#Alien Fire Anon | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

blindmagdalena · 1 year ago

Text

All That Glitters

18+ 15.7k words. Dragon!Homelander x F!Reader fantasy au, messy world building, referenced cannibalism, handfeeding, super dubious consent, sexual coercion, monster anatomy, size difference, cunnilingus, breeding kink, dirty talk, marathon sex, mating bond/bite, knotting, tongue baths, virgins, scent kink, overstimulation, body betrayal, fairy tale schmoop. AO3 Link!

Summary: In a world where the only currencies that matter are gold and blood, the gods are lavished with both. Your regions god is a fearsome beast said to reign hellfire from the skies should his appetite not be satiated. When the demand for human sacrifices increases, you make the choice to volunteer yourself, determined to bring an end to the bloodshed, and ascend into the jaws that await you in the old stone tower deep in the woods.

illustration by the ever incredible @anon-nee, who was instrumental to the writing of this fic. see the full piece here! originally written for Monsterlander Mania, but obviously spiraled wildly out of control.

For as long as you can remember, there have always been sacrifices.

Such a thing is not unique to your village. Gods–and the creatures worshiped as such–throughout the world demand all manner of recompense for protecting the lands of those who idolize them. If the slaughter of a single lamb ensures green pastures in which the herd may thrive, few ever think twice before they lift the blade.

Not all townships worship for benevolence, however. Yours has always worshiped for mercy.

For generations, stories of hellfire raining from the sky have been passed by your people. A great, terrible beast with wings as wide as ten men were tall once patrolled the skies above you, wielding power so devastating that not even ballistae firing bolts the size of tree trunks could fell it.

It had a hundred names, each more terrible than the last. Scourge of the Skies, the Red Death, Flame’s Maw, and perhaps most unfortunately, the Devourer. Named as such for the countless lives it began to claim when treasures were deemed an insufficient tribute. Sacrifices were initially sparse, required only every dozen or so seasons. As time went on, the Devourer grew greedier and greedier, with the timespan between sacrifices shortening.

By the time you offer yourself to the council, there has been a sacrifice every month for over a year.

The wagon hardly jostles on this well-trodden road. You imagine it used to be a rougher ride, but with the increase in frequency of travel, it has smoothed. The thought worsens the feeling of icy weight in your stomach. One might think the exquisite fabrics you’re dressed in would bring some measure of comfort–softer than anything you’ve worn before–but the extravagance of them only serves to further alienate you from yourself.

You have become a thing. A finely adorned offering, and the fabric makes your skin crawl for it.

The tree cover breaks, revealing a monolithic stone tower that stands so tall, it splits the sky in two.

The Tower of the Seven. It’s been generations since anyone knew exactly what it was named for, but legend speaks of mythic creatures that were once held in such reverence, this tower was built in their honor. It served as both a temple and home to these venerated beings.

The years have not been kind to it. The stone pillars have become wild with overgrowth, and the air about this place reeks of stale, old death.

It stands now as a graveyard.

Even the horses refuse to venture much further than the threshold of the treeline, forcing you and your attendants out of the wagon to tread the remainder of the trek on foot. The men who walk with you carry short swords, but they serve no practical purpose, their edges having long since dulled. They are not here to protect you, they are as much a part of the ceremony as your fine clothes.

You shield your eyes as you look up at the staggering height of the tower, but swiftly drop your gaze. Best not to think of what awaits you.

On paper, sacrifice seems a simple thing. Slitting one’s throat upon an altar, floating a burning pyre across the river, or feeding the tribute a concoction of sleeping death and burying them into eternal slumber. Murder can be a righteous thing in the hands of a believer, or so they say.

For you, and those who have come before you, martyrdom is not as effortless as lying down and dying for the cause. The tower presents a trial to you. You must willingly climb the hundreds upon hundreds of large stone steps in order to prove yourself a worthy tribute.

Why you must prove your flesh worthy of consumption is beyond you. You’ve never heard of a farmer who sends his cattle to run laps before the slaughter. It seems a petty thing to demand. Perhaps the Devourer has grown indolent and slovenly in its feasting.

It’s easy to dream up nightmarish images of such an awful creature. A legless winged wyrm with a ribbed body, fat and slimy like an oversized earthworm. It would have an enormous maw with hundreds upon hundreds of jagged teeth, its breath reeking of charred flesh and sulfur. Such a wicked beast would stink like the layers of hell.

Somehow, tormenting yourself like this is an oddly calming distraction. The more nightmarish it becomes in your mind, the less real all of this feels. It’s just a bad dream.

No one speaks as you reach the base of the tower. There’s nothing left to say. You’re one of a dozen in the last year alone these men have ferried to their death. It almost seems cruel to expect eye contact, let alone sympathy. For that reason, it catches you off guard when one of the older of the three, a man named Hector with a thick set of troubled brows furrowed above kind but bloodshot, watery eyes puts his hand on your shoulder, offering a light squeeze.

The last sacrifice had been his own daughter.

In his gaze you find grief and gratitude in equal measure. Neither brings comfort. You return a small nod and move your eyes back to the ordeal that awaits you.

The tower is like an optical illusion: the proportions make it seem a reasonable size at a distance, but the closer you walk to it, the more mythical a thing it becomes. The archways curve high above your head, sized for creatures of legend, and the head of the building disappears completely into the sky.

In the center of it, a spiraling stone staircase beckons you. The masonry is exquisitely smooth despite the age of it, carved in an era when magic was a hundred times more prolific than it is now. It’s wide and open, the steps so large that you’ll be taking them one at a time. Worse than that, however, is the complete absence of any kind of protective railing.

If you sway, you very well may fall to your death.

At the center of the spiral stands a pile of debris. As you approach, a rustling catches your attention and you freeze, eying the pile warily. The head of a creature suddenly pops up, startling your heart into a thunder, but after a beat you recognize it for what it is: a small fox, its muzzle dirty. The two of you stare at one another for a long moment before one of the men behind you calls out, “Shoo, shoo now.”

Everyone keeps hushed, as if terrified of disturbing what is yet unseen.

Moving closer, you anticipate you might see a dead rabbit, or perhaps a chicken. Anything would have been a more welcome sight than the gnarled half-eaten body of a woman dressed just like you piled amongst the debris. You gasp, both hands flying over your mouth as you stumble a few steps backwards.

For a horrifying moment, you swear you see your own face in the rotten remnants staring back at you with black, empty eye sockets. It’s the hair that gives away the delusion, however, and with a chill down your spine you recognize the sacrifice who came before you; Hector’s daughter.

“Nadja,” the man groans morosely, the weight of grief in his voice palpable. You move away, towards the stairs, and watch with a morbid sort of fascination as the man weeps over the corpse of his daughter, touching her hair and her clothes, the only parts of her not twisted and rotted with death, the body left for maggots and scavengers. It’s sick, nothing like the beautiful and noble gesture sacrifice is always said to be. You look up at the dizzying height of the spiral staircase, following the line of it until the stone disappears into darkness. Did she fall, or was she cast away, having somehow proven herself unworthy?

In a strange sense, watching the men wrap her body in cloth to be carried home feels very much like playing the part of voyeur to your own demise. You stand at a distance, hand braced upon the stone, unable to shake the dread that you’re witnessing a vision of the future. Your future.

No. You will not be left for the insects and carrion-feeders. You turn your back to the sound of Hector’s weeping and, without another world, determinedly begin your ascent one large stone step at a time. Although you feel the men’s eyes heavily upon you, they remain silent, as if already grieving you.

Do not, you think brazenly, skin flushed with unexpected fires that bring your blood to a boil. Do not dare mourn what isn’t dead.

Those flames burn hot enough to carry you easily up the first several floors, indignantly stomping your way. You’ve heard stories of this tower all your life, but nothing could have prepared you for the true scale of it. Most of it is in a terrible state of decay, full of overgrowth and rot that, centuries ago, may have been wood and cloth.

You stop for a breath beneath the remains of what looks to have once been a vibrant mural. You can see trace evidence of beautiful paints, but whatever it depicts has been brutally clawed from the stonework. You lift a hand up high to trace one of the deep gouges in the stone; the marks are spread too far apart for your fingers to reach, but you can make out five distinct patterns nonetheless, like drag marks from a hand three or four times the size of your own.

Beyond the ruined mural, there are statues, too. You pass a grand monument of a woman who stands over seven heads tall wielding a sword of equal might, the statue adorned with steel bracers. You think she might have been beautiful in the same way a frightening storm is, but the head of the statue is long since gone.

On the next floor, you see upon the ground the ruins of a statue of a mermaid–at least, you thought it was. Upon further inspection, however, you see that the statue depicts a man. He has the lower body of a fish and strange indentations along his ribs, just beneath his bare carved chest. He, too, is headless, torso split horizontally, stone strewn across the floor.

This temple must have belonged to these lost figures, their monuments as desecrated as the rest of the tower. Whoever the Seven was, the world has since forgotten.

You wonder if the Devourer did this, defiled this temple to erase whatever history of heroes came before its tyranny.

Ultimately, you only find six statues. None of them have managed to keep their heads, and some are in worse shape than others. You imagine the seventh might have been destroyed entirely. It’s easier to imagine how or why these things might be than it is to focus on how badly your body aches, how you started this venture with the morning sun barely upon you, and yet you barely feel any closer to your destination as the darkness of night encroaches.

Every limb screams for rest. You stop occasionally, but you feel you must not sleep. Was poor Nadja pitched to her death for sleeping through her trial? You’d rather not find out. You’re not even sure if you would wake with the same angry conviction that drives you forward now, climbing step after unforgiving step. It’s gotten colder the higher you’ve gone, too. There’s a chance if you slept amidst the stone, you would turn to it yourself.

“Grant me strength,” you whisper to whomever may be listening. Be they fae or devil, benevolent or malevolent, it would be a boon to know there was some manner of being on your side.

You lean on the wall far from the edge as you ascend the spiral, too nervous of a fall to look over the edge and gauge your progress. A brisk wind chill has begun howling through the tower, whipping your clothing about and biting at your skin. You hug one arm tightly across your chest, bracing against the cold. At this rate, you’ll make for a crunchy meal not just for your bones, but for the frost you arrive covered in.

Your foot slides on something on the step that shifts and clatters. You nearly fall, heart hammering in your chest as you manage to catch yourself. Looking down, you’re shocked to see a pile of shining gold coins spilling down the steps amongst the debris. There is enough wealth discarded on these steps to see a dozen families fed for years and years to come.

You must be getting close. Carefully, despite the tremble running through your body, you shuffle your way through the mess, kicking it aside when you need to clear more of a path. The sound of rubble and gold and the like falling off the edge of the steps makes you flinch, the prolonged clattering of it serving as a reminder of just how agonizingly high you’ve managed to climb.

The familiar flicker of fire light draws a gasp of relief from you, tears gathered in your eyes from the sheer pain of moving your body forward. You can see shadows dancing across the walls, beckoning you from the cold with the barest hint of a warm draft. You’re practically crawling up the steps now, every part of you aching horribly. The tremble in your body is so severe, you worry you would fall to your death if you continued trying to walk through the hoard of treasures that have spilled down the steps.

You practically sob with relief when you reach the final step, limbs quaking beneath you as you haul yourself up onto the top floor and away from the awful railless edge of the spiraling stairs. You bury your face in the fold of your arms. The mixture of relief and exhaustion is so intense, the rest of the world falls away briefly, and the only thing that matters is catching your breath while you all but dry heave on the floor.

“I’ll be damned. I didn’t think you were going to make it,” purrs a resonant, honied voice, snapping you immediately back to reality. You shoot into an upright position so suddenly your head spins, blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear your blurry vision.

Before you rests an enormous circular hall lit with dozens upon dozens of torches. The walls are lined with beautiful arched windows, and the interior is piled nearly to the vaulted ceiling with obscene amounts of coin, weapons, artifacts and similar treasure. Your gaze drifts towards the center of it all, where the source of the voice awaits you.

As it turns out, The Devourer is no oversized earthworm.

Reclined upon a magnificently carved marble throne, you behold a creature made of equal parts man and beast. Even sitting, his stature easily brings him heads taller than you. He is adorned exquisitely in gold embellishments–jewelry and piercings alike–and rich navy slacks, serving as a fine centerpiece to the lavish, untidy wealth that surrounds him. He wears a crown fit for a king, the jewel of it a radiant blue that matches his sharp predatory gaze. His lips spread into a wolfish grin. You’re utterly bewitched by the flash of his fangs.

“Rise,” he orders you, gesturing with a clawed hand that’s easily the size of your head. His rings shine beautifully in the firelight. “And speak.”

Shakily, you fight to climb to your feet. Worm or not, this man–this creature has been preying upon your people for generations. You remind yourself of the countless lives lost, of the mourning families, of Nadja’s desecrated corpse and the sound of her father weeping over the rotten remains of her. You steel yourself.

“You who the people know as Scourge of the Skies, Red Death,” you begin, blinking rapidly. Your head began swimming the second you stood. You’ve never been so worn out in your life, and though there are flames here that offer a slight degree of warmth, the cold has sunk deep into your bones. As you speak, your vision gradually begins to tunnel. “Flame’s… Maw… and the Devourer,” you address, fighting desperately to stay focused even as he fades in and out of clarity. “I’ve come to pay my village tribute, and to… to…”

The darkness at the edges of your vision thickens. Your words feel heavy and slurred on your tongue. You sway, feeling your own head slosh like a bucket of water, and before you know it, you’re pitching forward, and the world goes black.

That was anticlimactic.

There was a time he would have been met with awe. Reverence. He didn’t expect you to simply black out.

Scourge, Red Death, Flame’s Maw… Maw. He’s always despised that word in particular, and the ugly imagery it evokes. Just a handful out of hundreds of names he’s been called over the years–if you can call them that. Many border on insults, if not are so outright. The most tolerable name he can remember is Homelander.

They called him that in celebration, he recalls. Those were the last of the days he had any care left for them.

He blows a smoky little raspberry as he stands, hands clasping behind his back beneath his wings. His tail sways idly as he approaches, tentatively intrigued by your splayed form. It’s rare that a sacrifice makes it all the way to the top at all, let alone in a single day. The last one only made it halfway before she decided falling to her death was a kinder fate than him.

Truth be told, he should have reigned hell upon their little village for her insolence. Fortunately for them, her display filled him with far more apathy than it did fury. He crouches down near enough to touch, though he hesitates, hand ghosting just over your body. He tilts his head to the side. Your breaths are shallow in your sleep, a slight wheeze to each one. Your body is clearly overexerted.

Delicately, he slips his hand under your cheek to turn your face to him, examining your features. You’re prettier like this, the tension drained from your expression and replaced with peace. Certainly not the worst tribute he’s been offered. You were at least determined to reach him.

The corner of his mouth twitches.

He won’t kill you. Not yet.

Homelander lifts you up into his arms, supporting your comparatively slight form with ease. You feel as frail as any mortal might, but the weight of you in his arms strikes him with a peculiar sense of melancholy. He takes pause, more closely observing the shape of you cradled in his arms, head lolled against his chest. You fit there nicely, small as you are. He can almost pretend you’ve simply fallen asleep in the crook of his arm; somewhere you’ve always belonged.

It’s an intriguing little fantasy. He hasn’t felt the need to indulge in one of those in a long while. He keeps his eyes on you as he walks you to the collection of pelts gathered on the far side of the room, where he lays you down atop them.

What had you been intending to say before you passed out? Your departing words spin round and round in his mind while he looks you over, lowering himself until he’s on his hands and knees above you. Tributes used to come richly adorned in jewelry and glittering things, but such pageantry has long since vanished. He’s surrounded by enough of it that the absence doesn’t bother him anymore.

The glitter of gold hardly catches his eye these days. He doesn’t call for sacrifices to add to his wealth. He only seeks to quell his boredom. Perhaps you will prove useful for this, at least for a time.

Pressing his clawed thumb lightly to your chin, he tilts your head away and leans in, nosing up the line of your throat, lips barely ghosting your soft flesh. He inhales the salt-sweet smell of you, a mixture of sweat, the dusty stone steps you’ve scaled, and the sweet herbal oil bath your kind always receives before you’re sent to him. The blend is strangely intoxicating on you.

It makes him wonder if you taste as good as you smell. Parting his lips, his split tongue spills past them and drags a slow serpentine pattern from your neck to your jaw. Mmm, fuck. You taste better than you smell, the rich oil you were bathed in still clinging to your skin beneath the salty tang of your sweat.

It would be too easy to devour you. He groans quietly at the thought, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. He’s known few things more intimate than sinking his sharp teeth into warm, pliant flesh. The feel of a pulse slowing against his tongue. The metallic rush of blood down the back of his throat. He hasn’t craved human flesh the way he does right now in years, yet something in the scent of you has ignited that primal aspect of him. Salivating already, he swallows it away and draws back.

Not yet. He still wants to hear what you were going to say.

It makes him smile to see the goosebumps that have erupted on every inch of your exposed skin. He cocks his head to the side and trails his index claw down the center of your chest, dragging down the pretty white fabric of your sacrificial dress, stopping just shy of the swell of your breasts. More goosebumps there, too.

None of it compares to the sound that you make. In your sleep, your brows furrow, and you exhale a noise somewhere between pain and sheer exhaustion, your small hand brushing his as you adjust against the pile of plush fur pelts. His gaze drops sharply, hand lifting tentatively. After a beat, he sets it down lightly atop yours. Captivated, he watches your whole body respond to his touch, turning and curling in towards him like a flora bending to the light of the sun.

Fascinated by your innate reactivity to him, Homelander lowers himself onto his side next to you. After a beat of hesitation, he encircles your wrist with his thumb and index finger and brings your palm flat to the warmth of his bare chest. A tantalizing shiver rolls through your unconscious form. Just as he had anticipated–hoped?–you follow the feel of him, moving completely onto your side and into him, breathing out a shuddering little exhale while the fire that runs through his veins warms you.

It isn’t enough to stop you shivering, though. Shifting, he spreads out his wing and curls that over you, blocking the draft that spills in from the surrounding windows. Only then does the tension in your body begin to ease, warmth chasing out the chill from your bones.

Homelander smirks, feeling inexplicably accomplished over this mundane little feat. He’s never particularly cared for the comfort of his tributes before; they’ve never served as anything more than playthings and meals. You should be no different. He knows you would be a delectable thing on his tongue, warm and wet down his throat, yet the thought of you in pieces–cold and unmoving–instantly vanishes his appetite.

He wants you in a new way entirely. Against him, with him. He wants to taste more of you, drag his tongue along the plains of your body and see how else you’ll react to him. He wants to find the places that quicken your breath. Would you sing your pleasure for him? He’s barely heard your voice, but already he can imagine it vividly.

You would. You will.

He’s begun to pant at the thought alone, smoke wafting from his mouth, his eyes softly aglow with crimson light. The smell of you has filled his senses so thoroughly he feels intoxicated by it, and between his thighs, his cock has begun to throb. He leans closer and nestles into your hair, inhaling deeply, a rumble leaving him on a warm exhale.

His entire body has taken on the heavy pulse of his heart, alight with the most visceral feeling he’s had in centuries. This is more than hunger, more than carnality–you mean something. Never before has he felt compelled to find pleasure in the frail body of a human, yet his blood sings it voicelessly in the back of his mind, his every instinct screaming one word again and again and again.

Mate.

Homelander had given up on the concept of a mate a long time ago, given that he’s… abnormal. Sterile. As an unnatural creature, there could not be a natural match for him. Someone who would call to his very blood and set it aflame. Yet here you are, seeking him as desperately as he once sought you. Is that why you were able to accomplish what so few before you had, pushing your body so clearly beyond your limits?

A low, possessive rumble leaves him. Reckless.

He pets your hair, testing the texture with his fingers awhile before letting his hand roam down the back of your neck, between your shoulders, up over your hip, down your leg. You’re no longer cool to the touch or shivering. He flattens his palm to your back and closes his eyes briefly. He’s never heard of a dragon bonding to a human before. He wonders if you’ll feel it too, recognize it for what it is, or if your mortality will make you oblivious to the depths of it.

It takes every ounce of his restraint not to shake you awake to find out.

Instead, he patiently learns the cadence of your heart. He commits your scent to memory, weeding out the natural musk of your skin beneath the herbs and oils you’ve been lathered in. Soon enough he’ll be able to pick you out of a crowd by the thump of your pulse alone, track you down from miles away with nothing but the barest whiff of you.

Not that he’d ever let you get so far from him now that he has you.

All you’re missing now is his scent. Leaning down, he licks a line adjacent to the one he had prior, and then another, mindful of his horns. The sweet taste of you makes him moan. He spends hours with you tucked in against him, idling away the time by learning your body as well as teaching you his. He nuzzles his cheek lightly against yours just so that he can turn and taste that same spot, something deep and primal in him appeased by tasting himself on your skin.

“My mate,” he half sighs, half growls.

He can’t wait to meet you.

Consciousness comes back to you in a gradual slew of sensation. Your fingers twitch, flexing in what feels like a lush, thick pelt of fur beneath you. Your whole body is pleasantly warm, as if you’ve fallen asleep in front of a crackling hearth, the cold of those awful stone stairs a distant memory.

The stairs…

Your eyes snap wide open, your spine going stiff. You’re laying on your back. Something wet and hot is dragging along the exposed skin of your shoulder–your dress pulled askew–in repetitive swipes. Looking down, all you can see is a mess of flaxen colored hair and one long, angular horn, the tip of it adorned in gold. The press of what you can only imagine to be a tongue is unnaturally smooth, as hot as settled coal against your skin. The beast gives a growl, and sharp teeth graze your skin. Your throat feels tight, the scream that bubbles up locked behind the tension of your jaw.

Oh gods, you think, beginning to shake. He’s eating me!

“Good morning,” purrs a familiar voice, the words vibrating against your skin. He lifts his head from your shoulder, though he doesn’t go far. You half expect to see his maw bloodied with your entrails from all the horror stories you’ve been told, but his grin is as clean as it was the first moment you beheld him. Up close, he’s even larger than you had initially realized. His face is well defined, with strong cheekbones decorated with smooth red scales that ascend into his hairline, where a golden crown sits neatly behind his horns. “Mmm, someone got their beauty sleep,” he says, the words a low, pleased rumble. You’re speechless, watching in bewilderment as he cups your face, hand so large it covers most of your neck, too. “You were out for hours.”

Your eyes dart to your shoulder, where your dress has been tugged down, but your skin appears unmarred. Around you, one of his enormous wings is curved over, shielding you both from the light and the cold beyond. You can’t move your legs, and with a glance, you understand why: his enormous tail is draped across both of them, pinning you in place. You look back at him, eyes wide in fear and confusion. You wonder if he’s been with you like this through the entire night. “You’re… You’re not eating me?”

The broad smile he flashes makes your heart skip a beat. His eyes, though sharp and a shade of blue you’ve only ever seen in the sky, are disarmingly human. Beautiful, even. They crinkle at the corners with what almost looks like fondness.

“No.”

“Why not?” You ask instantly, adrenaline making your voice sharp. “Not that I wish for you to eat me,” you say just as quickly. “But do you not–were you not–” He cuts you off with a noise that you belatedly realize is a laugh, the resonance in his chest so unearthly it gives every sound he makes an inhuman quality. “No, I was not eating you,” he says, sounding far too amused for your liking. “Tasting you, yes. And you do taste divine,” he says, leaning in again. You push your head back into the furs as much as you can, but he moves to the side, bringing his lips to your ear. “I knew my mate would.” Mate?!

Your hands fly up to his chest–gods, he’s as warm as hearth stones–as if to push him back, but you may as well attempt to push an oak tree aside. “What?”

He draws back, glancing down at your hands pressed to the bare skin of his chest before his gaze returns to yours, eyes narrowed in distinct pleasure. “Mate,” he says again, deliberately drawing the word out. “Dragons bond only once in a lifetime. Usually to another dragon. Clearly exceptions can be made, and you, precious little thing that you are… appear to be mine.”

His eyes fall shut, he leans in, and with a lurch of your stomach you realize he means to kiss you, his lips pursed and rapidly approaching. Your own lips part and a noise wholly outside of your control escapes you; a scream so shrill and sudden that it knocks even him back in surprise.

Blinking several times, he gives you a quick once over, visibly expecting to see you wounded and bloody somewhere. He looks back to your face when he finds nothing amiss. “What?”

“I can’t–I don’t know you,” you blurt out, equal parts flustered and alarmed. You can feel yourself burning up, and it isn’t just from the heat of him against you.

“So?” He dismisses, smiling with an array of sharp pearly teeth. “I’m your mate.”

“Humans don’t have those,” you counter, squirming under the weight of his tail. It’s like he’s draped several sacks of grain across your legs. “My lord Devourer, I–”

He scoffs, tail lifting as he shifts, bringing himself up onto his hands and knees over you, his wing unfurling and allowing the sun to spill in, washing you both in its light. “Homelander. If you must use one of those silly names, use Homelander. I’d prefer beloved, though,” he says with a sly lilt to his mouth.

