’s crew. It seems in addition to taking her cargo, they plan to leave the ship with hardly enough men to sail it. The only other passengers besides Adelaide are an older man and his wife, and thankfully, they seem to have been left alone.

As the last of the crates is loaded on and the pirates unmoor from the cargo ship, moving much too quickly away from safety and freedom, Adelaide and the three sailors are lined up side by side. A man with a black and grey beard who - based on the relative finery of his burgundy coat - must be the captain approaches, looking them over one by one.

“Welcome aboard The Dark Storm,” he sneers. “The name’s Payne, but you lot can call me Captain.”

One of the sailors, a young man who can’t be much older than Adelaide, raises his voice. “What makes you think that we’ll work for the likes of you?”

In a flash, the gold-tipped cane in Captain Payne’s hand flies up and slams into the side of the sailor’s head. Adelaide gasps, hand flying to her mouth. The sailor is sent sprawling onto the deck, a bright red stream of blood trickling down onto its surface.

“Anyone else have any...objections?” The Captain smiles, gold teeth flashing in the sun. “No? Good.” Turning, he beckons with the cane to the same dark-haired man that she had seen earlier. “Marshall, get this man a bucket so that he can clean up his mess before it stains the wood.”

Moving on to the other two men, he asks their names and gives them an approving grunt, before finally coming to her. “And what is this?”

It isn’t the same way that he asked for names before, but she answers, anyway, too frightened not to. “Gray, sir. John Gray.”

His upper lip curls. “And whose idea was it to bring Mr. Gray onto my ship?”

Marshall steps up beside him. “I approved him, Captain. He probably doesn’t know a weaver’s knot from a bowline, but he can swab decks. And maybe if he does that for long enough, he’ll actually build enough muscles to be able to pull a line.”

The Captain stares her down for what seems like an eternity more. She isn’t sure whether she wants his approval or not, but has a feeling that failing to gain it will mean something much worse than swabbing decks.

Finally he cocks his head slightly to one side, face relaxing. “Fine, then. You heard the man. Our defiant friend here seems to be done with his bucket, so get busy.”

It isn’t until he walks away that she realizes she was barely breathing. She sucks in a shaky breath now, trying hard not to make eye contact with anyone around her as she collects the bucket and brush and finds an unoccupied corner to start in.

There’s a lot to think about while she scrubs. Her life has been turned upside down twice within a week, first by her own doing, and now by pirates. This isn’t just a bad dream. This isn’t something that’s going to last for a few more days until she arrives at the new life she’s been looking forward to. Unless she can somehow escape whenever they make port, she’s stuck here. As a...well, basically a slave. Certainly not the way she was hoping to start things over.

She can’t let them find out her secret.

If they find out that she’s actually a woman, there’s no telling how they will react. Badly. That’s all she knows for sure.

So she keeps to herself. Doesn’t speak to anyone unless required, tries to stay unnoticed as much as possible. Scrubs the deck. Hauls crates around. Occasionally helps pull a line. Her hands are constantly shriveled, the ends of her sleeves always wet, and there are permanent bruises on her knees. Blisters quickly form on her palms, then burst, then form all over again until they’ve turned into her first ever callouses.

But she keeps scrubbing, and she watches.

For the first week or two, she was determined not to be one of them. She may be working on a pirate ship, but she’s not a pirate. Eventually, though, she started thinking harder about what it might take to survive this whole ordeal, not just until the next port, but possibly for a very long time.

What if the Captain decides she’s not useful enough? What if he decides to get rid of her while they’re out in the middle of the open sea?

So she watches. She shadows Marshall, the first mate, whenever she can, and tries to learn knots and terms and the way things work. She doesn’t push to be included in the process, not yet, not until she’s certain that she’ll make a good impression.

Like it or not, Mr. John Gray is going to be a pirate.

[mostlycompetentwriter]

Boxer

F/M Pairing: Y/N x Seo Changbin (SKZ)

Warnings: Smut, Smut, Smut (and explicit language with some mentions of violence)

Word Count: 3K

Summary: There was an undeniable relief when the referee held up Changbin’s hand to declare him the winner. Meanwhile, Y/N tried to relax inside his locker room, waiting for Changbin to return, just like he always promised.

A/N: Since everyone is losing their minds over Changbin today, I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to release this little slice of smut. BTW I was kinda inspired by the movie Southpaw.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, your lightweight champion of the world!”

I held my breath, watching the television screen as Changbin threw his fists into the air, celebrating his victory while holding his mouthpiece between his teeth. The crowd was screaming his name, roaring with their delight for his defeat of an opponent who had been taunting him for weeks at the press conferences leading up to tonight’s event. He had never once felt intimated by the man who was being carried out of the ring by local medical staff, and Changbin approached the camera with extra swagger in his steps, showing off the bruises and scars decorating his flushed skin. “I’m the champion,” he practically growled, revealing the title belt wrapped securely around his waist.

I shivered at the dark look in his eyes, leaning further back on the bench in his locker room. It was never easy to watch Changbin’s fights, wincing every time he was hit by a rival, or when he fell to the mat after suffering from a powerful blow. There was never a moment when he wasn’t a canvas of battle wounds, and I often took my time bandaging him after his matches, ensuring that I took care of my husband since he often disregarded such trivial affairs.

But they mattered to me, and I had voiced my complaints regarding Changbin’s chosen career path. It was a dangerous sport, and the risk of suffering from something greater than a few scrapes was constantly hanging over my head. Nevertheless, I was also aware that he had so much passion for the sport, and I would likely never convince him to stop because he was addicted to the rush of adrenaline that left him in a permanent state of exhaustion.

So, I always tried to support him, and I maintained a pleasant smile when I heard Changbin enter the locker room. He smirked in my direction, reaching behind him to undo his title belt before draping it across the long metal bench next to me. “Did you see me out there, sweetheart?” Changbin asked, seeking my approval which I always gave him.

“You did so good, Binnie,” I told him in return. “Will you let me take care of your hands?”

Changbin startled at the question, looking down at his fists as if just realizing that blood was steadily pouring from the knuckles. He nodded in response, keeping his eyes trained on the wounds while I fetched the first aid kit from the back room. Meanwhile, he carefully sat down on the bench. “I didn’t even realize...” Changbin trailed off, watching me as I knelt down in front of him to carefully clean the mangled skin with an antiseptic wipe before unwrapping a fresh layer of gauze to secure the wound.

“You usually don’t,” I said, pressing a soft kiss to the each hand before glancing up at him. “But I’ll always be here to take care of it.”

Changbin grinned, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from my eyes. “I love you, Y/N.”

My heart ached in my chest at the meaningful sentiment, returning the words as I pressed a gentle kiss to his lips while also being mindful of the cut that had previously split the skin in a different fight. His lips were chapped, but I didn’t mind, tracing their shape with my tongue before I attempted to pull away from him. However, one of Changbin’s hands came around to the back of my head to hold me in place, chasing after my lips like a man starved for touch. “Binnie,” I whispered between kisses, growing increasingly breathless from his ministrations.

“Come up here,” he suggested with a sly smirk, patting his lap with both hands. I nodded before carefully straddling his thick thighs which were covered by the tight material of his shorts, wrapping my arms around his neck as he tightened his grip on my waist. “Beautiful,” he declared, reclaiming my mouth once again as his tongue made a leisurely swipe against my teeth, deepening our kiss and steadily grinding his hips into mine. I whimpered because the outline of his erection was even more apparent in the shorts that always complimented his lean body, hugging tightly to his legs and emphasizing the roundness of his ass. I moaned just thinking about about the mental image, remembering how the sweat glistened on Changbin’s well-built torso after his match, and I could feel his fingers working apart the buttons on my blouse.

I allowed the shirt to fall from my shoulders, collecting against the creases of my elbows in a delicate fashion. It exposed more of my upper body to the colder air permeating the locker room that was suddenly alive with the sound of our heavy panting and the wet smack of our lips. Changbin groaned low in his chest, allowing me to collect my breath while he trailed his lips down my neck and collarbones, brushing his mouth against the swell of my breasts. I met his dark gaze as he looked up at me, mouthing against my nipples through the thin fabric of my silken bra, forming a stain from the heat of his tongue. It was nothing short of sinful, and I couldn’t help but moan at the contradiction between the warmth of his mouth and the pleasant sting from his teeth.

“Yes,” I whispered, trembling because the friction was delicious against my sensitive flesh, watching Changbin leave behind colorful bruises to affect the pale skin of my chest. I closed my eyes in pure delight, moving my hands away from his shoulders to move down his massive chest, feeling the impossible strength in his pectoral muscles and the faint abdominal lines leading to the waistband of his shorts. His body was built like an Adonis, and I was incredibly lucky to have such intimate access to someone who dedicated a good portion of their time to sculpting those hard muscles.

I was drawn out of my lustful haze when Changbin finally removed my shirt from my arms, reaching behind me for the clasp to my bra, which left me bare and openly displayed for his eyes. “Now, we’re even,” he grumbled against my throat, nipping at the skin that was pulled taut as I threw my head back to allow him better access.

There was a noticeable air of dominance surrounding my husband, and his aggression was growing more and more apparent as he marked me with his teeth. As a result, my legs tightened around his thighs, and I could feel my panties growing damp with my arousal. “Changbin, please,” I said, desperate for more.

It caught his attention, and Changbin finally paused long enough to look at me before I suddenly found myself on my back, gasping because the cold metal of the bench was harsh against my exposed skin. His sudden display of strength caught me off-guard, and I watched as he moved further down the bench to wrestle my jeans and panties down my legs, growling low in his chest before throwing them into the floor. I whined again because there was something undeniably vulnerable about my current position: completely naked and exposed for Changbin who sauntered above me while palming his cock over the material of his shorts. “Touch yourself for me, slut,” he snarled, and I arched my back against the intensity of his gaze.

Nevertheless, I accommodated his request, jerking my hips at the first touch of my index finger against my throbbing clit, which was suddenly desperate for some form of release. I delicately circled the tiny bud, whining Changbin’s name after I realized that everything was too sensitive, and it hurt when I attempted to increase the speed of my touches. At the same time, I could barely stand to meet Changbin’s intimidating gaze, turning my head to the side as I parted the folds of my labia to tease one finger inside of my drenched pussy. “Oh!” I gasped, reacting to the sudden penetration and the way it caused my legs to shake as they fought to close against the intrusion.

“Keep your legs spread,” Changbin said, reaching down to interfere, and I moaned when he parted my thighs, fingers digging bruises into the skin. “I want to see you come like this.”

I shook my head because I was feeling overwhelmed, but I still continued to test my limits, adding another finger and using my free hand to tease my clitoris, increasing the pressure while timing the thrusts inside of my tight heat. I could feel myself clenching around my own fingers, responding to the light, but pleasurable touches. My entire body was shaking with my growing need to come, and my hips were grinding down in a desperate attempt to chase the irresistible vibrations that were contributing to the slowly building climax in my lower abdomen. 

However, even as I continued to pump my fingers inside of my warm cunt, I thought about Changbin and how much I desperately wanted him to take control, but he had an impeccable resolve. If he set his mind to something, then he would do everything in his power to see it come to fruition. The only way that I would see any kind of pleasure from his cock was after I managed to push myself over the edge on my own. It was still nice, though, focusing on how well I was stretching myself in preparation for him, and how good it felt to fill myself with anything, even if it had to be my fingers.

Thankfully, I was starting to approach my release, and I whimpered at the embarrassingly loud squelching sounds that were disturbing the quiet of the locker room. There was an undeniable pressure building in my tightening core, responding to an intense combination of the delicious friction from my fingers and the weight of Changbin’s gaze as he continued to watch me while stroking himself over his shorts. But then again, just thinking about his cock was enough to drive me insane.

I bit my lower lip to keep myself from moaning when I finally came, riding out the waves of my first orgasm as my hips continued to roll desperately, rising and falling against the metal bench underneath me. There were tears steadily falling from the corners of my eyes, and I had only started to remove my fingers when I felt Changbin grab my thighs to jerk me down to the edge of the bench. I looked at him through lidded eyes as he tugged down his shorts, allowing them to pool into the floor as he took another step forward. I groaned when I saw his cock, thick and erect, and I felt my mouth start to salivate as I remembered how it felt to taste him inside my mouth. The tip was painted with an angry red color, and I lifted myself into a sitting position. “Can I?” I asked him, placing a tender kiss against the underside of his cock.

Changbin inhaled sharply as he reached out with both hands, wrapping his fingers through my hair as he brought me even closer to his erection, allowing the head to slip obscenely across the seam of my lips. “My little slut can have whatever she wants,” Changbin replied, and I needed no further encouragement before opening my mouth and inviting my tongue to taste the bead of precum that had gathered on the tip. The result was bitter, but I relaxed my throat and took him as deep as I could manage, bobbing my head up and down the full length of his erection. Changbin grunted at my efforts, planting his feet on the floor as he gave an experimental thrust, and I started choking around him, pulling off to gather my breath before trying again. 

“Such a good girl for me,” Changbin purred, and he was more affectionate when his fingers traced my lips that were stretched around the girth of his cock. I moaned around him, watching as he closed his eyes to savor the vibrations that I had caused. “That’s right,” he said, gripping his cock at the base to feed me more of his erection until my nose touched his public hair, and the sting at the back of my throat had more instinctual tears falling down my face.

After several more successive thrusts into the warm heat of my mouth, Changbin pulled me away from his cock, breathing heavily as he reached for my waist. My legs trembled under me as he manhandled my body into the position that he wanted, bending me over the edge of the bench as he drug his cock against the crevice of my ass. There was no denying that I was a mess at this point, crying because of my overpowering need for him, and pushing back against his hips as he continued to tease me, dragging the tip of his cock against my wet slit. 

My breath caught around a moan when I felt him finally end my suffering, pushing the full length of his cock inside at a slow pace. My eyes practically rolled to the back of my head as I supported myself on my forearms, arching my back for a better angle until his hips were flush against my ass. “Changbin,” I whimpered, feeling incredibly full from the sensation of his cock stuffed deep inside where it belonged, and I was practically split open around his impressive girth.

I sniffled as I squeezed myself around him, grateful that he was giving me time to adjust, before I reached back for one of the hands that were still holding my hips. I gave him a reassuring squeeze, and he moaned in response. “So fucking tight for me,” Changbin said, and he started grinding his hips in steady circles, grazing over a pleasurable spot that managed to heighten the warm haze settling over the center of my chest. It was nice to savor the thickness of his cock, and I gasped when Changbin began to pull out, teasing me with just the tip before ending my pain and filling me again and again. In the meantime, he whispered words of praises, telling me how good I looked from behind, taking his cock like I had been made for him. His words mixed scandalously with the smack of his hips, joining the chorus of my moans and grunts as I felt myself quickly unraveling from the inside, crying even louder when one of Changbin’s hands tangled itself into my hair, pulling back and forcing me to arch my back even more.

The new angle was addicting, and my pussy was throbbing as he started to increase the pace of his well-timed thrusts, finding an easy rhythm as he played with my body like it was personal toy to be used whenever he needed pleasure. But I didn’t mind the idea, and I loved how much stronger he was, moving my body around to his liking. He liked to experiment with interesting positions, and I gasped when Changbin kicked my feet further apart, spreading my legs even wider as he somehow managed to leave me feeling utterly wrecked and destroyed around his cock. 

“It’s so good,” I slurred when Changbin brought another hand down between us, finding my clit with expert fingers. I moaned when he started to stimulate the throbbing organ with tight circles, knowing the best way to break me down. And the dueling sensations of his cock penetrating my desperate cunt and his fingers assaulting the swollen bud were bringing me even closer to the edge. 

I wasn’t surprised when my walls started tightening around his cock in response to my impending orgasm. Desperately, I started bucking my hips against his, meeting him on every thrust as I felt my vision start to blacken around the edges. Even so, I managed to look over my shoulder at Changbin, listening to his heavy panting as he closed his eyes and tossed his head to the side, thrusting even harder into my aching core and hitting my G-spot repeatedly from deep inside.

The visual was enough to break me, and I came around him with a muted scream, wrapping my hand over my mouth as he continued to push into me over and over again as I rode out my second orgasm. I cried when everything grew distorted around me, and Changbin was still chasing his own orgasm, dragging his thick cock against the fluttering walls of my pussy as I swallowed him again and again. Everything was suddenly veering on the edge of overstimulated, and I was whining and crying from the pleasure, chanting his name while my lower arms started shaking with the threat of giving out at any moment.

“Y/N!” Changbin grunted, and his hips stuttered in place once, twice, and then three times before he came inside, and I could feel his warm seed fill me to the brim. “Holy shit,” he cursed, allowing his flaccid cock to fall from my leaking pussy. 

I swallowed around a deep inhale, barely keeping myself up as I managed to  maneuver myself onto my back, looking up at Changbin as he towered over me. “Binnie,” I called for him, stretching out my arms in his direction.

“You look so good like this, sweetheart,” Changbin said, and he gently wrapped his arms around me, lifting me up into the air as he encouraged my legs to lock around his waist. “We can take a shower here,” Changbin said, pressing kisses against my lips. “Then, we’ll go home, okay?”

I nodded, feeling drowsy from everything that had happened. But there was no better place in the world than being wrapped around my husband, reveling in his strength as he supported both of us. I closed my eyes as I buried my face into the side of his neck, savoring his warmth because he always managed to make me feel safe and loved.

[middleearthpixie]

Someone to Watch Over Me ~ Chapter Thirteen

Summary: The Company seeks aid from Beorn and Seren finds herself jealous of Bilbo, even as she insists to Thorin they must keep their distance from one another. Oh, and spiders. Big. Evil. Spiders.

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield/Seren (female OC, formerly of Dale)

Characters: The Company, Gandalf, the Spiders of Mirkwood

Rating: T

Warnings: Some battle violence, creepy spiders, and cocoons

Word Count: 2,266

Additional Information: If you’d like to be added to the tag list, please let me know!

@tschrist1 - I hope you are having a nice weekend...

Everything in the barn was far bigger than all of them save for Gandalf, but he assured them they were safe there and that the bear who had chased them all into said barn would help them. A skin-changer, Gandalf described him. A fellow named Beorn. They were to sleep in the barn for the night and come morning, Gandalf would carefully (and he emphasized the word carefully) introduce them. And it had to be done carefully (again, he emphasized carefully) for apparently Beorn was none too fond of dwarves.

Wonderful.

But that didn’t stop others from falling asleep. She was the only awake body, as sleep mocked her. It didn’t help that she could hear the faint cries of wargs, which seemed to be growing closer at a fairly steady pace.

Even Thorin slept, which didn’t surprise her. His had been the roughest of days and as she gazed across the barn at where he lay nestled in a pile of hay, all she could think about was how he sought out Bilbo. If she’d been the one to slay the orc, he’d have looked for her, but no. She was useless dangling from a burning, listing tree instead.

She was being silly and childish and she knew it, but she wanted only to stretch out beside Thorin, to let him rest his head in her lap, and stroke his hair. Which was equally silly and childish.

Coming after him had been a terrible idea. She hadn’t stopped to think what would happen once she found him and really hadn’t thought about what being part of this company would mean for her, either.

She gave up trying to sleep and stood up, carefully picking her way around the sleeping dwarves, toward the rear of the barn. There, she climbed up onto the edge of a stall and peered out the small window that overlooked a beautiful lake and from her vantage point, the moon’s light cut a silver swath across the middle and the rippling water reminded her of sparkling diamonds against a bed of silver and black velvet.

“Having trouble sleeping?”

She nearly leapt from her skin at Thorin’s unexpected whisper and she spun about to glare at him. “Must you sneak up on me?”

“I apologize,” he said with a hint of a smile. “I didn’t mean to startle you. What can you see?”

She turned back toward the window. “There’s a lake out behind this barn. And the moon shines across it.”

“It sounds peaceful.”

“It looks peaceful.” With a sigh, she eased down from the side of the stall and leaned against it instead. “I’m surprised you’re awake. You look… exhausted.”

A rueful smile came to his lips as he reached up to touch the ugly-looking cut across his nose. “I’ve had better days.”

Her throat tightened and her belly did a strange flip as she gazed up at him. In addition to the cut, his right cheek bore a large bruise, and the left side of his forehead sported a smaller one. There were also nearly half a dozen smaller scrapes along his left cheek and jawline. Without thinking, she reached up and brushed his hair away from his face. “I thought he was going to kill you.”

“As did I. Thank the maker for Master Baggins.”

“Exactly.”

“And what about you?” He caught her by the hands to turn hers palm up. They were red and scraped from the pine tree’s branch and trunk. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. I was a little surprised when the eagle caught me, because I was certain I was going to splat against the mountainside, but I’m fine otherwise.”

“Good.”

He made no move to release her hands, and instead, his thumbs moved lightly over her palms to send a rush of tingles up both arms. Part of her wanted to pull away, but it was far weaker than the side that wished him to keep touching her.

A soft snore rose from Bilbo, who slept in the far corner, curled up with two goats. She looked up back up at Thorin. “I think your burglar has a crush on you, Mr. Oakenshield. When you hugged him, he lit up like the sun.”