A shiver rolls down your spine. Along with light, brisk morning air has slipped in between your bodies.

“Homelander,” you repeat, a name you’ve never heard before. It’s a great deal less menacing than the others, but that doesn’t change the fact that he has been eating your townsman for as long as anyone can remember. “I–”

He takes hold of your jaw with just his index finger and thumb, the rest of his fingers curling lightly over your throat. “You talk too much,” he tells you, eyes hooded and hungry. “Are you going to scream every time I try to kiss you?”

“Maybe,” you choke out, fists clenched tightly in the furs beneath you. He leans closer, tilting his head, his nose barely brushing the tip of yours. “I’ve never been kissed by a dragon before. Like I said, we don’t have m-mmm!”

It happens so swiftly you don’t have time to gather the air to scream. He presses his lips firmly to yours, making a noise so close to a moan that, despite the relative chasteness of the kiss itself, you flush with the indecency of it. It feels… hot. The heat of him is nearly too much to handle, like touching your lips to a hot mug of tea, but there is something intoxicating about it. He uses that heat to mold you to him, pulling you closer, his body sinking down against yours.

You’re too dumbstruck by the whole of the situation to struggle–not that it would accomplish much–which leaves you to simply experience it. His lips are tentative against yours, not harsh or demanding. He coaxes yours with his as if to dance, luring you into something that almost feels good.

Your heart hammers in your chest, his warmth pooling in your belly and spreading slowly through the rest of your body like boiled water poured into a lukewarm tub. He’s immovable, inescapable, and to your dismay, not entirely awful.

“I want to claim you,” he all but growls against your lips, his other hand clawing slowly down your side, tugging at your dress.

Your heart leaps painfully against your ribs. “Homelander,” you say, though he’s hardly paying you any mind, kissing your cheek now, your jaw, carving a wicked trail with his lips while his hand dips lower and lower, seeking the bottom hem of your dress. Heart racing, you breathlessly cry, “Beloved!”

That gives him pause. He rears back to look down at you, head slightly cocked, eyes bright and attentive. Your breaths are shallow, pulse pounding in your throat. You swallow dryly. “I’m thirsty,” you tell him, which is no lie. Your throat is so dry it almost hurts to speak. “Horribly. And hungry, I’ve not eaten since yesterday’s breakfast. You mean for me to survive, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” he says, expression twisting like he finds offense in your words. “You’ll want for nothing.”

“Then please. Water?” You push, praying that he is more man than beast.

He regards you quietly, eyes subtly darting back and forth. There’s a petulant kind of impatience to his gaze that catches you off-guard, like a boy who’s been told he has to wait before he gets to play with his new favorite toy. “Water,” he echoes eventually. You nod. He startles you when he exhales a little plume of smoke from his nose, reluctantly lifting himself off of you. The chill of his absence is immediate. “Don’t move,” he says, suddenly looking displaced. You’ve caught him by surprise. Perhaps you’ll survive this yet.

You watch him rise to his full height, standing easily eight feet tall. You sit up, pulling the furs over your legs to combat the cold seeping in. The muscles of his back give a mesmerizing flex as he stretches his wings out, the span of them just as jaw-dropping as his height. He wears furs over his shoulders held in place with thick leather straps that cross over his back and chest, emphasizing his musculature as well as the crimson plating that covers his body. Spines run down the length of his back, transitioning down into a tail that’s even longer than he is tall. It moves along the ground in zigzags, almost like a serpent. You don’t realize how intensely you’re staring until you look back up and realize he’s looking at you over his shoulder, those piercing blue eyes keenly set on yours.

The corner of his mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smirk. Something about his expression makes you feel like you’ve been caught doing something naughty. You drop your gaze. “Back in a jiffy,” he says. You look up just in time to see him step off the ledge, those brilliant red wings fanning out behind him. He disappears so suddenly that you can’t help but gasp, sitting up on your knees. You hear the beat of wings against the air, and then a second later see him lift back up into the skyline, twisting in the air before gliding back down out of sight.

You sit in stunned silence, listening to the fading thrum of his wings. It doesn’t feel real. You don’t know if this is some kind of twisted game he pulls with every sacrifice, or if you’re truly somehow different. You weren’t entirely expecting him to listen to you, but he did. He’s gone, presumably to fetch you food and water. You don’t know how, but you just commanded the Devourer to not only let you go, but bring you a meal.

In hindsight, you’re a little concerned that it was never specified what kind of meal. As far as you’re aware, he primarily eats people.

Adjusting your gown, you haul yourself up to your feet, crossing your arms in a vain attempt to protect the heat of his body lingering on your skin. When that doesn’t work, you pick up one of the several fur pelts strewn on the floor and drape it over your shoulders, sighing in relief. The pelt still holds some residual warmth; a boon over the lovely but ineffective fabric of your ceremonial gown.

In the light of day, you can make out a great deal more detail throughout the lair. The floor to ceiling archways deter you from venturing too far beyond the center, but still there is plenty to investigate. For example, the throne catches your eye immediately. The size of it makes you feel like a child again, navigating a world not built for you. The masonry of it is exceptionally smooth beneath your fingers, save for a handful of deep, jagged gouges that marr the arm rest. Tilting your head, you realize that you recognize these marks: they match those that you’d seen on the ruined murals.

You trace them with your fingers, connecting them now to the draconic claws that, just moments ago, had so delicately followed the curve of your body. He could so easily tear you apart, and yet in that moment you had never known a gentler touch. You pull your hand back beneath the pelt, feeling a shiver roll through you that has little to do with the morning chill.

Mate. That word sticks in your brain like a wad of gummy tree sap.

Circling the throne, you carefully step around the glimmering mess of gold, silver and jewels that litter the stone floor. There’s so much of it that it doesn’t even look real, stacked over itself like forgotten hay bales left to rot. There is more wealth here than you’ve seen in your life. A single satchel of it would keep you comfortable for the rest of your life, and yet here it serves as little more than clutter. As far as you can tell, it means nothing here.

The Devourer stopped seeking material treasure generations ago.

As you explore, part of you expects to find the corpses of all those who have come before you. Dozens upon dozens of bodies stacked up in varying states of consumption or decay, or maybe a monument built of their bones. You find no such construct, though. In fact, nothing about this place seems put together. You can’t imagine the madness that living like this for a week would induce in you, let alone decades.

To the east, movement catches your attention, startling your heart into your throat. It looks like a silhouetted figure at first, but your brain catches up quickly, and you approach the gently billowing fabric. It’s draped over a statue, giving it the illusion of a person, and your curiosity gets the best of you as you tug the drape down off of it.

You suck in a sharp breath. Once again, you find yourself faced with a legend given form– a painstakingly and intricately carved statue in the Devourer’s perfect likeness. It comes as no surprise that this is the only in-tact statue you’ve seen, but what you don’t understand is why it’s even here. If the Devourer was a usurper, some vicious interloper, why would there be a monument to him in the same vein as all the others?

The plaque beneath it reads: Homelander. Son of the Skies, Protector of the Earth.

Devourer, Scourge, Flame’s Maw–these names are all you have ever known, and yet this is the name carved in stone. He was once worshiped not out of fear, but reverence that you can see in every gentle curve of stone.

What happened?

Shuffling closer to the statue, the discarded fabric gathers at your feet. It’s not quite to scale, but it’s a handsome likeness nonetheless. It’s certainly been cared for more than anything else in this place. You wonder if it’s just vanity or if it’s something less obvious. You trace the smooth stonework, letting yourself get a better look at this version of him that’s less likely to eat you.

Objectively speaking, it’s a handsome visage. The resemblance is uncanny, clearly the work of an intensely skilled mason. His jaw is strong, eyes set forward in unerring determination. Tentatively, you touch the lips of the statue. He’d been so certain that he wanted to kiss you. Just the thought of his closeness and heat makes your stomach erupt in a flutter of butterflies.

Mate.

“I thought I told you not to move.”

You barely hear the full sentence, your own scream ringing loudly in your ears. You move to spin around, but your foot catches on the pile of fabric you had dropped to the ground and suddenly your whole body is pitching backwards, the back of your skull destined for the smooth, unyielding stone behind you. Fortunately for your brain matter, your descent is halted just shy of contact, one familiar clawed hand cupping the back of your neck while the other lands at your back, steadying you.

Homelander stands over you, a curious quirk to his brow. With his hand at the small of your back, his claws press lightly through the fabric, effortlessly upholding your weight. He holds you as if you’ve been caught mid dip in a dance.

“Gods, you scared me,” you say, eyes wide. “I didn’t hear you.” You had been so certain you would hear his return based on the sound of his wings when he’d left, but his approach had been terrifyingly silent.

“Yes, I know. It makes me a very effective hunter,” he says, dipping down to nuzzle at your neck, taking advantage of how the pelt has slipped off of your shoulder. He inhales the smell of you, prickling goosebumps all over your body. “I missed you.”

“You’ve barely been gone,” you reply impulsively, awkwardly trying to adjust yourself out of this arch he has you in. No use. His size makes him impossible to maneuver around, and your foot is still tangled up in the fabric that he’s currently standing on.

He gives another one of those rumbling sighs, drawing back to look at you. “You’re supposed to say that you missed me, too,” he chastises you, and though his tone seems light, you’re sure you see a flicker of impatience or irritation in his gaze. Maybe both. Despite how fearsome the sum total of his features make him, you’re once again caught off guard by his eyes. Though the color of them is icy, there’s a distinctly human warmth to them that grounds you in his gaze.

Still, the last thing you want to do is make him angry.

“Oh,” you croak quietly, realizing he’s actually waiting for you to say it, staring down expectantly while he holds you. “I… missed you, too,” you return stiltedly, unsure your hesitant delivery will be satisfactory. Shockingly, his expression lightens, lips curving into a smile. He lifts you off of your feet, untangling you from the mess beneath you and turning around to set you back down on relatively clear flooring.

“Good,” he purrs, stroking his hand down the back of your head like he’s petting an animal. He seems determined to touch you, but entirely unaware of how to. He cups the base of your skull and tightens the gap between your bodies, enticing you with his warmth as much as he terrifies you with the hunger in his eyes.

You put your hands to his chest, soaking up the heat of him as you vainly try to maintain an ounce of personal space. “Ah, the–the statue, it’s beautiful. Why do you cover it up?” You ask, the words leaving you in a flustered tumble.

He pauses, glancing over his shoulder, looking at the statue like he’s only just remembered it exists. “Oh, that. Mmm. Don’t always like what he has to say,” he replies, fitting his hand over top of yours, pressing it to his chest. You blink. What in the world does that mean? “You humans chill so quickly. I’ll have to light the hearth next time I leave you,” he says, earning a yelp from you as he abruptly lifts you up into his arms, tail slithering audibly along the floor as he carries you back to what you suppose for all intents and purposes is his nest. His touch instantly warms you to your core, making the fur you wrapped yourself in seem like a thin sheet in comparison. Despite your apprehension, you can’t help the way the tension in your body naturally eases with his warmth. Upon returning to the collection of pelts, you see the fruits of his labor.

Literal fruits, in fact.

Homelander has returned with a small bounty consisting of apples, two melons, and even a handful of peaches, all of it held in a beautiful–albeit aged–woven basket. You don’t get the chance to eat those often; the trees they fall from grow high on the surrounding mountains, and the farmers in your village are content enough with the established agriculture that no one bothers to grow them.

In addition, a tall golden pitcher stands filled to the brim with water. You’re once again hyper aware of just how incredibly thirsty you are, lips dry, throat parched. It’s the only thing you care about, clambering towards it the second Homelander sets you back on your feet.

The pitcher is heavy. It appears made of solid gold and it’s three times the size of any you’ve ever seen before. You don’t lift it so much as you just tip it back slightly, sighing loudly as you drink back the crisp, clear water. You sputter as the flow abruptly increases, water spilling from the corners of your mouth. Homelander has lifted the pitcher to help you drink, holding it one handed as if it’s no more than a drinking cup, his other hand settled upon your waist. He looks thoroughly pleased with himself, eyes half-lidded, lips gently curved upwards. Once you’ve drunk your fill, you push against his hold and he relents quickly, unnerving you with just how attentive he really is. He sets the pitcher back down and watches you wipe your chin dry.

“Thank the gods,” you sigh habitually, finally not feeling as though there’s grit in your throat with every word.

“I’d prefer you thanked me,” he says coyly, his gaze drifting down to where the water has wet your gown. The fabric clings to your skin, sheer where liquid has touched it.

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry. Thank you, Homelander,” you correct. It’s taking every ounce of your fortitude to speak in full sentences with the way he’s staring at you, let alone the idle way his thumb is stroking your hip. No one has ever touched you with this mixture of ease and clear intent, the weight of his hand practically thrumming against you. The magnitude of him is a difficult thing to parse both in terms of his sheer size and the legend he represents. You don’t know how to reconcile him with the monster you grew up dreading.

No one warned you that monsters could be warm and handle you gently.

“Time to eat,” he says, setting the pitcher back down. He takes hold of both of your hips and pulls you down with him as he sits cross-legged on the pelts, the circle of his legs large enough that you fit perfectly inside it, your own legs hanging out over his crossed calves. His tail loops around as well, encircling him and draping over your legs. The underside of his tail is not unlike the belly of a snake, with large overlapping scales that layer down the length of it. It’s just as warm as the rest of him, and feels like an unnaturally soft stone that’s been baking in the sun.

Reaching over, Homelander plucks one of the peaches from the assortment. It looked perfectly average in the basket, but between his fingers it looks almost comically small. With a deftness that you wouldn’t expect from a creature of his size, he begins to slice through the peach with his blackened claws, delicately cutting out a wedge that he does not hand you, but he instead brings it directly to your lips.

You stare for a moment, struck by the rich red center of the fruit, how the juice of it drips onto his hand in sweet smelling rivulets. You turn to look at him over your shoulder, and he quirks a brow, nodding towards the slice of fruit. You decide that of all the potential battles you have in front of you, this one in particular isn’t worth fighting, and you part your lips, watching him as you do.

His own lips mimic yours, falling apart in quiet entrancement. He slides the wedge between your teeth and watches with rapt fascination as you bite down on it, holding his gaze in an exchange that feels so unexpectedly raw and intimate, your pulse ticks up a notch. You swear he notices it by the way his head tilts ever so slightly, almost as if he’s listening.

“Good?” He asks, voice little more than a rumble.

Gods above and below, it is good. Despite the preternatural heat of his hand, the succulent flesh of the peach retains the morning chill, sweet and cool on your tongue. It’s perfectly ripe, yielding easily to the cut of your teeth and flooding richly across your tongue as you chew. He feeds it to you until it disappears, pressing the last of it in with his thumb, which then follows the line of your bottom lip, smearing the sweet juice on it. You nod and lick your lips, tongue narrowly missing his thumb, and what that does to his expression makes your stomach flip.

He’s quick to cut another slice to offer you. You repeat this process in silence, the air thick with tension that feels so palpable you’re sure you could swim through it. The sounds of the world have narrowed entirely to the sound of his claw cutting through the delicate flesh of the fruit and the tip lightly scraping the pit inside it. His hands have a sticky shine to them by the time he’s tossing the pit back into the basket, stripped as clean as a bone.

You chew your final bite, jaw slowing as you watch him take his fingers into his own mouth. He’s unabashed in the way he slurps the nectar off his digits, tongue slipping between them. That’s when you realize that his tongue splits down the middle, dexterously sliding over his fingers to lap up every drop of juice. Not only that, but you spot a flash of gold; the same kind of piercing he has on his ears. Watching him stirs something hot in you, a radiating heat that lights a flickering pulse between your thighs. You audibly gulp the last of your bite, tensing subtly when Homelander looks at you.

Slowly, his lips curl into a devious smile. “See something you like?”

You flush, fighting the urge to look away. Don’t play into it. Change the subject. “What happened to your last mate?”

His expression shifts to something slightly more incredulous. “There wasn’t one. You’re my first, my last, my only. Dragons only bond once,” he says, that split tongue rolling along his sharp teeth, that gold tongue piercing clicking against them. You wonder where else he’s decorated himself with gold.

Wait, what did he say? Your gaze snaps back up from his mouth to his eyes, which are once more set into that self-satisfied slant. He’s closer to you now, and nearing by the second.

My first, my last, my only.

“But I am no dragon,” you say, leaning away subtly, though there isn’t far to go. He’s got you trapped nicely in place, like a butterfly beneath pins. “How could such a bond form?”

“I’m as mystified as you are,” he says, his hand sliding up the small of your back. “I didn’t think a bond was even possible for me. Apparently there’s something different about you,” he says, and you notice a brief twitch of his lip, a flicker that looks just a touch like disdain. It disappears as quickly as it had appeared. “Something special,” he murmurs, close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath on your cheek.

Your heart races, your capacity for thought slowly disappearing the closer to you he gets. New subject, new subject! You think, frazzled by the warm spiced smell of him. His hand flexes on your hip, claws prickling your skin through your dress. “Aren’t you hungry?” You ask, eyes darting to the basket full of fruit just to his side.

“Yeah,” he rasps, voice so low you feel it reverberate. His nose brushes your cheek, trailing down from your jaw to your neck. You shiver, and the pulse between your thighs grows into a steady throb. He inhales deeply. “I’m famished.”

The world around you spins and the next thing you know, you’re on your back staring up at the aged banners draped along the stone ceiling, the fur pelts warm and plush beneath you. Homelander pins your arms down at your sides, once more poised on his hands and knees over you. His tongue draws a wet molten line from the collar of your dress to your throat, and you let out a soft, nervous cry as his teeth graze your skin.

Perhaps he’s going to devour you after all.

Oh gods! Gods, gods, gods, please no!

“Wait, wait! Don’t–please don’t eat me,” you plead in a panic, pushing up against his hands with all of your might. He doesn’t yield at all. You may as well be pushing against the stone walls of the tower itself.

He does laugh, however. It’s that same rumble of amusement that travels through your skin and into the core of you. “For the last time, I’m not eating you. I can smell your arousal, though. Practically taste it in the fucking air,” he says, trailing lower down your chest with every word, brazenly nuzzling the space between your breasts before continuing down. A wave of humiliation rolls through you at his words, and you look away. He releases your arms in favor of sliding his hands up your bare legs, pushing your dress up with them. “I’m just going to have a little lick.”

Frantically, you try to grab at him as soon as your hands are free. “Hold on, stop–”

“Enough!” He snarls suddenly, startling you quiet. You swear for just a moment that his eyes flash crimson. You clutch your hands to your chest. “You’ll not be harmed. Understand? Just… let me,” he says tersely, gaze hard before gradually softening as you silence yourself, watching him with wide, uncertain eyes. Satisfied, he lowers back down.

His sharp claws kiss harmless welts all the way up your legs, up to your hips, where he catches the band of your undergarments. He hooks his fingers over the waistband and drags them down, seeming to enjoy the way you pant and writhe under him, your heart racing.

“Have mercy,” you slip in quietly, squirming beneath the hot press of his hands, though you’re no longer struggling against him. “I’ve never–no one’s ever–I’m inexperienced,” you desperately explain, your mind running wild with what his size will mean for you if he decides he wants more than to taste you–to claim you, as he’d said before.

“Good,” he replies simply, pushing your knees up into a bend on either side of his head. “As you should be. As am I,” he says, turning his head to drag his split tongue in swirling patterns on your inner thigh, moaning at the taste of you.

You grip the pelts beneath you, brows furrowing. You stare down at the top of his head in confusion. “You are?”

“I told you. I’ve never had a mate. I’ve never felt the need to put my cock into what I intended to eat,” he says against your skin, erupting goosebumps all over your thighs. That should horrify you, but you’re instantly distracted by the sheer burning heat of his breath wafting over your wet cunt, a gasp slipping from your lips when he eagerly presses his tongue to it.

His tongue feels as smooth as glass, like liquid in the way it contours to your every curve. The split of it rubs on either side of your clit, massaging it between the two sides in a way that makes your knees shake. “Ffffuck,” he groans, immediately pushing his tongue into you, licking up the wetness of you twice as eagerly as he had that ripe peach.

You buck against him, a moan escaping you. The sound only encourages him to plunge his tongue deeper, that golden stud on his tongue brushing hotly against your inner walls. He drags it up and pushes it flush, half inside you and half grinding against your clit before pushing back in deep. It feels unlike anything you’ve ever known, so much better than your own curious, clumsy fingers. He laves attention on you like he’s starved for it, drinking just as thirstily as you had from the pitcher.

There’s no rhythm to the way he moves, no sense of consistency. He slips his hands under your ass and tugs you forward with ease, lifting you to push his thick split tongue even further inside you, plunging it in and out, growing greedier with every dive. He growls low in the back of his throat, tail thudding repeatedly against the floor. Instead of the little lick he claimed he was after, he’s working himself into an obvious frenzy feasting on you.

“H-Homelander, please,” you keen, his relentlessness rapidly building an unfamiliar pressure within you. He’s as sloppy as he is voracious, the wet sound of him obscene and loud in the enormous lair. His claws bite into your ass where he holds it firmly to his mouth, but he doesn’t seem to hear you. If he does, he’s taking it only as encouragement.

His tongue touches something inside you that makes your whole body jolt. You grab hold of both of his horns, your back arching as you desperately cling to them. You’re certain you meant to shove him back, to struggle. Instead, your body is ablaze as you yank hard on his horns, hitching your leg over his shoulder and riding his tongue with a shaking gasp.

The pressure bursts, and the wave of euphoria that crashes down on you is unlike anything you’ve ever known. You convulse against his mouth, walls tightening around the intrusion. You don’t recognize your own voice in the sounds you make as he continues to ruthlessly fuck you soaked and open with his tongue, his breaths so hot they nearly burn. The waves of your climax feel like they’ll never end, spurred on by every deep, wet thrust.

“Homelander! It’s too much, Homelander, too much, please, please–beloved, please, I can’t, I can’t,” you beg, desperate to get his attention. You’re on the verge of sobs when he finally withdraws his long molten tongue from you. You suck in a shuddering breath, releasing his horns and collapsing back against the pelts, sweat prickling along your hairline.

However, your shallow breaths are nothing compared to the sound of Homelander’s ragged panting. He looks entirely wild, smoke billowing from his mouth and nose, his cheeks flushed a dark red, the lower half of his face shiny with a mixture of your slick and his own drool. He takes his hands from under you and yanks the sash around his waist loose, dropping it to the side. Reaching behind him, he unfastens his pants.

Your mind is still a haze, but even through the delirium, you’re shocked by what you see when that rich navy fabric falls from his waist: his cock is as large as the rest of him, thick and dripping. The underside of it is strangely ribbed, a feature you’re certain is to be attributed to his draconic nature. Not only that, but he’s adorned in gold here, too, with a ring pierced into the head of his cock and studs between each ridge. Your eyes widen.

It’ll never fit.

Nevertheless, he looks entirely undeterred. Homelander adjusts himself between your legs, eyes thoroughly glazed over with lust, and presses his nearly scalding palms to your inner thighs, pushing them into a wide spread and down to the ground. Arousal and fear lance through you like a twin bolt of lightning.

“H-hold on,” you stutter, lifting a trembling hand. “I–” Bending over you, he silences you with a firm kiss. You press your hands to his chest and feel it thrumming beneath your palms, the heat of him more intense than ever. You can’t help but moan softly into it, overtaken by the smell of sex and something akin to burning incense. His tongue slips as deftly into your mouth as it did your cunt. Even after having felt it inside you, it’s thicker in your mouth than you’re prepared for, sliding in deeper, like he means to fuck you with it here, too.

It wholly distracts you until you feel a heavy, blunt press to your wet cunt. You make a half-hearted noise of protest, but his only answer is a low rumbling growl, claws biting into the meat of your thighs as he holds you still, effectively gagging you on his tongue.

His cock is as hot as the rest of him, but a great deal more solid than his malleable tongue. The thickness of it slowly spreads you wide, an aching pressure. You’re not sure if the burn of it is from the stretch or the heat, but either way it’s driving you insane. It’s hot and painful and good, frictionless with how thoroughly he soaked you, and despite your nerves, your cunt is loose with orgasm. It’s as if your body, independent of your mind, is eager to welcome him in.

You make a keening noise, the sound of it muffled in this devouring kiss. You grab hold of the leather straps across his chest and yank on them, twisting at them, but nothing takes your mind from how intense it feels to be split apart on the fat head of his cock.

The sounds Homelander makes in response are downright bestial, low and rumbling from his chest. Your only relief is when the widest swell of his cockhead finally breaches you, just the tip of it settling perfectly inside you. You cry out when he gives an exploratory backwards pull, and then shivers as he begins to rock gently, breathing heavily from his nose as he fucks you with nothing more than the head of his cock.

You’re starting to feel lightheaded, pitchy little noises leaving you with every exhale. Homelander sharpens his pace, breaking the kiss with a loud, carnal moan as he tips his head back. He’s barely even inside you and yet the girth of him is overwhelming, the ridges of his cock stimulating you in ways you didn’t know possible, the fat curved head rubbing against that same spot inside you that his tongue had previously made you see stars with.

Thoroughly overwhelmed by the incomprehensible assault of sensations, tears gather in your eyes. That pressure is building back up in you once more, starting at the base of your spine and slowly crawling up it. Desperate to tether yourself, to feel connected, you move your hand from the strap at his chest and touch his face. To your surprise, that instantly snaps his attention down to you, his beautiful blue eyes lost in a crimson glow.

Homelander meets your gaze, some level of cognizance returning to him, and whimpers, something hidden and vulnerable escaping in that exchange. He bends down, his nose brushing yours, and rests his forehead against yours while his thrusts grow more and more erratic, but never deeper. He fucks you in shallow, jagged snaps until finally that mounting pressure overwhelms you and you come again, simultaneously squeezing him into his own sudden release.

The flood of him inside you is burning hot, spilling into your core even from here, and he practically roars with it, burying that loud primal cry into the crook of your neck while his body stills, releasing pulse after pulse of thick, hot seed into you.

His breath billows hotly across your neck, the burning scent of him thick in the air. Your mind is so addled by your own euphoria that it takes you time to realize he’s speaking, fervent murmurings against your skin. “M’sorry, still, be still, I’m–don’t move,” he rasps, fractured little noises leaving him in between his words. You choke on your own breath when he sinks in, working you open slowly, shivers pitching up and down your spine. Gods above, he isn’t done.

Surely he doesn’t mean for you to take all of it… Does he?

You moan weakly, pushing your hand up into his hair and grabbing hold, which elicits a rumbling sigh from him in return. It’s silkier than you expected it to be. “Too big, it’s too much, it’s not–it’s not going to fit,” you pant out, screwing your eyes shut tight. While his release had initially softened him some, you can already feel his cock filling back out. Every bit he slips in further, you feel the mess of his release being forced out of you, come dripping down your thighs, slicking the way for the rest of him.

“It will,” he says at your ear, kissing the spot just below your earlobe, then your neck, his tongue slipping out to taste the sweat there before he kisses that same spot. He’s set upon you like an animal, lost to the drive of instinct, determined to fulfill his promise to claim what is his. “It will because it must. Because it’s yours. Because you’re mine.”

Homelander releases a breathy whine, sounding just as overstimulated as you are, nuzzling at your throat while he slowly works his way deeper, practically vibrating with restraint. He sounds as overwhelmed as you feel, but he refuses to stop, to lose. He holds you in place, growling whenever you squirm or struggle against him. The feel of it is dizzying, unbelievably hot and heavy, like fire given form, filling you in ways you didn’t know were possible. You’re feeling it again, the slow rise of that carnal pleasure building to an inevitable climax, and your whole body trembles with it.

You make a desperate keening noise, and Homelander hushes you, kissing your shoulder. “Sshhh, good, you’re doing so well for me. Don’t move yet, it’s almost over. You were made for this, for me. You feel it, don’t you? How easily your cunt opens to me. Nnngh, hah… Fuck, you fit me. You fit me. You do, and you always will,” he pants, voice hitching.

He slides his hands from your thighs to your waist, the press of his claws just shy of painful. With one final move, he lets out a quaking moan as he pulls you down onto the last of it, finally burying himself completely in your snug, come-soaked cunt.

The fullness of it breaks you–snapping the last tether that was holding you in place–and you come again, your velvety walls seizing up around him impossibly tight before spasming your pleasure around every vein, ridge and piercing he has. You can feel the shape of him so viscerally that you’re sure your body will remember it, carved out in the shape of his cock forevermore.

He cries out with your release, a reverberating sound that you feel all the way down to the marrow of your bones. You don’t know if he’s more in pleasure or pain, but he makes no move to retreat. Instead, he brings you that tiny bit closer, pressing every inch of your body to his. He rides out your pleasure, panting a wet spot into the crook of your neck.

Tears roll from your eyes to your temple, disappearing into your hairline as you breathe roughly. You’re overwhelmingly hot, oversensitized and raw, but as the aftershocks of your orgasm fade, your body steadily loses that quiver. You feel as if you’re melting down into the furs, struggling to even keep your eyes open as a gentle ecstasy sweeps over you.

Once he recovers enough, he lifts himself up onto his hands, and then sits back onto his legs, his hands on your hips to lift you partially into his lap to keep himself buried deep, hitching your legs around his waist. His eyes are completely glazed over, lips parted around heavy, hungry breaths. He doesn’t look at all sated. If anything, the look of his desire has only intensified, despite his obvious sensitivity. Sliding his hands up your body, he pushes your pretty white dress all the way up over your head, tossing it to the side so that he may finally see all of you.

“Look at you,” he breathes, voice utterly frayed. He stares at you as though you’re a vision sent from the gods, a nymph plucked from the heavens and nestled snugly upon his cock. His hand sweeps down your stomach, settling low on it, where he lightly presses down. You both moan with the pressure, with how keenly you both feel it. “Told you it would fit,” he says, but his voice is not smug. There’s a breathless wonder to it, like he’s awestruck by the look of your body against his.

His tongue rolls out to sweep along his lips. He opens his mouth, and you can see threads of saliva snapping between his sharp teeth, his mouth wet with hunger. He continues to reverently stroke your stomach, his large splayed hand easily covering the expanse of it. “You’ll make a beautiful mother,” he says, a concept you don’t even know how to begin to unravel, but the way he says it makes you feel worshiped. “Perfect. So fucking perfect for me,” he says, a shudder in his voice. His crimson wings spread and curve in on either side of you, the hooked tips of them bracing on the stone floor.

“Mother?” You slur belatedly. You feel dizzy, your body as warm as burning coals and tingling all over. He lifts your legs one at a time, bringing each one up parallel to his chest. They hook over his shoulders as he leans forward, wasting no before time kissing you. His wings support his weight while he grips your thighs, squeezing possessively.

“Mother,” he confirms between kisses, bending you practically in half as he begins to rut against you. He’s not thrusting so much as he’s grinding into you, wringing a low moan from you. “You want that, don’t you? I’ll keep you safe. Feed you. Fuck you. I’ll take care of you, be yours, and you’ll be mine, won’t you? Sweet little thing, fucked happy and heavy with my children. Tell me. Tell me you want that.”

“Yes,” you moan, kneading the furs on either side of you. He paints a beautiful picture in your mind of fresh fruit, crisp water, and this dreamlike pleasure for the rest of your days. Beneath him, any thoughts of the world outside this moment melt away. There’s only the two of you, resplendently warm and living amongst the clouds. “I want it. I want–I want you,” you say, touching either side of his face. He leans heavily into your touch, his eyes falling shut. A soft noise that sounds like relief escapes him as you kiss him, coaxing that long, clever tongue out to meet yours.

The eagerness with which he reciprocates nearly chokes you, his tongue slipping over yours and halfway down your throat before pulling back, practically devouring you in this kiss. In your fever, this consuming passion feels so much like love it makes your head spin, makes you forget where, when and who you are. He breaks the kiss to moan unabashedly, shifting to put his lips to your throat, mouthing at your skin like he’s trying desperately not to sink his teeth in. The thought thrills you. You almost want him to.

“Again,” he pants, grip tightening on your thighs. “Say it again, please.”

“I want you,” you say again, more certain now. The desperation in him is disarming, and despite the animalism of him, you can clearly see the man in him now, hear it in the way he pleads for you to indulge him. That and the euphoric spill of pleasure electrifying your every nerve imbues you with some kind of sense of power, and however misplaced it may be, you immediately feel drunk on it. You can feel your body beginning to build back towards that ultimate swell of euphoria again. “I want to be yours. I want you to be mine.”

He groans, dipping lower to suck a mark at the junction between your neck and shoulder. This time, when you feel the brush of his teeth, you don’t shy away. You cup the back of his head and drag your nails down his scalp. Homelander thrusts his hips jaggedly, wringing a throaty gasp out of you. “Keep talking,” he demands, but you hear the plea for what it is.

“You feel good. Y-you fit,” you say, echoing his own words, though it’s getting harder to speak with the way he’s starting to fuck you in earnest, just barely withdrawing before he drives back in, as if he can’t bare to be more than an inch outside of you. You moan for him, chasing the bliss swelling rapidly between your legs.

Wait… Something really is swelling.

“What is that?” You ask, voice reedy. You whimper. Somehow, it feels as though he’s getting bigger. “What’s h-nnngh, what’s happening?” Your words are starting to slur together again, your mind split down the middle between your mounting orgasm, and the surreal feeling of the base of his cock growing inside you.

“Knot,” he explains between swipes of his tongue. “Keeps every drop of me inside you,” he says, giving a shuddering moan as that swell catches on the rim of your cunt when he tries to draw back. Just when you thought you had adjusted, that swell makes you ache, has you whimpering and squirming under him.

He could have told you it would get bigger!

“Oh gods, it–mmm, I’m–it feels–” You stop and start again and again, writhing, but he keeps you firmly in place, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh loud in your ears as he fucks you harder and faster, spurred on by the quiver of your cunt as your own climax nears.

“Come for me again. Show me that you want it. I want to feel your pretty little cunt squeeze my cock for my come,” he urges, voice reduced to a rough growl in your ear. He sounds like he’s barely holding himself together, every word more strained than the last. “Give it to me. Give yourself to me.”

The tug of his swollen knot bouncing off of your rim and the feel of his thick ridged cock massaging your walls completely overwhelms you. “Y-yes, okay, I’m–oh gods, gods, I’m–I’m coming, Homelander, Homelander!” You call, lips falling open on a silent scream as your throat locks up, a third orgasm crashing down on you with a force that knocks the air out of your lungs.

Homelander muffles his own cry into the crook of your neck, stilling halfway through your orgasm with one final slam. This time, the rush of his release is pressed tightly against your cervix, pooling inside you with nowhere to go, his knot doing precisely what he said it would. The heat of it fills you in hot, rushing spurts, his cock jerking against your spasming walls with every load he empties into you.

A sudden stinging pain makes you gasp, confusion seeping into the euphoria that has thoroughly addled your brain. Fuck, you realize he’s biting you. His teeth sink in as smoothly as a knife through fresh butter, the sting giving way to the sheer heat of his mouth, the stroke of his tongue, and the inexplicable way it intensifies your orgasm.

The room falls deafeningly quiet save for the pound of your own heart in your ears and the heavy way you’re each catching your respective breath. Your arms fall bonelessly to your sides as you pant, your vision slightly blurry. Homelander begins lapping at your shoulder, soothing the spot he’d bitten. Your whole body feels heavy, stuffed fuller than you ever could have conceived possible. All you can do is whine as he adjusts you, gingerly bringing your legs down to settle on either side of him.

You’re not sure how you’ll ever get off of his cock now that you’re on it. His knot feels like a permanent part of you, fitted so snugly that, just as promised, you don’t feel a single drop spill.

Homelander doesn’t stop at your neck. He drags his tongue down to the dip of your clavicle, where it splits apart slightly anywhere it moves over bone. It feels surreal, but somehow different from the first time you woke to him licking you. For starters, you’re not terrified he’s going to eat you. That has an entirely new connotation now.

He moves down further, slinking down into the valley between your breasts, sighing as he pushes them together to lave his tongue between. He’s languid, practically purring with each breath as he savors the feel and the taste of you. You don’t have it in you to feel much more than exhausted, your limbs as heavy as stone, but it does feel good. Your breath catches when he opens his lips around one of your nipples, sucking almost half of your breast into his preternaturally hot mouth. His pierced tongue swirls over your nipple while his teeth flex precariously against the tender flesh. You lurch, letting out a breathy noise.

“Careful, please,,” you exhale, earning a glance up from him. His eyes are completely glazed over, soft and dark in a way that takes your breath away. He hums quietly in some weak acknowledgement before his eyes flutter closed, his throat bobbing with every swallow as he sucks your breast with unexpected gentility.

Watching him stirs a wash of strange feelings in you. With what little strength you have, you bring your hand up to touch his horn, contemplating the texture of it beneath your fingers. You follow the line of it down to his skull, tracing his hairline just beneath the crown that adorns his head, slipping behind his sharply pointed ear. He’s truly incredible to behold up close like this, beautiful without the lens of terror you had been viewing him through.

On some level, you know you should still be afraid, but it’s a difficult feeling to muster when he’s warm and lax on your chest with his cock buried inside you, suckling on your breast as you’re still riding the high of three consecutive climaxes.

You push your fingers into his flaxen hair. You’ve never seen hair this color before except in very young children. In your experience, age always darkens it away to a sandy color, but his is as bright and warm as sunshine. There doesn’t seem to be any part of him that isn’t golden. He exhales a deep sigh as you run your nails along his scalp, nuzzling sweetly against you. You smile despite yourself.

Who would have thought that a dragon might be so very much like an overgrown house cat?

When Homelander lifts his head, his tongue is the last to leave, returning to his mouth with a wet slide across his lips. He’s left your skin shiny with saliva, but he isn’t finished. He immediately lowers himself to your other breast, taking it into his mouth in precisely the same way. You bring your other hand up into his hair and continue to massage his scalp, earning yourself an appreciative little moan from low in his throat, his tail sliding audibly back and forth on the stone floor.

The two of you lay like that for an indeterminate amount of time. You drift in and out of consciousness, worn thin and soothed by the heat of his body seeping into your muscles, fairly certain you’ll never be able to sit up on your own again. Homelander eventually releases your breast with a soft pop and settles his head on your sternum, narrowly avoiding taking one of your eyes out with his horn. You continue to stroke through his hair as your strength gradually returns.

The swell of his knot, too, lessens, but even soft his cock fits snugly inside you. It isn’t until Homelander gingerly lifts himself off of you that it slides out, coming free with a significant gush that soaks your thighs and puddles beneath you. You flush, making a strained little noise. You feel carved out and left hollow by the sheer size of him. His wings withdraw and tuck in behind him while he sits back on his legs to admire the splay of you beneath him.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, smoothing his hands up and down your thighs. You’ve never felt as exposed as you do in this moment, laid bare under his gaze. Even now, visibly drunk on pleasure and thoroughly satiated, there is an undeniable lingering famine in his stare. He sinks down and slowly spreads your legs apart, leaning in to run his tongue up the crease of your inner thigh. He laps languidly at your skin, earning hitched little breaths and sounds from you as his tongue deftly cleans the mess he’s made of you. He’s much more tame now than he had been, focusing not on overstimulating you, but simply washing you. It’s a strange and animalistic thing to do, but it’s intimate, too. Sweet, even.

Gods, he’s really done a number on your psyche.

Once he’s satisfied with the state of you, he climbs back up and settles on his side, looking at you with his hand poised over you, hovering like he isn’t sure what to do with it. His expression starts to shift, concern seeping into it. “You’re quiet. Did I hurt you?”

You huff a little breath. You’re quiet because you’ve just been fucked within an inch of your life by a dragon’s cock, but aside from that, of course he had. “You bit me, for starters.”

He turns somewhat sheepish at that. “Instinct. I wanted to mark you.”

“You succeeded,” you say, touching your shoulder tentatively.The skin is still raw, but it isn’t bleeding. It doesn’t even feel like it’s going to scab.

You must wear your confusion plainly, because Homelander is quick to explain: “I sealed the wound. It should be fully healed by sundown.”

“How did you seal it?” You ask, bolder now with how you touch it. It feels like simple indentations, a perfect mold of his teeth.

“My saliva has particular properties. There was a method to my debauchery,” he says, pointedly licking his lips.

You suppose that’s far from the most miraculous thing about him. “That’s convenient,” you say, to which he smiles. It’s bizarre how easily this comes now. You’ve heard of breaking the tension before, but this is certainly the most intense way you’ve ever broken through that initial barrier to more casual conversation.

Seeing that his hand is still hovering over you, you make a choice and take it, pulling it down to settle on your hip. Relief and excitement flash in his eyes in equal measure, and he takes that as permission to tuck you the rest of the way against him, settling on his side. He rests his head in his palm, propped up on his elbow. You curiously explore the plains of his chest with your fingertips, testing where flesh meets scales. They feel almost like bone, crimson colored protrusions that catch the light as prettily as rubies. They’re smattered along his body in the same way a human might have moles or birthmarks, incidental and seemingly without rhyme or reason.

His ribs are guarded by stiff plates that aren’t as solid as the scales, but look to serve as hardy protection. You let your fingers swoop down the ridges of them, comparing the textures along different parts of his body. It’s fascinating.

“I’ve never seen anything like–” you begin to pull your hand away as you speak, but Homelander takes hold of your wrist, bringing it back to his chest.

“Don’t stop.” You look up at him. His expression catches you off guard. He looks wounded, those fiercely blue and ever human eyes of his intensely focused on you. Swallowing, you nod. He lets go, and you begin to traipse your fingers along his chest again, following the line of the leather straps that cross over it. He lets out a heavy breath. “No one’s ever touched me like this,” he tells you after a long few beats of silence. “Not that I can remember.”

You glance up at him, but he’s staring down at your small hand tracing patterns on his chest. “What happened to this place?” You ask, because that seems politer than asking what happened to him.

“Guess it’s been too long for anyone else to remember. They’re all dead,” he says, the mood of his words difficult to discern. He inhales a contemplative breath, clicking his tongue at the end of it. “Time happened. I used to be something else to my people. I was… war. I brought fire down on their enemies, and they loved me for it. I won them their home. Homelander. There were others like me, but I was the best of them,” he says with conviction, though you sense bitterness in his voice, too. “When all the wars were won, they built this tower. They built monuments to their gods, and they placed us here with them as though we ourselves were relics.”

The end of his tail has begun to slap lightly against the ground. You can feel a slight uptick in the heat of him beneath your palm.

“They placated me with gold. Adorned me in it. At times they would summon me to festivals. Use my strength to build their stone cities, but they didn’t celebrate me. They had forgotten their love. They treated me as you would any other tool. Something to be taken off the shelf for work and put away when the task is done.”

The seething resentment is more clear in his voice than ever. While you didn’t ask it, it seems he understood what you really wanted to know. You’ve never heard this story before; The Devourer had only ever been a tyrant upon the people. No one ever spoke of a Homelander. No one ever spoke of a hero.

“When treasure failed to keep me impotent and obedient, they tried meat instead. They sent me livestock, as if the simple act of killing a cow would satiate me,” he snarls through his teeth, smoke wafting between them. He sucks it back, tipping his head up slightly in a bit to regain his composure. “They thought they could control me indefinitely. Out of sight, out of mind. It worked for too long, but only because I allowed it. Because I thought things would change. They never did. So I took their gold and their cattle and their crops and demanded more still. I demanded until they couldn’t ignore me any longer. When they failed to provide, I reigned fire down on them as I did their enemies two hundred years ago, and I gave them no choice but to look at the monster they made.”

His tail cracks like a whip against the stone floor. His anger is so visceral it makes your heart race, but there is more in his gaze than just fury. You feel as though you’re watching him rip apart the stitching over a wound that has been festering for far too long. “After that, they sent people. Simpering peasants who had no fucking idea who or what I really am. They bathed them in oils like slaughtered lambs basted for roast,” he growls, the blue of his eyes fading into an eerie crimson glow. “So I did. I devoured them, and I spat their own blood in their faces. If they wouldn’t have me as a man, they would have a beast instead.”

The Devourer.

You sit in stunned silence, watching as the glow of his eyes gradually fades, though his temperature remains the same. He looks at you, his expression braced, as if he anticipates a specific reaction. Rejection, you suppose. It seems to be the only thing he’s known for centuries. Within his gaze, you recognize a profound need to connect, to feel you, to hear that there might be a single soul in this gods damned world that wants him.

What does one say to such a story? The anger in his voice strikes such a wounded chord, you can practically smell the blood. The rawness of it alone makes your eyes prickle with tears, a lump gathering in your throat. How warped he has become not for the absence of love, but the deprivation of it. It’s clear in the way he speaks of them how desperately he wanted them to still love him.

“I’m sorry,” you say so quietly it’s a wonder he hears you. His expression flips completely, morphing into bewildered surprise.

“What?” His voice sounds small.

“I’m sorry that they abandoned you.”

If his own words are a knife in the wound, yours twist it deeper. He flinches like he’s been struck, staring at you with such bruised incomprehension. He opens his mouth to speak, but it’s as though he doesn’t even believe what you’re saying enough to formulate a response. He kisses you instead, holding your jaw in his claws. “I was good once,” he says against your lips, voice hushed as if he’s confessing a far graver sin. “I’ll be good for you. Let me be good for you.”

The desperation in his voice sets loose your tears. You nod, kissing him just as fervently. Centuries of bloodshed on the back of willful neglect is difficult to stomach, but you believe him. You believe the love that went into this tower–this beautiful prison–that they made for him, and you believe the love that you saw in his face carved in stone. You have no doubt that the wonder of him once inspired all those who beheld them, and that they were fickle enough to grow weary of him. Desensitized and disinterested.

When he rejected their apathy, they rejected his humanity.

Homelander lifts you up into his arms, sitting up, kissing you properly with a hand cupping the back of your head, his arm around your middle. His wings curve in around you, and he kisses you until your lips turn sore and you have to protest, your words melting into muffled laughter. He draws back with a brilliant grin. It’s different from the others you’ve seen; it’s the kind of smile that brings deep warmth to his eyes, crinkling them at the corners. He lingers close to you, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

“I stopped believing a long time ago that you could be real,” he murmurs, unable to stop himself from stealing another quick kiss, his nose purposefully brushing yours. He’s thoroughly starved for every little touch.

“I am. So are you. Not the Devourer, the Scourge, nor the Red Death,” you say, tucking back the stray locks of hair that have fallen over his crown. This, too, had been carved for him. He had been loved once, and as he said, he had been good. There is love in you enough to help him find that goodness again. There’s no reason you cannot live for the being you intended to die for. “Just you. Just Homelander.”

He kisses you, and suddenly you feel as if you’re free falling. From this point on, your life is something new. Something inexplicable and unpredictable. It’s yours, but it’s also his.

All that glitters is not gold, and sometimes the monster in the dark is just your reflection.

phew. thank you SO much for reading. this fic took me almost a full month to write, and it often felt like it was never going to end. that said, i'm already kind of chomping at the bit to write more in this universe. i feel like these two have a ton of potential, and there's just so much more that i want to do with them now that we have the groundwork done. once again, a huge shoutout to the amazing artist @anon-nee, who not only illustrated our dragon boy himself, but these awesome environment sketches as well. please be sure to go give them some love! The Tower of the Seven

The Dragon's Lair

#homelander x you #homelander x reader #monster romance #terato #monster x human #dragon x reader #monster x reader #homelander fanfiction #i'm gonna need so much aftercare from y'all on this one i've been writing it for the last 23 days lmao #and i'm posting it all at once because I LOVE U #my writing #monsterlander mania

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megalony · 11 days ago

Text

I'm Scared

This is a new Eddie Diaz imagine, based on an anon request, I really had fun with this one and I hope you will all like it.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay @harry-satellite @midsummereve1993 @babyqueen17 @buckyyyismahhlife @sammiejane22 @mrsyixingunicorn10

Eddie Diaz Masterlist

Part 2

Summary: All Hell breaks loose when, while on a call, a bomb blows up the fire truck and Eddie's wife ends up becoming trapped beneath it. And the team have to fight to get her out.

(I'm hoping to make a second part for this)

Enjoy.

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A shiver rattled down (Y/n)'s spine and sent goosebumps rising up on her skin when she heard the shower door open. For a brief moment, her arms bound around her chest but when she whipped around to look behind her, she sighed.

It wasn't just anyone on the team wandering in or opening the door by mistake. It wasn't someone trying to sneak a glance at her undressed and trying to clean up ready for their next call out.

It was her husband.

"What are you doing?" (Y/n) took a step closer to the wall and pressed her lips together tightly to smother any noise she might make when Eddie walked in to join her. She was relieved when he shut the door so the draft finally stopped and the water created another aroma of steam to circle around them.

She let her hands drop from around her chest and her eyes closed automatically when his arms circled around her waist.

"Joining you." Eddie tucked his face into (Y/n)'s neck and pressed his lips against her wet, burning skin. He felt the water drip down and flatten his hair and when it traced down the bridge of his nose and fell onto (Y/n)'s shoulder, he felt her shiver against him.

He tightened his arms and pushed forward when (Y/n) groaned as if she might just have the willpower to fight him off and tell him to get out. He knew she wouldn't. He grinned into her neck when she seemed to melt against him instead of push him away.

They were at work. They were on shift.