Thorin peered over his shoulder at the hobbit. “I think perhaps you’ve read a bit much into his reaction, Seren.”

“Perhaps, but I don’t think so. You should be careful where he is concerned.”

“Careful?” He turned back to her. “My interests lie not with other men.”

“Well, I know that, but he doesn’t. So you need to take care. Don’t hurt him.”

“How could I hurt him?”

“You could let him think there is more to your feelings toward him than camaraderie.”

He let out a soft sigh, and when his gaze met hers, she actually felt it. “I could tell him another has claimed my heart.”

“Thorin…” She shook her head slowly. “Please, don’t…”

“Don’t what?” He stepped closer, out of the moonlight and into the darkness. His eyes glittered pale blue as he backed her up against the stall’s wall. “Perhaps I made a mistake, Seren.”

“You have to finish what you’ve set out to do,” she told him softly, flattening one hand in the middle of his chest to halt him.

For all the good it did, as he closed the space between them, his lips hovering by a fraction of an inch above hers. “I will. But—“

“No. No but.”

He bent toward her, his lips brushed hers softly. Her eyes closed as he swept those lips along her jaw, as he nuzzled her gently, sliding an arm about her waist. Her hand came to rest on his upper arm, his biceps like granite beneath his dark blue tunic. Her eyes closed, her head lolling back until it came to rest against the wall with the softest of thuds.

Heat coursed through her, delicious and teasing, and she wanted only to melt against him, to pull him down into the sweet-smelling hay and let whatever happened, happen.

But they were not alone and nothing had changed.

Her eyes opened as she pushed him away. “We cannot do this. We agreed, last evening was a beautiful thing, but now, reality intrudes and—”

“And I don’t think I can stay away from you,” he confessed, catching her face in his hands, his thumbs skimming along her cheekbones. “And I don’t think I wish to, either.”

“Thorin, you must.”

“Seren.”

“No.” She pulled free again. “We need to go back to how we were, or else I need to leave, because I will not be the reason why your quest fails.”

“Seren.”

“I mean it, Thorin. You need to leave me be.” She stepped to the side to move around him. “Perhaps I should just leave. Everyone would be fine without me.”

“There is an orc pack in those woods, Seren. You wouldn’t survive to their edge.” He came up behind her, easing his arms about her waist. “You will stay with us and when this is over, we see what we have here.”

As he spoke, he lifted one hand to catch her braid and moved it to let it fall over her left shoulder. Her eyes closed at the first sweep of his lips against the side of her neck. For a moment, she savored the sensations he sent running rampant through her, and wondered if he had any idea of the havoc he wrought upon a woman’s senses. No one would ever believe it possible for him to be this gentle, this tender, as he was right then, and she wished with everything she had she could change for him, that she could give herself to him and hope for a future.

But she couldn’t and that wasn’t going to change.

One of the other dwarves stirred and murmured, “Thorin? Is something wrong?”

Thorin straightened, his arms falling away from her as he stepped around her and said, “Everything is fine, Ori. Go back to sleep. Morning will be here before you know it.”

He glanced back at her. “You should get some sleep as well, Seren. You look exhausted.”

“I will.” She tried to smile, but couldn’t. Her heart hurt far too much for her to pretend otherwise and no one had ever warned her just how much it could hurt, to want something so badly that she knew she could never have. “Good night, Thorin.”

He walked away without looking back. “Good night, Seren.”

***

Gandalf woke them at dawn and warned them that he would introduce them one or two at a time to Beorn, then took Bilbo with him as he went out to prepare Beorn for the houseguests he didn’t know he had.

Seren held her breath as she, Fili, and Kili emerged from the barn at the same time, after Beorn had already been gobsmacked by the wizard’s hiding twelve dwarves, a hobbit, and a boy in his barn.

As for Seren, she hoped Gandalf knew what he was doing, for Beorn was at least ten feet tall and hugely muscled. He also was, as he said, none too fond of dwarves. He glared at the Company as he growled, “Is this all?”

Thorin stepped out of the barn then, arms folded, and leaned against a post to stare down their host. Gandalf quickly explained their story, and over breakfast, Beorn agreed to help them out. He offered ponies and supplies and warned them of the dangers to be found in Mirkwood, their next destination. After that, came Lake-town and finally, Erebor. They were almost there.

Some time later, the Company, astride beautiful ponies with flowing white manes, were on their way to Mirkwood and as they reached it, and climbed down from their saddles, Gandalf said, “Set the ponies free and back to their master.”

Nori moved to set Gandalf’s horse free as well, only to have Gandalf stop him. “No, not that one. I’ll need him.”

Thorin looked up at him. “You’re leaving?”

“You will be fine and I wouldn’t if I didn’t have to.” Gandalf swung up into his saddle. “You need only remember to be on your guard and stay on the path. Do not under any circumstances, venture from it.”

And with that, he was off, leaving Thorin staring at him in disgust as he said, “Well, come on then.”

Bilbo shook his head. “These woods feel sick.”

“Just stick to the path and we will be fine.” Thorin looked over at her. “Let’s go, Seren.”

“I’m coming.” She brushed by him, and hurried to catch up to Bofur. “Where are we even going?”

He glanced down. “To Laketown, I suppose. It must be on the far side of these woods.”

She looked around. They were the most confusing woods she’d ever encountered. The trees looked half-dead, with vines wrapping all about their trunks, stretching like tentacles across the leaf-and-debris strewn forest floor. Bilbo was right. These woods did feel sick. Sickness. Death. Dismay. Doom. They all lay heavy in the air, like cheap perfumes wore by women with loose morals, as Mama liked to say.

Even the air felt odd. It left her feeling dizzy, a bit disoriented. More than once, she stumbled over an exposed tree root or vine, or sometimes nothing at all—it was if the forest itself grabbed her foot—and caught Bofur. Then he tripped, grabbed her, and pulled her down to the floor atop him.

She lay there for a long minute, her thoughts a tangled up ball of knots as she tried to remember where they were. Tried to remember why they were there. But it all clouded in her brain and she stared down at Bombur as if she had never seen him before. “Why are you holding me?”

“You’re holding me.”

A hand snagged in the back of her tunic and roughly tugged her off him and Thorin said, “Enough. I thought you wished your secret kept.”

“My what?” She stared up at him. His eyes seemed far bluer than usual. Her gaze fell to the pulse beating in his neck, to the scruff that was the beginning of his beard, and then she reached for him. Grabbed his shirtsleeve as the others stumbled along ahead of them. She rose onto her toes and as gently as she knew how, bit the side of his neck.

He jumped back. “What the deuce?”

“You didn’t mind that the other night.”

“There weren’t thirteen other people within eyesight of us, either.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “What are you about?”

“I—I don’t know.” Dizziness washed over her. She felt drunk, reckless, not herself. She wanted to grab him and pull him down, but at the same time, was afraid she’d be sick if she did. Her head spun. Her eyes wanted only to close. She stumbled again.

Thorin caught her. “Take care, Seren.”

“I—I don’t feel well,” she muttered.

He stopped then, and growled, “Everyone, stop.”

The Company did, all staring up at him as Balin said, “What is it?”

He let go of Seren, who stumbled into Dwalin, who said, “Where even are we?”

“Quiet,” Thorin whispered. “We’re being watched.”

Seren righted herself. “What?”

As if having been given a signal, spiders dropped from all around them. Seren screamed involuntarily as something grabbed her from behind and a moment later, she could barely breathe or see and she fought down her rising panic as she realized she was being wrapped in a thick, sticky cocoon.

[jasmine-iroh]

i have so many ideas in my head for fics LMAO and as u know i am obsessed w ur writing hehehe umm lets think can you do a sokka imagine where reader is Piandao’s apprentice as well so she spars with Sokka in his training and always wins, until he beats her one day from like being flirty and distracting her or something?? idk u can ignore this and just do any imagines u like LOL

Ahhhhh I love this idea so much!! Idk why but I have a headcanon that Piandao is lowkey like Batman and just trains abandoned kids and now he has like a tiny army of little white lotus warriors he’s informally adopted over the years.

This kid is weird.

That was the immediate impression (Y/N) got of Sokka when Master Piandao had introduced him as a new apprentice.

What the hell kind of name is Sokka, anyways?

That was her second thought. It was the kind of name that rolled off her tongue nicely when she was snapping at him to focus during their drills. The shape of it in her mouth made it easy to add a snarl to the front and a growl at the end when he was screwing around in front of Piandao, making them both look bad.

By the end of his first day training with (Y/N) under Piandao’s reserved tutliage, Sokka had been introduced to several intermediate forms. His heavy wooden practice sword had turned his arms to jelly long ago and there were various bruises and scrapes from (Y/N) sneaking past his defenses, but Sokka didn’t mind the aches.

She’s amazing.

That was Sokka’s first impression of (Y/N) as he watched her demonstrate the basic forms he was supposed to learn. He wasn’t focusing on the forms, but rather the warrior waltzing her way through them.

(Y/N) seemed to merge with her abilities. She moved with the ease of someone who spent her time befriending her skills, pouring her soul into singing metal and brutal dance numbers. Her blade was her master as much as Piandao was. She wielded her sentences as tactfully as her steel, every word intentional and aimed to cut to the heart of a matter.

Sokka would wager his last copper piece that her and Suki would get along quite well if they ever met.

He’s good.

That was (Y/N)’s third thought as she watched Sokka breeze through his basic drills.

A tiny part of her sung with pride when Master informed her that she was excelling in her duty of shaping Sokka into a proper swordsman. Sokka was her first real trainee during her time with Piandao. She’d studied under him from the age of six, when she’d turned up on his doorstep after being left behind in the middle of the night by her nomadic family.

She’d seen many hopeful young men turn up on that same doorstep, opening her sanctuary to their arrogant swaggers and second rate weaponry. They had all given her the same look when she guided them through Piandao’s home; a look that held the intrigue of having a girl around to preen for, not knowing that she was the judge, jury, and executioner of their fate.

Piandao might’ve been the one to teach the boys to fight, but (Y/N) was the one to make them honor the battle. They all came boasting to the Master about their accomplishments in their backwater town, lauding their own praises and embellishing their military bloodlines. Most left cursing the girl with forged steel for a personality and the word no sharpened like a blade.

Not Sokka, though.

(Y/N) supposed that maybe that’s what first warmed her up to him, the fact that he’d seen the sword on her belt first and her gender second. His quick wit and ability to bounce back after a defeat didn’t hurt, either.

Sokka’s knuckles were still red and actively bruising from their previous match when Piandao informed the pair that the next would be their last for the day. The compound was bathed in the golden promise of a sunset to come and (Y/N) found herself getting distracted by the way the light pressed gentle kisses to Sokka’s cheeks. The breeze played with his unraveling topknot like a teasing lover, taunting (Y/N) with the idea of what he’d look like with his hair down.

Before her thoughts could settle on the fight in front of her and not the boy, Sokka was making the first move. He went for the obvious strike, even though he should’ve learned by that point that (Y/N) would parry the blow.

Swinging her sword up to block him with ease, (Y/N) found herself shocked by their close proximity, puzzled that Sokka had thrown his first move to get close to her. A coy smirk was crawling along Sokka’s face as he gifted the young warrior with a flirtatious wink, causing her to narrow her own eyes back at him. It seemed that Sokka had seen her distraction and chose to wield his looks as his weapon of choice for this round.

“You can’t fluster me into losing, Sokka,” (Y/N) huffed, a mild bout of surprise bubbling as she realized that she was actually having to try to keep Sokka from getting the upper hand in their fight.

“That doesn’t seem fair, you’ve been flustering me all day.” He replied with a disarming grin, putting her on the defense with a quick, if somewhat unpracticed, set of attacks.

“Cut it out.” She growled, hoping the dark flush on her cheeks could be written off as exertion and not a real blush. Those oceanic eyes stared a hole into (Y/N), the flickering of his pupils to the side being the only consistent indication of his next move.

He was still too close for (Y/N) to ready a true offense, so she blocked and parried his attacks, his ever increasing proximity forcing her a step back with each move. She was trying to distance herself for an attack when the stone wall of the practice arena hit her back, shocking the wind out of her and allowing Sokka to land what would have been a fatal strike in a real fight. Their eyes were still locked as their chests heaved from the effort of the fight, bewildered (Y/E/C) eyes meeting a cunning blue gaze.

“Resourceful use of terrain, Sokka. (Y/N), don’t allow yourself to be crowded by a larger opponent. Use your agility, not your size.” Piandao advised, snapping the pair out of their staring contest. Sokka was still looming over (Y/N), but she wasn’t looking at him, instead forcing herself away from the wall to disappear into the bamboo thicket. She was being melodramatic, she knew, but she was ashamed that she’d let a stupidly charming boy make her look like a fool in front of her Master. The blow to her pride was blistering, raising all of her long buried insecurities to the surface.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Sokka’s voice called from the bamboo to (Y/N)’s right. To hear that much concern in the voice of a boy who barely knew her showed his true character, but (Y/N) wished he would reveal an arrogant side. Something, anything, to throw her heart off the scent of a crush.

“Why would you do that?” She snarled, trying to cover the turmoil in her mind with misplaced anger.

“Do what?” His disembodied voice was confused, the rustling of bamboo revealing his position to (Y/N).

“Embarrass me like that in front of everyone! Do you know how hard it is to be taken seriously as a girl doing this?” (Y/N) ranted, her glare already fixed to the spot where Sokka popped out of the foliage into her line of view.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that, I just... I thought we had something going on there for a minute, y’know? You’re the best fighter I’ve ever met, being a girl doesn’t change that.” He told her honestly. He took a tentative step closer, approaching her like he would a scared cat.

“That trick won’t work a second time.” (Y/N) snapped, her eyes spitting fire at him. Once again, she found herself on the defensive with this boy, every careful step he took towards her sending her a step back until her back pressed against a clutter of bamboo.

“Trick? (Y/N), there is no trick. It’s called liking someone, and hoping they like you back.” Sokka exclaimed, frustration trickling into his tone. He wanted to be patient and give her room to puzzle out his intentions, but she was too busy protecting her emotions to see his truth.

A long pause, before, “he’ll replace me if he thinks I’m easily distracted.” It was said so quietly, in such a hopeless voice, that Sokka wouldn’t recognize it as (Y/N) speaking if he wasn’t watching her lips form the words.

“He’s a fool, then. He won’t find another (Y/N).” Sokka told her boldly, feeling wild and fierce in their bamboo haven with her baring her deepest emotions to him.

“Please stop saying nice things. It makes it really hard to be mad.” (Y/N) whispered in that same careful voice, her tone cooling as she folded in on herself. She couldn’t believe she’d shown her soul to a boy she’d known for two days.

“Then don’t be mad, be honest. Do you find me as distracting as I find you?” Sokka matched her tone, speaking quietly as he tried to coax her back out of her shell.

“No. Yes? I don’t know. I’ve never even liked any of the apprentices before you.” She huffed, tilting her head back to groan at the sky in confusion.

“Stop over thinking it. Do I distract you? Yes or no?” Sokka pressed, taking (Y/N)’s battle calloused hands in his own and tugging her attention back to those oceanic eyes.

“Yes.” Her tone was confident, her rough thumbs tracing delicate shapes over Sokka’s bruised knuckles as she accepted his rough palms in her own.

“I’m glad I’m not the only one, then, or this would’ve been awkward.” He admitted, a warm blush crawling up his neck.

“It already was,” (Y/N) giggled quietly, releasing the tension between them. They stood grinning at each other like fools, both trying to stretch this soft, peaceful moment into a lifetime. Sokka leaned down closer to (Y/N) slowly, his eyes flickering between her own and her lips as he gave her the chance to stop him.

Instead of bolting like he half expected her to, she leaned up and pressed a firm kiss to his lips, pulling him closer. The action threw him off balance and sent the pair tumbling through the bamboo, Sokka landing on top of (Y/N) with a squawk of indignation.

The serene atmosphere broken, they stared into each other’s eyes for a shocked moment before bursting into laughter and settling for holding each other close like a cherished possession.

[bloodfromthethorn]

Training Days

Riley had never really considered herself much of a physical fighter. Sure, given her background she’d been in more than her fair share of scrapes and she knew how to fight dirty with the rest of them, no hesitation, if that was what the situation in front of her required. Even setting aside the absolute nightmare prison had been, she’d been butting heads with self-entitled dickbags since she was about seven years old and she had long since learned the quickest way of using her body to turn someone else into a non-threat.

But for all of that, given her choice of scene, she knew that her skills were best served behind a laptop, ruining someone’s day from an entirely different country, rather than from two feet away, sweating and panting.

Unfortunately, government agents didn’t always get that choice.

Which really was all just a very roundabout way of saying that one of the stipulations of her admittedly pretty shady and very much classified contract with The Phoenix Foundation was that she participate in extensive hand-to-hand combat training and physical fitness drills, and that meant getting sweaty on the training mats every Tuesday and Thursday. Some days it wasn’t so bad - there were a handful of other newish recruits who were at around the same level of training as her and she generally had a good time working through her sets with them to guide her, and guiding them in turn. Other days, it was rough; training with Thornton had been a minefield of expectations, admiration, and pressure, and training with Jack always left her aching and sore. She always walked away knowing something new, without fail, but she still wouldn’t call it a highlight of her working life.

Training with Mac though, that was something altogether different.

She ducked low just as a heavily muscled arm flew through the space where her head had just been, then immediately staggered back as his knee swung up to meet her. Mac didn’t let her get far, effortlessly pivoting the kick into a long stride forwards, keeping himself in her space to launch another flurry of attacks that she just barely managed to avoid. Strong and quick and well trained, Mac had every possible physical advantage in a fight, and to top it off, he was always mentally at least twenty steps ahead of anything she could even begin to plan to do.

Another punch came at her right side and she took a chance on Mac’s ever so slightly weaker left-hand-side reflexes to slide under the blow and put herself at his back. Against most opponents, the move would have been enough to give her an opening to throw a punch of her own or maybe even go for a grab; against Mac, he had already twisted to face her head on before she’d even finished moving.

“Nice,” he offered charitably, even though it had earned her no ground. Her one consolation was that he was starting to sound winded, not quite as unaffected as he likely wanted to appear by the intense physical exertion they’d been going through.

Riley, for her part, decided not to waste air responding. Instead she dipped low and took a cheap shot at his right knee, the same knee that had been in a brace up until three weeks ago after a gun runner in South Africa had managed to shove him clean off a rooftop and he broke his leg in the fall. Mac hissed in alarm - while technically cleared for duty, he was still healing and he had zero desire to lose the use of his limb again - and slipped sideways, right into the path of Riley’s incoming upper cut.

His agility saved him from a fist connecting with his chin, but she still managed to clip his shoulder with a hit hard enough to put him on the defensive, and for the first time the ball was in Riley’s court. As much as she knew she was still outmatched, it was a testament to how far she had come that it no longer felt like Mac was letting her go on the attack, rather than genuinely having to retreat under her advance, and she couldn’t help but feel a little bit proud of herself as she pushed forwards.

As he was wont to do when on defence, Mac went about the bizarre process of turning himself to water and slipped and slid out of every shot she could throw at him. When one of her kicks actually did connect with his thigh and sent him stumbling sideways, she was so surprised by it herself that she just barely managed to follow it up with an open palmed strike at the side of his head.

The hesitation would have been enough for any reasonably well trained fighter to get the upper hand, and Mac had ten years of military and covert experience behind him. He knocked her hand away with a fluid flick of his wrist and contorted sharply to get around and behind her in a single step, his other arm sliding up to tuck snugly against her neck and haul her back into him. To his credit, he kept himself gentle - as gentle as it was possible to be while dragging someone into a chokehold, at any rate - so his arm rested more against her collarbones than her windpipe and he caught her against him rather than crushing, but it was still enough to momentarily knock her off balance with a huff.

“Going for my knee was good instincts,” he told her breathlessly, apparently grateful to have a moment to suck in air. She could feel how his heart was pounding against her back, the rush of air in his lungs as fought to recover himself, and felt vaguely vindicated that she had enough skill to work him so hard. “Still a cheap shot though.”

Hauling in air herself and knowing that she was reaching the end of her adrenaline, Riley grinned. “You think that was cheap?”

With a twist and a grunt of effort, she cut her elbow up sharply into Mac’s stomach, catching him hard below the ribs and sending him staggering back with a pained wheeze. Momentarily thrown off and half-doubled over in breathlessness, Mac presented no threat at all when Riley darted out of his reach and spun to face him once more, smiling at her own triumph.

Mac glared at her half-heartedly, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that his face was a blazing red and he couldn’t catch his breath. “Underhanded,” he managed to gasp out after a second.

Still riding high on the joy of a rare victory, Riley just laughed. “I thought sparring was supposed to be a no-holds-barred situation? Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have done the same.”

Giving in to the urge to drop to his knees rather than resist the gentle pull of gravity, Mac huffed out a strained laugh of his own. “Yeah, I would. Where’d you learn that?”

Winded and breathless herself, Riley followed him to the mat with an inelegant flop, just barely catching herself on her hands instead of sprawling across the mat like an oversized house cat. “Where else? Jack taught me. He might also have said something about you never remembering to guard against it.”

“Fucking Jack,” Mac wheezed, rolling over to lie flat on his back on the mats as he struggled to recover. “Old man’s not even here and he’s kicking my ass.”

“Just who are you calling old?” Another voice called from the doorway. Mac and Riley both turned to look as Jack came into sight, shaking his head as he took in the pair of them and just barely managing to maintain his facade of irritation over the amusement that so clearly wanted to burst forth.

“Especially when you’re the one wheezing like an asthmatic cat,” Riley chipped in happily, letting her smugness show through. She’d managed to get one over Mac from time to time in training before, but this was the first time she’d made him go down and stay down and the thrill of it was high in her blood. From the way Jack was beaming at her like she’d just hung the moon, she was pretty sure she had good reason to be proud.

Mac waved a hand in what might have been the beginning of retort, but he evidently decided he was too busy trying to breathe to voice whatever it was.

“I think you broke him Riles.”

“Just doing what you taught me. Worked like a charm.”

Jack snorted, dropping his gym bag by the wall and striding over to stare down at where Mac was still supine on the mat. “Always does since this one,” he nudged at Mac’s shoulder with his foot, “Never thinks to guard his ribs when he has someone in a choke.”

“I think about it plenty,” Mac protested half-heartedly. “Just don’t always manage it in time.”

“You’ve been saying that since the Sandbox man, I think it’s time to give it up.” He shot a smug look at Riley, like he was letting her in on a secret. “First time we met, this idiot tried to get me in a headlock. I popped him twice in the ribs before he realised it wasn’t going to work.”

Riley’s eyebrows rose. “You hit him?”

Even with his eyes closed, Jack knew Mac had just rolled his eyes and was bracing himself to tell her the story, so Jack beat him to it. “He started it. Caught some good for nothing punk kid messing with my gear.”

“Fixing your gear,” Mac wheezed, but tossed a smile Jack’s way to take any sting out of it. They’d never discussed it exactly, but Mac had learned early on that there was no one on Earth who knew their way around a rifle better than Jack Dalton and while he might not necessarily keep his gear in a ‘standard’ condition, he’d developed a system that worked for him. Mac hadn’t been wrong when he’d said the bolt carrier was lacking forward assist, but that was only because Jack hadn’t wanted it there. “And besides, I pulled that exact same move on you and you bitched about your bruised liver for a month.”

Riley was glancing between them with an amused smile on her face. “He touched your stuff,” she said, pointing at Mac, “So you took a swing at him?”

“Pretty much,” Mac put in, twisting his head to shoot her a can-you-believe-this-shit look. “I won that fight too.”

“You did not,” Jack argued immediately, kicking lightly at him again. “You’re just lucky I didn’t want to break your skinny little arm in front of all those nice people.”

“You couldn’t have if you’d wanted to. You’re lucky the brass came in and saved you the trouble of tapping out.”

It was obviously a well-worn fight between them, and from the fondness in both their voices, there was absolutely no animosity remaining. Riley couldn’t help but wonder just what it had taken to get them from a fist fight over equipment to the blood brother partnership standing before her in that moment. Although, on second thoughts, given what she had heard about the Sandbox, she might be better off not knowing.

Jack scoffed at the assertion, shaking his head. “You think you can take me on? Bring it wunderkind.”

Mac glanced up at him for a second, calculating, then pushed himself halfway to sitting before slouching back down with a huff. “Yeah, I’ll get on that as soon as my diaphragm starts working again, okay?”

It was said lightly, but Riley still felt herself frowning, her buoyant mood dipping in sudden concern. “You alright?”

Mac waved an unconcerned hand. “Peachy. You have very pointy elbows.”

“...Thanks?”

Jack seemingly took pity on her, because he thrust out a hand to help her to her feet and ushered her vaguely in the direction of the showers. “My turn to try and teach boy wonder here how to actually block that strike. Again. You get yourself cleaned up.”

Doing some quick maths in her head, Riley figured she could have a quick blast shower and be back in the gym within a couple of minutes, giving Mac plenty of time to get himself back upright and make sure she didn’t miss any of their sparring session. Her instructors had repeatedly told her that she could learn a lot by watching as well as doing, and honestly she was eager to see how Mac did against someone much more his equal outside of a life or death situation. With that goal in mind she rushed through a quick shower and a blessedly sweat-free change of clothes, then headed back to the gym to settle down at the edge of the mats.

As she’d guessed, Mac was back on his feet and seemed to have finally caught his breath again, but from the way he was eyeing up Jack’s muscled frame, he was probably wishing he was still on the ground. She bit back a grin.

“Hey, look at this, you get an audience to watch you getting your ass handed to you,” Jack taunted, finishing off his stretching with a small flourish and winking at Riley. “Now she can see what all of your moves are supposed to look like."

Mac didn't rise to the bait, and instead went about rolling his shoulders and shaking the fatigue out of his arms. Truthfully, he knew he wasn't a match for Jack on a good day, and he and Riley had already been going at it for a while. This was most likely going to be a lesson in damage minimisation more than actually winning. "We doing this then or what?"

Jack’s only response was a sharp, predatory smile and a lightning fast kick at Mac’s chest.

It only took a minute or so of watching them for Riley to understand just how and why Mac was so good at strike evasion - nearly a decade spent sparring with someone like Jack had no doubt taught him that being slow enough to get hit was a deeply regrettable decision. The ex-Delta soldier’s training had clearly served him well and it rapidly became apparent just how much of his ability he had been toning down when he went up against Riley on the mats. Fast, and strong, and precise, she had absolutely no idea how Mac was able to not only avoid Jack’s hits, but land a few of his own.

They were-

-Impressive.

She’d heard fighting being compared to dancing in the past and though she’d never really agreed with that particular analogy, for the first time she thought she might understand what they were getting at. Mac and Jack were a match, both incredibly skilled and both so familiar with each other that they knew exactly how hard they could push. No one watching this bout could ever not recognise them as partners.

Despite the earlier smack talk, Riley had to admit that she’d assumed Jack would be the winner hands down. Evidently, she’d been wrong about that because Mac was putting up a hell of a fight and he had the slightest edge on speed that balanced out Jack’s sheer force, but at the end of the day he was walking wounded and worse, Jack knew it. He’d zeroed in on the same weak spot she had, only he had the training and experience to properly put it to use.

Mac’s injured knee buckled like a snapped twig. He did his best to save himself from the fall, but there was only so much a man could do when he was already off-balance and his one remaining support had just turned to unresponsive water beneath him; all he could do was try not to land on his face. He was- reasonably successful. Somehow it didn’t make the whole experience look any less painful.

Almost in the same instant he was down, Mac was already moving to snatch at the offending limb, hissing out sharply between his teeth as he got his hands on the injury in genuine pain. Startled, Riley started pushing to her feet but Jack thrust his palm out towards her, waving her down from where he was hovering just out of arm’s reach of his downed partner, watching warily.

“You good man?”

Mac didn’t respond beyond rolling further onto his side, curling in around where he’d folded his leg up towards his chest. His eyes were scrunched closed, his breathing tight.

“Mac?” Riley asked softly, scrambling to her knees despite Jack’s dismissal.

Jack hesitated another moment longer, visibly torn, before he swayed half a step closer. “C’mon bud I need you to give me something here. I didn’t break that knee again did I?”

Still no response. From her vantage point, Riley could see that Mac was shaking like a leaf, fine tremors of pain racking his frame. Evidently Jack could see it too, because he only paused a second longer before muttering a curse and finally stepping forward into Mac’s range.

It was a mistake.

With a fierceness Riley hadn’t previously credited him with, Mac’s supposedly injured leg snapped out from where he’d coiled it in like a spring, cracking hard against Jack’s ankle and dropping him like a stone as his balance failed. The fall seemingly put his partner exactly where Mac wanted him, because a heartbeat later he had wormed his legs around Jack’s neck and snatched at the closest arm to him to pin it firmly along his own middle, locking it in place. It was the work of an instant and it left Jack helplessly pinned, his legs too far out of range to be of any use and his one free arm busily occupied with stopping Mac’s right leg from crushing his throat.

The leverage gave Jack just enough breathing room to speak. “You’re an ass.”

Mac let out a breathless laugh, clearly straining against the fight Jack was putting up. Even when Mac was in the far better position, Jack had him outmatched for brute strength by a country mile. “You should’ve seen it coming,” he pointed out, strained and amused.

“Forgive me for worrying I might have actually hurt you,” Jack grunted, shifting. Riley could see how the corded muscle in his pinned arm was straining against where Mac had it in a two-handed grip, fighting to get the space he needed to lash out. “Matty would kill me if I messed up that knee again.”

“Good to know you care.”

“You’re not gonna like what I do next man, fair warning.” Jack didn’t give him more than half a second to let that sentence sink in before he jerked his pinned arm back towards him. Mac had been holding it from rising, preventing Jack from getting the leverage to swing down at his face and chest; the sudden redirection of force wasn’t something he could compensate for and his grip failed. Fortunately, the warning had been a genuine lifeline - Mac knew exactly what he was going to do.

As soon as he felt Jack move, he canted his hips sharply, twisting his body so that the elbow that was about to drive down hard on a rather sensitive part of his anatomy caught him heavily in the hollow space of his inner hip joint instead. It was still a strong enough blow that he felt himself jackknife up, the muscles across his stomach rippling to attention in a sudden bolt of pain, but he wasn’t left gagging and helpless. Since the attack had already left him sitting up, he used that to his advantage, letting his momentum bring him up and over Jack, racing to get his legs where he needed them before Jack could react and preferably without kneeling on his neck or booting him in the face.

It wasn’t elegant, limbs tangled up as they were, but when the struggle settled down a few seconds later, Jack was still pinned flat on his back with most of Mac’s body weight crushing down against his chest. The arm that had very nearly threatened any possible future children was jammed flat to the floor by Mac’s left knee, while the other was trapped between Mac’s other leg and Jack’s own ribcage.

Mac smirked down at his partner. “I don’t know - this seems to have worked out alright for me,” he taunted, easing just a little more of his weight down. Strong as his position might initially appear, his balance was hanging by a thread and his only hope of keeping it was to use sheer mass to overwhelm Jack’s impossible strength.

“You know you’re not gonna hold me like this for long slick,” Jack shot back, sounding winded. With the amount of downward force currently trying to stop him from breathing, it was vaguely impressive that he could talk at all.

“Hey, Riley.” Mac shot her a quick look over his shoulder before returning his attention to Jack. Knowing the man, the momentary distraction had been something he allowed rather than something he failed to capitalise on. “You know how I managed this?”

Bemused that Mac apparently believed now of all times was the moment for a pop quiz, Riley found herself staring at him in disbelief. He didn’t continue though, and Jack was apparently willing to play possum long enough for her to answer, so she made herself concentrate. “You tricked him,” she said slowly.

“Yeah, but how?”

“Acting hurt.”

“Mhm,” he hummed in agreement, shifting ever so slightly when one of Jack’s breaths came in a little heavier than normal. The hold wouldn’t be hurting him, but it would put strain on his lungs and clearly Mac didn’t actually want to make him too uncomfortable while he tried to impart some new life lesson on their tech analyst. Not that it likely mattered - Riley had a sneaking suspicion that Jack could get himself up in a heartbeat the moment he actually wanted to and Mac was sure to know that. “But why did that work? How did I know it would?”

“Because you’re a little shit,” Jack muttered sullenly to himself.

“Because you knew he would worry about you,” Riley said instead of acknowledging the wisdom of a wheezing man trapped flat on his back. “You know he doesn’t want to see you hurt and that he’d help you if you were.”

Mac hummed again, shooting her a proud smile over his shoulder. “Same reason both of you went for my knee-” There, he threw in a peeved look at the pair of them, “-And why it worked every time. You get it?”

She did. “We used what we knew about our partners against them. We know your knee’s still recovering, so it’s a weak point to exploit. You know Jack cares about you, so he’s going to let his guard down when you’re injured.”

It wasn’t rocket science and she’d known it in principle for years, but she could see what Mac was doing. By forcing her to talk about it, to lay it out, he was getting her to actively consider it, to get in the habit of evaluating an opponent and seeing the places where she could get an advantage. Even now she recognised that she could almost certainly use Mac’s trick against Jack in the same way - provided she could manage to act half as well as he could, at any rate.

“It’s not as easy in the field,” Mac said. “We know each other really well - up to and including any recent injuries, which is a big help. You’re not going to have that with most of the people you come across. But with a bit of practice, you can start to pick up people’s tells.”

She digested that for a moment, then smirked. “So are you going to show me more of Jack’s?”

At that, he grimaced, the muscles across the back of his shoulders going tense. “Unfortunately, now he knows not to underestimate me, you’ve just seen pretty much all I have.” He looked back down at where Jack was starting to grin up at him and let his frown turn pleading. “Don't suppose I can tap out now and save myself the body slam?” He didn't sound hopeful.

Jack smiled like a cat with a mouse in its paws. “Not a chance,” he replied evenly, then struck out with the speed of a snake, so quickly Riley wasn't entirely sure what it was that he'd done. Whatever it was, the result was Mac's centre of gravity being yanked out from under him in one swift pull and sending him to the mats with a solid thud that knocked the wind clean out of him for the second time in ten minutes. In the same move, Jack swung himself up to hover over his partner, still grinning slyly to himself. “You done? Or do I need to pin you?”

Mac couldn't more obviously be out of the fight if he tried, his breathing rough and erratic, but he obligingly tapped sharply on the mat beside himself all the same. Jack let out a small whoop of victory, sending another wink in Riley's direction to show off even as he stuck out a hand to brush soothingly down Mac’s spasming rib cage. It probably wouldn’t help Mac get his muscles under control, but the gesture was fond and reassuring, and he didn’t protest the contact.

“And that’s how it’s done,” Jack said smugly, practically oozing satisfaction. “This is why you should always listen to ole’Jack when he gives you combat lessons Riles.”

“Rule two,” Mac wheezed helplessly, head thrown back and eyes closed as he fought to get his diaphragm back on side.

“Ey now, you just focus on breathing,” Jack cautioned. “You’re gonna scare Riley if you keep gasping like an old man.” He shot a glance at her that shut down any genuine concern she might have had brewing in her gut; if Mac really was hurt, Jack wouldn’t be smiling. “That slam is meant to wind, not injure. Good for incapacitating someone quickly without causing actual damage.”

“I didn’t even see what you did,” she told him honestly, trying to play the grapple back in her head and coming up blank. Jack had moved too quickly for her to grasp more than the headlines.

“Well, I’ll just have to show you again sometime. Perhaps a bit slower. Mac’ll be happy to help out, right man?” There was a disagreeable wheeze from the blonde’s general direction. “See? He’s thrilled.”

“Yeah, he sounds it.” Despite herself, she couldn’t help but laugh. Mac cracked one scrunched up eye open to watch her, fighting off a smile of his own that was cripplingly fond. Still resting above him with a hand on his partner’s chest, Jack’s expression was much the same. Her chest swelled with sudden, overwhelming warmth. “Maybe we should wait until he can breathe though, yeah?”

“Ha, he’s fine,” Jack said carelessly, patting him gently on the ribs for effect. “This isn’t the first time I’ve had to put him in his place on the mats. Always gets overconfident.”

“Screw you,” Mac replied. It might have had more weight to it if he hadn’t been struggling to haul in air at the same time. “I had you pinned.”

“Yeah, and how did that work out for you?”

Mac swatted at him, lazy and uncoordinated, and that feeling in Riley’s chest pulsed a little more fiercely. Sparring might be a bit hit or miss, but this, right here, huddled up with Mac and Jack? That was all but home and she wouldn’t trade it for the world.

“So the two of you really got in a fist fight when you first met? How did you ever become friends?”

Jack snorted. “That took some work. But of course Mac couldn’t help but warm to my sparkling personality.”

The man in question huffed a soft laugh. He finally seemed to have recovered some control over his lungs, because he was able to retort, “Sure, that’s what happened.”

“That is what happened.”

“Mhm. You’re conveniently leaving out the part where I saved your ass. Like six times.”

“Excuse me? I know you’re not forgetting about how many hours I spent protecting your skinny ass when you were so focused on an IED you didn’t even notice the guys sneaking up on you. You wouldn’t have lasted a week if I hadn’t been watching out for you.”

Riley half-expected Mac to snipe back at that, but he surprised her by finally getting his eyes back open and sending his partner a gentle smile. “That’s true,” he allowed quietly. “You promised me you’d get me home.”

“And I did.”

“And you did.”

Jack’s expression had gone very soft in a way it only ever did when he was looking at Mac, Riley, or Bozer. His hand had stilled over Mac’s heart. “I suppose you might have something to do with me getting home with all my limbs intact too. Even if you did take your sweet time about every little device we came across.”

Wordlessly, Mac extended his fist for Jack’s to bump against, a physical bond of solidarity.

She gave it another ten seconds of stillness to let the moment sink in for them all before Riley leaned forward. “You two are adorable.”

That got a good grumble out of both of them, but there was a gentleness to it that let her know there was no harm done. Despite how caught up in themselves they might have seemed to be, they were both far too well trained in situational awareness to have forgotten that she was sitting three feet away. It was just that they were both content to let her see them in a rare moment of openness.

Reawakened to the room at large - and possibly realising how uncomfortably sweaty he was - Jack clambered up to his feet with a groan, rubbing faintly at the spot where Mac’s leg had dug into his chest. “Time to hit the showers, I think. Unless you want to go another round?”

There was a muttering of disapproval before Mac pushed himself up to sitting with a groan, then stuck out a hand to let Jack drag him back to his feet. Once there he took a second to balance himself, leaning his weight awkwardly on one leg as he tested out the strength of his damaged knee. Whatever he felt, it made him frown.

Astute as ever, Jack was watching him like a hawk. “You doing okay there, slick?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m good.”

“Really? Because you look like you’re about to try limping out of here and ending up on your ass.”

Mac scowled at him, but it was fond. “Gee, thanks.”

Jack just rolled his eyes and strode back to stand beside him, sliding under Mac’s shoulder to help support his weight like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Please tell me I didn’t break that thing again. I wasn’t joking when I said Matty would have my head.”

Mac scoffed, the pain in his face lightening now that he could take his weight off the injured joint. “I think if you broke my leg a second time it wouldn’t be your head you’d need to worry about. But no, I think it’s fine. Just twisted is all.”

“‘It’s fine’, he says, hobbling about like a newborn colt,” Jack muttered, but he didn’t complain further as the pair of them began a shambling walk towards the showers.

The blonde shot him a disgruntled look, clearly about to offer some kind of retort before he swallowed it back down and shook his head with a smile.

Riley trailed after them, her thoughts shifting to her afternoon. “Dinner at yours Mac?” She called, just as they broke off from her to head towards the men’s showers.

He shot a broad grin over his shoulder at her and tipped his head. “‘Course. You did well today. Least I can do is offer up Boze’s cooking.”

She let her laugh buoy her as she waved at them both. “See you there. I’ll make sure there’s an ice pack ready for your old man knee.”

Mac’s disgruntled retort was entirely swallowed by Jack’s echoing laughter, bouncing around the walls to follow her into the main corridor that led back to the parking garage. Tired, sore, and hopelessly fond, Riley turned her steps to home.

Also on AO3

[obeymestudentcouncil]

I heard there was a shortage of Diavolo requests, lets fix that shall we? We've all seen that scenario post about MC sassing Diavolo so much that he reminds her that he could easily kill them only to be surprised and turned on when MC says "I know". So how about: "I'm gonna strangle you.”“Is that a promise?”

I hope you don’t mind that I used a female reader for this one.  I will admit this went way more self indulgent than I expected.

This branches off from canon story at around 15-10, when they are on the way to Diavolo’s to try to talk to him about Belphie, right before the reality shift.  I have Reader/MC going ahead of the group to speak to Diavolo in private.TW for choking

The door to Diavolo’s office clicked behind you.  It had taken some convincing, but you’d gotten them to agree to let you try talking to Diavolo first, as a somewhat neutral third party. It had been decided you would come here first, the others following shortly after.  You took a deep breath to steady yourself.  “Lord Diavolo, sir…”

 He held up a hand to stop you, leaning back against the edge of his desk.  “I’ll tell you the same thing I told you at Purgatory hall:  This is a Devildom matter, and quite frankly, none of your business.”

 You stood straighter.  “And I beg to differ.  After all, it was my world he was wanting to destroy, and as one of two human exchange students here, that does make it in part my concern.  Also, I wanted to speak to you on Lucifer’s behalf as well.  His solution was the best he could come up with that both upheld his oath to you and protected his family.  That’s a hard thing to reconcile when the two are at cross purposes.”

 “I recognize that;  otherwise instead of house arrest, Lucifer would be in chains in the dungeon with Belphegor.  What he did is treason as well, regardless of the reasons.”  

 You shook your head.  “Lucifer intended on keeping Belphegor there until he changed his mind. He-”

 Diavolo cut your next words off, his eyes narrowing.  “And might I remind you that you were working with Belphegor to release him.  For that alone, I should be holding you complicit.”