This happened to be the first time (Y/n) had found Eddie wandering in to take a shower with her while they were at work. He had never been this sneaky before. Usually they were affectionate when their shifts lined up and they worked together, but this was different. This was breaking the rules and testing to see if they got caught or not. (Y/n) didn't want to get caught out.

Bobby wouldn't go easy on them if he found out they were doing this. Buck would flip out. Hen would never let them live this down and Chimney would probably die of embarrassment for them.

(Y/n) opened her eyes and looked down when she felt Eddie's hands curve round from her hips to grab and squeeze at her waist. His thumb brushed up and down her skin against the water cascading down around them and (Y/n) took a sharp breath when he suddenly bit down on her neck like a vampire.

"You shouldn't be in here… go next door." (Y/n) motioned her hand to the right to signal any other cubicle. There were four shower blocks in here, Eddie needed to go into one of them and get washed.

If they were gone for a while at the same time, people were going to notice they were missing and if anyone came in here and found them, they would get disciplined. It wasn't within the rules to take a shower together or cop off while they were still on shift.

"You want me to be lonely?"

"Eddie…" (Y/n) tilted her head back when Eddie moved his lips down and started to bite another mark onto her skin. If it wasn't bad enough that he was taking the risk to be in here, he was also marking her up and if people noticed, they would know what they'd done. "You want us to get reprimanded?" She countered, but her words did very little to persuade him otherwise.

She took her time turning around in his arms and her hands traced down to his chest to try and nudge him backwards. If he was going to do this, she would get out with him. (Y/n) would cut her shower short and get out if it stopped Eddie from becoming insatiable like this.

"No one knows you came for a shower. Just let me have five minutes with you, amor. Please? No fun and games, I swear." Eddie dug his fingertips into her hips and pushed her back until her back hit the tiles and she gasped.

They were like ice cubes sticking to her burning skin and the mix of hot and cold made her shake until Eddie tilted his head down so their foreheads were pressed together.

He just wanted five minutes alone with his wife. They had pulled a double shift and they were still here at the station. Eddie wanted a few minutes alone with his wife before they had to go back on shift and be somewhat professional. He wasn't asking to risk getting caught or risk having sex in the shower and get carried away. He just wanted to be as close as he could to (Y/n) for a little while. Just a few minutes.

She liked the way the water dripped down from his pale pink lips and jumped free from his chin. Each droplet made (Y/n)'s chest tighten while she reached her hands up to cup the back of his neck.

"Five minutes." She warned, keeping her fingertips pressed against his skin as she pulled him down to her level and connected his lips onto hers.

She sucked his lower lip between her teeth and gave a little bite until Eddie growled and pulled her chest up against his.

He cocooned both arms around her waist and splayed his hands out on her back, gliding his fingertips up and down her skin while his temple pressed into hers. He kept her pressed back against the wall and closed his eyes, leaning his chest down onto hers so they were as close as they could possibly get.

This was all Eddie wanted. He just wanted to hold her. He could restrain himself and stop from dragging this moment out into an hour-long shower where people really would notice they'd gone missing. Eddie had self-control and he could handle just holding her and not taking it any further.

When (Y/n) moved her hand up higher and began dragging her fingers through his wet hair, she felt him groan into her lips and his hands pressed down firmer into her back. Her nails scratched against his scalp and she gave a sharp tug on his roots before Eddie disconnected their lips and moved back down to attach to her neck.

He kept his face tucked into the crook of her neck, eyes still closed and lips floating across her skin with a more gentle touch this time. He didn't bite down or attempt to leave anymore marks, he just glided his lips up and down her neck until (Y/n) was reduced to a shivering mess.

He worked his way back up to her face and connected their lips but they both froze when they heard the shower room door open.

"Eddie…" She murmured as quietly as she could against his lips but he shook his head and pressed his lips back to hers as if to make sure she stayed silent.

He kept their noses touching and their eyes locked as he leaned down and moved slowly. His hands wormed their way down her back so one hand was in between her hips and the other gripped the underside of her thigh. (Y/n) could feel his fingertips pinching into her skin so he had a good grip and she pressed her lips together when he slowly hoisted her up.

Her shoulders stayed pressed against the tiles and Eddie pulled her leg until she took the hint and wrapped both legs around his hips so she was sitting on his torso. At least this way, if whoever came in happened to look down at their cubicle, they would only see one pair of legs and not two.

"Eddie?"

It was Buck. They both heard his footsteps pause and it sounded like he stopped in the doorway to the showers. He wouldn't want to come marching in and have a conversation when Eddie was in the shower.

"Yeah?"

"Bell's gone; we got a call."

Damn. He had barely gotten in the shower and he was already going to have to scramble out and hurry to get dressed again. At least (Y/n) had had a bit longer in here before the bell went. They had only been back at the station from their last call for about half an hour, if that.

"Alright, I'm coming."

As soon as the shower door slammed closed, Eddie slumped his head back down onto (Y/n)'s shoulder and sighed. He pulled her chest tighter against his and gave her thigh a squeeze. They would have to get out now.

"That's our cue." (Y/n) murmured softly into Eddie's hair and she untangled her fingers at the back of his neck. Waiting for him to ease her down to her feet again so they could go get ready to roll out again.

She felt his hand tighten around her thigh and he slowly pulled back and allowed (Y/n) to drop back down to her feet so he wasn't holding her on his hips anymore.

"Promise me we can pick this back up when we get home." He murmured into her neck as (Y/n) turned the shower off and a soft grin spread across her features.

(Y/n) tilted her head back and pressed a kiss against Eddie's cheek when she felt his hands on her hips as he walked up behind her. She felt him squeeze her hips and peck her temple before he weaved around her and made his way over to the ambulance.

Hen and Chimney were the main medics, but Eddie had taken up a helping hand as a medic during most of the shift and that earned him a spot in the ambulance alongside Hen today.

His eyes flashed behind him and looked over at his wife, casting a smile in her direction before he climbed into the passenger seat of the ambulance.

(Y/n) watched him climb in while she whipped the helmet from her head and took off her overcoat, stuffing them into the compartment alongside Buck. Her eyes cast down to the name at the bottom of her overcoat and it made her smile. The jacket was newer than everyone else's because when they got married, (Y/n) got to get a new jacket with her name on the back, and a new sticker on her helmet that said Diaz too.

She moved to the side as Buck and Chimney climbed in the back of the truck which left (Y/n) to ride shotgun with Thompson who was making up their shift today while Bobby was off.

Her head tilted to lean against the window, looking out at the passing scenery as they began their journey back to the station, following the ambulance. She loved how the buildings looked different at night. Illuminated with bright lights and golden orange glows of indoor lamps and the headlights of flashing cars passing in the other direction.

(Y/n) closed her eyes for a few moments and let the memory of this afternoon with Eddie flash across her mind. She couldn't wait for their shifts to finish so they could go home.

She crossed her legs and started to tap her foot against the dashboard in front of her while the truck headed down the street.

"Not long now and we get released at midnight." Buck's words made (Y/n) smile and she nodded when she looked down at the radio and noticed the time. Three more hours and she and Eddie could go home and spend three days off together with Chris. She was on countdown.

"Fuck!"

(Y/n) wasn't sure who shouted. She barely turned her head to the left before blinding headlights was all she could see and an awful bang made her eardrums burst and pop.

The truck had never moved with such power and vigor before. (Y/n) had never known the wheels of the truck to leave the floor. A deep rumbling vibrated from the very end of the truck right beneath it to the front engine and the magnitude of the explosion sent the rear flying up into the air.

Both (Y/n)'s hands thrashed to try and grab the dashboard, needing something to steady herself and push herself down in her seat, but there was nothing to hold on to.

A violent scream left her lips, mingling in with the sound of her team all crying out in confusion and blaring panic. Her body propelled forward as the truck seemed to lift in the air before changing positions. It fell onto it's side like a beast that had been shot down in motion. The momentum kept them scraping across the road at full pelt and sent the team tumbling inside the truck.

(Y/n)'s arms spread out like wings in front of her, but she stopped breathing when her body pummelled to the right and was thrust out the open window as if an invisible force her shoved her. The moment her body collided with the floor, every noise turned to white static in her ears and her brain switched off.

"Oh God!" Hen slammed on the breaks, her eyes glued to the wing mirror on her left that showed sparks flying from the underside of the truck that was now skidding across the road on its side. She watched with utter terror crawling through her body as it came to a stop in the middle of the intersection. Passing cars and people all abruptly stopping, no one knowing what to do.

When she looked to the side, her lips curved into a wobbling frown as she watched the anguish flood Eddie's face. His hands were gripping the dashboard and the handle above the door like it was them who had been skidding across the floor. But then it dawned on her.

(Y/n).

It wasn't just their team in that truck; Eddie's wife was in there too.

"Was- was that…"

"A bomb. Call for backup now!" Eddie clambered down from the ambulance before Hen had time to respond or tell him to wait. He had to find (Y/n).

His boots hit the floor with vigor and he veered to the back of the ambulance, flinging the doors open carelessly so he could find a medic bag.

Once one was in hand, he set off into a pelting run, skidding across the concrete to try and get close to the truck that he had never seen laid on its side like that before. He was glad it wasn't on fire. If the engine caught fire then it would be extremely hard to get anyone out safely and timely before the whole thing went up in flames.

Eddie's heart hammered away in his chest and felt like it was simultaneously climbing up into his throat when he pelted towards the truck.

Everyone had been tossed out. He could see their team members scattered about the road like they had been picked up and strewn about carelessly. His eyes roamed across them all, trying to decipher who was who so he could find (Y/n).

He spotted Buck first. His friend was coughing and spluttering, doing his best to roll over onto his front so he could try and push himself up onto his knees. He saw Chimney leaning against the back of the truck to get himself to his feet, and he saw Thompson scrambling away from the driver's seat through the broken windshield to get out.

His eyes found his wife last.

There she was. Laid on her front, one cheek meshed into the floor, both arms stretched out in front of her. Legs sprawled out behind her in a way that made Eddie sure she had been tossed out the window during the crash.

"(Y/n)!" Her name fell from his lips what felt like fifty times as he stormed over towards her.

She wasn't moving. at least, Eddie thought she wasn't moving. The closer he got, the more worried he started to feel when he realised she wasn't trying to crawl away, but once he was within range, he heard her.

She was sobbing.

He crashed down to his knees, feeling the concrete digging into his knees through his trousers as he dumped the medic bag beside him in favour of reaching out for his wife. Each breath Eddie took started to run away without him until his chest was heaving and rapidly rising and falling while he gasped and choked for air.

His eyes scanned her frame, checking for injuries, but the ones he found made his heart sever and drop down to the pit of his stomach.

Her leg was pinned. She had the entire weight of the fire truck crushing her right leg, pinning it to the floor. The corner of the truck near the windscreen and the passenger door was jammed down into her leg. Now Eddie could see why she hadn't moved; she wasn't able to get away.

A jolt ran through Eddie when he suddenly felt (Y/n)'s hands clamping down on his thighs, digging in so much that he was sure she was imbedding her nails into his skin. Not that it mattered at all.

Both her hands started to shake from how badly she clenched her fingers into Eddie's thighs as he knelt in front of her.

Tears streamed down her face and horrid panting breaths left (Y/n)'s lips as she tried to look up at him through floodwaves. She sniffed and gasped, blinking her bleary eyes to try and look up at him, but she could barely move her head. Her right cheek was pressed down into the floor and it felt like she had melted into the concrete.

She went to say his name, but all that came out was a gut-wrenching sob that seemed to morph into a scream at the end.

"It's okay, shh I've got you."

The feeling of Eddie's hand shakily brushing across her cheek and down to her neck made (Y/n) feel momentairely blinded. And she tried to melt into the touch to see if it would make her feel any better. She realised his fingers were pressing into her neck so he could check her pulse, but she leaned into the touch anyway.

When both Eddie's hands moved to her face and carefully helped her lift her head from the road, (Y/n) felt better. She felt relieved that her face wasn't glued to the floor like she imagined it would be. It was good to have her burning cheek away from the floor that had cut into her face.

Eddie managed to mask the heartache from his expression when he looked down at his wife. There was a cut to her temple and a searing graze on the right side of her face, down her cheek to her chin from where she had scraped the floor. Her hair was coming loose and fanning around her face and she was trembling horribly.

Both arms were shuddering against his lap where she was trying to cling to him and prevent him from leaving; as if he would leave her for a moment.

"E-Eddie, p… please," The words wouldn't form properly, but (Y/n) tried to pull on his thighs and use him as a boulder to pull herself away from the truck. She needed to get away from the engine. They didn't know what caused the explosion or if it would happen again.

"No! No, baby stay still for me."

"Why?" (Y/n) leaned her cheek into his hand and closed her eyes when the shaking got worse. "Hurts, e-everything hurts."

A choked moan left her lips that was followed by a scream when an awful shockwave rattled through her. It felt like her legs had been snapped in half. Her back was aching and her abdomen was pulsing from where she had landed roughly on the floor. And she was sure she could feel glass imbedded into various areas of her skin.

She needed to move and get away. She had to get help.

"You stay right there for me, baby okay? I need to get you prepped before we move you." When Eddie looked over his shoulder, he noticed Chimney was up and on the radio trying to ask for back up. While Hen was stood to one side with Buck and a few other civilians, trying to keep someone at bay from getting any closer.

He locked eyes with Chimney and tried to listen to who he was talking to. "I need back up now, Chim. We have to move this truck." The venom dripping from Eddie's voice made Chimney shudder and take a step back, but he nodded.

Another round of "Please," choked past (Y/n)'s lips but when her pleas fell on deaf ears, she tried to use Eddie as a post and drag herself closer to him.

Crippling agony shot through her legs like a fire consuming her whole. Her nerves ignited and agony sparked within them all the way up to the base of her skull. Tremors rattled through her as she sobbed and tried to crane her neck to see where the pain was coming from.

"Baby-" Eddie cringed and momentairely closed his eyes when (Y/n)'s shrill scream hit his ears.

He felt her trembling get worse and her face smashed into his thighs like she had suddenly fainted, but he could still feel her screaming into his thighs.

Her leg was pinned down. Her trouser leg had been shredded. There was a river of blood beneath her legs that she could tell now felt damp and sticky. The back of her calve was split open like someone had hacked away at her with an axe. Muscle was exposed. The metal corner of the truck was imbedded into her leg like an extension of herself.

Now she knew why Eddie hadn't dragged or tried to carry her away. He couldn't move her. Nobody could.

"(Y/n)… mi amor, look at me." Eddie's hands went back to cupping her face and he brushed his thumbs beneath her eyes, wiping away her tears while his own eyes began to silently water. "We're gonna get this off of you, okay? Breathe with me, it's gonna be okay. I swear."

Eddie pressed his lips against her temple and took a few slow breaths to try and get (Y/n) to copy him. Panicking wasn't going to do her any good. He and the team would get her out of this mess, they would look after her and get her to the hospital. Eddie wasn't leaving until this truck was moved and his wife was on a stretcher ready to be transported out of here.

He pressed his chest into his thighs, pinning (Y/n)'s hands between them as he tried to calm them both down. Breathing against her temple while a few tears soaked into her skin.

"Alright, let's get you some morphine, hm?"

(Y/n) couldn't stop herself from breaking out in shakes and as soon as Eddie let go of her face, she smothered her head in his thighs. Her tears soaked into his trousers and she panted so much it felt like she wasn't breathing at all. She dragged her hands up from his thighs to clutch at his hips, not that he seemed to mind, and she clung to him wile she felt him rolling up her sleeve.

The injection in her elbow barely felt like a scratch and (Y/n) prayed it would work quickly. She couldn't take this agony for much longer. She had never felt so broken in all her life.

For a moment, Eddie rummaged around in the medic bag until he found the neck brace at the bottom. He carefully slid his hands beneath (Y/n)'s chin, lifting her head from his thighs enough to clip the blue and white plastic around her neck. She undoubtedly had some form of whiplash and he had no idea what spinal injuries she might have obtained from the crash.

He ran his fingertips along her temple and tried to smile down at her before he looked up when Hen hurried towards them.

"Bobby's here, he's with the police… and the bomber." She saw the fire that raged in Eddie's eyes and he whipped his head around to try and locate whoever was responsible for this.

If (Y/n) wasn't in such crippling agony and torment, Eddie would have taken off and unleashed Hell on the idiot who had done this.

"We're all here to look after you, (Y/n)." Hen's voice was soothing as she knelt down on (Y/n)'s other side with her own medic bag beside her. "Let's take a look. Can you wiggle your feet for me?"

(Y/n) pressed her forehead down into Eddie's thighs, feeling irritable with the neck brace on. She didn't want it. She didn't need it. All (Y/n) wanted was for them to move her and make the agony subside. She wanted help. She didn't want to be laid strewn on the floor like this. She was a firefighter, she was supposed to ride in the truck, not be pinned down to the road by it.

Her lips scrunched up and she winced as she flexed both feet in different directions so her boots scuffed the glass and concrete.

"That's good." Hen briefly squeezed (Y/n)'s arm before she looked across at Eddie. "Let's get her on a drip, keep her veins open."

She found a saline bag and handed the plastic tube across to Eddie so he could do the honours. They needed to get fluids into (Y/n)'s body so she didn't dehydrate and it would keep her veins open and give her body the sodium and minerals it needed. They couldn't have her developing crush syndrome.

"Okay." Eddie swiped his sleeve against his eyes and beneath his nose and he shook his head to try and clear his mind and gather his senses. He worked out in the field when he was in the army. He had been in dangerous situations and kept his calm.

He had dragged his team to safety with a gunshot wound and had hardly been phased by any of it. But his family hadn't been involved in the army. His wife hadn't been deadly injured. Her life wasn't the one at risk.

The shaking finally subsided in Eddie's hands and he cleaned the back of (Y/n)'s right hand, trying to squeeze tight to stop her from shaking too so he could insert the needle into her vein. Once it was in, he taped the cannula in place and raised her hand so he could kiss her knuckles.

"Baby, I need to put a turniquet on your leg, stay very still for me, okay?"

He had to strap her leg and cut off her circulation so she didn't bleed out on the road. And it would stop her muscles from releasing toxins into her blood that would cause crush syndrome.

(Y/n) tried to say 'I'm not going anywhere' but all that came out was a mewling cry when Eddie shuffled around so he was no longer knelt in front of her.

She was grateful to Hen for taking her left hand and allowing her to squeeze as tightly as she needed to keep calm. (Y/n) curled her right arm close to her face so she could mesh her mouth and nose against her arm, being mindful of the cannula in the back of her hand.

She felt Eddie's hands groping up her leg, avoiding the area where the truck was rammed down into her skin. He felt around her knee and halfway up her thigh before he slipped the dark blue elastic beneath her leg. The tiniest jolt where Eddie lifted her thigh from the road made (Y/n) wail and she tried to sink her teeth down into her arm to stop herself from making such a scene.

She could hear Eddie hushing her, but even his voice was wavering and broken. The moment he pulled the elastic and popped the pin in place, (Y/n) let out a guttural scream. It felt like teeth sinking into her flesh and her nerves ignited once again like they were the fuse to dynamite, about to explode. But the notion that in a minute or two, the pain would subside, made (Y/n) feel a little lighter.

"There we go, all done." Eddie kissed the back of her head and shuffled round so he was kneeling back down in front of her. So (Y/n) could dig her hands back into his thighs and press her face into his knees like she was trying to merge them into one being.

If Eddie could suffer through the pain for her, if he could trade places with her, he would in a heartbeat. Eddie would take any amount of suffering if it would mean (Y/n) didn't have to go through this.

"Eddie, Eddie how is she?" The sound of Bobby's panicked voice caught all their attention.

They looked up to find bobby, Buck and Chimney all crowding round to see what they could do to help. It made Eddie sure that the situation with the bomber had been taken care of, although he wasn't sure that really made him happy. He wanted to see who it was. He wanted to look them in the eye and ram his fist into their face and pin them beneath the truck and see how they liked having their limb ripped apart like this. Like his wife.

He wanted to make whoever was responsible suffer for what they had put his wife through, but he couldn't leave (Y/n) in order to do that. He couldn't leave her side for a moment, not when she was in absolute agony like this.

"We have to get it off her, I can't do anything until she's free." Eddie had given her morphine and tried to assess her leg, but there was nothing he could do until she was freed from this mess.

"Then let's get it up. Come on." Bobby's voice held authority and a sternness that hid the panic bubbling up inside of him. One of his own was hurt, one of his team who were his extended family. He would do anything he could to help her.

Bobby moved to the corner of the truck and Chimney, Buck and Hen all got the message of what he was trying to do. They waved at the other fire team that had arrived and everyone moved to hold onto the ladder fixed to the top of the truck. The top that was now aiming towards them with the whole vehicle being on its side.

With his back to the truck, hands grappling with the ladder and his knees bent, Bobby looked down at Eddie to give them the signal.

Eddie didn't like this. He knew what he was going to have to do, and he knew how much this was going to hurt his wife.

"Baby, this isn't gonna be nice, but I'll move you as fast as I can, okay?" He was going to have to drag (Y/n) as soon as the truck was lifted from her leg. That was going to cause her mass agony, but they didn't have any other choice. If they wanted (Y/n) free from the truck, they had to move fast.

"I'm scared."

Tears trickled down the bridge of her nose and she closed her eyes when Eddie cupped her cheek and pressed his wet lips against her temple.

"You don't have to be scared, just hold onto me."

He carefully shuffled back a few paces and changed position so his knees and his abdomen were pressed down against the floor, mimicking (Y/n)'s position. He braced the toes of his boots against the floor like he was preparing for a sprint, and his hands held onto (Y/n)'s wrists, being mindful of the cannula in the back of her hand.

When he nodded up at Bobby, his eyes adverted back down to (Y/n) and he tried to nod at her before she closed her eyes. Her chin tucked down against the ground, despite the neck brace restricting her movements and she tried not to hold herself tense and let herself go floppy so he could move her. So they could all help move her.

Each breath she took made her heart pound against her chest until all (Y/n) could hear was the rapid thumping beat and the sound of Eddie's stern breaths which fanned against her cheek.

"Alright, let's move it!"

Bobby's voice boomed through the air and he tried to puut as much effort into his back and arms as possible. His weight pushed down and his upper body rose up. It didn't matter to Bobby that he had an old back injury that could flare up from time to time. All he cared about was getting (Y/n) out of here. The bomber set that bomb in the truck specifically to hurt him; he didn't want (Y/n) suffering any more because of him.

Everyone put as much weight as they could onto the truck, trying in vain to push and lift and shift the heaping ton of metal so it would rise.

Eddie's eyes moved past his wife and zoomed in on the truck, specifically where the corner was imbedded down into his wife's leg. Once it started to lift, Eddie hunkered down and pulled.

The most petrifying scream he had ever heard tore past (Y/n)'s lips in a blaze of fury. Tears soaked her face, spit dribbled past her lips and her inner lips turned blue as she wailed and shrieked.

It felt like they were tearing her apart. Her leg wasn't moving but the rest of her was. She was going to come apart like a rag doll.

"It's not enough! It has to be higher!" Eddie shook his head and sank his teeth into his lower lip.

Just a bit higher. Just a tiny bit more and he could drag his wife free and get her to safety in the ambulance. A little more give and he could have (Y/n) in his arms again and take her to hospital. They had to move fast, this was causing her mass agony and Eddie couldn't bear to witness this for much longer. It was tearing him apart.

"Again!"

(Y/n) kept her eyes snapped closed and scratched her nails into Eddie's wrists. She did her best to focus on the feeling of his thumbs smoothing across her wrists over her pulse, but even the feeling of the truck being lifted from her leg had (Y/n) sobbing before she had been moved.

She felt the strength in Eddie's grasp as he tried to move her, but he couldn't. He tugged her maybe half a centimetre before he stopped and shook his head. The truck wasn't high enough. They were going to tear a hole from her thigh down to her ankle if they dragged her without the truck completely off her.

"It's not enough."

"The jack won't hold up the truck, not even the corner of it." Buck shook his head while panic flushed his face.

The jack hammer they used for cars wouldn't be strong enough to lift up the truck, it wouldn't hold up this corner for a second. And it would take a lot of them to even try and push it down enough to lift the truck up. They had to think of something else.

"Then we think of something else. There's gotta be something nearby that we can use for leverage."

Everyone relaxed, but no one stepped far away from the truck just in case they wanted another go at pushing and heaving it up off of their team member.

Eddie pushed up from his abdomen so he was on his knees again, but he didn't let go of (Y/n)'s hands. He stayed gripping her wrists, running his thumbs up and down her flushed skin while he tried to think of what they could do. But his eyes snapped back down to (Y/n) when she suddenly wailed.

"Cut it off."

Her croaky voice fluctuated and wavered but Eddie heard her, and she broke his heart.

(Y/n) didn't dare look behind her at the mess that was left of her leg, but she could still feel it. The morphine, the turniquet and the IV were doing very little to distract her from the crippling agony she was subdued with. (Y/n) could feel her nerves disintegrating and how her muscles were shredding to pieces. She could feel her good leg trembling and jittering against the floor while the rest of her body dithered.

She felt like she was decaying. Her leg had been mutilated and her body was suffering the consequences.

Maybe cutting her leg off would be easier. It was hard to be rational when she was dosed on pain medication that was doing nothing to control the morphing agony she was in. Rational would be (Y/n) considering the fact that she needed both legs to do the job properly. She didn't want to have a limb amputated or suffer the degrading months of agony she would be in if she had to learn to live and adapt without one.

But right now, it felt simpler if she let them cut it off. They could dose her on whatever drugs were in the ambulance. They could knock her out and hack through her leg and take her to hospital. They could stop this agony and remove her limb that might not be able to be saved anyway.

All this agony, all this time and effort to help her and it could all be in vain. (Y/n) might lose her leg anyway after this.

"No, no baby we don't need to do that." Eddie cupped the back of her head and pressed his lips against her temple when she began to wail again.

No one was cutting her leg off. Eddie wouldn't let anyone contemplate that wild suggestion and it wasn't something they could do. They had to find a different solution to get her free.

She could feel Eddie's lips meshing against her temple but she wasn't sure what he was trying to murmur against her skin. Eddie's voice was drowned out by the constant, heart-wrenching sobs that tumbled past her lips and made her chest ache and burn.

She wanted out. She wanted to be moved. She wanted to either get out or die; this agony had to stop.

"Oh."

None of the team quite knew what to say or what to do when they saw the people tenderly stepping forward. The men and women who put down their bagd and keys, who dropped their hats and rolled up their sleeves and stepped forward, gingerly pointing and aiming towards the truck.

They would help. If more strength and power was what the fire department needed to get one of their own free, then the public would help.

Eddie wasn't sure which member of the team said his name, but he found himself nodding along. He peppered a million kisses against (Y/n)'s temple and brushed away her tears as he went back to laying on his stomach in front of her. Rather than holding her wrists, Eddie shifted his hands to grip her upper arms, clenching tight so he could drag her as fast as possible.

With this many people around to help them, surely they could get (Y/n) free now.

"Here we go, mi amor. Hold tight."

She tried. (Y/n) tried to hold onto Eddie's forearms and she let herself go floppy when she heard Bobby give the command for everyone to push.

All at once, she was on fire. She was burning on hot coals and freezing in the depths of the ocean. Her body was overcome with beads of sweat and hypothermic shivers. The scream emitting from her lips fell upon deaf ears that were overcome with ringing bells and she started to shake and writhe like she was holding onto a live wire.

A mimicking yell tore past Eddie's lips as his watering eyes closed and he pushed back on his knees so he could drag (Y/n) that little bit further. There was no more resistance holding her back. There was nothing gripping her, pinning her flesh to the floor like a skewer. When Eddie yanked on her arms, (Y/n) swiftly skidded across the floor and onto his lap with wailing yelps of torment.

"I've got her! I've got her, let's go!" His hands flopped from her arms and his trembling hands curved around her frame as he meshed his lips against her temple. "Oh amor, you're gonna be okay now, it's all okay."

As soon as Hen crouched down beside them and a gurney was wheeled over, they both set to work.

(Y/n) kept her eyes closed and did her best to wave her hands out when she felt people crowding around her. She wasn't sure who or what she was grabbing at, she just wanted to hold onto something. Someone's hand was held out in front of her and she clenched down on it, not sure who it was but she knew it wasn't Eddie.

Her husband's hands were on her shoulders while someone else helped to carefully turn her over onto her back so they could slide the back board beneath her.

The agony sparking down her leg once she was transferred onto the gurney was unimaginable, but (Y/n) didn't have the effort to scream anymore. All she could do was shed streams of tears and whimper at every jolt.

She could hear Eddie ordering people out the way and the gurney felt unsteady with how fast it was moving, weaving and shaking her from side to side to get her to the ambulance.

When (Y/n) flopped her hand behind her and managed to grab Eddie's bicep, she felt him take her hand and raise her knuckles to his lips.

"I'm still here." He clicked the brakes with his heel and nodded at Hen and they both carefully shimmied the gurney up into the back of the ambulance.

Once they were inside, Hen hung up the saline bag so it was out the way and she found the monitoring clip and attached it to (Y/n)'s finger to keep track of her pulse and oxygen intake. They felt the ambulance shake when the back doors were slammed shut and Chimney climbed in the driver's seat.

"Cap and Buck are following behind us."

Eddie figured that meant they were getting a police escort because their other mode of transport was unmoving from the middle of the road after nearly killing his wife.

(Y/n) tugged and squeezed Eddie's hand as she felt her breaths begin to deepen, but that wasn't the problem. It was the way her body was suddenly jittering on the gurney, shaking back and forth to the point she felt like she was going to topple onto the floor.

"Okay, it's alright, just shock." Eddie kissed her hand before he let go and moved to increase the drip in her hand. She needed the fluids in her system as fast as possible to combat the shock and prevent her from developing crush syndrome. Her muscle wasn't compressed or being split apart anymore, her broken muscles could start spasming and relaxing toxins now she was free.

"How long to the hospital?"

"Ten minutes."

"Make it five." Eddie rammed his fist against the top of the ambulance to make his point. They needed (Y/n) transported as soon as possible. She had to be in surgery within the hour or they wouldn't have much change of saving her leg. Eddie wouldn't let her lose her leg. That wasn't happening.

He kissed her temple again and stayed hovering over her while Hen found another injection of morphine and waved it in Eddie's direction to show him what she was doing. (Y/n) needed more to take the edge off. They had to help her.

(Y/n) could feel more tears drenching down her face, but when she managed to open her eyes and looked up at Eddie hovering over her, she felt like smiling. Her trembling hand cupped the side of his face and she nudged their noses together while his temple was pressing lovingly down against hers.

"You're gonna be just fine now amor, I promise."

#911 imagine #imagine #eddie diaz x reader #eddie diaz imagine #eddie x reader #eddie diaz

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svndaysaweek · 8 months ago

Text

Overture (Prequel to Enlightenment) — {Feat. Karina}

8.7k words

A/N: You don’t know how old this draft is… I still remember that anon who sent a few asks about this series, and I really hope that they read this! This one is the longest I’ve ever written. Might not be the best piece, but I’m so proud of myself that I did my best. Thank you @dnd-writes for editing and giving me awesome advices. Enjoy!

*Prequel to “Enlightenment”

******

“Doesn’t matter how the two met. It’s about how they’re together ‘til now.”

******

It’s the first day in your new high school. It’s already March but the breeze is yet to blow winter away, strongly acclaiming its presence with the icy wind you face as soon as you come out of the main building of your school to go to the cafeteria. You haven’t made any friends to have lunch with yet, so you change your mind to just head to the smoking spot–behind the auditorium which is already an alien building itself–and kill some time smoking. You turn your way to the smoking spot inside the huge tide of students heading to the cafeteria. Freezing air makes you pace up to the spot.

After passing a few corners where even the wind has been disturbed to travel through, you find a drum can with fire in it making a peaceful crackling sound.

And a girl standing right by it as if wanting to get burnt. “Are you the new one?” Her voice is sharp enough to make it sound wary, yet quite chirpy to end up hitting you as rather coquettish.

“I don’t… I don't really know you,” Your steps towards her contradict your words. “Me neither.” At the fire you light your own cigarette. Your eyes scan her body from the ground to meet hers doing the same to you. The yellow name tag catches your eyes. Her name is Yu Jimin, third grade. And where the name tag is what makes your attention gather up too–perfect size, matches her wavy figure and sassy face, calmly heaves when she’s inhaling in the smoke.

“My name’s not that hard to read,” That’s when you realize that Yu Jimin, this unusual girl, will be an attraction with challenges. It’s all in her grin, in her turbid eyes that never leave yours–to be honest, it’s yours that never leaves hers; they won’t let the leash on your eyes loosen, until she wants to.

You suck it in, and breathe out a mouthful of smoke in the cold air. You look at her again and she's been watching you thoroughly, from head to toe, examining your body, shape, façade and all things she finds nice to look at, regardless of you mirroring her like once isn’t really enough.

She’s got such a nice, sculpted body, hidden under the school uniform but even more premo like that; concave and convex, it just hugs her curves impeccably. Narrow waist and wide, tight hips causing the skirt to struggle not to be torn apart. What’s more is her face, at the height of your chest, looking almost unrealistic, inhumanly beautiful, especially with a shallow grin like right now.

You are automatically making steps toward Jimin and she’s not backing up. You turn your head right to let out the smoke and then return to the ongoing gaze between you two.

“Don’t I look cold?” Jimin steps backwards, from the fire and from you. It makes you just automatically look at her legs, so slick and teem with femininity. You keep following what she tells you to do, what the hormones tell you to do.

“What do you want me to say?” It should be delivered as a counterattack to the dominance Jimin has shown you, but it, unfortunately, ends up sounding as if you were really confused. And Jimin almost bursts into laughter which she manages to hold in.

“So, third grade? What class are you in?”

“Two. You?” You drop the used cigarette and step on it to put it out. “Four. I’ll drop by sometime, handsome.”

Then she leaves the spot just like that. You are so interested in the girl Yoo Jimin. Given that she’s pretty like that, smokes around, she’s nothing like the normal students, obviously. And you can tell Jimin also found you special. Yeah, you know people don’t get to see a man like you quite often. You also know you don’t get to see a girl so appetizing like her often. It’s third year in highschool. You’re no amateur to let a girl play you around, rather, you’ve learned to control those feisty, hungry girls, but ugh, to be honest you don’t know what’s going on.

******

She never comes to see you until the end of school. Nor do you, because you thought you could wait–precisely, you thought you had to wait. You definitely want to take the upper hand in this new relationship so you just head home, yet with a bit of disappointment. But you don’t let anyone know. Maybe she’s just playing you out. That’s unacceptable for you. You calmly wait for the bus deep in thought. Maybe find someone else tomorrow. I don’t know.

“Hey, going somewhere?”

Fuck. It’s her. Jimin.

You think of complaining, but swallow it back and answer. “Home. You?” Jimin shrugs with nonchalance. “I don’t know. Your place, maybe? Do you live alone?” She lunges in suddenly, and you could just let her be as spunky as she can be. “I do. Why do you want to know that?” You throw a question, feigning calmness, and Jimin just smirks back.

“Don’t ask me.”

You’re on the bus. You let Jimin take the window side and sit next to her. You stuff your ears with some random songs and lock your eyes to the screen in your palm to leave the absorbing girl next to you out of your world even for a second.

“What made you move to my school?” Suddenly one of your earphones is between her fingers, your arm in hers to squish her breast slightly which feels so intentional. This bold little chick keeps surprising you in unforeseeable ways. Besides, you can read that she’s definitely testing you. Seems a little bit like an upside-down situation, for you to be the object, and oh, don’t you say you don’t find this rather fun.

“Well, there was an accident. You don’t need to know any further.” Her questions don’t seem to end, however. An eye roll might silence her—

“You can tell me. It’s alri-“

“You’d better shut the fuck up, Jimin.” Your fingers hold her chin up, facing you, merely a breath away as your noses tickle each other. And what gets you a moment later is her eyes, round and glowy, that could easily see through your brain, trying to suffocate you in the vivid yet gooey gaze. And there she plants her words straight into your brain; I’m a little impressed, but try harder.

A sudden squeak of the brake informs you to get off. You step out of the bus and Jimin quietly follows. Then you start walking at a rather slow pace. The sound of another pair of footsteps is the only clue of her existence for you.

“You made me wait.” You break the silence as you near your house. You don’t bother turning back to be an audience for her commanding attitude, but her cockiness nonetheless makes it to your ears.

“Well, I might have just forgotten. My bad.” You unlock the door, let Jimin in and close it. Right after the thud you pin her arms over her head with one hand, eliciting a sharp yelp from her.

“You made me fucking wait, Jimin. You’ll have to pay for it.” Your face is just a few inches from hers again. Your straining voice is mixed with her breath, hot, and your burning gaze never leaves hers, to return the blow that she had on your mind; you don’t know me yet.

“You should feel lucky.”

“Why?”

“I’m interested in you.” Jimin’s words, however, don’t sound tense or weak despite your visible dominance. Rather, it’s an impudent confidence that defies the dynamic knotted between your eyes. Jimin herself visualizes it with an even wider smile, dense with deliberate harm to your ego.

“Mmm…!” You dive into Jimin’s lips while your other hand suddenly wraps around her neck hard. Keeping the chokehold still, your hand once holding her wrists tears her school shirt open, letting the buttons randomly fly to the floor. With her hands free, they dangle on your arms. Her demure hand tries to push you back from her neck, but her tongue is flapping inside your mouth, already allured by the intenseness. Your other hand hesitates about before swiftly undoing her bra and Jimin drops it on the floor. You squeeze the godly pair of flesh and soon pull back from the kiss.

“Shit, you like it rough, huh?” Jimin giggles, with a killing lip bite, and discards her buttonless shirt. There you feel something kick your heart, to see a girl enjoying your selfishness and harshness for the first time. A thought that this girl might be the one for you passes through your mind like a hit-and-run truck.

You turn yourselves around and make Jimin walk backwards to your bedroom with your guide. Jimin doesn't wait to unbutton your shirt on your way, and the corners of her lips soon get pulled down by the lust exponentially charging up. You try to look calm but you’re no different–can’t help it in front of this amazing figure of Jimin, skin-to-skin just for you.

Entering the bedroom you push Jimin onto the bed. Her under lip experiences another intense bite as you lay her down and climb over her body, face to face just like a few minutes ago. With one hand supporting your weight, you take the other to her irresistible breasts and fondle them. Jimin hooks her arms and magnetizes your lips to hers for a delirious lip lock once again. Your hand slides down her torso to the button of her uniform skirt and undoes it then takes it off of her fatal legs and throws it to the floor.

“Next time you won’t wear these, okay?” It’s a demand but also a command, with your fingers on the wet spot on her panties. Her hands find themselves wandering on your toned chest, much in admiration. She nods quickly and unbuckles your pants.

“Needy,” Her hastiness makes you grin, and your words only make Jimin’s excitement grow.

“Yes. I am.” This is what makes you wanna accept the challenge; she’s talking things like that all too fresh, like you have to feel thankful for it. You take your pants off with your underwear to be fully naked. You help Jimin get rid of the annoying cloth being dampened by her pussy off her legs and throw it to the pile of clothes on the floor. With the anticipation for the next step Jimin’s breath paces up, running thin like her patience.

“You’re fucking big…” Jimin marvels at the way your cock tickles her belly button and her tummy. You slap her bare stomach a few times with your cock, spit on it and spread the slickness across with slow strokes.

“I said you’ll have to pay for it, Jimin,” You rub your cock on her wetness, gaining more lubrication, and slap your cock on her folds to see her reaction.

“Ah, please make me…Make me-OH FUCK…!” You push into the hilt with a swift thrust. The tightness draws a groan straight from your throat, and your right hand rises to her neck and chokes her hard again.

“You tell me who’s lucky. You think it’s still me?” Straight to the point that has been bothering you ever since it was spoken. You love to make things clear—dirty—who’s the one to stand and who’s the one to kneel. And if she ever intended to get under your skin, well, she pushed the wrong button.

Jimin’s eyes slam shut, unlike her agape mouth through which you can see her tongue has lost its way, dragged here and there by the hand of her senses, overthrown by what you’re doing. You keep thrusting in and out at such a pace, every time making sure your balls hit her ass, filling her tight hole up ecstatically with no vacancy.

“Hah, god…! It’s me, I’m the lucky one! I’m so fucking lucky to have your big cock inside me!”

“Good. See, your act doesn’t last a day.”

Her lips tremble, as if about to cry, as if all the fucking around was just a pretense and she actually has to be under you. She bites the lower one but can’t hold the shiver down.

You move your hand from Jimin’s neck to her face, grabbing her cheeks in one grip. You bring her face close to yours, both shaking to the orgasmic rhythm but never losing eye contact. Then you slap her cheeks, out of nowhere, just enough for the sound to be pleasurable but not too painful. Jimin starts to drool when you do that several times more, with loud, long moans gradually turning into screams.

“Oh, fuck, yes…! FUCK YES…!” Done with the hitting, you push in your fingers to Jimin’s unsilent mouth to get a better hold of her body. A teardrop leaves her glossy eyes and rolls down to where her ear is. A perfect mixture of pain and pleasure, both of which makes you two forget about tomorrow.

“I’m cumming, Jesus! I-I… Fucking cummi-“ Jimin’s back viciously arches so upward that you almost slip out. Her arms don’t seem to settle for a while before they dig into your back to work as anchors, her body vulnerable in the midst of a destructive swirl of pleasure. But that’s none of your concern as you make the haze in her head threaten her consciousness.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” You wait for Jimin to come down but that’s so silly of you to do so; your ravageous ramming cock never lets her. All of a sudden you pull out, causing Jimin to shake immensely, and flip her on all fours. Her sex is glistening and the other hole is too, both of them slick with her juices and constricting irregularly.

When Jimin feels your cock rub on her pussy she collapses onto the mattress, only her ass up and her face down, exhausted on the bed, faced to the right. But whenever your cock teases her other hole Jimin shudders, toes curl and her fists try to tear your sheets at the sensation of her asshole getting stimulated.

“Agh, fuck…” You don’t warn Jimin when you insert the head of your cock inside her tight ass. This time even you can’t handle the pleasure of its tremendous tightness as you shut your eyes and groan loudly.

“Holy fuck, Jimin, this is so tight,” You tell her when you’re halfway in. Her body stays still, but her hands ball up and her toes curl until they all become pale. Every inch deeper inside her ass is the moment for you to admire the transcendental tightness you’ve never experienced from those other girls you have been through. Maybe you’re lucky too, to have found this perfect body with nothing to lament on.

“Oh, please, that’s deep! Fuck my ass deep just like-oh my fucking god!” Your reaction is quick—it’s more of a reflection though—doing more than what Jimin asked even before she finishes her words, beginning the mindless assfuck with such a carefree pace. You bring her powerless head up with your hand wrapped around her neck, tight, choking her again. The tighter you grip, the tighter her ass gets. You catch a glimpse of the crooked corner of her lips, which only fuels your inner engines to work even harder.

It’s just your thing; when you see a smile, you have to break it. You destroy it, and you sincerely cherish it when it’s gone.

As you reach your maximum speed Jimin’s distorted smile subsides and an even more euphoric look spreads. Mouth open wide, drooling down her chin and onto your hand on her throat, eyes open but white. As if she muted herself, Jimin doesn’t even breathe—not only because of your grip, but also the orgasm building up as fast as how you ram her ass. You grin at the sight of Jimin drowning in the sensations her own nerves convey; you create. It kills you how small her body is, when you can witness a simple—yet ruthless—piston to her crotch can dye her whole skin red, travel electrically to everywhere in no time, shrinking every minimal muscle. You release her, she falls down limp on the bed and screams at the anal orgasm hitting her, threatening her consciousness.

“Ahh! Fuck, fuck…!” You’re nowhere far from your own end, either. Your breath shallows down at the crazy tightness of Jimin’s orgasming ass.

“Jimin, I’m cumming…!” You do. You reach as deep inside her anal cavern as you can and unload your cum, mind blowing pleasure coursing through every corner of your body. You shoot, and shoot, and shoot. Jimin clenches her hole for your cum to be deposited inside her with a lazy hum, in harmony with your groan seeping out of your gritted teeth.

It takes a few minutes for your breaths to find the normal speed. “No one’s fucked my ass this amazing,”

It surely was enough to bring amazement, undoubtedly the best you’ve had so far. You sit up and rearrange her hair for her.

“Did I pay for it?“ Jimin’s already got that bright smile back, and after such an extreme sex your barriers collapse in front of her, as you smile back at her.

“Very much.”

“Can you get my phone? It’s in my skirt.” You head to the pile of discarded clothes and do it for Jimin, who’s sitting on the bed with her head resting on the headboard. You toss it on the bed.

Jimin looks into her phone right away, scrolls down mindlessly and looks at you, who’s naked and standing next to the bed.

“Take a shower first, baby.”

Baby, she said.

Your eyes dart to hers immediately. Your face stays placid but you know Jimin knows you’re not at all used to it. You never really allow any strings attached with the ones you fuck; it’s a rather body-to-body entanglement than something emotional. But you’re surprised at how that word fits comfortably between you two. There’s something different. You look back at Jimin but her attention is taken by her phone already, again like a hit-and-run truck, but not completely as you can see her smirk the way you love. So you just enter the bathroom.

In the shower you review the past 30 minutes—you had sex with the girl Yoo Jimin: nothing special. But not just that; Jimin has by far the best body of all the other girls you’ve experienced. You can tell you really enjoyed it today. You can tell she’s worthy of continuing the relationship. You like the way Jimin turns from a bubbly, sassy girl in school to a begging, screaming mess in bed under you. And the way she calls you baby—it dulls all your edges like a cup of boiling water would do to an ice cube. Just like the hot water pouring on your head.

You come out of the shower and see Jimin smoking on your bed, sitting on the edge with her legs crossed, elbow on her thigh, still aesthetically naked. She looks gorgeous like that. You walk to her, take the cigarette from her hand to your mouth. Then push her down on the bed, breathe the smoke in deep and throw the shortened cigarette away to the bin next to bed, breathe out, and share a smoky kiss.

A few moments later your rod pokes at her belly and Jimin parts away with a giggle.

“Fuck, I really have to clean my body.” You bring her off the bed with you. “Shut up and get down here,” With a smirk she does, and as soon as she adjusts her legs and position you shove your cock in her mouth. A gag earned.

But after that Jimin takes your big cock pretty well, without gagging or looking uncomfortable, even when her nose crashes on your crotch; you’ve found yourself a perfect girl, indeed.

“Nice.” Her teary eyes never leave yours throughout the session as you pace up for a brief finish. Adjusting to the speed of your cock moving entirely in and out, Jimin’s hands go up to the back of your thighs for firmer grip.

Jimin’s drool tickles down your balls and forms a small puddle on the floor. With the filthiest slurping sound Jimin bobs her head at the beat of your cock sliding through. Whenever her delicate tongue presses onto the underside of your cock you throb inside her mouth, making her head slightly move simultaneously.

Jimin’s tears meet the drool on her chin, and with a sound of her voice from her throat Jimin taps your thighs for you to pull out. You take your cock out of her mouth and slap it on her fucked face a few times, painting her face with her own saliva, to her liking.

“Finish it.”

Put the shower aside, and you shower Jimin with your lust deep into her throat. You feel your legs not far from giving in, but thankfully your cock is just the same, due to what Jimin is doing under you.

“Jimin, I’m-I’m close.”

Jimin starts to fondle your balls and that certainly helps you cross the line. In no time you fill her throat up white, and the room with your satisfied groan.

You look straight into Jimin’s eyes when you cum, and it’s astonishingly reciprocated when she gulps down your load quickly, professionally. As soon as you are done pouring into Jimin she stands up, showing you her clean tongue with a tilt of her head, and heads to the bathroom. You, left alone, giggle quietly and sprawl on the bed after putting on underwear.

******

“Text me at lunch break. You know where to meet me.” You just nod at Jimin, who’s in one of your T-shirts that is just a little bit big for her; loss of all the buttons on her uniform comes at a cost. An inner beam blooms under your face when you find her just too perfect in that outfit of school skirt with your T-shirt tucked under it. Those unhidden bra lines count as one of many reasons for you to stare at her, take her in your arms right now and-

“Not now, perv.” Her smirk lets yours surface up to reciprocate hers. You stand up from the bed, approach her and walk her backwards to the wall. Jimin has been playful and relaxed with you and you like it. But when you—just like right now—detect submission in her eyes: you love it. You don’t stop your hand from rising up for her neck and have a good grip around it. You don’t stop the other from being pulled away to her gracious tits and squeezing them.

“Not now?” And there are those big eyes begging for you to go further, that bitten lower lip asking for any contact, as if the one who just quipped ‘not now’ choked out. Always hits you differently when she just switches from a brat to a subby mess out of control.

Contradiction is the most normal of things when you have a tight grip over Jimin. Her reddening face gradually forms a thin smirk when your lips close in to hers. Her eyes close, lips part for a mind-numbing kiss—

“Not now.” You make a sudden pull back and release Jimin from your grip. She stumbles and almost collapses on the floor so you hold her in your arms. For the same purpose and then some, her arms rest on your shoulders and pull you in, only to be denied by your hand pushing her chest off of you, leaving Jimin just keeping a hungry gaze at your lips and whimpering “Please.”

You finish tying the necktie, bring your thumb up to her lips. As it sweeps over them Jimin lets her tongue coat your thumb with her saliva which could’ve blended perfectly with yours.