 A thread of fear worked its way through you as you realized you could be on thin ice too.  “Granted, though he was deceiving me as to who he was and why he was trapped there.  But, Belphegor did not try to harm me in the time we were together.  How do you know he hasn’t changed his mind?”

 “You were together for a scant few hours.  WIth Beelzebub there the whole time.  He didn’t have the opportunity to harm you.”  He pushed off the desk, standing in front of you at his full height.  “I’ve let you say your piece but it doesn’t change matter.”

 You tipped your head back, ignoring the fact that his presence always lit a spark of want when he stood over you like this.  “Please, just let them talk to him.”

 Irritation creased his forehead, the steady thrum of his power that you’d always noticed faintly rising in prominence.  “The answer is no.  He’s accused of treason, what he might feel now doesn’t change his previous actions.”

 “But they’ve all been apart for so long.  This started from heartache, you have the power to keep it from ending in more-”  You winced, taking a step back as you were buffeted by the force of his power forcing the shift to his demon form.  If possible he was even larger than a moment ago.

 You could see his knuckles paling from the pressure of how hard he clenched his fists to maintain control. “Enough, human.  I’ve humored your plea but this matter is not your concern, human representative or no.  Remember you are also guilty in this situation.  If you continue to argue, I will strangle you to silence you.”  

 Damn your mouth, but you couldn’t stop the tiny “Is that a promise?” that slipped out.  Your eyes widened as you realized you said it out loud and that no matter how quietly you said it, the way his head snapped back you knew he’d heard you.  You didn’t even have a chance to react before your back hit the door with a thud, Diavolo’s hand loosely around your throat.  Absently, you saw his other hand in the corner of your vision and heard the soft snap of the lock sliding into place.  A soft whimper escaped you, but the fear you knew you should be feeling was tempered with desire.

 Swallowing thickly, the motion only barely hindered by his hand, you closed your eyes, not wanting to see the expression on his face as he bent closer to you.  His hand tightened the slightest bit, wringing a needy gasp from your lips, making your thighs squeeze tight against themselves.  His voice was low when he spoke, lips just barely brushing against your ear.  “I’d ask if that was some sort of joke, but I already know the answer.  Don’t think to seduce me in hopes of using it as a bargaining chip.  This doesn’t change my answer, Little One.”  He nipped sharply at your neck once, just above where his fingers were curled around it.  

 Pulling back, his eyes caught and held yours.  The intensity of his gaze and the knowledge of what was on the table made your pulse race, thumping hard against his hand.  “Understood, sir.”

 He released your neck, swooping down to capture your lips in a searing kiss.  You opened your mouth almost immediately, allowing his tongue to explore, twining your own tongue with it. A hand trailed up your thigh and under your skirt, moving across your belly, tugging your panties down your legs until they fell the rest of the way where you could step out of them. Guiding you to put your arms around his shoulders, he lifted you lightly by your waist, your legs instinctively wrapping around his hips as he stepped forward, pinning your body against the door.  He kissed you again, taking your wrists in his hand, raising your arms until they were pressed to the door over your head.  One large hand was all it took to keep them in place, his other hand working it’s way between you, fingers tracing over your folds before slipping inside you.  You bucked your hips against him, the moan you let out lost in the press of your lips to his.

 You got brave, nipping at his lips when he pulled back for a moment earning you a growl and a second finger entering you.  Whining, you ground your hips against his hand impatiently.  Diavolo chuckled, removing his fingers, the back of his hand brushing against your core as he worked the top of his pants down to free his cock. He guided himself to your entrance, already the head pressing into you stretching you more than your impatience had allowed him to prepare you for. One hand still pinning your hands, the other hand shifted to your waist, pulling you down onto his length.  He stilled as he fully seated himself in you, allowing your body a moment to adjust to him before he pulled out again, sliding back in again.

 After the first careful thrusts, he hooked his free arm under your knee, shifting the angle at the same time he snapped his hips in a hard thrust, rattling the door on its hinges.  You groaned, your walls tightening around him as he started ramming into you.  As hard as he was gripping your thigh you were sure there’d be a set of bruises come morning but you couldn’t be bothered to care.  His mouth roved over you, pressing kisses over your jaw, neck and upper chest, interspersing the kisses with love bites soothed over with his tongue.  You could feel each thrust grinding his pelvis against your clit, driving your closer and closer to the edge with each passing second.  As your walls started twitching around him Diavolo let go of your hands, instead lightly gripping your throat again, just enough to make your already elevated pulse race against his palm.  You screamed as you came, the intensity of it making stars sparkle in your vision.  You almost didn’t feel him slam into you once more, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself deep within you.

 When he let go of your neck you dropped your forehead on his shoulder, panting as you came down from your high.  It took you a minute to register that he was still hard and still gently thrusting into you.  He picked up the pace again, and you groaned, your body already spent and overtaxed from the first round.  “Please…too sensitive.”  You felt him still, gently set your feet on the floor as he pulled out of you.  Once you had your feet under you, you felt his hand on your shoulder, pressing down in an unspoken request.  You looked up at him as you obeyed, sinking to your knees.  You turned your focus from his face to his cock, still hard and wanting before your face.

You ran your hand along him, learning the shape and heft of his length before starting to stroke him.  Meanwhile, you started curling your tongue around the head, kissing and licking at the tip before finally taking him in your mouth.  You bobbed your head, rolling your tongue along the bottom of his shaft with each pass, your hand taking care of what you couldn’t comfortably take.  Getting braver you sank as far as you could, feeling him nudge against the back of your throat before you pulled back again.  His hand idly wove through your hair, nails scraping lightly over your scalp as you serviced him.  You hummed, enjoying the way the vibrations made him twitch on your tongue.  A warning tug on your hair pulled you back, and you sat back on your heels, his hand covering yours, continuing to stroke him. Realizing what he wanted, you opened your mouth just as the first wave of his orgasm hit, his seed spilling from your lips until you moved where you could catch it in your mouth.  When his hand fell away from yours you smirked up at him, making a show of closing your mouth and licking the remnants off your lips before swallowing.  The sight obviously affected him, his softening cock twitching as he growled softly.  He tucked himself away before helping you to your feet.

 You turned to retrieve your panties, slipping them back on before doing what you could to straighten your clothing out.  Turning back to him, you weren’t surprised to see his normal form back in place, though it did make you laugh.  “That must come in handy.”

 He shrugged, tipping his head towards the door.  “I do believe the others arrived a short while ago.  They’d likely be concerned to find us locked in here for much longer.”  He motioned for you to lead the way.  

[simplyclockwork]

I note you accept writing prompts. I have a (weird I accept) desire to read a fic where Sherlock is self conscious about something, unexpectedly, and John cottons on and is supportive. The idea in my head is Sherlock injuring his neck and having to wear a neck brace (prompted by BC’s long lovely neck I think) and not wanting to go out with it on and John being all supportive and encouraging. But it could be some other thing that Sherlock needs reassurance about. I love your work.

Hi, anon! I love this prompt, it’s so sweet. I hope I’ve done it justice :) Thank you so much for reaching out with this request, and for letting me know you enjoy my work. It means a lot ♥️  Also posted on Ao3 here. 

See below the page break for the entire fic. Can be read as pre-slash, established relationship, or really close bros. 

------

Sherlock’s complaints drifted to John in the kitchen, drawing his attention away from the article he was reading. 

“Must I wear this thing?”

Setting his newspaper aside, John sighed before he rose and padded out into the hall. He glanced toward the end. Sherlock’s bedroom door stood open, the man himself framed in the doorway. He was scowling at his reflection in the wardrobe mirror, tugging futilely at the collar of one of his suits. A thick, white neck brace disrupted the line of his fitted jacket, and the button wouldn’t quite close. 

“Yes,” John said, moving to join him before the mirror. “Doctor’s orders.” 

Sherlock shot him a glare. “Your orders,” he snapped, tugging at the button without success. Taking pity on him, John reached out and carefully fastened the offending button, smoothing a gentle hand over Sherlock’s shoulder. 

“No, Doctor Connor’s orders.” He tilted his head and conceded, “Okay, and mine, too.”  Another soothing touch, this time to Sherlock’s elbow. “But it’s only for a couple of weeks. Just to be safe.”

Sherlock’s expression could have struck a man dead at fifty paces. “Safe is boring,” he snarled, long fingers scraping over the neck collar. John caught his hand and pulled it away. 

“Again, it’s just a few weeks. Now, come on. Greg’s waiting for us.”

“Who?”

John rolled his eyes. “Lestrade. Come on, he called for us an hour ago.”

“I’ll get there when I get there,” Sherlock shot back, still frowning at his reflection, two fingers tugging at his suit jacket. John paused, turned the words over in his head, and wondered at the odd timing of Sherlock’s sudden strop. Usually, such behaviour only reared its head after a case, not before it had even begun. And it was a double murder, something Sherlock usually thrilled in.

“It sounds like it’s at least an eight,” he replied, hoping to tempt Sherlock away from the edge of an impending sulk. Sherlock’s lips pursed, and he refused to look at John. 

“I’m sure Scotland Yard can handle it themselves.” 

John’s eyebrows shot up. “Alright, who are you, and what have you done with Sherlock Holmes?”

Instead of rising to the bait, Sherlock scoffed. Ripping off his suit jacket, he spun away from his reflection and brushed past John to storm down the hallway. John followed, bewildered, watching the moody detective perch carefully on the edge of the sofa. It was such a far cry from his usual dramatic flounce and sprawl that John paused. An idea was forming, what Sherlock would have called a deduction, and John studied Sherlock’s stiff posture as his mind worked over the evidence.

Sherlock never turned down a case higher than a six, and never a double homicide. He rarely, if ever, seemed insecure about his clothing, especially his snug dress shirts and tailored suit jackets. Quite the opposite, the man seemed to thrive on the ridiculously tight fabric. John, by contrast, preferred soft, comfortable clothing, much to Sherlock’s constant sneering. 

The idea that formed made him approach the irate detective with a softened voice and a cautious step. “You could borrow a jumper if you like.” 

Sherlock stiffened. Staring straight ahead, he didn’t look at John, but his eyes narrowed. “Why would I do that?”

John tried a different tact. “What about one of those nice jumpers your mother bought you last Christmas?” Sherlock made a sharp noise of negation, and John squinted, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. Sherlock glanced his way, upper body swivelling due to the inability to turn his neck.

“Stop it,” he hissed. John raised an eyebrow and sat carefully on the arm of his chair.

“Stop what?”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed further, angry slits glittering in his flushed face. “Stop. Deducing. Me.”

An amused snort escaped John before he could stop it. “Hello, kettle.” 

Upper lip curling back, Sherlock snarled at him, “Shut up, John.” 

John subsided, watching Sherlock closely. Beneath all the bravado, the hissing, spitting ire, he saw something else. There was an obvious discomfort there, and a flash of fleeting vulnerability that lingered in Sherlock’s eyes. John thought back to the argument with the suit jacket and realized the button wasn’t the problem. 

Rising to his feet, he crossed to the sofa and sank down next to Sherlock. “Hey,” he said gently, resisting the urge to smile at Sherlock’s stubbornness when he refused to turn toward him. “It’s only a couple of weeks. I know the collar isn’t comfortable, but if you don’t wear it, you’re risking permanent damage.”

Sherlock’s lips pulled back as he bared his teeth. “I don’t need you to cite the medical brochure at me, John,” he ground out, a muscle jumping in his jaw. There was a faint, subtle waver in the growled words, and John softened. Reaching out, ignoring Sherlock’s bristle, he stroked his fingertips over the back of Sherlock’s hand. Despite his stiff, angry posture, Sherlock immediately flipped his hand over, letting John lace their fingers together. John smiled and squeezed gently. “It might be easier if you wore a jumper. Or, just. Something a little looser.”

“I am not wearing a jumper, John,” Sherlock sniffed, shooting him a sharp little glare from the corner of his eyes. He was still facing forward, his posture stiff. The position couldn’t be doing anything good for his bruised cervical muscles, and John resisted the urge to reach up and feel for tension in his shoulders. It was better to let the collar do its job, and he doubted Sherlock would welcome the gesture.

Another thought occurred, followed by understanding. “No one is going to make fun of you.”

Sherlock tensed further, and John silently thought, ah. There it was. Despite all the cases he had solved, many of the Yarders still whispered cruel things behind Sherlock’s back (and Sally always did it right to his face). Part of Sherlock’s armour was his pristine appearance, a way of presenting himself in a way that left no opening for ridicule. That way, they could only pick at his behaviour, his strange predilections for solving murders and exhilarating in what he called The Game.  The neck brace was a chink in the armour.

When Sherlock didn’t reply, John stroked his thumb lightly over the side of the hand twined with his. “We don’t have to go,” he said, and Sherlock glanced at him from the corner of his eyes. He didn’t speak, and John added, “You’re right. Greg and his team can probably figure this one out on their own.” He paused, met Sherlock’s wary eyes, and offered a small smile. “But, just so you know, I’d love to see them try to say anything with me there.” He flexed the fingers of his free hand toward his palm, the knuckles still bruised and healing from when he had socked the man who had choked Sherlock three days ago, the cause of their current conversation. “I think my fist is ready for another go.” He offered a crooked smile, the one he knew always made Sherlock grin. And, without fail, the corner of Sherlock’s lips twitched. 

“Quite right,” Sherlock murmured, and John gave his hand one last squeeze before standing. 

“So,” he said, turning with a raised brow, “Thai?”

Sherlock cleared his throat delicately and blinked down at his lap. “Actually, I…” he paused, brow furrowing before he looked up at John carefully. “Perhaps a jumper?” 

Hiding his smile, John tilted his head. “One of mine?” He chuckled at Sherlock’s grimace of distaste. “Aright, okay. One of your mum’s?” At Sherlock’s attempt at a nod, he asked, “The red one?” 

Sherlock bit his lip, and his gaze skated away. “The… blue one.” He coughed softly. “It’s the same colour as your eyes.”

This time, John couldn’t keep the smile from spreading over his face. “Mm, yeah. I knew I liked that one for a reason.” Turning toward the hall, he paused when Sherlock drew out his mobile. “Are you calling for the takeaway?” he asked, knowing the assumption was wrong, but playing dumb.

“No,” Sherlock hummed, tapping at the keys. “Letting Lestrade know we’ll be there within the hour.” 

“Very considerate,” John replied, turning away to hide his grin.

[hansoulo]

The Girl Part 8

Pairings - The Mandalorian/Reader

Warnings - cursing, descriptions of canon-typical violence and blood

Word Count - 1,627 words

Tag List - @baar-ur @bruithel @jarrendyn @gothtechie@maryan028@aethersghoulette@hellobinayxo @guineapigzwei @random922929 @iamwarrenspeace @deputy-videogamer @littleevilme03  @ah-callie @sunkissed-winter @ashjustlikesthings​ @claynarwale @spottedlekkudancer @sabi615 @waddles03 @greatfandomsgalore​ @missnightingale97 @delectablyvaliantmentality @backontheolebullshit @a-hopeless-fan @crushingonmando @superfluffy92 @thirstyforvenom @stxriss @ababysupernova @biolo-tea @londelle​ @pisss-offf-ghostt​

“Put the baby in your bag,” he whispered to her. (Y/N) nodded mutely and reached to place the child inside the canvas, shushing it quietly when it began to protest. Whoever this man was, it couldn’t be good.

She saw the Mandalorian’s hand that was around her shoulders go to his blaster and she started to panic. Turning towards him with worried eyes, (Y/N) drew in a shaky breath, the air knocking hollow in her chest.

The Mandalorian got up slowly as he faced the man, drawing himself wide, and kriff, have his shoulders always been that broad?  She suddenly remembered just how intimidating he was, reminding herself that this was the same man that let her place flowers on his helmet so her legs wouldn’t quiver as she stood.

“Dorrick,” he acknowledged with a nod, seemingly calm. If it was an act, it was damn convincing.

Half-hiding herself behind the Mandalorian’s back, she eyed the man, apparently named Dorrick, standing a few feet in front of them. The setting sun backlit the weapons holstered to his hips in a bright, burning orange, and she noticed the strap of a rifle digging into the meat of his shoulder. A bounty hunter, she thought, her eyes widening. She noticed that the rifle wasn’t blaster-modified like most, instead, it looked like it held metal bullets. Old fashioned, too.

“Do you have any idea the price on your head? They’ve got half the galaxy looking for you and here you are, sight-seeing,” he chortled, his head thrown back.

The Mandalorian said nothing at this, drawing (Y/N) closer behind him with a protective hand.

“Ah-ah ah,” Dorrick tutted as he came close, “Don’t hide her from me.” He laid a grimy finger on her face, tilting her chin up to meet his eyes. The Mandalorian’s shoulders tensed at this, hand clenching against the trigger of his blaster. She wrenched her face away from the man’s touch, shivering.

“She’s a pretty little thing,” the man mused, stepping back from them, “I might just keep her for myself.”

The Mandalorian lunged forward at this, metal scraping against metal. She could hear the faint sound of him shooting, but the blaster missed and everything descended into chaos, blurry and deafening.

Suddenly, all (Y/N) could see and hear and feel was red. White-hot fire licked at her skin, burning her from the inside. She grimaced in pain as a rough hand gripped her arm and hoisted her to her feet. She hadn’t even known she had fallen.

It took her hand coming away sticky from her side for her to realize Dorrick had shot her, grabbing her after the fact. He covered her mouth with his free hand, muffling her gasp as he spoke.

“It’s a shame y’know,” he smiled down at her, breath rotting of something alcoholic, “I don’t make a habit of shooting ladies, especially not ones so beautiful, but it seems like you’re not gonna give in easy. My employers want you alive, so play nice.”

(Y/N) squeezed her eyes shut, trying to move her face away from him as he spoke. The thin fabric of her shirt was quickly becoming soaked in crimson, and her head felt light. The only thing she could compare it to was when she had snuck champagne from the palace kitchens as a young girl, making her head foggy and her stomach feel like it was floating. Only this was much, much worse.

“Let her go,” the Mandalorian said, stepping closer and aiming a blaster to the man’s head.

She felt the muzzle of the rifle jam against her temple and she resisted the urge to bite down on his hand. Right now, her chances of getting shot again were about 50/50. If she startled him, the odds wouldn’t be so favorable.

“Take another step and the next one goes in her head,” Dorrick seethed, pushing the gun further into her head, finger on the trigger. She looked over at the Mandalorian with wide eyes, silently hoping he had some sort of plan before she bled out. Dorrick shifted his hand down to grip near her shoulder. To her surprise, the Mandalorian set down his blaster, leaving it on the ground with his hands up. What was he doing?

“I’ll go with you,” the Mandalorian began hesitant, “If, and only if,” he turned to look at her and suddenly (Y/N) realized what he was about to say. She mouthed a silent no, desperate and wide-eyed, but she could do nothing to change his next words.

“You let her go,” he finished firmly.

Dorrick smiled, practically purring. He let the hand around her upper arm go limp, but kept the gun to her head. She could already feel the bruises from his grip forming atop the old ones that never healed, creating a patchwork of sickly yellow and lilac.

“See, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?” the man teased, reaching into his pockets for what (Y/N) assumed were shock-cuffs. Reminded of the ones that used to bind her, she let out a shiver, and then promptly winced when the movement reignited the pain in her abdomen. She hadn’t realized getting shot hurt so much. Sure, she was a medic, she had seen men get their limbs blown off and didn’t even blink at the sight of a blaster wound anymore, but that was a lot different than getting shot yourself. Remembering how many times she had stitched the Mandalorian up after a busted hunt, she vowed that, if they got out, she would try to be more gentle with him.

(Y/N) heard the Mandalorian sigh through the modulator of his helmet as he crossed over to Dorrick. She hoped it was for show. She hoped he had some secret, elaborate escape plan, like he always did, and they would get off Naboo alive. Seeing the way his head dropped, though, she wasn’t so sure anymore.

Dorrick grabbed the Mandalorian’s wrists with his free hand, pushing (Y/N) down with a forceful shove. She landed on her side, elbows scraping on the scraggly ground, and her eyes caught sight of the canvas bag still laying on the blanket. The baby, she gasped quietly. Dorrick hadn’t seen it peeking its head through the flap, too busy threatening their lives to notice. But she noticed.

Whispering a quiet plea, she locked eyes with the child and hoped it understood. If not, she didn’t know what else to do.

Turning to where Dorrick now stood, she watched, body too broken to do anything else, as he began to cuff the man that had once seemed invincible. Now, he just seemed resigned. Before Dorrick could place the shackles around the Mandalorian’s wrists, however, he let out a haggard cough, sputtering as his neck turned red around his collar. He grasped at himself with shaking fingers, eyes bulging when he realized there was no hands around his throat. (Y/N) let out a relieved laugh, turning to the child who was holding its small hands out, eyes shut in concentration. Coughing into her hand, she tried to ignore the specks of blood that dotted her palm.