“To the spot at lunch break, Jimin. And ah,” You stand down and pull her panties down in one sway and she helps herself out of them by lifting her legs respectively. You toss it on the bed and rise up again, for your collarbone to match her height, for her to look up at you again.

“You don’t wear the same panties for two days straight, do you?” Jimin just nods quickly and tries to crush her lips on yours yet again. Seems like she wouldn’t care even if you made her go to school all nude, if she could just mix her tongue with yours right now. Her efforts to make you kiss her is visible to you; eyes so seductive yet not able to take themselves off of their foremost target, lips slightly open for her tongue to peek outside. Seeing that you just step back and prepare to leave for school with an unseen smirk.

“Let’s go.”

******

As anticipated, needy and untidy Yoo Jimin sends you a dozen pictures of her bare crotch under her skirt, saying ‘Want your fingers inside’, ‘Can’t wait for the lunch break.’ Those are to be left on read.

Morning classes fly by as the bell rings to announce the lunch break. The class rushes out for lunch, has a race among them with some of them even running like they have something to win. And amongst that crowd you head to the spot, to Yoo Jimin.

She’s there already waiting for you when you turn the last corner. Legs crossed, back on the brick wall and a half-spent cigarette between her lips, looking so delinquent there with that insanely short skirt and in the shirt you gave. She notices you, has a reet smile on her and throws the cigarette on the ground, and watches you approach her standing still. No immaterial words or acts are needed when you can just kiss those lips like they’re yours. The remnant of the cigarette a fume that makes you dive deeper into this trance her tongue and yours are building, you spontaneously get rid of her skirt and are met with the wet skin under it.

Your fingers taste her crotch, slowly rubbing around and poised for any further indulgence. Her hands are, on the other hand, hectic with your buttons and when they’re done they swiftly go down to your belt. Your pants drop to your ankles in no time with your underwear, and with your erect cock emancipated, Jimin detaches from the kiss and spits on your cock and spreads it.

It all happens so fast that you are still enraptured by the kiss and her tits in your palms, leaving so many treats unfelt to your body. The next second you are inside her, making it even headier for you to follow up.

“Fuck, I needed this.” Jimin grits. With no clue of downshifting she takes the shirt off, her bra to follow suit, and hooks her arms around your neck to stand the frantic sex she wants from you. And that happens right away, as your instinct drops the hammer for you to automatically thrust into her even before you find yourself moaning at the sensation of her inside.

You keep your eyes closed while wrecking her pussy despite the eye candy that is Yoo Jimin during sex, and suddenly you notice her teeth on your shoulder. It’s a pain that can make you grin, that can make you savor the feeling, even it gets even stronger, because now you know that when she bites, she cums. Her legs give in, and you know it by the weight of her arms around your neck. Her walls clench harshly and there’s a stream of her juice down your legs when she cums. Yoo Jimin is so tactile, and when she cums her whole body does, for yours to recognize, you don’t even have to hearken to know it. The auditory input hits your brain the last, the pearly, shaky yelp of the orgasming needy girl adds up to all the stimuli you are taking.

When she comes down you slow down, lazily reaching her cervix as she hums at it every time.

“Kiss me, baby.” You do. It’s saccharine to your tongue. Her tongue distraughtly moves around inside your mouth, some of the drool leaking onto her tits to make it even more impeccable. The gustation mesmerizes you into a rabid sex, this time for yourself to get off. No subduing, only upshifts lead the way as you turn her around, put it back in and lavish thrusts into her sex.

“Shit. Jimin, you’re so fucking perfect.” You’re not saying this again because she might not have heard it; you are repeating it like a low-functioning machine because you’re afraid you haven’t said it enough. And she can condone it—of course she can, it’s a compliment anyway—because she knows it already, because the feeling’s mutual. You say it several more times on the back of her neck, almost making it a tattoo, carving it in intaglio. Still deranged, Jimin is just screaming with her back arching to the sky and carotically facing the brick wall with her left cheek. The right side of her face is rosed up, and her eye has a glimpse of you, your wry face and the sweat-coated torso and shuts and she cums just like that.

Her breaths are shallow, irregular, a gusty fluid squelches out of her pussy and the scene of her orgasm is intimidating your endurance, easily sending you to an orgasmic stupor and making you spurt out inside her with a gritted groan.

“Jimin, I… God, fuck…!” To your overstimulated cock Jimin has her shrewd tongue on it, sealed with her lips. Makes your legs wobble, unmercifully agitating your mind with frenzy, but just until she clears your shaft up clean from the tabloid juices all over it.

“I loved it. Maybe we should make it daily.” Jimin rises up, with her skirt and your shirt in her hands and still breathing somewhat heavily. And the desecrated smile on her face is the coercion for you to wear one too, a copacetic one. Shirt on, a smoking cigarette between your fingers, you insinuate to her.

“Your panties are still on my bed, you know.” And she’s shrewd with it—has been from the very beginning—and purrs. “Mhmm, I’m going to go fetch it after school with you.”

Of course, is what your nods that follows says, and there’s my girl, says your zest-filled grin, looking at her back that walks out of the corner. It’s always that intrinsic sass you could simply, so simply kill for. Maybe a challenge for you, maybe a finesse for you to be benumbly trapped into. It’s your choice, and from some point on the latter looks dazzling to you; maybe you’re a person who just dyes so well, to a derogated girl who seemed to have taken everything you’ve given but turns out she just put you in the phantasma of her own stardust without you realizing it—you’ve lost it in her, somehow. And that’s bizarre: and you love it.

******

You’re standing at the bus stop, hands in your pocket and looking around to find your girl. When you do, you’re so surprised at how Jimin so stands out among all the crowd while doing nothing but just walk. Even from miles out you’re sure you’ll spot her in a second. The belle of the crowd, wherever she is. She’s not the tallest but still piques herself on her to-die-for aura like she blurs everyone out. As if she sensed the scrutiny, Jimin looks up from her phone, looks around and soon finds you looking at her. You hate to be seen so infatuated like this but you can’t help it, as your eyes meet hers and your face brightens up, half from seeing her and half at yourself caught like that.

“That happy to see me?” You don’t answer, just bring your hands to her crotch and check there’s no underwear blocking your way. A flick over her uncovered pussy earns you a shocked look.

“This is not your bedroom!” Jimin shouts in whisper, but not with caution, but an intrigued grin with eyes darting around the crowd waiting for the bus.

“Are you telling me to stop?” You take your fingers to her mouth, her tongue welcoming the taste of horniness coated all over your fingers. “I’m telling you not to stop.”

So your hand returns to her pussy. You’re rubbing, tapping on and hooking your fingers in, Jimin bites on her own fingers not to relinquish her scream. You hold her trembling body as steady as possible but you know that it’ll be absolutely normal if the people around you realize that you two are having a little fun explicitly in public. Everyone’s looking at you and Jimin in front of you, facing the same way as you and receiving that dirty fingering amongst so many audiences.

In a few minutes the bus is here, to show you only one vacant seat left. You take the seat and Jimin sits on your lap, facing backwards and hugging your neck. You resume the unholy yet entertaining fingering to the pretty moaning girl on your lap.

And you return to who you really are: you’re a gentleman yourself, with etiquette, with common decency, to pull Jimin’s head down on your shoulder to muffle her nasty sound on it. You know even the driver is looking at you through the mirror, but that’s because of her, not you; again, you’re making no noise, and Jimin in your embrace is the culprit of all the squeaky, watery, moaning noise, not you.

“Quiet, Jimin.” Now her teeth dig into your skin, synchronizing with your fingers indulging into her wet, tight hole. You know what you’re doing won’t shut her up. You’re just saying it, a formality. Inside your mind you want her to moan loudly, at the same time want to see her struggle keeping it quiet. So you yank her hair back to watch her distorted face, observe every tiny wriggle of her expression.

“Ah…!” Look into her eyes as if wanting to pierce through them. Jimin looks at you too, flooding with lust, drowning in her own sensations of sex and embarrassment of being exposed in such a public situation. “I’m almost there.” It’s a plain text but she’s begging there. She says she’s almost there but she’s already there, as it seems.

“Yeah, we’re almost there.” A bump on the road makes your fingers hit her spot, makes her back arc, makes her almost, almost lose it right there. You pull out your fingers from her hot cavern to the relatively cool air of the bus. Her liquid feels fresh out in the air but that feeling is soon lost, by her tongue wrapping them up and sucking it clean—suckling it dirty.

The bus stops right then for only you and Jimin to get off. It’s much quieter than inside the bus, partially due to you not fingerfucking her anymore. In no time you’re at the door of your house, unlock it, swing open and it slams shut. Simultaneously Jimin hops on you and dive into your mouth with hers. You stumble through to your bedroom, toss her on the bed, swiftly undo your belt and pants with your boxers, let your already hard dick spring out but don't let it feel the air as it vanishes into Jimin’s waiting pussy right away.

No one speaks a word. No one can, to be fair. You two are merely inches away from dying, too impatient to wait another second. And there you let Jimin approach death a bit closer by holding her neck around, a perfect necklace for her, and straining your hand. Jimin’s mouth is open, difficulty in breathing so visible, face reddening but there’s still her hunger in it; she grins. Her smile is so cruel, violent, so evil yet joyful, as if she’s the victimizer and you’re the victim.

“Please, baby… Kill me. Fucking choke me to death, please, choke me and kill me-fuck!” You make her scream when you slap her tits, as if you were angry at her, but you’re the opposite—you love her so much that you just want to abuse her, to her liking, just like right now. All her sensations seem to evaporate as her eyes roll back and her hands drop to her sides spiritlessly: or, airlessly. You let her go, not wanting to actually kill her.

With a giant inhale Jimin returns from the border of unconsciousness. Her hands travel from her own tits, your hands, and soon back to the sheets, still wandering in need for anything to release the tension. So you pin down her wrists and pace up your thrusts.

“Fuck, Jimin. Don’t tempt me. You make me really want to fuck you dead.” You’re saying it right on her face, which enables her to feel that you mean it. There she tries to kiss your lips, but you pull back with agility, instead covering her mouth and nose with your palm, again suffocating her to your liking, to your loving, to your abnormal, psychopathic obsession.

“I want to see you struggle for life. I want to see you beg for life. You’ll look so perfect like that.” Jimin screams into your hand, covers it with her saliva and tears. You close in with your other hand groping her tit and your cock hitting everywhere inside her squeezing cunt. Jimin’s eyes widen as her orgasm fades in, muffling “I’m cumming!” Several times on your palm before peaking like never before. Her orgasm never gives her the time to even shut her eyes as they roll into her head. Her scream penetrates your hand over her mouth as it departs on your ears so deliciously.

That’s what psychopaths do, isn’t it? To experience the catharsis washing over your spine and get off with how a person screams, all helpless, with tears, shallow breaths as if soon going to die, or at least pass out. Maybe it’s that she’s making it clear about who you are. Would be a pleasure to embrace it.

And it’s your turn now. You pull out, escaping Jimin’s spent pussy with quite an amount of her squirt, leaving her all trembling and arching. There’s a layer of sweat all over her body and it makes it look like a scene from any pornography. Jimin doesn’t move a bit-only her chest is heavily healing up and down, even after you flip her upside down.

You tease her asshole with your middle finger and when she senses it enter she helps you by spreading her cheeks for deeper insertion. No resistance in and out of her ass. Every curl inside her ass makes Jimin squeeze her own cheeks as a response with a powerless moan. “Mmm, fuck me please… I’m not done yet.” Of course. You grin and prepare your cock for the second entrance as you pull Jimin up on all fours. Her arms give up when you rub your glistening cock on her pussy lips. And her reason gives up when you penetrate her rear hole.

“Ahh-fuck yes!”

“Holy fuck. This is so tight.” Her tightness erases your patience to savor it slowly. You start ruining her ass with the intention of actually destroying it. Jimin frowns, loud moan seeping through the bitten lip, hands curling into fists but arms all powerless on her sides.

“It’s so good, it’s so fucking good…! Don’t stop it baby. Make me cum like a fucking whore…!” Her voice can’t even get louder when her words just melt on the mattress just like her. Her words turn to nothings, eyes squeeze shut, concentrating all her senses to where she’s getting fucked. You feel your eyelids become heavier every single thrust, but the visual pleasure is just too good to give up watching it-her ass up for you to fuck it senseless, narrow waist contrasting her wide hips so aesthetically. The cherry on top is the expressions on her gorgeous face which you can’t quite read. Just like when all colors mixed makes pitch-black, her facial wrinkles and twitches are the perfect mixture of all pleasure, ecstasy that you can’t tell what she’s feeling at this moment.

“Nngh!” Actually, you can. Jimin is orgasming so hard, clear—dirty—liquid pumping out of her empty pussy to flood the mattress. Her ass squeezes your cock too hard for you to move in and out as fast as before without blasting every drop in her climaxing ass hole.

So you park it deep in her contracting hole, stay there, and shut Jimin’s moaning mouth with yours. She doesn’t care—or she doesn't acknowledge—and keeps screaming for her life even after her peak has washed over. A few dozen seconds pass, she calms down to at least breathe regularly when you stand your torso up to resume the session.

“You… You have to cum…” As if she even cares for you instead of her own pleasure. You know she just wants more overwhelming orgasm only you can deliver, and you are no different. There’s something about this body, these tits, the voice, this face, this pussy, this ass; there really is something about Yoo Jimin. Without your knowledge you are humping her like a villain, mad, but with a grin that’s so dangerous that Jimin mirrors. Your hand already made itself home around her neck, a red mark of it pressing hard inevitable, tears rolling down along her side face.

“I’m going to fill you up, Jimin.” And with a sharp inhale you begin wrecking her inside. A gut-rearranging pounding is what her perfect ass deserves and she can’t even open her eyes properly-either one stays closed against her will, rolling up to see that there’s nothing inside her head.

“Fuck! Please, please, please, please… Gah, I’m- Again…!” How impatient. There’s not even a point for you to call a flaw. Immoral, impatient, vulgar, dirty… She’s all too perfect. And you’re sure that’s why you cum so hard, like never before.

A nasty pair of voices fill each other’s brain as you two cum. You lower your body, forehead on hers and eyes on hers, looking through those teary orbs as you feel yourself bursting out gregariously. No words but loud pants bridge your sensations to each other, and until the last spurt you don’t even blink in order to see Jimin go through her own orgasm.

That’s it; it’s been your undesirable sadistic desire that kept you on fire, and when you have saturated it it flips out of your head, making it empty—there hasn’t been anything other than that. When you’re done completely you let Jimin go from your glare, sit on the edge next to her gasping body. Your urge is swept off so cleanly, and you can see how dirty it was by the mess on your bed.

“Are you alright?” You ask, but looking up at the ceiling, not Jimin. You don’t turn your head but can already sense her looking at you. “You’re just so perfect.” Selfishly she doesn’t answer. And you hear the smirk in her words. You make one on your face too, hearing that, stand up, face her and find Jimin overloading your vision with how she gorgeously lies down there, making even all the nasty things complement her perfection.

“I’ll shower. Just don’t fall asleep on the bed. It’s dirty.” You tell Jimin, all helpless and powerless on the bed and panting like she just had the best sex in her life. The lustful girl who was begging for you to kill her is nowhere to be found; instead there’s a weak, short of breath, vulnerable and lithe angelic devil with your cum gushing out of her ass. As if a few more touches and she’d actually evaporate.

In the shower you barely feel the water on your body, so distracted by your own thoughts—your own thoughts but in the grabs of Yu Jimin. The exact same as yesterday, you are showering yourself with your shocked, strange feelings in the shower after sex that simply blew your mind.

It's just that she's too good. Too good to call it a hook-up, too good to make it only an occasional sex. The way she craves your cock, the way she begs for your violence, the way she’s so desperate for extreme orgasms under your hold. It’s the first time for you to smile just by thinking of a girl, especially when you’re such a harsh and rough type of a person even you’d admit. She’d let you hit her. She’d let you choke her, let you fuck her, destroy her—let you love her.

Then the door opens, a small, pale figure of female comes in, walks slowly through the mist of the hot water. Jimin stops in front of you, legs barely holding there, face buried on your chest and her arms locked around your neck to support her lithe body but they barely do. You move a little backward to let her more of the hot water.

As if all the water got into your veins, you feel your heart burn. Just look at her—legs all wobbly, barely standing, too exhausted to even look up at you, her hands at the back of your neck irregularly stroking the back of your head as if signaling she’s at least perceiving things properly. You put a hand on her back and spread the water on it, and that’s when she lifts her head and meets your eyes.

Weak and lethargic like a candlelight in front of a tsunami, Jimin is barely standing there with low moans whenever her legs wobble and give up. Her arms tighten around your neck as one of yours hug her back so that she doesn’t collapse. Her face is right beneath yours, tilted up to face yours. Those eyes can’t avoid looking at your lips, which is just what you’re doing to her unashamedly.

Your hand climbs up to the back of her head. Regardless of that you and Jimin are exchanging such a strong yet soft, intense yet loving eyelock. It is an atypically genial moment and if you look back at this moment you might throttle yourself. She should know it by now, from the visible, audible changes on you.

(Maybe you were afraid. Or beyond that. Love was what your fears were afraid of. Doesn’t quite make sense to say that you have fears, but anyways, you didn’t want, nor expect a couple nights to escalate to an actual romance.)

Minutes pass, and pass, and—and pause, when you pull her a bit into your arms and make a soundless, yet seismic kiss. Lips lock. Two pairs of lips open and a pair of tongues make contact, hug each other just like you two. Her hands snake into your hair, your head in her hands and deeper into the kiss. You two have even forgotten to breathe as the liplock continues for what feels like a lifetime, to complete the kiss of your life. When you try to pull back Jimin lunges a bit forward not to break the kiss, and you let your system suffocate a few dozen seconds more.

“You’re so beautiful, Yu Jimin.” You finally tell her this. Not the literal confession of love but she gets it with the bewitching smile she always wears like nothing. Never been in love, you feel like you’re sent back to childhood, pure and intact, but that feeling is shattered into pieces when her hand finds your hardened cock poking at her belly.“Is that why you’re so hard, baby?” This time, the word ‘baby’ sounds so right with a lip bite of your lover and with a lust-filled grin on you. Her thumb slides on the underside of the tip, almost making you stumble back.

“Yes. Just like you’re always horny because of me.” With a smirk you turn her around, bend her over so that her hands are on the wall, and put your cock in in one stroke. Jimin helplessly loses all the strength in her legs and falls but you're prudential enough not to let her. It's to the point where she's just hanging from your arms when you kindle the movement. Her skin looks even more satin with the water so you collar her and go on. You can't stop when the biggest impetus is jonesing for it. No choice but to harden the grip on her throat.

Jimin is flaccid on the wall, fingers fumbling on and desperately digging themselves on it with her head facing down. You are never going to unbind her until she falls into a stupor. “Baby I… I fucking love it so deep…! Use me just like that…” She can't let it out loud and soon loses all voice, raises her head, brings yours right beside hers and kisses you. And a feeling that this is the requital for your disclosure makes it compulsory to reciprocate it poignantly. Her hand guides one of yours to her tits, pushes it hard on it to make you squeeze them and soon the convulsions agitate through her body. Her orgasmic screams reverberate through your throat, which is also moaning out of the pleasure congesting your mind.

When the kiss breaks her yelps stifle the smacking and squelching. You have no idea if it’s your heartiness or just overstimulation from before the shower, but her voice sounds so giddy she might just hit the floor all limp. The burgeoning pleasure conglomerates into a derogated vertigo, the unbearable sensations stack up in your spines and Jimin’s wringing walls really doesn’t help you push it down. Her eyes tell you—because her mouth can’t right now—she’s only a couple thrusts away from coming undone, tantamount to what’s threatening to blow your mind, break down your nerves.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m fucking coming…!” A tautology that is so understandable. You help her, add to the pleasure by choking her. Her moans permeate to your hand through her throat and the foul secretion of her orgasm flows down her legs with the water pelting down on your bodies. Jimin fumbles on the wall with her fingers, too herring-gutted to digest the deray.

“Jimin. Yu Jimin. I’m coming too-fuck…!” When Jimin hears her name she hums, and when she feels the warmth coat her walls she buckles, arches her back to beckon your lips and jockeys her tongue between them. In less than a minute however she pulls back, due to lack of air, because of your chokehold, and pants in your face, with a pejorative smile, but no sign of mannerism—you all know, that smile that follows after an exquisite sex—her sheer feelings carved in it, and you willingly mirror it as a beck of mutuality.

******

A rather huge thing is settled. Sitting on the edge of the bed together, with a cigarette between your fingers for each, you recount your history: the reason you moved, your personality, your sex life being like this. All of them, however, converge to her, Yu Jimin, weirdly enough for you who just can’t concede any feelings involved, which sounds like a monolithic psychopath which actually might be who you are.

Well, a little bit of romance couldn’t kill, could it? You think, lying next to Jimin and slowly closing your eyes to fall-

“You haven’t said it yet.”

“Say what?”

“You only said I’m beautiful.”

“And?”

“I know there’s something more. You know there’s something more.”

There you fail to hold out the chuckle.

“I don’t know what you’re-“

“It’s okay, baby. You don’t have to be shy about it,”

Jimin mischievously giggles. You know you can’t just laugh it off, and you won’t. That intricate feeling that tickles, but is not transient.

With a somnolent voice, you placidly say, like a tagline of a tragedy—or a comedy.

“Love you, Jimin.”

Her grin infiltrates her words hearing it.

“That’s it, my boy. Love you too.”

******

#kpop x male reader #kpop male reader #karina smut #aespa smut

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real-british-empire · 3 months ago

Text

An introduction.

I am the totally 100% real official account of the glorious British empire.

You shall expect PROPER English, colonialism, war, tea and an immense disdain for this so called France (not a real country).

God save the Queen

Yours truly,

The British Empire,

(My main blog is @kharak-the-skeleton )

Current condition because anons keep doing witchcrafts (and other stuff reasons):

Can summon kettles

Can summon tea

Currently a spirit as the empire has long since fallen

God of fate

Can now (unfortunately) summon Rishi Sunak

Officially cool

Teabending

Kettle launching powers

Tea gun (more powerful)

Death blade :3

Life blade

Purgatory blade :3

Crystal ball owner now!

I have a small bottle of salt

Void knife :3

Tangerine is in my possession.

Someone gave me a pokeball

Anomalous super flamethrower

Uncompressed to be 280cm tall

Can see trans people

Can slow down time for 5 min on a Tuesday.

In possession of a death bald?

Can drink quantum tea

Mitosis :3

DVD screensaver

Anti-shadow-suppressant weapon

Can do the yapdollar outro to teleport anywhere I’ve been

Power of 2, x, 4 and 1

Purgatory bald

Life bald

Splatoon movement

Has framed pic of a chimp

Has a remote that fires a beam that gives what it hits lore.

In possession of the omnitrix with alien known as “upgrade”

Knife that turns Irish people into well-done steaks

Can change 1 letter in a sentence up to 5 times a day.

Has a needle that turns people to moths for 12 min, 36 seconds and turns moths to people

Has control over march 22nd (goof off day)

Can force anyone to post limit

Control over conspiracy theories and all pointcrow and dougdoug jokes

Can shapeshift into anything but Texas

Magical UNO deck

Fun fact book of every fact.

Can eat anything inedible and be fine

Can turn any app gimmicks into Jack from persona and SMT from megami tensai

Now knows what to do with a drunken sailor

INFINITE ARTICHOKES

Force tea-inator

Luck manipulation

Has an awesome hoodie

1 time use anon-curse reverser

Permanently puppygirl-ed and catgirl-Ed (can switch)

Able to make the best/worst puns.

Can swap between alive and ghost

Can become paper like paper Mario

Has a purple crayon that makes anything it draws real that CANNOT BE EATEN

CUP BENDING

Invulnerable to France.

Can perceive different time zones

Has indestructible Wii u and Wii u game pad with Nintendo land installed

Pastry and bread summoning

Powers of the gum gum fruit but I don’t have any side effects

Has tv remote that can clone and fuse things

#god save the queen #official British post

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symbiotescromp · 26 days ago

Note

Um hey! If it's not a problem, can you write one where the reader's symbiote is Venom and she gets hurt and Venom is panicking and trying to heal her. Thank you. 😊

I got us

A very interesting idea anon, Here you go !! Warnings: Injuries and venom behavior

It wasn't long after becoming venom's host that the life foundation noticed their symbiote was gone.

They went on a huge manhunt, using every single resource possible to find it.

But Venom wasn't going to be found, Not if he didn't want to. He had an escape vessel, you.

Not only that, you had taken a liking to him, hell he made you breakfast once, so what's not to like !!

Venom was glad for a strong host, his body is incredible.

But one day when you were driving to work, you noticed a car beginning to follow you.

Venom was chillaxing, enjoying the music you'd put on.

The car in question followed you everywhere that you went. And after some time, gave up on trying to keep a distance.

You then pulled over just in case you weren't being crazy, venom soon started to notice too.

"We are not alone"

You then got out of the car and went to confront the driver, but upon that, you were surrounded.

"Woah... easy guys..."

They were all dressed up the same, one even flashed a weapon. "Hand over the alien"

"I won't let you hurt him..." You frowned.

"Hand it over or the alien will be the last thing you have to worry about !!" They snapped.

"Fuck you" You then bolted, As they began to open fire at you. Venom reacted by trying to put up a wall behind you.

"Thanks bud" You ran to a safe distance until ultimately again were swamped by agents.

"Rooftops" You looked up.

Venom took control of your body, morphing your arms and legs as he launched you up to the building and onto the roof, the agents continued to shoot you from below as you got higher.

"I can take care of them" Venom growled as he pushed forward, alluding to their demise.

"I can't risk you..." Once safe, you then slid down the building ladder, running until one clocked you in the jaw.

"Not so fast" He panted softly as he pulled out his weapon.

You tried to get up, but each time he continued to curb-stomp you, stomping on your leg and making the bone break.

"I'd suggest you hand it over willingly," He said with a satisfied grin when he heard it your scream of agony.

"I'd hate for something worse to happen to you..."

Soon venom grabbed him by the throat, healing the broken bone and any other injuries as he morphed out, covering head to toe.

"Eyes... Lungs... Pancreas... So many snacks, so little time"

He choked, squirming in the massive alien's grip, trying to claw out but it was no use.

"Fuck this guy !!" He bit his head off, flinging the body away.

"You... you healed me..." You inspected your now healed wounds once he morphed back.

"Yes... You protect us... we protect you" He chuckled. "There are benefits to having me around"

"Thanks" You smiled, you were glad to have him.

"You are welcome" He was proud, he protected you.

#venom #venom imagine #venom x reader #venom let there be carnage #venom the last dance #platonic #reader insert #venom symbiote

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aethon-recs · 3 months ago

Text

Themed Rec List | Tomarrymort Recs with Hemipenes 🍆x2

What is better than one? TWO, of course! I think the monsterfucking potential in Tomarrymort is one of its most unique aspects, at least within HP ships :D If anyone is monsterfucking-curious, this is a great place to start.

I’m so excited to share this delightful smutty nasty dirty and super fun collection of one of my favorite tropes in Tomarrymort: not just snake-like Voldemort, but snake-like Voldemort with snake-like appendages 😏

Standard rec list disclaimers apply: There’s a lot of dead dove in the selection below, so please mind the tags, and read at your own risk. I strive to include a diverse range of fic genres these lists, so you'll come across lighter fare such as crack fics, along with fics that definitely cover darker themes.

Tomarrymort Recs Feat. Hemipenes

a dainty lace noose by @mrmxlemons (E, 4k, complete)

Voldemort likes pretty things, and Harry is his favorite, prettiest thing.

A real voyage of discovery by @theonceandfuturequeenoftarts (E, 2k, complete)

Harry captures an alien from an Earth-like planet for the spaceship's research division to examine. The alien might have its own agenda.

a snake, an eagle, and a phoenix by @virgil-anon (E, 9k, complete)

Harry Potter is angrier than ever, thrown into a tournament he wants no part of, without any assistance except for his Defence Instructor. But when the Goblet of Fire turns out to be a portkey, he’s in for a surprise.

and make it double by @captainremwrites (M, 1k, complete)

Well, Harry thinks, that answers that question. He's definitely telling Ron and Hermione about this.

Dragon Me Down, My Love by @wolfantlersinspace (E, 2k, complete)

Harry had been a virgin sacrifice, given by the people to appease Voldemort. However, Voldemort had grown rather fascinated after he discovered Harry chose to come here, to take the place of a friend. And now, Voldemort liked him too much to let him go, liked him far too much to use him for his intended purpose.

Ensnared by @loneamaryllis (E, 4k, complete)

After the Battle of Hogwarts, Harriet finds a white snake in the grass. She quickly befriends the poor, lonely creature.

Hands-On Anatomy Lesson by @ivory--raven (E, 2k, complete)

Harry uses Liquid Luck to ask Voldemort himself how snakey he is.

I will follow you into the dark by @i-dream-of-libraries (E, 6k, complete)

Harry loves a good horror book, and this new one about a monster called Voldemort is now his favorite. Unknowingly, he calls out to the shadowy entity, and gains the monster's full attention and appetite.

Inquiring Minds by @theonceandfuturequeenoftarts (T, 2k, complete)

Harry has a burning need to know, and Voldemort is just so done with teenagers.

Insatiate by @vdoshu (E, 2k, complete)

Voldemort stole both Harry and the Philosopher’s Stone, and doomed Harry to live a half-life. That was ten years ago.

Love at First Sight by @dividawrites (E, 5k, complete)

Voldemort rises from the cauldron with two dicks and some extra powers. Harry is mesmerized.

Monster Fucker by Destiny_Of_A_Dragon (E, 10k, complete)

During their nightly gossiping session, Ginny poses a question about how snake-like Voldemort might be. They fantasize a bit, then go to bed and assume that that was it. A week later and Harry just has to know.

ovoviviparous by @cindle-writes (E, 5k, complete)

In which Voldemort captures Harry at the Final Battle, and immediately puts him to use as an incubator.

splits your skin from end to end, down the center of the earth by @cannibalinc (E, 19k, complete)

Snape has just killed Dumbledore before Harry’s eyes, and he will not rest until he makes the man pay. But Snape isn’t the only Death Eater wanting to gain favor with the Dark Lord. No, there are ambitions far worse than even Snape’s, Harry learns. Ambitions that deliver him directly into Voldemort’s hands. “I was so very nearly tricked, you see, but Lord Voldemort is not so easily fooled. No, I shall not kill you Harry, not yet. I think I should like to keep you instead.”

Phobia by @katsitting (E, 48k, complete)

“I shall show you just how far you’ve fallen,” Voldemort whispered, breaking the thick silence that had settled between them. Harry wanted to laugh, to bare his teeth at the man like the wounded lion that he was. There was nothing for him to do but snark and snarl at the man that had hidden him away from all prying eyes...save for those he trusted most. His legs were useless, his body weak. “I’d like to see you try,” he goaded.

Preparing For A Legacy by @ellionne (E, 5k, complete)

Marriage, especially with magical folks, required to be consummated to have the legal consequences Voldemort demanded for their treaty to come into effect. And Harry had been terrified. Voldemort's thoughtful proposition had seemed like a godsend then. The consummation of a marriage was a purely physical act; Harry didn't need to be aware for it. Didn't need to be awake.

Research and Development by @cannibalinc (E, 6k, complete)

Primary Objective: Establish with certainty that Subject IS or IS NOT a living Horcrux. Secondary Objective: If Subject is a living Horcrux, determine whether the soul fragment can be extracted intact and transferred to a different vessel, allowing Subject to be terminated thereafter.

Roughly 19 Years Later by @dividawrites (E, 2k, complete)

Platform 9¾ is a nice place for reunions.

thrice-bound, twice-filled by @cindle-writes (E, 4k, complete)

Harry wakes up in the middle of the night to the sensation of a blunt, hard cock slowing pushing its way inside him.

The Arsonist's Lullaby by Saeva (E, 101k, WIP)

It’s Harry’s bad luck that his mate is Voldemort. A possessive Voldemort, giving out the most reassuring scent, a scent Harry aches for. No one can blame him for giving into it... just a little... right? Magic Made Him Do It.

War Prize by @duplicitywrites and @moontearpensfic (E, 6k, WIP)

Ten years ago, in the name of world peace, Harry Potter signed his hand away to Lord Voldemort, Dark Lord of the British Isles, Saviour of the Realm. If Harry had known he would spend his days serving as the man's bodyguard and personal stud... He would have asked Dumbledore to include protection against retaliation in the form of sexual objectification.

Venomous by @crowcrowcrowthing (E, 4k, complete)

One would think a famous collector of magical creatures would know better than to set a Naga loose in a room full of people, but Sirius Black was never known for his common sense.

Violent Delights by @katsitting (E, 5k, complete)

Harry was shoved against something hard and unyielding. It scratched along his back, chafing the skin. Harry didn’t so much as flinch, refusing to make a sound when more jeers sounded in the clearing, the words cutting through the rush of blood flooding Harry’s ears— “Fuck him, m’Lord.” “Defile his corpse.”

yer a monster fucker, harry by @exarite (M, 3k, complete)

Voldemort suggests they fake a relationship. It's a reasonable suggestion, so of course Harry says yes. Or: Harrymort Fake Dating AU

you're a parasitic, psycho, filthy creature (finger-bangin' my heart) by @toast-ranger-to-a-stranger (E, 135k, WIP)

Harry keeps thinking about it. The way he smiled, with sharp white teeth. The way that smile had felt pressed to his own, to his throat, to the inside of his thigh. The clutching fingers; the desperate grip. The sweat clinging to his skin, salty on his tongue. The red eyes behind the mask that Harry would recognize anywhere— Harry keeps thinking about it.

#tomarrymort #harrymort #hemipenes #monsterfucking #aethon recs #tomarry recs #tomarrymort recs #harrymort recs #hp fic recs #ao3 recs #fanfic recs

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i-starcreamed · 1 year ago

Note

Y/N: FIGHT ME!

Scrouge: How foolhearty... and facinating

Y/N: I- I don't- MIRAGE HELP I THINK HE'S FLIRTING WITH ME

Love it when villains find at least one (1) human cute and flirt worthy

🦂

ROTB SCOURGE X READER

Omg thank you 🦂 anon, im just like you and you’re just like me. MORE SCOURGE CONTENT!! While this wasn’t a request it gave me ideas :3

Unedited and also written on mobile…also look at this gif they scourge hot and wet on purpose

[ human!gn reader

Summary: As the request states, Scourge flirts with you. Big bad robot villain likes littol human

You might’ve secretly followed Mirage when he went over to distract Scourge while the others went on and save the world, no way in hell you were allowing an alien to destroy your planet. No way you were letting Mirage, you’re new friend, fight him alone. You started to rethink your decision when you were running across the platform, no weapon in hand to fight 20+ feet robot aliens and explosions going off everywhere. Then again, you were determined to fight along side your new robot alien friend to defeat the other…robot alien fiend. Aliens really need to find another planet to make a pit stop at, dont they?

You grunt as you pick up a piece of debris from the ground, it’s about the size of your head and could do as much damage as a splinter to Scourge. Who cares, you’d rather it be annoying than harmless

Scourge knocks Mirage back and you take this as an opportunity.

“Y/N stay back!” He reaches out but its too late, you’re already yelling and sprinting towards Scrourge, your piece of metal in your hand and waving it around like a crazy person.

“FIGHT MEE!” The piece of debris goes flying towards Scourge, only for it to hit his leg with a clank and deflect back into the floor. You freeze in your tracks, fuck. You’re out of breath and your little plan didnt work.

Scourge doesn’t squish you, he barely retains a laugh. Evil guys dont laugh, they cackle menacingly when revealing their evil plan to you. But this? This was…amusing to him.

“Did you really think that would work? How foolhardy, how stupid, how…fascinating”

He towers above you even as he leans down to..examine you? The proximity of his frame to your face is so close, your face was burning. You didn’t know if it was the fire and lava around you or just pure embarrassment.

“Uh, i don’t-“ Was he…flirting with you? You stood frozen even as his metal hand rose up, inching towards you. Do you run, freeze, or attack with your bare fists? Realistically your fists would be useless against his frame, you would be more in pain than he would. Even if you wanted to run, those eyes of his kept you in place. Such an intense orange gaze, who could look away from that? Scourge was getting distracted, he could easily snatch you up and complete his mission, but he couldn’t help but revel in your gaze of extreme awe and fear. He was rudely interrupted when Mirage started shooting again

You too snapped out of your thoughts and took a few steps back before sprinting back behind Mirage. “Mirage, was he fucking flirting with me?!” You yell over the sound of their blasters. You hid behind a small structure as the fight continued, not without noticing the way he occasionally glanced at you before attacking Mirage. You couldn’t tell if he was showing off or not

…was he seriously showing off for you?

#transformers #transformers x reader #scourge #scourge x reader #rotb scourge #rotb scourge x reader #rotb x reader #maccadam #gn reader #human reader #tf x reader

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theblueflower05 · 1 year ago

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dilf jake sully spitting in virgin readers mouth during seggs OMGGG

The way I would simply pass away? Wowowow.

Jake would fucking destroy you and it actually makes me dizzy to think about it because yes please Daddy Sully.

Smut beneath the cut

It would be so much in the first place. So much stimulation, so many new feelings. You’re a virgin, you’d never had anyones else’s hands on your body and now you have Jake “I like to grope” Sully all over you.

Your skin feels like it’s been lit on fire. Your nipples and pussy are raw and hot from his mouth and as he moves inside of you you can barley think from it all.

He’d be gentle with you at first. Of yourself he would. He’s not trying to hurt his baby.

But once he taught you how to take his dick? You’re getting pounded. So hard that your teeth hurt from grinding as you try to brace yourself against his snapping hips.

Jakes not a one orgasm type of guy. He wants three, bare minimum. And that was with human women back on earth. He knows Na’vi have a higher sex drive and tolerance so her makes you come, over and over again, until you don’t know your name.

Until you can’t make out the canopy of trees above you because you’re delirious and tear hazy.

“‘Pen your mouth” he’d gruff and how can he expect you to follow orders when you’re fucked out of your own head?

You just whimper, head lolling on the bark you lay in.

His fingers, big and alien, come on to your lips and force their way into your mouth. Pushing down on your wet tongue as he opens your jaw. He likes the way your pearly canines look- so fierce and dangerous. Such a contrast to your soft honey gaze- your eyes on unfocused and sweet. Completely dick drunk.

“Open” he huskily instructs and you manage to catch it and hold your mouth open, even when his fingers are done exploring your tonsils.

It’s a sight. Holy fuck. You’re better the porn, prettier and more exotic. And so so submissive.

You don’t know what’s coming.

When Jake spits a heavy glob of saliva onto your own willing to get you sob, your cunt tightening around his cock. It’s ownership. He’s inside you. His cum, his sweat, his spit. You’re branded.

You swallow it desperately and stick out that cute little pink tongue for more, whining “please”

Jake chuckles and grabs you by the chin, you think he might kiss you but he just suckles on your tongue. The suction feels devastating good, like it had on your clot earlier.

“Stop your crying, I’ll give you more, pretty girl”

Hmm. I’m gonna go change my panties now thanks anon

#jake sully x reader #jake sully smut #jake sully drabble

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lunarmoves · 3 months ago

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Hello its me again and once more I hope you're having a wonderful day/night!

I was wondering if you could give us some DCA fanfic recommendations! I'm very new to ao3 so finding good ones are hard for me :(

- (^⁠_⁠^) anon

nonnie i would LOVE to!! /cracks knuckles/ i have a hoard of them bookmarked in ao3 and im always sniffing for more! since you're new to ao3, ill tell you that when i go hunting for a fic, i usually type something like "dca/reader" in the little search bar and then click the "Daycare Attendant (FNAF)/Reader" tag on the first fic i see. then i go to filters and change the "date updated" to "word count" to sort it. i prefer long fics above all else haha

ANYWAYS. fic rec list under the cut! (all of these are dca/reader btw)

any of bamsara's DCA fics, including Celestial Omens (that really like Fishsticks) (mer au), Solar Lunacy and its affiliated one shots. probably The DCA Fic of All Time for me. it was my introduction to the fandom and i have not been the same since, esp with all the author's art!!

An Eye for an Eye by icedmetaltea. probably discontinued but i saw amazing art for this fic and consumed all 20k of it! definitely worth the read (aquarium/mer eclipse au btw!) also Occupational Hazards is an scp one shot that was v v good and I Watched You Become a Stranger (another mer one shot)

Coiled Around the Fine Line Between Love and Fear by crazedauthor. naga sun and moon! very very very good fic, probably my fav naga au on ao3! it begins on such a good hook and keeps you enthralled!

anything by muzzlemouths! i particularly loveee dreameater moon (we dance in synchronous rotation). all their one shots are SOOO goood and fluffy (mostly. im still hurt by a few of them </3)

Pisces Caelestis by S_V. SUCH a good mer au!! juicy cultural miscommunications and i just lovee moon in this LMAOO. sun is also a ball of sunshine!

Fish Out of Water by imagine_darksiders. a leviathan au that changed everything for me, i think. it was the first fic i read that had masssiveee mer sunmoon and i ate it up!

also literally anything by naffeclipse LMFAOO like, she has 42 fics on ao3, trust me when i say they are all bangers. the first fic i read was In Deep Dreams Between the Waves (leviathan eclipse) and i remember losing it over a certain scene at 4am shdkfsdf. Cryptid Sightings is also an absolute fav. id link more fics but it would be all 42 lmao

copper cogs rusted through by borashore. a post-fire au that i consumed in one sitting a long time ago. i dont remember much, but i know moon made me want to throttle him then hug him LMAO

Dealer's Choice by certified_handler. a club au fic that hooked me in from the START!! i love sun in this, he is written sooooo well and there's a lot of murdery business goin on >:) iirc the sequel is out and posting but im not caught up yet LOL

Weal and Woe by pure_plum. a fantasy/dnd kind of au with amazing descriptions!!! such a gorgeously written fic and sun/moon/eclipse are all sooooo touch starved <3 i need to know what eclipse's deal is!!

Celestial Sundown by pillowspace. THE god au of all time oh my god i cant express how obsessed i am with this fic!! and the art from the author?? phewww i think about sun so often, the designs are lush

The Hermit's Guide to Merfolk by esuerc. another mer fic, ofc, that i dont remember much of bc it's been a minute, but i remember one scene with eclipse that was so vividly described that it took my breath away!! also Supernova which i also dont remember much of, but i know sun was very unhinged in it!

My Baby by xmimi89er. an alien au where sun and moon are literally sooo adorable and angsty and they make u want to wrap them in bubble wrap and protect them forever. good fic for when you want to be the one protecting them. also the author's art is SOOO pretty

Ghost in the Machine by qwille. a multiverse type of fic with numerous versions of the dca! so very well written with good plot, lore, and characters. i'm sure you've probably seen character art drifting around on tumblr, either by the author or from fans. very very good designs, im partial to sol myself

(love is) a seed that grows by starboundpix, a farmer help au that's sooo cute!! very stardew vibes!! i always think about the descriptor that sun and moon have little flower/vine designs on their arms!! it's not too long, but def worth the read!

(In Their) Astral Orbit by rinzydings. my god this is SUCHHHH a good fic like!! it definitely deserves way more kudos than it currently has!! i could gush on and on about this fic, sun and moon are characterized so well and it's literally everything i have wanted in a dca fic

There Are Many Benefits (To Rethinking This Career Path) by moonliched (mer au). the worldbuilding in this is so good and the plot is LUSH!! love the dynamics between sun moon and reader!! constantly thinking about this fic ngl

Star-Crossed by cytokiine. a fae au that honestly had me hooked right from the start! there are a couple of plot twists in here that i truly did not expect. truly i hated moon at first, then i grew to love him within like, one chapter lmao

He's a Little Confused but he's got the Spirit by midnight_mourning. my god i think this fic actually gave me a conniption /pos. sun is written soooo well he is such a conniving little shit!! obsessed with him and it's really interesting seeing engineering details in the fic!

Love, Death and Rollerskates by spadillelicious, an 80s roller rink au with a sun and moon who are so very unhinged!! the interactions with them and reader are very very good. lots of tense moments, sun is definitely scary as hell sometimes LMFAO. lots of fanart floating around for it + drawings from the author, the designs are top tier!

Pluck my Heartstrings by pluck-heartstrings. a medieval times au post pizzaplex that honestly has a dynamic im so obsessed with?? there is so much miscommunication and sun is definitely a teeny tiny bit insane, i love him and moon <3 lots of art from the author!

As long as we are loved by shiracheshire. a living doll au that i just recently caught up on and it is sooo beautifully written! very heartbreaking at times, but i loved reading the progression of sun and moon's relationship with reader!

and that's all i've got so far lmao. i'll probably come back and update this as i read more fic, but!! hopefully this is a good start!

#star gazing with shay #a nonny mouse #fic recs #(^_^) nonnie #yeah if anyone has any other fic recs lmk! ill add them to my reading list #ik there's a lot i havent read yet tho i admit im lowkey kinda picky sdfjkh #im not tagging all those authors LMFAOO #heyy mooties hii #dca

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atlasthegreatest · 2 months ago

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Unseen Bonds / Wonder Woman x Daredevil! Female Reader

In which, Wonder Woman meets Daredevil, a blind vigilante in Gotham.

Word count: 3398

A/n: This was requested by an anon. I hope you enjoy it!

The rain fell in steady sheets over the dark streets of Gotham, the city pulsing with an undercurrent of crime and danger.

Diana Prince, better known as Wonder Woman, stood at the edge of a rooftop in Gotham City, her eyes scanning the streets below. She had heard of this mysterious vigilante—an enigma moving in the shadows, handling crime in ways that mirrored Batman’s ruthless efficiency but with a certain grace that piqued her curiosity.

This vigilante, dubbed Daredevil, had caught the attention of the Justice League. Though they weren’t a metahuman or an alien, they operated with the precision of someone well-versed in combat, instincts honed to perfection. Batman vouched for them, which was high praise coming from him. But still, Diana wanted to see for herself.

A figure emerged from the shadows, flipping effortlessly from a nearby fire escape and landing with a soft thud beside her. The woman wore a sleek red suit, reinforced yet flexible, with her hair cascading down from under her cowl. Two batons were strapped to her back, and her posture radiated confidence. This was Daredevil—but not the man that Diana had initially expected.

“You’re the infamous Daredevil,” Diana said, turning slightly to face her. “I expected someone taller.”

“Wonder Woman,” Y/n greeted, her voice smooth and calm.

“You’ve made quite a name for yourself,” Diana replied, studying her carefully. “I had to see it for myself.”

Y/n offered a wry smile. “And? Am I living up to the rumors?”

Diana took in the woman before her, not just the strength in her posture but the subtle precision with which she moved. “That, and more.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the hum of the city below the only sound between them. The air was heavy with the scent of rain and the tension of unspoken understanding. Diana had fought with gods and men alike, but this vigilante was something different—something… magnetic.

“We have work to do,” Y/n finally said, breaking the silence. She turned, already moving towards the ledge. “Are you coming?”

Diana smiled, not one to back down from a challenge. “Lead the way.”

————————

Working with Y/n was unlike anything Diana had experienced before. The woman moved with the grace of a dancer, striking with deadly accuracy, her batons a blur as they disarmed criminals faster than they could react. And yet, despite her human limitations, she was always a step ahead—reading movements, anticipating attacks with almost supernatural precision.

Their partnership grew over the following weeks. What began as respect deepened into something more personal. Diana found herself captivated by Y/n’s strength, not just physically, but mentally—her sheer will to fight in a world filled with gods, monsters, and beings with abilities far beyond her own. Y/n wasn’t afraid to push herself to the brink, matching Diana’s resolve in every mission they took on together.

The Justice League soon took notice. Batman, who seldom praised anyone, spoke highly of her.

“She’s earned a place with us,” he said during a meeting, his voice unwavering. “Her skills are on par with mine.”

Superman raised an eyebrow, always skeptical of new members. “She’s human. No powers?”

“She doesn’t need them,” Batman retorted. “Neither do I.”

Diana, seated across from them, remained silent, but her mind was made up. She had seen Y/n’s capability firsthand and had witnessed her bravery and cleverness. Beyond her combat skills, there was something more—a connection between them that Diana couldn’t ignore.

“I agree,” she finally spoke. “She has more than earned her place.”

With Wonder Woman and Batman in her corner, the decision was made. Daredevil was formally invited to join the Justice League.

Y/n quickly became an integral part of the team. She fought alongside Superman, Flash, Aquaman, and the others, proving her worth time and time again. Her senses seemed to be sharper than any other human’s. Her combat instincts were flawless. Even Superman, who had initial doubts, came to appreciate her.

“She’s like a shadow,” he once remarked to Diana after a mission. “Always knowing where to be, how to strike. How does she do it?”

Diana smiled softly, her thoughts on the countless hours they’d spent together in the field. “She’s special. It’s more than skill—it’s instinct.”

The two women grew closer with each mission. The long hours in the field, the adrenaline of battle, the quiet moments in between—it all served to pull them into each other’s orbit. Diana found herself drawn to Y/n’s quiet strength, her sharp wit, and her unspoken vulnerabilities. Y/n, in turn, found comfort in Diana’s presence, in the unyielding force of compassion and power that the Amazon warrior carried.

They fought together, laughed together, and slowly, almost imperceptibly, fell for one another.