A heavy thud let her know that Dorrick had dropped the cuffs, and another thud let her know that the Mandalorian had grabbed the rifle, shoving the tail-end of it upside his head with a crack so loud it made her wince. The man crumpled to the dirt, eyes rolling to the back of his head, but the Mandalorian didn’t even glance at him as he rushed over, crouching to sit where (Y/N) lay on the ground. She could see the child, hands now at its sides, slumping over, exhausted.

He lifted up her tunic and the cool evening air stung against her raw skin. He cursed under his breath and let her clothes fall back down, brushing away the sweat that beaded at her temple.

Reaching underneath her arms, the Mandalorian pulled her to sit up, her chest facing his. (Y/N) whimpered at the movement, holding in a choked cry when his hands brushed against the wound at her side. No bullet was lodged, at least, not that she could feel, so that meant it had gone straight through. An inch more or so and it would have missed entirely, but fate had never been kind to her.

When the fireworks began, (Y/N) let out the sob that had been bubbling in her throat, the sound turning into a laugh. She rested her forehead on his armour, and could make out the reflection of the lights now bursting above their heads on the polished metal. 

They were giving her a headache, but she would live. The shot hurt like a bitch, she was close to fainting, and she had lost at least a pint of blood, but she would live. She would live and he was there with her, his gloved hands rubbing soft circles into her back as she hiccuped into his chest. (Y/N) could hear him whisper phrases in Mando’a, but all she caught was the word “cyar'ika.” She couldn’t for the life of her remember what it meant.

“Can you stand?” the Mandalorian asked softly after a few moments, careful not to jostle her. He didn’t wait for her to answer before getting up from the ground, setting the canvas bag over his shoulder and reaching down to take her in his arms.

It wasn’t until they had made it back to the ship, after she had reminded him to stitch evenly through pained gasps, and after he had set her down on his cot (It’s bigger, he had said, not letting her argue), that (Y/N) finally had a minute to think.

Wracking her brain in the halfway state of dreaming and being awake, her whole face flushed pink when she remembered that “cyar'ika” meant sweetheart.

[thebluemartini]

A Monolith Between Them - Part IV {Nessian}

*Note: This is a post from 2018 that somehow got deleted! I’m just adding it back to my tumblr :)

TITLE: A Monolith Between Them

PREVIOUS PARTS: Part I, Part II, Part III

FIC LENGTH: 4 Parts

FIC SYNOPSIS: Post-ACOFAS. After living in the Illyrian Mountains for six months, Nesta decides she wants to perform the Blood Rite. Cassian isn’t too pleased.

*This fic is also posted on AO3 and FF.

A/N: Hooray! It’s the final part…and oh my stars, this final chapter was a total beast to write and edit! It’s so long, haha. I feel like I’m not so great at writing more action-y scenes, which is why I was nervous about writing about the Rite in the first place. Hopefully it came out okay! And I hope you enjoy this final chapter :) It’s a doozy!

Part IV - Together

Day Seven of the Blood Rite:

By some miracle, she had made it to Ramiel.

For the past two days, she did not stop despite the fact that her body begged and begged her to. Her empty stomach made it difficult for her to find the energy to go on. The wound in her thigh and the bruises and scrapes on her arms grew more tender and raw as they rubbed against her leather clothing and the stone of the monolith. Her hands kept cramping. Her eyes demanded to be shut. The cold air that blew around her sent shivers through her entire body. That dark voice within her still repeated “You’re weak” over and over in her mind.

However, Nesta remained strong and tenacious.

She still had no idea how much time she had left to reach the top of Ramiel…or if she even had any time left.

Ascending Ramiel was the toughest part yet, as its incline was nearly completely vertical. She had been forced to constantly grab hold of the jagged rocks jutting from it to stay on the enormous stone. So many times, her feet nearly slid out from under her, or her hands nearly lost their grip. Being without water for many hours left her lips chapped and her mouth dry.

She was nearing the top of one side of the monolith. Once she reached it, she would still have to hobble or crawl up the slope to reach the summit and the black stone that she needed to touch to complete the Rite.

Once the top of the monolith was within her reach, she stretched out her arms to grab hold of the edge. Summoning all her remaining strength, she pulled herself up, using her feet to help push herself upward. She managed to get her upper body on the flat surface, where she found a large stone blanketed by snow to grab hold of and help yank the rest of her body up.

Laying on her back upon the snowy ground, Nesta momentarily closed her eyes and panted from the exertion of her climb. It felt like it took an eternity to get that far, and she still had a bit more to go.

Suddenly, the sun that she felt shining upon her eyelids seemed to suddenly go away.

Nesta’s eyes shot open to find a tan-skinned Illyrian male standing before her, eyeing her with a look of disdain. “I’m certainly not going to let Cassian’s whore complete the Rite,” he grumbled and moved his foot to kick her.

Before his foot made contact with her stomach, Nesta turned on her side and tightly grabbed the large stone nearby to hang on. At the impact of his foot, Nesta let out a long wail as the force sent her legs to hang off the edge. Fury raged through her as the male kept kicking at her, trying to knock her off the monolith.

She forced her eyes to stay open as she attempted to analyze his movements. When he wasn’t expecting it and his foot came toward her, she seized his foot instead. The sudden weight upon his foot when he tried to pull it back sent him tumbling to the ground on his back.

Nesta tugged on his leg to help bring her whole body back up on the cliff. She scrambled to stand up and limped away from the monolith’s edge. Her thigh wound felt like it was completely inflamed.

“You bitch,” the male, having recovered from his fall, said as charged toward her and tackled her to the ground from behind. Nesta squirmed face-down beneath him as he moved his hands around her neck in an attempt to suffocate her.

But Nesta was quick to jerk her head back, knocking it roughly into his chin and causing him to release her. She then placed her palms against the ground and popped her upper body up, causing him to slide off her back.

However, now he was on top of her legs, still pinning her to the ground. Nesta tried to kick him, but the weight of him anchored her down and her legs were too weak. He stretched out his arm and picked up a nearby rock and pounded it repeatedly against her booted feet.

As she screamed, Nesta twisted her upper body so she could start whacking at him with her hand, but her hits seemed to have no effect on him at all. There was no strength in her slaps.

He ended up tossing away the rock and grabbing one of her hands when it came at him, tugging it toward himself as he stood up. Nesta quickly turned her body over so she was on her back. But the male came around to where her head was and kneeled one leg down on the ground. He pulled her arm out across his thigh and pushed down on it until a loud pop from her elbow joint was heard. A cry of anguish escaped her lips as the pain surged within her arm.

Dropping her injured arm, he moved to the other side of her, preparing to repeat his previous action on her other limb. Nesta kept her arm against herself and refused to let it be pulled away from her. But it looked like another idea appeared in the Illyrian’s mind, and he decided to head toward her feet instead. When he leaned down to grab them, Nesta kneed his chin, sending him stumbling back. In a quick motion, Nesta unsteadily rose off the ground and onto her now battered feet, ignoring the pain she felt.

He came charging after her once more, looking like he was determined to dive for her legs and hoist her off the ground. Sticking out her good arm against his shoulder, she halted him and curled her arm around his neck. With her arm wrapped around him, she fell back onto the ground, taking him with her. Then, she lifted her knee to smash it into his groin, causing him to let out a muffled yelp. She kneed him between the legs once more with such force that she flipped him over her body. A cracking sound was heard when he collided with the ground upon his back.

He lied there groaning, with his eyes tightly shut. But he did not move. In fact, it looked like he was unable to move.

Nesta tried to catch her breath and steady her racing heart. She gingerly rolled up the sleeve of her injured arm, then scooped up some snow from the ground beside her to hold it against her elbow joint. She grimaced as she did so, but she hoped the coolness of the snow would at least help reduce the swelling.

Looking up, she noticed the sun was setting…

Who knew if this was her final night to make it to the black stone? If this Illyrian male was on the monolith too, it must have been close to the end of the week of the Rite…

With a grunt, she turned her body over so she was now on her knees. The pain within her thigh was still there from the impaled stick, but not as strong as the pain that was throbbing through her arm and her aching feet.

But she couldn’t think about the pain. She had to keep moving. Putting the pressure on her knees and the palm of her unharmed arm, she crawled using three of her limbs.

It was the final day of the Rite, and Cassian was utterly restless.

There was an ache within him that no beverage or tonic could soothe. His anxiety could not be eased, and the frustration and regret he felt toward himself for the past mistakes he’d made with Nesta were at an ultimate high.

He certainly didn’t have any time for the taunts that were thrown his way that day either. As soon as he rose and dressed for the day, he stormed out of his cabin and headed toward the heart of the camp. Along the way, a few Illyrian males cackled and heckled him by asking where the “witch” or his “whore” was, implying that there was no way Nesta would survive. Each of those Illyrians were promptly punched in the jaw and knocked down into the snow.

Once he reached the center of the camp, Cassian paced around the unlit firepit with his fists clenched at his sides.

When he, Azriel, and Rhys had completed the Rite, their touch upon the black stone had immediately transported them back to the middle of their camp. The same would happen for Nesta if she made it.

The aches he felt throughout his body grew stronger. While clutching his stomach, Cassian plopped himself on the snowy ground beside the pit. He sat cross-legged as he prayed to the gods that Nesta was safe and would complete the Rite.

With his eyes constantly scanning the area around him, Cassian waited.

And hoped.

Nesta continued to crawl up the steep incline to the summit of Ramiel. The sky was getting darker and darker.

Her bones kept pleading for her to stop and give up, especially with her body constantly losing its balance and her clumsily trying to hang on. With all her willpower, she resisted that urge by thinking of Cassian’s words.

“Come back to me. Please.”

“Continue fighting and surviving as you always do.”

“Keep going, sweetheart.”

Fortunately, the black stone was in sight. Not a single snowflake had fallen upon it as if its mystical power was shielding it. It had the shimmer of a black diamond, and it served as her beacon.  

She needed to hang on a little bit longer…

But as soon as she passed through a row of pine trees, a gust of freezing wind blew past her that made her look down and tighten her grip on the ground beneath her. She could sense magic thrumming around her and calling to her. It seemed to pull at the magic within her from the Cauldron that had lied dormant for over a year now.

The sky suddenly turned black, causing Nesta to freeze. The wind continued to howl around her, and suddenly a young woman materialized before her.

When the woman lifted her head, Nesta recognized her face…

“Feyre?” Nesta questioned weakly in disbelief.

“I don’t know why I take pity on you. You don’t deserve it. You let me and Elain nearly starve to death, while you sat and did nothing,” she spoke with such contempt.

Elain appeared beside Feyre and nodded along to Feyre’s words. She gave Nesta a scornful look…It didn’t look right to see such a facial expression upon her face.

“And you let me die,” a male’s voice said. Nesta whipped her head to her left, where she saw her father. “How could you do nothing when the king captured me? What kind of daughter are you?”

“You will never be one of us,” Rhys stated as he appeared beside Feyre, along with Azriel, Mor, and Amren behind him.

Nesta couldn’t stop the tears that formed in her eyes and streamed down her cheeks.

She wished she could say these words and scenes were unfamiliar to her…but she had seen all of this and heard all of these words in her nightmares since the war.

Her nightmares, fears, and insecurities had all come to life before her.

This isn’t real. This isn’t real, she repeated to herself in her head as she closed her eyes, trying to shut them out.

But when she heard the sound of Cassian’s voice, she felt compelled to open up her teary eyes and look behind her to see him.

“How could someone love a selfish and rotten person like you? You’re worthless. I’m only forced to love you because we’re mates.”

Seeing him stand before her and saying these things - even though she knew this was all contrived - still wounded her.

“That’s…not true,” Nesta weakly spoke aloud and shook her head up at him. Sliding her hand within her pocket, she felt around for the letter the real Cassian had given her. When her fingertips found the parchment, Nesta closed her eyes tightly and relished in the memory of what his letter had said.

These past several months, you have been irritating, infuriating, and ridiculous…as well as inspiring, enthralling, and intoxicating.

I am in love with you, Nesta Archeron.

I’ll be waiting for you, ready to not waste anymore time.

Her eyes shot open, and she sought out the black stone. In the darkness, she could no longer see it, but she knew the direction she had to go. With newfound vigor, she rushed forward on her hand and knees.

But as she did so, all the figures around her vanished, except for Cassian.

Now Cassian was flying, when a blast of light powered through the air and hit him square in the chest, sending him to the ground right in front of her. Nesta stopped and stared at him as life left his eyes.

Another nightmare had come to life. But the tears didn’t stop flowing from Nesta’s eyes. Seeing him die before her was a dagger to her chest. All this time, she had feared having these feelings for him because of how that love could make her suffer…but she couldn’t deny it anymore. She couldn’t shield herself any longer.

She couldn’t resist placing her hand against the fake Cassian’s cheek. She half-thought her hand would go through him as if he were some kind of phantom. But he was solid beneath her palm. She could even feel the stubble on his cheek.

This isn’t real. This isn’t real. Keep going.

Suppressing a shudder from what she just witnessed, she continued her crawl toward the black rock. The figures of her sisters, her father, and the Inner Circle all appeared once more, calling after her and yelling at her.

She shut them out and weakly continued her journey, hurting her knees and hand when she roved over jagged rocks in the darkness.

When the front half of her body collapsed to the ground after her arm suddenly gave out from under her, it was then that she could make out that the black rock was a short distance before her. Her body shuddered as she let out a sigh of relief.

But when she tried to move forward, she felt a hand grab hold of her boot, causing her to wince. She turned behind her and saw Cassian was there.

“Why are you leaving me, Nesta? Why are abandoning me and shutting me out like you did after the war?” he demanded to know.

Nesta just carefully shook her head. “I’m not,” she said softly. “I’m not.”

She grimaced when she tried to yank her foot out of his grip, but the apparition wouldn’t let go. She outstretched her uninjured arm as far as she could and lunged for the black rock.

But she couldn’t reach it.

She was so close…

Breathing heavily as the tears cascaded down her cheeks, she thought of all she had endured the past several days. The cold. The stick impaled in her thigh. The hazardous climb. Her broken arm. Her bruised feet. Even her own mind and magic had betrayed her.

This couldn’t all be for nothing.

She wouldn’t let it be all for nothing.

She focused on imagining what could be, if she made it back.

What it would be like to see Cassian again… to tease him as she loved to do…and to also feel him against her.  

She wanted more time in this life. Not just to be with Cassian, but to actually live and enjoy life.

“Why are you leaving me, Nesta?” the apparition of Cassian whined.

“I’m not,” Nesta firmly replied. “I’m coming home to you.”

Once more, she threw out her arm so far that it was taut and she felt the strain within her muscles. Her fingertips grazed the edge of the stone.

Everything around her faded away in an instant.  

The sun had set over an hour ago…meaning Nesta only had a few hours left to complete the Rite.

Cassian hadn’t left his spot beside the pit. Despite the fact that his body had begun to shiver after the sun descended and the cool winds blew through, he did not budge.

The aches within him grew stronger and in the past hour or so, those aches seemed to move to his head. If he and Nesta were mates as he had suspected…Nesta must have been suffering greatly.

He let out a long, slow breath. He closed his eyes and sent up another silent prayer that Nesta would return.

At the sound of a thump against the ground, Cassian suddenly opened his eyes. He lost his breath at the sight of Nesta appearing and lying in the snow before him. Her eyes were closed and one of her arms was stretched out. Her body was shivering, and her hair was disheveled, with most of the strands having fallen out of its hair ribbon, and her Illyrian leathers were all torn up. But one of her arms…something didn’t look right. And her thigh was covered with a bloodied handkerchief…the handkerchief he had given her.

Tears formed in his eyes as he rushed toward her. “Nesta,” he whispered as he gently ran his fingers through her hair.

Her eyes fluttered open and she looked up at him. Her breathing stilled when she saw him. “Are you really here?” she asked feebly.

Cassian smoothed her hair away from her face. “Yes,” he breathed. Then, without his eyes leaving hers,  he slid his hands beneath her body and scooped her up as he stood. Her face contorted with agony as he did so. He looked at her apologetically and realized he needed to get her to a healer immediately.

“What were your last words to me before the Rite? Before you said goodbye?” she asked seriously as she lifted her hand to his cheek.

“‘Come back to me please,’” he answered softly as he recalled that heart wrenching conversation that replayed in his head multiple times the past few days. “And now you have, but I need to get you -” he began to mutter, but was interrupted by Nesta lifting her head and crashing her lips against his.

He was caught off guard, but once he got over his astonishment, Cassian responded to her delicate kiss. Despite loving the taste of her, he knew they did not have time for this right now. He needed to get her injuries taken care of first. He pulled away and leaned his forehead against hers. “Why do we only kiss when one of us is dying?” he wondered huskily. “We need to get you to a healer.”

“I don’t want to waste anymore time,” Nesta said honestly while she ran her hand across his jawline before bringing it down to his chest.

“If we don’t get you to a healer soon, you won’t have much time left.”

Flying would’ve been the fastest way to get back to his cabin. But she didn’t enjoy flying, and it would just make her sicker. Plus, he risked jostling her and injuring her more if he flew. Speed walking back would just have to do.

Nesta closed her eyes as she leaned her head against his upper arm, while her hand now gripped onto to the center of his shirt.

“Hold on, Nes. Stay with me,” he said to her, and she nodded.

Cassian began to stride through the camp in the direction of his cabin as he carefully held onto Nesta.

“Now I definitely know something is wrong. I just called you ‘Nes’ and you didn’t bite my head off,” he joked in an attempt to lighten the mood.

She looked pale and kept her eyes closed, but when he briefly looked down, she was smiling.

As they passed a few of the other camp’s cabins en route, the door to one of them suddenly burst open and an Illyrian female ran out. In the light of the camp’s outdoor torches, Cassian realized it was Morwenna, a female he had been training and one he believed Nesta had befriended. She charged toward them, her long dark hair flying around behind her.

“She’s back!” Morwenna exclaimed as she came to Cassian’s side, keeping pace with him. A look of shock and awe was upon her face.

“Yes, but she needs medical attention immediately,” Cassian stated seriously as he continued to plow forward. At Cassian’s reply, Morwenna’s facial expression quickly transformed into one that was solemn. “Morwenna, could you please go find one of the healers and send her to my cabin?”

“Yes, of course,” she replied with a firm nod before darting off in another direction.

Nesta groaned as he strolled through the snow and walked up a small, steep incline. The sound propelled Cassian to move faster. Within the next few minutes, they had finally reached his cabin.

As soon as he entered, he headed straight for his bedroom. Gently laying her down on one side of the bed, he pulled down the blankets on the opposite side. Then he picked her up again to lay her down on the uncovered sheets and brought the blankets up over her body. Nesta opened up her eyes as her head hit the pillow. “Cassian, I need…water,” she requested quietly.

“Yes, sweetheart,” he called out to her as he rushed out of the room. Very slowly, Nesta sat up and was about to attempt propping up her pillow when Cassian returned holding one tall glass of water and a bowl of beef broth. He quickly handed the glass to her in her good arm and placed the bowl on the stand beside the bed. “Stop trying to move. Let me do that,” he said as he reached behind her to prop her pillow against her headboard.

After a long sip of water, Nesta swallowed. “I thought I told you I don’t take orders from anyone,” she said softly as she leaned back against the headboard and grinned slyly up at him. She took another swig of water.

“And here I thought, considering your state, you would indulge me only for today,” Cassian said as he laid the back of his hand against her forehead. She was burning up. Cassian internally pleaded that Morwenna would be able to quickly find one of the healers.

Nesta gulped. “Never,” she stated, the small grin still on her face.

“Well in between sips, could you please tell me what happened to you?” Cassian requested as he looked at her arm that was out of place.

“I think one of the males broke my arm,” she replied. “Another male impaled a stick through my thigh.”

“What?” Cassian’s eyes widened. Then he carefully pulled the covers off of her and looked back down at the bloodied handkerchief wrapped around her thigh. Very gingerly, he untied it. Seeing the piece of stick that was still lodged within her thigh, he fought to keep his rage under control. The wound looked to be completely infected.

“Forgive me, sweetheart, for being so forward, but may I remove your clothes?” Cassian asked, covering up his concern with his casual bantering. He needed to get her out of her dirty clothes and prepare for the healer to look her over.

After pulling the glass away from her mouth, she nodded. “Usually, you’re so barbaric, I’m shocked you even bothered to ask,” she said sleepily as she rested her head back.

Cassian walked over to the chest at the foot of his bed and opened it, pulling out one of his shirts and tossing it on the bed near Nesta’s feet. “Well, once you’re all healed, I’ll be barbaric and we can reenact a scene from that smutty The Barbarian and the Maiden novel you read,” he said with a mischievous smile.

Nesta nearly choked on her water, causing Cassian to immediately rush to her side out of alarm. Gods forbid he kill her with his sexual innuendos after she survived the Blood Rite…

But she recovered quickly, and her eyes narrowed on him while her lips threatened to break out into a devious grin. “You’ve been reading my books?”

His eyes gleamed when he looked back down at her body to try to figure out the least painful way to get her clothes off of her. “One or two,” he replied casually, but then had to pause their playful conversation and return to the task at hand. “I’m sorry if this hurts,” he stated unhappily, and Nesta nodded in acceptance as she sat her now empty glass down on the nightstand.

When she closed her eyes, Cassian slid his fingers beneath the waistband of her pants and slowly pulled them down past her thighs. Nesta only winced a little when her pants peeled away from her wounded thigh. The wound was all red and had some white spots around the stick that could’ve been puss. Streaks of blood covered her thigh.

“When I’ve fantasized about bringing you to my bed and ripping off your clothes, this isn’t exactly what I had pictured,” Cassian commented with a glint in his eyes to distract her as he continued to pull her pants off of her legs and feet.

A slight blush came across Nesta’s cheeks, but she didn’t open her eyes. He tossed her pants to the floor, then stood beside her again. “I’m going to untie your top,” he informed her, and she leaned her upper body forward to grant Cassian access to her back.

“I never thought such fantasies could become a reality,” she said softly as he began to untie the laces on the back of her Illyrian leather tunic. “I never thought you could ever truly want…me.”

Cassian’s fingers faltered in their task, and it felt like his heart had been pierced. He took a deep breath before continuing to untangle the laces. “I’ve wanted you for a long time,” he said honestly.

Once he finally finished pulling out the laces, he pulled the ribbon out of her hair and pushed her hair to the side, over her shoulder. Leaning forward, he placed a light kiss on the back of her neck. He thought he saw a slight shiver go down her spine.

Then he went to the front of her body to carefully slide the leather sleeves of her shirt from her arms. A pained cry escaped her lips when it went over her dislocated arm. After he threw it to the ground, he grabbed the bottom edge of her black shirt that was beneath the leather tunic and gingerly lifted it up and over her head. She let out another pained moan when she outstretched her arms above her head.

All she was currently wearing now was a bra and underwear. Out of politeness, Cassian looked away from her body. He swiftly reached for his shirt that he had tossed on the bed and put it on her. It was large and loose and would probably go down to her knees if she stood up.

She leaned back against the pillows and stared up at him as he brought the blankets back over her body. He placed his hand against her cheek. It was the same spot where he had put his hand when he said goodbye to her before the Rite. And now to have her before him after the Rite…He could feel that she really was here. This wasn’t a dream. This time, he leaned forward and placed a kiss to her forehead.

“Cassian, I…” Nesta began to say feebly when he pulled away, but stopped when Morwenna and Leta, one of the Illyrian healers, burst into the room.

He would need to figure out what she wanted to say later. But for now, he was thankful the healer was finally here to take care of her. Cassian stepped away and let Leta look her over. The female pulled back the blankets to analyze her injuries. “Explain to me what happened,” Leta kindly ordered.

Nesta recounted the skirmishes she endured the past week, and Cassian fought to keep his rage minimal as she spoke. He wished he could break the necks of those snotty males…or at least break something. But who knew if they even made it back…he didn’t know which he hoped for more: that they suffered and perished in the Rite, or that they survived only to return and have to deal with Cassian’s fury.

When Nesta concluded, Leta immediately ordered her to consume the beef broth on the nightstand as she dug through the medicine in her bag. Before Nesta could even attempt to grab the bowl with her good arm, Cassian beat her to it. He picked up the bowl and began feeding her spoonfuls of it.

As she ate, Leta added tonics to heal her and to knock her unconscious into the broth. Once she finished eating, Nesta stretched out her good arm toward Cassian. He put down the bowl and spoon on the nightstand and eagerly accepted her hand in his grasp. “Thank you,” she whispered drowsily.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” Cassian answered. He brought their hands up to his face and kissed the back of her hand.

Nesta squeezed his hand as her eyes closed, and she instantly fell into a deep sleep.

She wasn’t sure how many hours or how many days had passed, but she slipped in and out of consciousness.

Most of the time, Nesta was in a deep sleep. But every so often, she’d awake or be nudged awake by Cassian, who would be sitting beside her, ready and waiting with a bowl of broth to feed her containing tonics to help her heal and sleep.  As soon as she would finish, he’d hand her a glass of water to drink.

Too drowsy to speak and too preoccupied with eating and drinking whenever she awoke, words were not exchanged between her and Cassian during the short periods of time she was awake, save for his gentle orders for her to either eat and drink and his whispers of “Goodnight, sweetheart,” when she would slowly fall back asleep. Before she drifted off, she felt him kiss her temple each time.

Overall, her sleep had been dreamless…until one instance where she thought she had woken up on her own. She searched for Cassian, expecting him to be nearby and ready, as usual, to feed her.

But he wasn’t there…instead she found a letter addressed to her on the nightstand. Opening it up, she read through its contents:

Nesta,

I thought I loved you, but I think it was just the mating bond that messed with my brain and deceived me. I don’t love you. I don’t want anything to do with you.

Don’t expect to see me ever again.

-Cassian

The words sent tears streaming down her face, and she felt like she was suffocating.

Gasping for air, her eyes shot open and she found herself still in Cassian’s bed and no letter beside her. In the dim room, she reached her hand out to the side of her along the mattress, hoping to find Cassian beside her to reassure her that what just occurred was just a nightmare.

But her hand never found Cassian’s. She turned her head to find no one was beside her. Hyperventilating, she tried to push away her fears that Cassian really did run off and abandon her. Surely, he was just in the cabin somewhere…

But the nightmare had felt so real…Was the dream actually a premonition of what was to come?

Pushing away her covers, she got up off the bed without wincing.

Looking down, she realized she was still wearing Cassian’s shirt. Stretching out her arm, she found it no longer looked dislocated and didn’t ache. She also lifted up her leg to examine her thigh and saw that her wound was stitched up and healing.

She felt so…brand new. It was as if she had never physically suffered from the Blood Rite. There certainly were benefits to having a fae body….

Determined to find Cassian, she strolled out of his bedroom and headed down the hallway toward his study. Peeking her head around the door frame, she discovered he wasn’t there.

Ignoring her nerves, she went back down the hallway in the direction of the kitchen and the living room. But she still couldn’t find him.

Going to the front door, she turned the knob and opened it.

There, she found Cassian carrying a brown sack and about to take a step up to the small porch that led to his entryway. At the sound of the door creaking open, his head perked up. At first, he was beaming, but in a flash, that beam faded.

“You should be lying down,” he said seriously.

Nesta stepped back, pulling the door open with her to allow him entrance. “We’ve been over this before. You can’t order me around,” she said sternly.

Cassian stepped inside, and Nesta closed the door behind him. She turned around so her back was against the door, and Cassian approached her.

“Where were you?” she asked in a tone mixed with panic and irritation.

“I needed to go buy you some more food. We were nearly out of broth, and I think you’ll be ready to move onto more solid foods soon. Then I ended up flying to Velaris because I remembered there was that one tea you enjoy from one of the shops so I had gotten that too,” Cassian explained calmly as his eyes tried to search hers for…something. “I’m sorry. You’d been sleeping for over nine hours at a time the past few days. I didn’t expect you to be awake so soon. I shouldn’t have gone.”

He was out buying food for her, even going as far to find her favorite tea…to even further take care of her. All her life, she felt let down…especially by men. Her father abandoned her and her sisters, not even bothering to ensure they were nourished or caring that they lived. She thought Tomas Mandray would be the one to help take care of her…but that was all a facade. All he wanted to do was feed his own lustful desires.

After such experiences, she had previously sworn to herself that she would never trust a man again.

But then Cassian came into her life…and had been slowly breaking that resolve down.

Right now, she just needed to feel him and assure herself once more that all of this was real. She needed to truly know that he was before her and really taking care of her and not just part of her imagination. Abruptly, she tightly wrapped her arms around Cassian’s torso and closed her eyes as she laid her head against his chest. Cassian dropped the sack he was carrying to the ground, which made a small thump when it hit the floor. Some items in the bag spilled out and scattered on the floor, but he ignored it. He wrapped his arms around her in return.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered.

“Is that how you always respond when someone shows you affection?” she said, careful to not let any tears escape her eyes. Trying to hide her concern, she continued. “Are you so unused to it that you assume something must be wrong with someone to want to embrace you?”

“This is more of an I’m terrified yet so relieved to see you kind of a hug rather than a Cassian, you are the sun my world revolves around and I just want to worship you constantly hug.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “I would never hug you like that.”

Cassian pulled back and gripped his hands on her upper arms as he stared her directly in the eyes. “What’s wrong?” he repeated.

Nesta paused, then shook her head. “Nothing.”

Cassian sighed out of frustration. “Is that how this is going to go?” he asked angrily. “You’re just going to shut me out again? If I have to go through that again…I won’t be able to take it. I don’t want you just at arm’s length, Nesta. I want all of you. The good and the bad. I don’t want to be just a meaningless fling for you.”

The old Nesta probably would’ve fired back at him, telling him it was none of his business to know everything and it was presumptuous of him to think she’d want him to be more than a fling. But now…Nesta’s heart raced beneath her chest. She didn’t want to lose him. She was screwing this up. She wanted him more than anything. She needed to be honest with him and fix this. After all she realized in the Blood Rite…

“You’re not!” she exclaimed.

“Then what am I to you?”

How could she even find the words to explain what he meant to her?

“You’re…everything to me,” she finally said. “And that scares me,” she added softly as tears began to form in her eyes.

“Why?”

She hesitated, but finally decided to bring up her suspicion that they’d never spoken of. “What if these feelings are just because of…a possible mating bond between us? What if this is just one more thing in my life that I have no control over?”

When she mentioned the mating bond, Cassian seemed to go still for a moment, but then shook his head at her. “Remember what I told you? Mates don’t have to care about each other.  As far as I’m aware, Elain still doesn’t seem to have any kind of feelings for Lucien. Rhys and Feyre are an extraordinary case. Do you feel something more than a strong pull to me or more than a feeling of possessiveness? Then whatever you feel is real. It’s not something that’s been forced on you.”

“The thought of losing you…or of you betraying me or disappointing me…it leaves me feeling dead inside. I just don’t know what I’d do if any of that happened, and I couldn’t tell if I truly felt like I couldn’t live without you, or if it was because of some ridiculous bond between us,” Nesta shook her head as the tears continued to fall.

Cassian brought his hands to the sides of her face and started wiping away her tears with his thumbs. “For the week of the Rite, I couldn’t stop thinking about you and worrying about you. I missed you walking into my cabin unannounced and you rolling your eyes at me when I made some comment that you insisted was ridiculous. I missed your glares, your insults, and those rare times you’d give me a small smile. I missed you. I know, without a doubt, my feelings for you are real and are my own. They aren’t because of some possible bond.”

Her heart hammered within her chest. She remembered how it occurred to her during the Rite that she may never be able to tease Cassian again, never get to hear him make a silly sexual comment again, never feel the thundering of her heart when he called her “sweetheart,” and never get to just simply…talk to him.

She had missed him immensely. Even the week leading up to the Rite where they didn’t see each other…she missed him.

Was she relieved that her feelings were indeed her own? Her feelings for him were so overwhelmingly strong that it slightly frightened her.

She took a deep breath. “When I was on Ramiel…something in my magic called to the magic of the monolith. It brought to life all the nightmares I had had in the past year.”

Cassian’s eyes widened at this information.

“And those nightmares involved you saying I was unworthy of love, or you dying by that Cauldron’s blast of light…and they always left me feeling so broken. Then today, I dreamed I woke up, and you were gone for good, claiming your feelings for me were just because of the bond. So when you weren’t here when I really did wake up, I was terrified.”

Cassian continued to rub her face. “I’m so sorry. I know I’ve given you reasons to not trust me by failing to protect you and failing to keep some of my promises…but I’m determined to follow through with my promises now. I will not abandon you.”

Nesta nodded as she grabbed onto his forearms. “I know,” she whispered. “And I’m sorry for the way I’ve treated you and for shutting you out.”

“We both have things to work on,” Cassian replied honestly. “And we can work through them together.”

“Are you sure you want this? That you want me?” she couldn’t help but ask, still feeling skeptical that this was all real.

Cassian sighed. As he firmly held her face still, he looked deep into her eyes. “I’ve never wanted anything more. Don’t let your doubts consume you. They’ll drive you mad.”

“You’re ordering me around again,” she stated as she narrowed her eyes at him, but she failed to be truly stern with him. A smile spread across her face.

Cassian hesitantly smiled back. “But do you want this?” he asked seriously.

While it was indeed a risk to be with him and that she feared where this fierce love would lead her… Who knew how much time she would have left in this life? This life she had never wanted…until now.

Now she had a life where she no longer stood by and did nothing. Now she could actually help other females and train them, help them find a greater purpose that was bigger than themselves.

And now she had the chance to freely love someone without the worries of status and if a man could merely provide for her for the rest of her life. Now she was able to take care of herself, while also being truly loved for who she was.

“Yes,” she replied confidently.

The joy she saw on his face…It sent her heart racing, and she never wanted to see him without such joy again.

“Are you sure you want to risk being with an extraordinarily handsome male who sends your heart aflutter with every touch and will do anything to prove his love for you?”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Against my better judgment, yes.”

Cassian grinned, then brought his face down closer to hers so his breath brushed against her lips and tickled her nose. “So you admit that I am extraordinarily handsome?”

“Will you just kiss me already?”

Cassian chuckled. “Maybe I should tease you just a bit longer to give you a taste of the painful waiting I had to endure while you did the Blood Rite.”

“Cassian,” she said sternly and leaned forward to kiss him herself, but he dodged his head away from her.

“Have I told you how proud I am of you, my sweet Illyrian warrior, for completing the Rite?”

“No, but you can tell me later and just reward me now,” she requested anxiously as she wrapped her hands around his neck and ran her fingers through his hair.

“I can’t wait to see Devlon’s face when he sees you. And when you start training the Illryian females…I don’t know if I’ll be able to control myself and keep my hands and lips off you,” Cassian rambled on.

“Well, there’s no need to control yourself right now,” Nesta remarked impatiently.

“How are you feeling?” he questioned her sincerely.

“Physically, I’m completely fine. Emotionally, however, I’m so frustrated, I could slap you.”

“Fine. I know how irresistable I am, so I’ll put you out of your misery.”

“How kind of you,” she said sarcastically and groaned at his pompousness, but she was interrupted by Cassian capturing her lips in a kiss, and that groan turned into a moan of pleasure.

The kiss was firmer and more passionate than the two kisses they’d previously shared since neither of them was dying this time. Cassian pushed her back against the door. With something behind her helping to support her, Cassian began to kiss her even more forcefully, as if nothing could satiate his appetite for her.

The passion and the force of his kisses nearly sent her knees buckling. Sensing her falter, Cassian ran his hand up along her thigh, sending an electrifying sensation through her body. His kisses didn’t stop as he lifted her thigh up, then wrapped both of his hands beneath her bottom and lifted her off the ground. His wings flared out behind him, and Nesta lifted both her legs to encircle them around his waist.

When he tried to pull away from her, she wouldn’t let him. Instead, she used her teeth to tug on his lower lip, eliciting a moan from him that sent a delighted thrill through her.

Eventually, Cassian managed to reluctantly pull his lips away from hers. Their faces were only an inch apart as they breathed heavily on each other. He tilted his head up at her, and Nesta rested her forehead against his.

“I love seeing you in my shirt,” he growled. “And I love you, Nesta Archeron.”

“I know,” she answered smugly. “I got your letter.”

“And what did you think of it?”

“It could’ve been written more neatly.”

This time, Cassian rolled his eyes at her.

“It was a bit long too. It nearly put me to sleep,” she added nonchalantly.

Cassian gave her a look to show he was unimpressed with her comments.

“And I don’t think I would’ve survived the Rite without it,” she finished seriously.

The amusement left Cassian’s face and was replaced with a tender expression.

“I meant what I said when I wouldn’t know what to do if you didn’t survive the Rite,” he told her. “The week of the Rite was unbearable…words cannot describe how it felt to see you return.”

Nesta rubbed the back of his neck. “I may have been ill, but I meant it when I said I didn’t want to waste anymore time either.”

“Then we’ll stop wasting it,” he said in a low voice before leaving a trail of kisses along her jawline.

“I love you, Cassian,” she mumbled before pulling his face so he was back to staring right at her. With a deep inhale of his woodsy scent, she fiercely kissed his beaming face.

The End

A/N: Man, writing this fic really took over my life. I’m a bit relieved it’s over and will now probably take a break from writing Nessian :)

Thank you SO much to everyone who has read this/liked this/left comments/reblogged this! I hope you enjoyed this final part! I would love to get a comment from you and thank you personally! :)

When I first had this fic idea, I only wanted to write an angsty Nessian goodbye before the Rite and a cute reunion scene between them after Nesta survives the Rite…my how this mini fic evolved haha. I feel like the Rite is probably way more difficult than what I’ve described… I’m still learning how to write scenes that are action-y and aren’t focused on romantic drama, haha. So that’s really why I only focused on some days of the Rite for Nesta. :D

Anyway, thanks again! I hope you all have a fabulous day!

[forevermybubblegum]

♡SHORT STORY♡

THE forest hummed with life all around you. Your eyes squinted open slowly, mind still trapped in a foggy haze, as you gazed up at the orange painted sky, searching for the birds that flew about. The sun broke through the cracks, lighting up the dark bushy greenwood decorated with outgrown roots, wildflowers and fallen leaves that crunched as you tried to sit upwards. You shielded your eyes, taking in the fragrance of minty grass and damp earth. Each breath feeling like water, fresh and cleansing, flowing freely into your lungs.

You feel little bit of shock spark through you as you feel a heavy body on your lap, it's Tanjiro's head resting gently on your lap as he breathes slowly through his mouth, face dusted black with dirt and debris.

"What....?"You mumbled as your eyes widened when you spotted your other teammates Inosuke and Zenitsu sprawled on the floor unconscious and beaten.

You gasped, "Nezuko!"You exclaimed as you spotted Nezuko out of her box in the same state as others, you pondered through your thoughts trying to remember the events of the nightfall. Oh yes,You all were fighting a duo from the twelve kizuki, they were the most powerful foes you had ever faced and from the looks of it your team had succeded because they would have either kidnapped or killed you all if they had won.

Just then while you were recalling back your memory, A flash from the past whiffed through your mind in a blur,

"Tanjiro!"You had yelled, as Tanjiro whipped an arm to tell you to stand back, "Stay back Y/n!, your gonna get hur--Ack!" The female opponent landed him a powerful flying spin kick to the head, causing him to collide into the ground as figments shattered about.

"How dare you!"You had screeched as you sheated out your black katana from its scabbard. You held it firmly in both hands, the gradient glimmering in the blood moon light.You weren't the strongest and your hands were shaking more than it ever had, but you couldn't afford to let fear falter your determination to protect your comrades. Zenitsu and Inosuke were busy with the Male Demon, you could at least stall her for a while.

"You're mine pest!"She taunted as her long tongue fell out her mouth and she sped towards you, you screamed as you charged towards her but she slid under you and wrapped her long lizard-like tail around you neck, you dropped your sword in the rush of things and tried to loosen your neck as you were being chocked.

"Y/n!Y/n!"Inosuke and Zenitsu immediately charged towards you but were immediately blocked further by the male demon,"Oh no you don't!" He sang, cackling melancholicly.

She unwrapped her tail from your neck and dropped you to the floor as you gasped for breath heavily then feeling her tail tug unto your right leg and pull you up to hang you upside down, "Hmmmm, such nice soft legs..I wonder what will happen if I break them"She whispered,red eyes gleaming as she ran her tongue down from your knee to your ankle and you bit your lip in disgust,eyes shut tight.

"Heheeheee..."You heard a crack, not believing it was yours till the strong wave of pain ran through your veins. You screeched in pain as surprised birds flew out the trees they had being hiding in.

"Y/n!!"Your teammates yelled as the other crack was heard, the pain was unbearable, tears streamed down your eyes as you screamed and could do nothing more than tha--.

You snapped out of the nostalgic recap and looked to see yourself still staring at Tanjiro as you gently ran your hand through his red hair with a smile on your face.You then removed his head from your lap and placed it gently on a folded piece of your robe next to you as you stared at your right leg, the bruise was more than noticeable and you gently tried to massage it to see if it would help but- "Ow!" You winced in pain as you shut an eye.

You then began to hear footsteps inching nearer and nearer to you, you stiffed yourself, scared to death that it was another demon when Hashiras and medical care came in the sight of your E/c pupils rushing to you all. You let out a loud sigh in relief as Shinobu rushed to you and you rested your head on her lap when did.

"Shinobu...san..."You breathed out with a smile on your lips as she gently shushed you with a worried frown on her face, you slowly began to lose consciousness once more as you fell into a deep sleep.

*Few Weeks Later*

"Y/n...I miss you, I'm so sorry for not protecting you..Y/n.."You felt a pair of warm hands cupping your right one as you slowly squinted your eyes open, sun kissing your skin lightly through the scraped space of the half opened window.

"T...tanjiro?"You asked softly as you turned your face to look at him, his worried eyes widened in joy as he jumped up from his chair.

"Y/n!!"

"T-tanjirooo!"You tried to match up his enthusiasm as he hugged you while you were on the bed, your right foot wrapped in a cast filled with colorful signatures. You giggled in joy and you hugged him back with one arm patting his back.

"Y/n forgive me..."Tanjiro said in a serious tone gently and calmly,falling back onto his chair. "Tanjiro I--"

"I let you down, its my fault that your leg...and you were so badly injured I--"

"Tanjiro its not your fault, I charged in when I shouldn't hav--"

"BECAUSE YOU WERE PROTECTING ME!"He yelled furiously as you were taken aback by his outburst.

"I-I'm sorry Y/n.."He mumbled in a downhearted tone as you reached in and placed your hand on top of his.

"Yoshi yoshi Tanjiro-kun"You sang gently as he laughed and sniffed, giving you his usual kind smile.

"Okay I know what im going to do!!"He exclaimed with his hands resting on his hips like a superhero.

"Hm?What?"You asked gently with a smile on your face.

"Im gonna be the one to take care of you while you recover!!"He annouced as your brows shot up.

"Ehhhh! Tanjiro you dont have to do tha--!!"

"I will and I will!!"He exclaimed as you smiled to yourself, knowing you couldn't stop him anymore after he had made his choice.

"Y/nnnnnnnnn!!!"You heard Zenitsu burst into your hospital room with tears streaming down his face.

"I knew I heard your voice! I missed you!!"He cried and went up to hug you which you reciprocated, "Zenitsuu! Y/n needs her rest!"Tanjiro warned as Zenitsu stuck his tongue out at him and skipped out of the room,wiggling his eyebrows at both you and Tanjiro as you noticed Tanjiro's cheeks dust in a light shade of pink.

"How is Nezuko and Inosuke?"You asked as Tanjiro gave you a reassuring smile.

"Ah they are well and hearty,Nezuko really wanted to see you after she woke up"He informed as you giggled, Nezuko was your closest and only girl-friend in the group, both of you were inseperable.

"Ahaha, I want to see her too"

"Y/n! You better get well so we can fight each other again!"You heard Inosuke's voice as he walked past your room,You chuckled and yelled "Will do!"in response, just happy to hear from everyone again.

A few days passed and....,"Chu chuuu!"Tanjiro mimicked a moving train as you opened your mouth and he placed the spoon filled with steaming rice and curry inside your mouth and you chewed it slowly.

"Tanjiro, you know you don't have to say chu chuu everytime you feed me"You pouted as he laughed and ruffled you hair in a caring manner and you ate more of the curry.

* * * * * *

Another day passed by and the morning had reached quicker than expected, Tanjiro as you've guessed had never left your side, he even read you a book every night as you doozed off.

"Good morning Y/n, It's time for your bandage change, Tanjiro would you like to stay?"The nurse asked as he nodded in response, both of you had been chatting before the nurse had come in. The syringe needle then came in sight taunting you as your eyes widened in horror,

"Not again"You whined, squirming in your bed as she smiled in pity,knowing this was your worse part of the day.

"It will be okay Y/n,I'm here"Tanjiro said as you took a deep breath and as much as you wanted to jump out of the bed you took his hand in yours and squeezed it tight instead.

"Ow.."You yelped startled as she injected you and few seconds later she was done, then changing your bandage and leaving.

"See that wasn't so bad"He smiled causing the tips of your lips to quirk up as well,"Yes, it really wasn't"You replied gently as you then realized both of you were still holding hands.

"Um...I-"You face increased steadily in its temperature as your cheeks reddened in a noticeable manner.

"Y/n?What's wrong?Are you coming down with a fever?"He asked, worry dipping from his wrods as he raised up your straightened h/c bangs and placed his strong forehead on yours causing you heartbeat to quicken.

"I-I-I need to rest! Yeah, thats what I need!"You blabbered in a flustered manner as you fell onto your bed and faced the opposite side of him so that he could see your back instead.

"Okay, I actually do have to go train now, Sleep well Y/n"Tanjiro's gentle voice rang through your ear and you bit the inside of your cheek.

"Why does he make me feel this way?.." You thought calming yourself down as you began to doze off into a serene state of rest.

* * * * *

"Y/nnnn cmon just take it!"Tanjiro whined, pleading you as you shook your head even more.

"You wont get better if you don't"He said giving you another reason to take your disgusting medications from the tray they laid on.

"Ugh fine..I hate this"You mubled as he beamed, happy yhat you armgreed and placed them on your palm accompanied by a glass of refreshing water. You shut your eyes close and quickly downed the drugs,grimacing in distate.

"Bitter..."You mumbled, smacking your tongue against your upper mouth as Tanjiro patted your head as his usual form of comfort.

* * * * *

"The Traveler then strolled into the forest and was never seen or heard from, 'again'"Tanjiro narrated the book in a scary way as he shut it close, laughing at how scared you were quivering under your bed sheet.

"Y/n dont be scared, Im here to protect you and this time without fail"He smiled as you removed the blanket from you and looked up at him.

"Thank you Tanjiro, I lo--"You stopped yourself, were you just about to say you loved him?, Do you love him?, Does he love you the same way you do? Do--

"Y/n!"Tanjiro yelled worriedly as you snapped out of your thoughts and back to reality.

"Are you alright!?"He asked as he placed both hands on your shoulder and you laughed in response, "I'm fine Tanjiro-kun, thank you for taking care of me"

"Don't thank me for doing my duty Y/n"He replied as he took your right hand into his warm ones,beaming once more as your heart thumped like it usually did when you were around him.

* * * * * *

"Slowly, one more step, yes you're doing it"Tanjiro smiled and instructed you as he helped you to walk down the hallway , your leg had actually recovered to the point where you were allowed to leave your hospital room and see your friends.

"I can't do it Tanjiro-san!"You whined with an arm slung on Tanjiro's shoulder for support.

"Yes you can Y/n, try try!"He supported you with encouraging words as you smiled and continued to walk with him. Ignoring the pain and limping to the field where Inosuke, Zenitsu and Nezuko were according to Tanjiro.

"Mina!!Guys!"You exclaimed as Nezuko who had been running away from Zenitsu paused to stare at you, you could see the edge of her brows perk up in worry as she hurried towards you and engulfed you in a hug.

"Yoshi yoshi Nezuko-chan, I missed you too"You giggled as Nezuko cuddled her head on your chest.

"I see you're ready to spar me again idiot"Inosuke smirked as the same expression found its way to your face.

"Come at me stupid"You responded as he began to run up to you but was blocked by Tanjiro.

"Leave Y/n Alone Inosuke, Fight me instead"Tanjiro said as Inosuke thought about it for a second and accepted his offer.

"Wait..."You thought as you stared at the space Tanjiro was supposed to be in next to you, only see blank lines of his body causing you to fall to the ground.

"Owie...my butt.."You mumbled, rubbing your backside as everyone gasped and ran up to you. You stared at their distraught faces and couldnt help stifling and then bursting out laughing. Everyone except nezuko joined in while she just blinked and looked around like usual.

* * * * * * *

"Can I open my eyes now?"You asked pouting as you waved your arms around to make sure you didn't hit anything since all you could see was black because Tanjiro was covering your eyes.

"Almost there"He told you as you pouted even more and continued walking,you then noticed you were in the field because of how normal the grass had felt tickling your feet.

Your eyes were uncovered and you stared at the beautiful arrangement of hung flowers,decorations and tables filled with food and snacks, it was nighttime as well and in the background of the midnight sky you could hear the whistle of fireworks as they bursted in a pure bliss of colorful sparks all around.

"HAPPY RECOVERY Y/N!!!!"Everyone including you team, friends, nurses and even the hashira's came out of their hiding spots and yelled out to you as the fireworks continued in the background.

Gentle and silent tears streamed down your cheeks as your heart ached,"Thank you guys,thank you so mu--"You were surprised to feel yourself held by the shoulders and twisted right to face someone.

"Tanjiro, w-what are you--"You were cut off by his lips pressing gently on yours as he placed his hands firmly onto your waist, with eyes wide and a thumping heart his kiss stole all thoughts that had enveloped your mind.

The crowd began to cheer loudly as your eyes fluttered close and with hot cheeks you willingly kissed him back, wrapping your eyes around his neck gently and humming in gentle pleasure.

"Yeah Tanjiro go get some!!"The Fire Hashira yelled as he was smacked in the head by Giyuu.

"Young love...so b-beautiful"The Love Hashira mumbled as she wiped the tears forming at the corner of her lids.

He then pulled away causing you to whimper at the lost of his lips as he placed his forehead on yours, "Y/n, I love you"He said, breathing heavily but still gentle enough to not be heard.

"Tanjiro, I...I love you too"You smiled genuinely, heart skipping in the background.

"Will you be mine?"He asked as he knelt on one knee, holding a rose that came out of nowhere with a hopeful smile on his face.

"I--"You then nodded, being too nervous to answer his question properly, "Oh my God guys she said Yes!!!"Tanjiro yelled to everyone as they all began to cheer and clap excitedly. He then embraced you in a warm and loving hug which you accepted. Standing on your tip toes to peck him on the lips, its a good thing your leg was fully healed.

"You and I forever Y/n"He whispered in your ear as you smiled and nodded.

"Mhm, You and I forever, Tanjiro-kun."

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [991]

As Bull pulls away Ellana raises her hand to pull his head back to her. Her other hand is still firmly curled against the leather straps crossing over his chest, letting him know that this is exactly where she wants him. Bull turns his head, mouth catching against her palm, then lowering for teeth to nip at her wrist.

His teeth catch against the edge of sensitive skin, right next to a still healing scrape. The wound isn’t serious and is, for the most part, healed. But the sensation of touch on the still raw area is more unpleasant than it is anything else.

Bull pauses, one of his hands moving from where he’d braced it on the wall, bracketing her in, to take her arm. He turns it, turning his gaze onto it as he carefully examines the skin.

“No?”

“Just be careful with it,” Ellana replies, “It’s healed over, but the scab isn’t ready to come off and it makes the area sensitive.”

Bull nods once, letting her hand go so he can place his hand on the old stone again.

“What else? What’s good with you right now?”

“To borrow a phrase from Stitches, you sound like an eager beaver.”

Both of them let that sentence hang for a moment.

“Did that feel as terrible to say with your own mouth as it was to hear it with my own ears?” Bull asks.

“Yes, and I still doesn’t know why he says it,” Ellana answers immediately. She turns her focus inward, taking mental inventory of herself. “Nothing below the waist. Clothes stay on.”

Bull nods, leaning in to kiss her again. Ellana quickly brings her hand up to block.

“Your turn.”

Bull licks her palm, but that won’t work as a deterrent on Ellana. She’s grown up with too many idiots.

Ellana raises her eyebrows and leans back against the stone, folding both her arms over her chest and doing her best to channel as much of Vivienne de Fer’s imperious gaze as she can muster.

Bull sighs, closing his eye and letting his hands slide down off the wall he was leaning on as he stands up straight. His head tilts back as he thinks.

“Nothing broken, nothing sprained,” He says, “Bruises from that last run-in with some giants are healing.” Bull hesitates before continuing, “Some of the usual aches in the shoulders to upper back. It shouldn’t be a problem if we don’t do anything too involved. Good?”

Ellana nods, unfolding her arms and reaching for him. “Good.”

Before Ellana can actually touch him her ears pick up on the sound of running and the cracking of branches.

Both she and Bull turn towards the sound, Bull reaching for the sword he’d left leaning against a little further away, and Ellana pouring magic into her hands.

“I take you out to the middle of ass-fuck nowhere, tell everyone to fuck off, and this is what happens,” Bull mutters. “Can’t even get a kiss off of you without finding some kind of trouble, Wolf.”

“More trouble than it’s worth?” Ellana asks, not taking her eyes away from the direction she can hear the sound coming from.

“You always make it up to me,” Bull replies, hand on her shoulder and pushing her back as he moves to stand in front, sword at the ready. “Careful with the flashy shit. I don’t know how much that wall can handle. It’s barely standing as is.”

“Good thing we agreed on nothing strenuous.”

“We should probably sit down and discuss what you consider strenuous and in what context.”

“Oh you want to have a discussion do you? Such character growth. The most I normally get out of you is a debate.”

“Shield.”

Ellana’s left hand snaps out, magic flowing to slide over the Iron Bull’s skin, coating him in a faint shimmer of magic. At the same time her right hand raises up, palm flat, and comes down to draw an invisible wall in front of him and whatever is approaching. Whatever it is sounds big. Possibly wounded.

“Cast offs?” Ellana asks, mind going through a list of known threats in the area. Wolves or bears on the hunt, possibly. Maybe even some wolverines. Ellana doesn’t think there are any wyverns around here.

Bull adjusts his grip on his sword and Ellana prepares lightning just as whatever it is comes crashing out of the tree line.

What hits first is the smell, like rot and damp and cold, and then the actual image.

Bull swears furiously, dropping his sword to move forward and haul Maxwell Trevelyan’s unconscious body off of the bog unicorn’s back.

“Middle of nowhere, Wolf,” Bull says as he carefully lies Maxwell out on the ground, “Middle of nowhere and trouble finds you.”

Ellana quickly rushes to them, eyes scanning Maxwell for visible injury as she lays her hands on him.

“Fever,” Ellana says, one hand on Maxwell’s head.

Bull works on unfastening Maxwell’s vambraces as Ellana tries to get her fingers past his gorget to try and check his pulse.

“Fast,” Bull says as soon as he’s got the piece of armor off along with Maxwell’s thick leather glove.

Ellana leans in to smell Max’s breath for anything unusual. “Nothing unusual. Symptoms of lyrium withdrawal?”

“If it was getting that bad they’d have never let him out into the field,” Bull points out. He turns his attention to the bog unicorn, rising to his feet to inspect the creature’s saddle for any clues. “Stay here with him and the horse. I’m going back to camp to get Stitches and have someone send a message. Is he stable or should we risk further transport?”

“He’s stable for now that I can tell,” Ellana says, pulling Max’s head onto her lap as she lightly cools the hand on her head. With her other hand she starts casting defensive wards around them. “Go.”

Bull nods, taking the mount’s reigns and quickly urging it to follow him back in the direction it came from.

Ellana sighs, brushing Max’s hair back from his damp forehead fondly. “Oh, Max. You always have the most terrible timing, don’t you? You and Evelyn. I wonder if it’s a family trait.”

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Jigsaw // Black : Part Two

I Promise

A/N: Time’s up. Frank’s here. It’s all about to end. Will Billy be able to finish it on his terms and keep his promise to you? 

Warning: gun violence, weapons, major character death

Word Count: 3,770

“You’re almost done, Billy.” He leaned back in his chair in the communications tent, eyes closed, just listening. The cushioned headset he wore drowned out most of the background noise, letting him focus more clearly on you. If he concentrated hard enough, he could pretend that the muffled voices of the men right outside were just your neighbors, arguing again. He could pretend that he was sitting across from you in your living room instead of across oceans and continents.“Less than three months now, then you’ll be-” He swallowed, squeezing his eyelids shut at the way your voice betrayed you, hitching before your muttered ‘fuck’. You took a breath to steady yourself but he could hear the tears behind it. Fuck, he repeated to himself. “Then you’ll be back home, Billy.” 

 The last time he’d been able to talk to you, it had been a video call. The screen froze and the audio lagged at certain points, but getting to see you- the way your eyebrows would jump and your eyes would grow round before your smile overtook your face, or the way you’d look down and shake your head before you broke into a laugh-  getting to see you was more than worth the technical frustrations. But this time, a video call wasn’t an option. His unit had recently moved to a new location, and things weren’t entirely set up yet. He dragged a bruised hand down over his dirty face, palm curving around the overgrown beard covering his chin and jaw. Despite the fact that he wanted nothing more than to have you right there in front of him, to take you in his arms and feel you warm and real against him, he was glad that the network wasn’t set up yet, glad that you couldn’t see how drained and ragged he knew that he looked; he was glad that he couldn’t see how broken you sounded. The past few weeks had been tough on both of you. He was glad he didn’t have to see it on you.   

 “Yeah,” he forced the exhaustion down, like he’d been trained to do, replacing it with a stability that he didn’t feel. “Yeah, that’s right.” 

 “Like you promised,” you breathed, giving in to the tears. 

 Fuck that goddamn promise. On nights like this, when he could feel the odds tilting against him, he hated the fact that he’d given you hope where he had no business to do so. “Yeah,” he answered. “Yeah, like I promised.” I’m tryin’ like Hell. 

 A door opened and someone called his name. “Time’s up Russo.” 

 “RUSSO!” The harsh scrape and cold metallic clang of the warehouse door accompanied the wild roar of his name. Pupils dilating and attention snapping back to the present, he inhaled through his nose and silently rose to his feet, back to the wall. Why did I...why that… “RUSSO! Where are you?” Frank bellowed as the door slammed shut again. But Billy knew he’d be there, knew he was coming. What he didn’t understand was why he’d recalled that conversation. He’d talked to you a handful of times between that night and the night he’d sent the email that had ended things. So why… Why was his battered brain replaying that scene? Why now? “Bill! Goddamnit, Bill, I know you’re here. Where are you?” Time’s up.

 Frank’s booming voice echoed in the steel and concrete space, his boots crunching over broken glass from the fallen panes. Billy inched his way around the corner, the brick wall to his back as he slunk in the shadows until he could peer over the edge of the broken window into the room below. He cocked his head to the side as, unseen, he watched Frank stride into view. In the past Frank had been beside him when he’d taken the high ground on an enemy. This was a different angle, one that made his stomach lurch. Shit. Suddenly, eyes trained on his former friend, he realized why that particular memory had come to him. Goddamnit it, Frankie. 

 “Russo, I feel like you’re someone I can depend on,” Rawlins spoke casually, even when the topic was anything but. Billy couldn’t stand the man, but he knew that he had endless resources at his fingertips, knew that he was the kind of man that could make things happen. “Am I right, soldier?” 

 Billy regarded the cocky little bastard, weighing his response. What’s in it for me? “Yessir,” he answered, thinking only about self preservation, thinking only about how to fulfill that damn promise to you. 

 “And Castle?” The man shifted his weight, beady little eyes on Billy. “Is he someone I can depend on? Or is he going to be a problem?” 

 “I trust Frank with my life, sir.” Billy answered without hesitation. 

 Rawlins smiled, taking a step towards Billy, shaking one finger. “That’s nice, soldier.” The way he said the word, employing all of the superiority that his rank allowed, made Billy cringe. “But that’s not the question I asked you.” 

 “No, sir,” Billy dished the emphasis right back. “Frank won’t be a problem.” We gotta get outta this, Frankie. You gotta trust me, brother. 

 “Alright then, Russo, you’re dismissed. Go take your turn in the comms tent. I’m sure you’ve got someone to call back home.” 

 It was still weeks before the fateful night that Billy tore Frank away from Rawlins’ twitching, bloody form. But it was the first night Billy knew that shit was going south, and that his only chance of coming out of it on top was to convince Frank follow his lead. We do what he says and we walk away from this. We go home, start that security team...He thought of you as he followed his feet to the communications tent. After a string of rough missions and a stretch of sleepless nights, all he wanted was to hear your voice. Frank goes home to his family. I go home to her. 

 That’s why… 

 That’s why he was standing where he was, scarred and carved out and hollow. That’s why Frank was downstairs, blinded by rage and fueled by vengeance. Damnit, Frank, why couldn’t you see it? 

 Billy watched as Frank turned, slowly pacing and scanning the dark room. With another bellow of Billy’s name, he finished his circle, facing Billy’s direction. Stark white against the jet black vest, the skull that haunted him for months seared through his memory, burning every single page as it flipped back to the night on the carousel. The night l lost her. He flinched away from the razor sharp memory of that last kiss as he begged you to leave the park, get far away from him. The night he took her from me. The razor zipped back through his brain to show him your lifeless body, the eerie blue lights reflecting off skin that was already growing cold as the ponies carried him away from you. He took everything from me. He watched Frank’s shoulders hunch and tense up as the man prepared to shout again. His heart thumped wildly in his chest, his blood pulsing behind his eyes. Time’s up. 

 “Right here, Frankie boy,” he sneered, stepping away from the wall. He had Madani’s gun pointed right at Frank’s head, and in less than half a second Frank had returned the favor, spinning on a dime to find Billy and line up a shot. Some things never change. “I’m right here.” 

 “You alone, Russo? Huh? Anyone else here?” Half of Frank’s face was obscured by his gun and his outstretched arms, but Billy recognized the flame in that man’s eyes. It was the same fire that burned in his own. 

 “Yeah,” Billy spat from behind his own weapon. “Yeah I’m alone. You made sure’a that, didn’t you, Frank?” You lost your family so you took mine away.

 “Ah, c’mon, cut the shit, Bill, you can’t put this on me. You know you can’t.” He was slowly advancing towards the staircase, Billy moving along upper level as Frank moved below, like magnets pushing and pulling against one another.  

 Billy’s lungs heaved under his ribs, massive intakes of breath that made him fight dizziness. Can’t put it on you, Frank? Anger ripped through every cell in his body leaving his bones vibrating.  “YOU. SHOT. HER!” His voice tore and frayed into threads as he squeezed the trigger of his gun. It was a poorly timed and badly aimed shot and he knew it. It was an emotional reaction and he cursed himself for it as the bang reverberated in the warehouse. Fuck! He told himself he wouldn’t waste the few bullets he had, and he’d blown one within the first minute. Frank had dodged the shot, reading Billy’s telegraph and rolling closer to the staircase. “Don’t, DON’T, tell me it’s not on you, YOU KILLED HER!” He kept his gun raised but refrained from shooting again until he knew he had his shot. Until he gets up here. Right up close.

 Frank groaned, as though he was tired of the topic. “And why were we there that night, huh?” He slowly made his way up the rickety stairs. “Why did I kill her? Why is my family dead?” Billy’s nostrils flared as he tried to get his breathing back under control, gun still pointed at Frank as he backed further into the lofted area. “That doctor,” Fuck that doctor. “Madani,” Billy seethed as he tightened his grip on her gun. “Lotta bodies, Bill. Lotta Blood on your hands.”

  Lotta blood on both our hands, Frankie, or did you forget that? “Yeah,” Billy scoffed. “Yeah. Just got one more to add.” Then I’m done. 

 Frank was only one step away from the top when he locked eyes with Billy and pulled the trigger, a gravelly yell coming from him as he did. Just like Frank had done, Billy was able to throw himself sideways and out of range, ducking behind one of the overturned file cabinets that he’d moved to take cover. Frank let two more shots rip, the bullets lodging in the thick metal, denting it with deadly force. Billy waited for the ringing to subside, until he could hear Frank’s footsteps again, before he moved. The bandage he’d wrapped around his arm after leaving Madani’s apartment had torn off as he landed behind the cabinet, cool air hitting the wound as warm blood seeped into his shirtsleeve. “You’re not gonna kill me, Bill! I’m not the one who dies!”  

 “You’re not gonna die today. Dyin’s easy.”

 The garbled music of the carousel played like a soundtrack as Frank’s words echoed in his memory. “You had your chance to kill me. Now it’s my turn.” He slid along the cabinet as Frank circled around, firing two more shots into the space where Billy was just seconds ago. Getting the drop on him, Billy stood and quickly spun behind another shelving unit. “I’m a hard man to kill, Frank.” Especially now. I got nothin’ to lose. He aimed through a busted shelf as Frank gaped around the room looking for him. He fired at the exact moment that Frank moved, the bullet only grazing the man’s shoulder and giving away Billy’s location. Damnit. 

 With a grunt, Frank turned in Billy’s direction. “You’re right, Russo. You are a hard man to kill. I shoulda finished things that night, I shoulda,” he reached into his pocket and Billy’s eyes went wide. Oh, shit. “Not makin’ that mistake again, Bill.” He pulled the pin from the small metal orb in his hand, cocking his arm back. 

 From the shape of the grenade, Billy could tell it was just a flashbang, a non-lethal blast that was used for distraction or to flush an enemy out. The combustion alone wouldn’t usually be enough to kill anyone, but whether or not Frank was aware of it, the warehouse was full of old aerosol paint cans, and they, as they caught fire and exploded, could certainly be deadly. “No! Don’t!” He shouted as Frank released the grenade, but he was too late, the cannister tumbling towards him through the air as he dove as far as he could. 

 The flash ignited instantly, a brilliant burst of light followed by a loud crack as Billy flew through the air. Just as he knew would happen, the blast sparked a flame that spread in a matter of milliseconds to the pile of spent spray cans that had fallen from the shelf. Frank was blown backwards as Billy landed, cans exploding to send twisted bits of hot metal and plastic through the room. Searing heat and a deep, burning pain told Billy that he was still alive, and he blinked and coughed, scooting back against a damaged door frame. Finish it. Gotta...gotta finish it. He blinked again and again, trying to clear the brightness, your face flashing behind his eyelids every time. “Billy,” you reached for him like you had in his mind the night in the park. Hang on, he begged you. I’m comin’. A groan from the other side of the room and a shuffling sound told him that Frank had survived the blast, too. Just gotta finish this. Almost done.      

  Deafening bangs tore through the air as several more paint cans exploded, flames flaring as they burst, brilliant orange and raging red. Billy crouched with his back to one of the door frame as the cans turned to shrapnel and flew in all directions. As the shock of the explosion subsided, he found the source of that burning pain. He looked down at his right thigh, black jeans torn, blood and mangled skin visible through the tear. Shit. He knew he had to stop the bleeding, knew he didn’t have long if he couldn’t. He had eyes on Frank and saw that he was hit, too, clutching his left bicep near the crook of his elbow, and knew he had a minute to recover while Frank did the same. Hands shaking, he pressed his palms around the pointed piece of aluminum protruding from his leg. Wincing, Billy determined that it was too deep to simply pull out. He recalled the crash course in IED wound care that he’d taken years ago. If the shrapnel hits the femoral artery, apply pressure and call for a Med-Evac immediately. He removed his hands from the wound and blood spurted out around the edges of the jagged metal, hot and thick as it soaked his pant leg. He slowed his breathing as the rapid blood loss threatened dizziness, and focused on tearing the bottom hem of his shirt. It took more strength than he thought, but he tore the material and wrapped it tightly around the wound, surrounding the piece of metal to make sure it didn’t move. 

His heart drummed loudly in his ears, like it was warning him that it was beating out it’s final rhythm. Not yet. Not...not until I finish this… He squeezed his eyes shut to try to focus, opening them again as he heard more movement from Frank. He’d secured his own wound, picked his gun back up, and Billy could see him staggering to his feet. Time to move. He tested out his injured leg, putting weight on it slowly until he was standing, too. Another shot caught him off guard as Frank took advantage of the fact that he’d found his feet first, ripping into his side, right next to the long, puffy scar that Frank had left him with the last time they’d done this dance. A burst of air left his lungs as he fell back into the wall and fired his own shot, the last bullet in the chamber finding its mark and tearing into Frank’s collarbone, right above the vest he wore. Both men slid back down, clutching their new wounds as blood spilled over their fingers. That drum beat in Billy’s chest changed tempo to tell him time was short. His breathing came shallow and rapid quick as color faded from his vision, everything turning a drab gray or a thick, heavy black. He choked as dark, hot blood dribbled from his lips and exhaustion filled every muscle, slowing his movements. Almost done. 

 “How’d we get here, Bill?” Frank groaned the question, and Billy could tell that he was in rough shape, too. “How’d...this...goddamnit, Russo, how’d we get here?”

 “Could…” he coughed, spit and blood spraying from his mouth. “Could ask you the same...question, Frank. You…you did this. You…” He felt his voice break as the weight of everything he’d lost pressed down on the shell of his body. You. Him. The Castles. Everything. Tears stung at the corners of his eyes, burning from the smoke and from the way he felt you reaching out to him. “Remember the fires, Frankie? ‘Member… remember how they smelled? Rubber’n oil and…” he wrinkled his nose, the acrid memory filling his nostrils. “Shit like that… it’s burned in there, Frank.” He pressed the ball of his hand into his eye, palm and fingers curving around his brow. “And now she’s…” He winced, coughing and squeezing his eyes shut as tight as he could. “Now she’s there, Frank, she’s there,” with the fires, and the bombs, and, and the nightmares, and it’s not right.”

 “You put her there, Bill...It’s your fault she’s there.” He choked the words out, absolute conviction filling what was left of his voice. 

 “No.” Billy clutched the top of his head with one hand as he shook it to clear Frank’s accusation. No. No, it’s not. “No, no! No, Frank, you did! You killed her like you killed your family.” He shouted across the vast space, voice cracking and breaking, throat raw from the hot, smoke-filled air. 

 “Bullshit!” Frank lobbed his response around the corner like another grenade, the absolute hatred in that one word raining more rubble down around the remains of what they once had. “They loved you, Bill. They- and you…” He paused, a breath leaving his lungs in the form of an anguished grunt. “My kids, my wife! They loved you like you were one of us, Bill.” I know they did, that’s why I… He doesn’t see it, he still doesn’t see... He pounded the cinderblock wall behind him with the side of his closed fist in frustration as Frank continued. “And you betrayed them. You killed my family and-” No. 

 “I tried to save your family, Frank!” Billy cut him off, spit flying from his lips as he screamed, fist slamming the wall twice more to open up small cuts on the meat of his hand.He didn’t feel it, numb to everything except the acidic sting of Frank’s inability to see. He took a shuddering breath, fighting harder and harder to fight the slow, creeping cold that was starting to shut him down. Why can’t he… “I tried to warn you. I tried to...but you didn’t...you didn’t listen, Frank, you never...listened! That transfer? You should have… god damnit, Frank, why didn’t you take that fucking transfer?” She’d be alive. Your family would be alive, we’d all be… The room spun, vision taking longer and longer to come back after each blink, coming through darker and darker. He’s not gonna...I can’t make him see. I can’t. He shoved his hand in his pocket, fingers wrapping around the blade handle, knuckles brushing over the photo. Gotta finish it. 

 Frank continued his protests as Billy harnessed as much strength as he could, refusing to fail as he forced himself to his feet. He saw you in that blue dress that you wore in his conjured vision from the ball. Another can burst somewhere to his left as he took a step. You stretched your arms out wide in front of Alice and her bronze companions, thick blue scarf wrapped around your neck. A shattered pane of glass fell from the window that looked out over the bottom floor, and there you were, next to him on that carousel, begging him to hold on. Another step. Another flash. “X Marks the spot, Billy” He pulled the knife from his pocket. “Like you promised.” Frank let the last of his bullets fly, grazing Billy’s shoulder. “I love you, Billy”.  He kept moving, kept coming, kept going, and Frank couldn’t get out of his path. 

 His knee hit the ground, his whole weight behind the drop, letting gravity help him as he caught the back of Frank’s skull with his free hand, driving his knife through his throat until his knuckles touched flesh and his forehead fell against Frank’s. “Dyin’s easy.” He heard the words again and watched how true they were as the man he once called brother spasmed and fell silent, his blood coating Billy’s fingers, his weight heavy in his arms. It’s over, Frank. It’s done. Billy set his body down, a new level of emptiness scraping at his battered heart. It’s done. I’m done. He closed his eyes as the fires swept through the building, but you were there, and you were calling him, and he couldn’t let go until he found you. Opening his eyes, he gasped and gulped for air as his fingers relaxed their grip on the blood soaked blade that he held, diving into his pocket to find the bent, glossy print instead. A sob fell from his lips as his eyes landed on your face and he whispered your name. 

 He kept his eyes on the photo until they burned from the smoke, until they blurred and filled with tears. He wiped them roughly away with his sleeve before squinting back at the image for another few seconds.  “I want a picture of us. Here.” Your voice filled his ears, replacing the roar of the flames and the pop of the bursting cans, taking him out of the warehouse and back to the park. “I… you’re leaving, Billy. In a few days and…”  He slid his thumb up over to cover his own face, as he’d done the first time he’d been handed the photo. “And I want a picture, before you go.”  But this time when he slid it back down, a smear of blood kept his likeness covered, leaving only you, smiling up at the faceless man. “Okay?” 

 “Okay.” He looked over at Frank, at the flames and the broken glass and he knew this wasn’t where he was supposed to be. “Okay,” he moaned weakly, tears falling and lungs heaving as he dragged himself to his feet again. “Okay, I’m comin’...I promise.”

.

.

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@something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @gollyderek @thesumofmychoices  @obscurilicious @traeumerinwitzhelden @jigsawlover10 @getlostinyourparadise @breanime @nananananananananananabatman @lexxierave @songforhema @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @lysawayne @roses-in-your-country-house @ymariejp @belladonnarey @audreychaz @songtoyou @stories-you-wont-hear @luminex3 @ificouldhelpyouforget

[hardyimagines]

The Prison Guard’s Daughter

Drabble

Warnings: sexual

———————————————————————

“I think you need to be taught a fucking lesson.” He ground out roughly. His voice was deep and low, a sound that rumbled deep within his chest before rolling past his lips. The door behind him was bolted, locked and securing you away inside. You were trapped. It was your fault though, you’d been silly enough to wander down the corridor he was tucked away in and then even more foolish enough to converse with him.

Charles Bronson was very manipulative. Very attractive. He could be sweet if he wanted to be. And that was exactly how you’d wound up coming into his cell. The room was cold, grey, and dusty. It wasn’t welcoming at all and you found it quite difficult to get comfortable in the boring room. You perched yourself down on the edge of his bed before twisting your hands in the front of your blouse. He’d never hurt you. You knew that much. So then why was your stomach churning with nerves?

“Why’s that?” You whispered breathily. Your voice was flooded with the same nerves that tickled your tummy, dripping evidently with worry that a switch would flip inside him and the violence that he exposed to the guards would be thrusted upon you. Once again, you knew that he’d never ever harm you — but the worry was still present.

You were the Prison guard’s helper. His little assistant. His pride and joy. His daughter. He was so reluctant when he’d agreed to hire you because he didn’t want any of the men here to mess with you. For the most part, they didn’t. Nobody wanted time added on to their sentence or to be tucked away in a cell in a secluded part of the prison. Nobody except Charles Bronson.

He never bothered to bite his tongue or think about what he was saying when it regarded you. He’d made it clear to you on many different occasions that he had high intentions to fuck you silly, but you’d always brushed off his little comments because you knew there was no way that he’d ever get you alone. You were, in all truth, all for it. It was a bit thrilling to do something so forbidden...

“Prancing around here all day long, hovering outside my cell, sunshine.. if you wanted me, you know, all you had to do was open the fucking door.” He approached your knees, bent so your calves could lazily swing.

“I have duties, Mr. Bronson, and keeping a close eye on you alongside my other tasks are top priority. You’re the biggest threat here.” You informed him before slowly drawing your bottom lip in so you could suckle on it.

“How’s it feel?” He lowered his thick fingers to the belt that circled his waist. “To be stuck inside with me?” The fastening on the belt clinked softly, metal scraping metal as he undid it at a very slow pace. He wanted your mind to spin and your head to scream at you for being stupid enough to venture into his private space. He wanted you to know how absolutely idiotic you were for coming into his cell where he could feast on you and nobody in the prison would know.

Bronson was so much bigger than you. A boulder in comparison to a pebble. You swallowed thickly before slowly placing your fingers on knees. Smoothing down your trousers, you peered up at the threatening bloke who seemed to be growing cockier and louder the longer he looked at you. “You won’t hurt me.”

“It’s not about pain, sunshine. But you, yeah, you’ve got no idea what I’m capable of.” He whispered thickly before shrinking toward you. “Too much pleasure will become unbearable and you’ve just locked yourself away in here with me for god knows how long.”

“Maybe I did it intentionally.” You bit back before slowly standing. The bed creaked noisily at the loss of your weight being applied to the wood. Standing in front of him bravely, you stared up at him with a hardened stare before pushing past him.

“You intentionally locked yourself in a cell with me?” His stomach flooded with pride, a significant feed to his ego.

You rolled your eyes at his question. “Oh shut it.” You moved to the door. Your fingers grazed the cold handle before moving to the small hatch. Pushing it open, you called for someone to come and assist you, but it was silent.

“Guards don’t often venture down this far, now, do they? Seeing as I am probably their least favorite prisoner.” He bit his cheek roughly and watched the way your hips swayed.

“Their goal in life is to avoid you.” You murmured before letting out a breathy sigh as you rotated to face him. “And I’m not suppose to be anywhere near you.” You pouted childishly. He found it rather cute.

“Daddy’s not my biggest fan, eh?” He chortled before moving toward you, forcing you to step back each time. “Tell me, Y/n, why you spend so much time hanging around this area if you’re meant to avoid it at all costs?” The question didn’t need an answer. He saw the attraction you felt for him, simmering in your gaze. “And why did you intentionally put yourself in my cell?”

Your back hit the wall behind you, forearms folding over the front of your stomach as your eyes slid along the length of his face. “I..” It was hard to form a coherent thought when being so close to him and he seemed to relish in the affect he had over you. “came into your cell because you lured me in.” You murmured honestly. “but I wasn’t exactly worried about it. You’ve always been so harmless.”

Prison guards left with bloody noses, missing teeth, bruised cheeks and achy necks after getting into brawls with Bronson.

He laughed audibly, the shaky sound flooding the entirety of the room. “Harmless?” His fingers brushed along the navy blue tank top he wore. “You think I’m harmless?”

“When it comes to women.” You defended. “Not so much when it comes to men in charge..” The shakiness in your breath contradicted the words that left your lips. If he was so harmless, why did you tremble? You weren’t ever afraid of him before. Shaking as you stood before him. It was because you were alone.

When bringing him lunch or assisting him alongside other guards, you held your chin up, fluttered your lashes, flirted with him when he flirted with you. But this, this was a completely different woman stood before him.

“Then why are you shaking?” He whispered hoarsely as he approached you completely. Bronson lifted his hand and placed it on the wall beside your head. Trapping you once again. He stared down at you with an intense stare, urging you to open up. When you didn’t speak right away though, he took it upon himself to fill in the silence. “Is it because you’re not use to messing around with boys much bigger than you? Not use to being secluded with someone so.. threatening?”

“I’m not afraid of you, Mr. Bronson.” You informed him before letting out an audible sigh. Laying your hand against his belly in order to push him back, you halted at the tight skin that resided beneath the fabric. Letting your fingertips trace the muscles, your brows creased. “You’re running out of time, you know. You’ll only have me stuck in here with you for a limited amount of time. My father has someone checking on my whereabouts every thirty minutes.” Your eyes locked on to his own.

“Is that your way of telling me to get on with it?” He lifted his large hand to your cheeks. Pinching them tenderly, his hand stroked your warm skin before gliding down to your throat. He squeezed it delicately before leaning in so his hot breaths tickled your parted lips. “I don’t want to rush this. And I won’t. I don’t care who’s on the other side of that door.” Your head tipped back slightly, hum leaving your lips as you shut your eyes.

“You’re all talk. I’ve been in here for at least ten minutes and you haven’t done anything to me... I know the second the guards are lined up outside and my daddy’s stood at the back, demanding they come in and get me.. you’re fucked.” The word sounded so wrong leaving your lips. You drew the pink flesh in and nibbled on it before lifting your other hand to rest on his stomach beside the first one.

“It’s you that’ll be fucked and your daddy won’t be too happy about that, will he?” His hand fell to your wrist. Gripping it, he lifted it swiftly and drew it around his strong shoulders. “Peeking through the peephole to see if his babygirl is okay..” He leaned in and pressed his lips against your ear. “Only to find her slumped on the bed with her trousers around her ankles and her blouse torn open.” He let his lips graze your ear lobe, pinching it tenderly. “You’ll be a moaning, groaning, panting mess when I’m finished with you.”

Bronson tightened his grip on your throat before pulling you off the wall and pushing you toward the bed. He was firm. Forceful. But not causing any pain. You collapsed on the bed with a noisy swallow before laying down on your back. Watching him intently as he lowered his hands to his belt, you shivered excitedly. The sound of the leaky sink in the corner mixed with the dull tinking of his belt. He unfastened the strap much quicker than you’d expected, giving you no time at all to undress.

Bronson grunted heavily before moving toward the bed. He hunched over, palms finding your upper thighs so he could pry them open and lower himself down on top of you. He knelt between your legs, eyes trailing along the length of your face and then down the length of your body. You were beautiful. But he didn’t voice his thoughts. His fingers sunk into your skin, teeth gritting and jaw clenching as he held back the want to tear your clothes from your form and ram himself into you. It had been forever since he’d had sex so he knew he wasn’t going to be able to be too delicate with you. He was sure you knew that though.. he’d been in prison for what felt like forever.

Your fingertip lifted to his cheek, gliding along the soft surface lazily before you leaned up on your elbows and let your nose skim his own. Your lips parted slowly, residing centimeters from his own as your hot breaths mingled. You’d never ever thought you’d be given the chance to fool around with Charles Bronson. He was so dangerous. So watched. It was surprising to you that you’d been in the room long enough to have somewhat of a conversation with the bloke. You were sure someone was going to come knocking though, banging on the door as they demanded to know if you were in his room. They’d check all the rooms, of course, anxious to find your whereabouts.

“My daddy’s gonna have you transferred once he finds out what you’ve done to me.” You whispered quietly, attempting to bite back the little frown that pulled at your lips. Bronson lowered his head, purposefully avoiding your lips so he could instead assault your throat. His mouth was curious and careful, so different to his firm hands which continued to adjust your thighs, pushing and guiding as he dragged your legs around his hips.

“Will you miss me?” He let out a hoarse chuckle before letting his teeth playfully nip your flesh. His hands moved north, hooking in the waist of your trousers so he could pull them down and off of you. He struggled for a moment because of the position, but he managed to get the fabric down and around your knees before he moved his hands up to your blouse.

“No.” You lied breathily before placing your hand on the base of his bald head. Pulling his mouth back toward your own, you angled your head so your mouths could lock together perfectly. The warmth that flooded you was enough to draw a surprised whimper from your throat. You hadn’t expected to enjoy his touch this much.

———————————————————————

A/N: this is incomplete and I actually feel really shitty for just uploading it, but I will probably add a second part to it somewhere down the line — but right now I’m in a horrible place mentally, I can’t even form a coherent sentence when I try to write. I hope you enjoy what little of it I did get to finish ❤️

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