———————-

One night, during a particularly brutal battle against an interdimensional invader, the Justice League was scattered. Communications were down, and the battlefield was chaotic. The League members struggled to regroup, but Y/n remained calm amidst the storm. She began issuing commands, guiding Superman and Flash to weak points in the invader’s armor, directing Aquaman to areas where their forces were thinning.

Despite the overwhelming odds, her instructions were flawless.

The battle ended in victory, but the team gathered, breathless and confused.

“How did you know where everything was?” Flash asked, staring at her in disbelief. “Even with all the chaos—you knew exactly what to do.”

Y/n stood still, her mask concealing her face as the rain began to fall again. Her silence spoke volumes.

“ Y/n?” Diana’s voice cut through the tension, gentle but firm.

Y/n hesitated. Slowly, her hands reached up, and she pulled her mask away, revealing her face to the team for the first time.

Her eyes—unfocused, sightless—gazed ahead. There was a collective intake of breath from the League.

“I’m blind,” Daredevil said quietly, her voice steady but filled with the weight of years keeping this secret. “Have been since I was a child.”

The revelation hit the League hard. They had fought alongside her, trusted her instincts and abilities, yet never once suspected that she couldn’t see.

“How—” Flash began, stumbling over his words.

“My other senses are heightened,” Daredevil explained. “I hear things you don’t. Feel things you wouldn’t notice. I’ve trained my body to compensate for my lack of sight.”

Batman, ever composed, was the first to speak after the initial shock. “That explains a lot.”

The team slowly processed this revelation, but none were more affected than Diana. She approached Y/n, her gaze soft, full of admiration.

“All this time,” Diana whispered, stepping closer, “you’ve been fighting without sight. You’ve accomplished more than most with all their senses intact.”

Y/n smiled a small, grateful smile. “It doesn’t make me any less capable.”

“Far from it,” Diana said, her voice filled with warmth. She reached out and gently took Y/n’s hand. “You are extraordinary.”

The rain fell softly around them as the League stood in awe of their teammate. For Y/n, this was the first time she had allowed herself to be vulnerable in front of her newfound family. For Diana, it was the moment she realized that what she felt for the vigilante was more than admiration—it was something deeper, something undeniable.

And in that quiet moment, surrounded by her friends and fellow heroes, Y/n knew she had finally found her place.

————————-

The rain had finally stopped, leaving the Gotham streets slick and shimmering beneath the dim glow of streetlights. The Justice League dispersed after the mission, but Diana lingered. She watched Daredevil— Y/n—as she stood on the rooftop, silent, her mask tucked into her belt.

Diana approached her carefully. “I didn’t expect that,” she admitted softly.

Y/n’s head turned toward the sound of Diana’s voice, her expression calm but guarded. “Did you expect me to have some hidden powers?” she asked her tone light but edged with vulnerability.

Diana shook her head, though Y/n couldn’t see it. “No, not that. I knew you were special before I knew your secret. I just…” She trailed off, searching for the right words. “I didn’t know how much you had overcome.”

Y/n’s lips curved into a slight smile, though it was bittersweet. “It’s been my reality for a long time. Blindness isn’t a weakness. It’s just… different.”

The admiration in Diana’s gaze deepened. She had faced countless warriors and fought alongside gods, but Y/n’s sheer will, her ability to thrive in a world so dangerous, with her blindness hidden from everyone—took a different kind of strength.

“And yet, here you are,” Diana said, stepping closer until she was within arm’s reach. “Fighting beside gods and heroes. Holding your own against threats that even we struggle with.”

Y/n’s face softened, her guard slipping. “It’s not easy, but it’s what I do. It’s all I know.”

Diana reached out and gently touched Y/n’s arm, her fingers brushing against the red leather of her suit. “You don’t have to do it alone anymore.”

The weight of those words hung between them. Y/n turned her head slightly as if searching for the meaning behind Diana’s voice. The sincerity, the care—it was something she hadn’t expected from a warrior as fierce and legendary as Wonder Woman.

Y/n’s breath hitched slightly, her emotions catching up to her as she realized how close they had become. She had worked alone for so long and kept everyone at arm’s length. But with Diana, things felt different. Safer. And that scared her.

“I’m not used to relying on anyone else,” she admitted. “I never wanted to.”

“You don’t have to rely on anyone,” Diana said softly, her hand still resting on Y/n’s arm. “But it doesn’t mean you’re alone. You don’t have to carry everything by yourself.”

Y/n felt the weight of those words, the sincerity behind them. In all the years of fighting, surviving, and pushing herself to the edge, no one had ever made her feel seen the way Diana did now.

The warmth of Diana’s presence, the strength in her voice, made Y/n feel like maybe—just maybe—she didn’t need to hide anymore.

“Diana, I—” Y/n hesitated, her usual confidence faltering.

Diana’s hand moved, sliding gently to cup Y/n’s face, her thumb brushing lightly across her cheek. “You don’t have to say anything,” she whispered, her voice filled with understanding.

For the first time in years, Y/n let herself relax. She leaned into Diana’s touch, her walls slowly crumbling. There was something about Diana—her unwavering strength, her compassion—that made Y/n feel like she didn’t have to fight every battle alone.

“I’m not used to this,” Y/n said, her voice quiet. “Letting someone in.”

“You’re not the only one,” Diana replied, her thumb still gently caressing Y/n’s cheek.

They stood there for a moment, the city silent around them. It was as though the world had faded away, leaving just the two of them on that rooftop—two warriors, two women who had faced so much but still found something in each other.

Y/n reached up, her fingers brushing Diana’s hand as it rested against her cheek. “What happens now?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Diana’s gaze softened, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Whatever we want,” she said, her voice full of warmth.

Y/n exhaled softly, the tension in her body easing as she allowed herself to be vulnerable in a way she hadn’t been in years. With Diana, things didn’t feel uncertain or dangerous. They felt… right.

Diana leaned in slowly, giving Y/n time to pull away if she wanted to. But Y/n didn’t move. Instead, she closed the small distance between them, her lips meeting Diana’s in a soft, hesitant kiss. It was tender, careful—a moment of quiet understanding between two women who had finally allowed themselves to feel.

When they pulled away, Y/n’s lips quirked into a small smile. “I guess that’s one way to solidify a partnership.”

Diana chuckled, the sound light and full of affection. “I’d say it’s a good start.”

The next day, the Justice League met again. Superman, Batman, and the others were already in the command center when Diana and Y/n entered, walking side by side. The League still had questions, of course—about how Y/n had managed to fight so flawlessly without sight, about how she had kept this secret for so long.

But none of that mattered anymore. What mattered was that Y/n was part of the team. She had proven herself time and time again, and now the truth was out in the open.

“I should have figured it out sooner,” Batman said with a rare hint of admiration in his voice. “But you hid it well.”

Y/n smirked. “I had to. Couldn’t have the League worrying about me.”

“We weren’t worried,” Superman said with a grin. “But we’re definitely impressed.”

Flash zipped over to stand next to her, his usual energy bubbling over. “Seriously, though. You’re like… Batman-level scary. And you did it all blind? That’s insane!”

“Guess I have to keep up appearances,” Elektra teased, though there was a warmth in her voice.

The others smiled, and the tension from the night before faded into something new. Y/n was no longer the mysterious outsider. She was one of them, and they respected her all the more for her honesty.

As the meeting continued, planning their next steps against looming threats, Diana and Y/n exchanged a glance. It was subtle, but it held the promise of something more—a future where they would fight side by side, not just as partners in battle, but as something deeper.

And for the first time in a long while, Y/n felt like she belonged. Not just in the League, but with Diana—wherever that path would lead.

Bonus chapter:

The sun hung high in the sky over Washington, D.C., casting warm rays on the city below. It was one of those rare days when the world wasn’t in immediate danger, and the Justice League didn’t have an intergalactic threat to deal with. For Diana Prince and Y/n, it was an even rarer occasion: a day off.

For once, they weren’t in their suits or masks. There were no battles to be fought, no criminals to chase down. It was just the two of them, walking through the bustling streets, blending in with the crowd.

Diana wore a simple white blouse tucked into fitted jeans, her long dark hair cascading over her shoulders. Y/n, dressed in a sleek black leather jacket over a burgundy top and dark jeans, moved beside her with the help of her cane with the same grace she carried on the battlefield. But today, there was no tension, no need to be on high alert—just a sense of peace between them.

“So,” Y/n said, turning her head toward Diana as they strolled through the National Mall, “what exactly do normal people do on dates? I’m a little out of practice.”

Diana laughed, her voice light and musical. “We do what we want to do, Y/n. That’s the beauty of it.”

Y/n smiled, adjusting her pace to match Diana’s. Though blind, her other senses were finely tuned, allowing her to navigate the world around her effortlessly. And with Diana by her side, there was an ease to their movement—a natural synchronicity.

They wandered through the mall, passing tourists and families, their conversation flowing effortlessly between light banter and deeper, more personal topics. Diana took them to a small café, nestled off a quiet street. The tables were set outside under a canopy of trees, their leaves rustling gently in the summer breeze.

They found a seat at a corner table, and Diana ordered them coffee and pastries. Y/n, who was used to surviving on quick meals between missions, felt a sense of calm she hadn’t experienced in a long time. She leaned back in her chair, the sounds of the city alive around her, the smell of fresh coffee drifting through the air.

“This feels… strange,” Y/n admitted, her fingers tracing the rim of her coffee cup. “Sitting here, doing something so normal.”

Diana smiled warmly across the table. “I think we’ve earned a bit of normalcy.”

Y/n tilted her head, considering the statement. “It’s just… I don’t usually let myself have this. I’m always on edge, always thinking about the next move, the next fight.”

“You don’t always have to fight,” Diana said gently, reaching across the table to take Y/n’s hand in hers. “Not when you’re with me.”

Y/n’s fingers tightened around Diana’s, a small smile playing on her lips. “I’ll try to remember that.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the world go by. Diana watched Y/n with quiet admiration, marveling at how someone so fierce and driven could also be so vulnerable in these moments. She loved the contrast, loved how Y/n could switch from lethal to soft, depending on the situation.

As they finished their coffee, Diana leaned forward with a mischievous glint in her eye. “I have something I want to show you.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? And what’s that?”

Diana stood, pulling Y/n gently to her feet. “You’ll see.”

——-——————-

Diana led Y/n through the quiet, tree-lined paths of a nearby park, the sounds of the city fading into the background. Birds chirped overhead, the wind carrying the faint scent of blooming flowers.

“I’ve been coming here for years,” Diana said, her voice soft. “It’s where I go when I need to feel connected to the world outside of being Wonder Woman.”

Y/n’s grip tightened slightly on Diana’s arm, her opaque eyes turning toward the sounds around them. “It’s peaceful,” she remarked. “I can hear it—the quiet.”

Diana smiled. “I thought you might appreciate it.”

They continued walking until they reached a small, secluded clearing. A lone bench sat under the shade of a massive oak tree, its branches stretching out like a protective canopy.

Diana led Y/n to the bench and they sat, the afternoon sun filtering through the leaves, casting soft shadows on the ground.

“This is my favorite spot,” Diana said, leaning back and crossing her legs. “It’s far enough from the city that you can forget everything for a while.”

Y/n leaned into Diana’s side, resting her head on her shoulder. “It’s perfect.”

For a moment, they sat in contented silence. The world felt far away, their responsibilities as heroes a distant memory. In this small pocket of time, they were simply Diana and Y/n—two women enjoying each other’s company, away from the weight of their usual lives.

Y/n shifted slightly, turning her face toward Diana. “I never thought I’d have this,” she confessed. “A quiet moment with someone who makes me feel… safe.”

Diana smiled, her arm wrapping around Y/n’s arm, pulling her closer. “You deserve it. More than you know.”

Y/n’s lips quirked into a small, vulnerable smile. “You’re making me soft, Diana.”

Diana chuckled. “Good. You’re allowed to be soft sometimes.”

They stayed like that for a long while, the world passing them by as they shared the simple pleasure of being together. There were no battles to fight, no masks to wear—just them, in the quiet.

They stood together as the sky shifted from gold to deep orange, the city coming alive with the soft hum of evening lights. Y/n turned toward Diana, her blind eyes locking onto her as if she could see her through sheer will alone.

“Thank you,” Y/n said, her voice quiet but filled with emotion. “For giving me this.”

Diana leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Y/n’s lips. It was soft, unhurried, filled with the warmth of everything unsaid. When they pulled apart, Diana rested her forehead against Y/n’s.

“You don’t need to thank me,” Diana whispered. “Just stay with me.”

Y/n smiled a rare, genuine smile that reached her eyes. “Always.”

#dc comics #dc universe #dcu #wonder woman x reader #wonder woman #diana prince #superman #batman #flash #aquaman #daredevil #female reader #daredevil!femalereader #gxg

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foursaints · 6 months ago

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anon beefer again! your moodboard has barely a grasp of a concept and that picture of the meat letters or whatever the fuck is stupid. improve your aesthetic making skills pal

ITS ABOUT BODILY AUTONOMY YOU DUMB FUCK….. ok but i actually thought about my pinned mb embarrassingly hard & i never talked about the choices at length so i will now

each of the three layers of the mb represents the three phases of barty jr’s life: the top images are his childhood, the second layer is his coming of age, and the final set is goblet of fire… and if you follow the images sequentially (1-9) each one individually corresponds to a different pivotal moment in his story

i. the house on fire: born into a broken home ii. the black eye: early childhood exposure to violence iii. boys fighting, laughing: his adolescent rebellion & his growing willingness to use violence himself iv. true love is meat: rosekiller thesis & meeting evan v. “perhaps i could have been free”: his imprisonment in azkaban & under imperius as an echo of his childhood (central image bc this is the central theme) vi. judith beheading holofernes: breaking from imperius and imprisoning his father vii. caught in string: trapped in his own invisible orchestrations in goblet of fire vii. the small person curled in on themself: his brief return to his alienated body ix. “i took care of that thing for you”: his final acts, both burying his father and bringing the dark lord back to life

ITS NOT JUST AESTHETICS RAUAUUAAAAGH ITS A PORTRAIT OF BARTY’S WHOLE LIFE IN 9 SEQUENTIAL IMAGES

#a #i THINK on these things. too much even #also i’m giggling i’ll get to the other ask i just had more to say on this one first #barty meta tag #<- this can go here #edit to add: i jokingly asked for more creative hate anons a while ago don't get mad at anon !!! i asked!!!!

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burst-of-iridescent · 1 year ago

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so sorry you've been getting these anons ana :( i thought as a native i could give my two cents on the fire lady katara trope? ill admit im more of a casual zutara shipper, so i havent seen a good chunk of the fandom, but ill give it my thoughts. for me personally, i am not a fan of fire lady katara- it's not particularly to do with the trope itself, but the execution often done by the fandom. ive discussed this with other natives before, but sometimes in the fire lady trope, it is often that katara moves to the fire nation, that she wears fire nation clothes and is surrounded by fire nation culture. obviously, that isn't wrong! the sharing of culture is a beautiful thing, but there is a good majority of fics where it feels like her water tribe culture is forgotten, that she is made to move permanently to the fire nation in favour of zuko. specifically in a post war climate, where a good majority of the people in the fire nation would still hold onto imperialist and racist beliefs, the idea of katara living there permanently is uncomfortable. i moved out of my mostly native village into a nearly fully white uni, and it's scary, and so when i apply those thoughts to katara living in the fire nation, its uncomfortable. and as for the rest, it's mainly just how sometimes it feels like the fandom doesn't value her culture as much as zukos, even unconsciously- it often feels like the fandom values the perceived glamour and power of the fire nation royalty, and finds fire nation culture more understandable than anything water tribe, and so prefer to have katara in a setting that is more 'easy' for them. in hand with this, is often the fandom perception that the water tribe is less progressive than the fire nation, that they are sexist and that zuko is giving katara a better life (i will say that this is not something i have not seen often, especially recently, but it is something i have discussed w people so i thought id mention it, especially since its usually not intentional). sorry this got so long, i went on a bit of a ramble but obviously this isn't the be all end all. like you said, there are lots of people who are fine, or enjoy fire lady katara because they perceive or write it differently, and that is fine! everyone perceives media differently, just like some people will be uncomfortable with zutara, some might not be. i just thought id send this as a reason why some of us do dislike the trope, and things to keep in mind when ppl are writing it

hi anon, thank you so much for sharing this with me! i really appreciate you taking the time to write out your thoughts and offer your perspective on this.

i definitely agree that the fire lady katara trope can be executed in some exceedingly problematic ways. there are many zutara fics that i've clicked out of for the reasons that you've mentioned, especially older ones that were written around when the show aired or shortly after. i won't deny at all that there are ways people write the zutara relationship that make me profoundly uncomfortable. my problem arises when someone assumes that the trope itself is inherently racist or wrong, instead of understanding that it can be written in a variety of ways by a variety of people, who bring their own perspectives - and prejudices - to their individual portrayals.

what you said about moving from your mostly native village to a fully white university really struck a chord with me because (although it's not the same, and can never be) i can really sympathize with those feelings of alienation and sudden lack of belonging. i'm part of the desi diaspora myself, and i've grown up in a country where i've always been the minority, and had to deal with racism and ignorance, so your experience really spoke to me. i hope that doesn't come across like i'm trying to co-opt your struggle or anything like that, because that was not my intention at all. i just wanted to let you know that i can understand what a scary feeling it is, even if not exactly in the same way.

that being said, personally if i could choose between spending my life in india or growing up overseas, i would still choose to do the latter even if it meant living through the bigotry and ostracization i've experienced again. i love the life i've built here, though it's a more difficult one than what i could've led back home.

in the context of atla, i agree that katara would most likely face racism and discrimination in the fire nation, at least in the immediate years following the war. but personally i also find a very empowering narrative in seeing her confront and dismantle the prejudices within the fire nation system, just as she did with the sexism of the northern water tribe. katara wouldn't abide bigotry in any form, and i think fighting inequality is a battle that she would want to take on, and would willingly choose to take on whether she ended up with zuko or not. that's why i take issue with the insistence that her becoming queen of the fire nation inherently equates to her victimization, because it can also very much be a power fantasy, and i know many woc who do see it as such.

(of course, that is just my own perspective, and i completely understand why others see it differently and might not be comfortable with it. their feelings are just as valid and legitimate.)

ultimately, i think correctly executing the fire lady katara trope isn't just about katara herself valuing her culture, but zuko doing it as well. i love seeing explorations of the trope (and the zutara relationship in general) where zuko takes an active interest in katara's heritage, incorporates her traditions and practices into his own life and home, and involves himself in her culture just as much as she involves herself in his. zutara is a ship that has always been about equality to me, and that's something that can and should carry over to how they blend their cultures together. like you said, there is nothing wrong in katara wearing fire nation clothes, or being surrounded by fire nation culture - so long as she isn't the only one in the relationship taking an interest in her partner's heritage. thankfully, in most zutara content i've seen, she isn't.

in my own personal view of katara becoming fire lady, it happens only years after the war ends. she spends her time postwar travelling the world and kicking ass, empowering women in the north to learn waterbending, rebuilding the southern water tribe, meeting and learning from everyone she can. when she becomes fire lady, she continues to travel often - home, of course, but also to the other nations when necessary, using her skill of inspiring and motivating others, and her desire to help the less fortunate, in matters of international diplomacy. when she returns, her husband is in blue, and her children wear whalebone beads in their hair, and there are fire flakes next to stewed sea prunes on her dining table. there are hard times, but there is also love and respect, and so she changes the world as she damn well deserved to in canon.

#zutara #fire lady katara

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megalony · 5 months ago

Text

I'm Her Doctor

Okay, so this is my first time writing an AU fic for 911, Eddie Diaz, as requested by a lovely anon. I utterly loved writing this and I hope to do more like this soon.

(If anybody would be interested in a Doctor AU series for any of the 911 boys please let me know)

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @stefansalvatoresgf @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra8484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @shelbygeek @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana

@shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @ml572 @jessie-lynn28 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700

@ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @itshamleth @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii

Eddie Diaz Masterlist

Summary: When a tsunami strikes LA, Eddie pulls overtime at the hospital to care for as many patients as he can. Little does he realise that his wife will be one of his patients, and he won't let anyone else look after her but him. (AU, Eddie is a Doctor)

Enjoy.

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

Eddie's nose crinkled at the smell of the coffee. Too strong. A splash of milk he didn't intend. A hint of tea curdling the mix. No amount of sugar in the world could make this bearable, but Eddie couldn't be bothered to buy another three cups from the decades old machine to get the perfect blend.

He didn't have time to run down to the cafeteria for a proper cup and all the machines on each ward were either old, broken or used the cheap blend Eddie would never touch outside of work.

He only drank the coffee from the machines when he was desperate and right now, with a twelve hour shift that was probably going to be extended, Eddie needed something to keep himself awake.

His lips curled down at the corners when he took a sip and a shudder rocked his body at the curdling taste.

With a sigh, he turned on his heels, dragged his free hand down his face and took a step away from the machine. His break would be over in a few minutes, he had to get back to his office.

His head snapped back and his shoulders barged into the machine, pushing the decrepit coffee maker into the beige wall loud enough to create an echo surging down the corridor. Eddie lifted his arms and hissed when the coffee spilled over his hands and dribbled through his fingers while he pushed himself back enough to be out the way of the gurney speeding down the corridor.

"Dios, Marcy, where's the fire?" Eddie's voice lowered a few tones and he rose a brow when he locked eyes with the familiar nurse who almost ran him over.

The gurney was empty- well, it was empty of a patient, at least.

There were over ten IV bags wobbling about on the mattress like bags of jelly that looked rather weak and ready to pop. Rolls of bandages, gauze, bottles of anticeptic, cotton swabs and packaged needles were littering the gurney that looked like it had robbed the supply cupboard.

The young nurse paused in her speeding attempt down the corridor. Sweat trickled across her forehead and down the side of her neck, causing a few loose strands of hair to stick to her skin. She puffed and leaned against the end of the gurney, letting her shoulders sag.

When she relaxed, Eddie realised how panicked and worn out she looked. She hadn't been on shift for more than five hours, she turned up way after Eddie clocked in for his shift.

"You mean the flood."

"Pardon?"

"Didn't you hear? The ER's been taken over, we're swamped down there. Everyone's being redirected."

"Why?"

Eddie hadn't heard anything, he had been in theatre for the last six hours of his shift. He had been removing an appendix, sorting out internal bleeding and stitching up a ten year old. He hadn't had time to bustle about and find out the latest gossip in the hospital. Before he went into surgery, everything had been as normal as ever.

Now though, he had encountered at least four nurses running around like headless chickens. Another two of his colleagues had been called to the ER over the tanoid and Eddie had barely seen anyone on the upper floors here. He thought it odd, but he had no idea something big was happening.

Marcy tilted her head at an angle and let out a shallow breath. She took a moment to swipe her hand across her temple before she looked back at the doctor stood beside her.

"There's- there's been a tsunami, high level. It took out the pier and all the coast, at least four miles inland."

"Jesus," Eddie dumped his cup in the bin beside him, shaking his hand free of coffee remnants before he dragged his hand down his chin.

A tsunami? In LA?

There had been no warnings or signs about this. No one had been on red alert or suspected anything. Usually they got a small warning, maybe an hour or less before the disasters happened, like with hurricanes or thunderstorms. The hospital had preparations and plans in place, they could usually get set up ready for a natural disaster if one were to occur.

"We've got people coming from all over, brought in on trucks, walk-ins, even the LAFD are out driving people to us. The ER is overspilling… I gotta get these supplies down there."

"Go, go." Eddie patted her shoulder and watched her give him a sympathetic smile before she resumed her high-speed charge towards the lift at the end.

Eddie's shift wasn't going to finish anytime soon.

How could he go home when they were getting people being brought in from all across the state? People were dying. People were crawling and dragging their families down to the nearest hospitals, wading through water and grime and busted cars and broken telephone wires. They were trying to get themselves to safety and thousands of people could be injured.

There was no way he could go home when people were being brought in on trucks, needing medical help.

He was a doctor. It was his duty to help people and save as many lives as possible. Eddie couldn't go home until the hospital had people on wards and they had helped every person that came in through their doors.

Rummaging his hand in his pocket, Eddie fished out his phone. He was surprised to find he still had some signal, a tsunami usually brought down the phone lines. They had to be far in land here to be unharmed.

He had to call (Y/n). If he wasn't going to be getting out of here anytime soon, he had to let (Y/n) know and make sure she and Chris didn't venture out far with this mess going on. The last thing he needed was his family getting stuck in a traffic jam or being caught up or swamped somewhere with the waves still lashing out and coming inland.

She didn't answer.

"Hey mi amor, I don't know when I'm gonna be home, there's some sort of tsunami happening and we're getting casualties left right and centre. I'll call you when I know more. I hope you and Chris are having a better time, amor. Stay safe."

With his phone in his pocket and his pager in his hand, Eddie looked through the two messages he got. They wanted him down in the ER. He was on standby for any emergency operations if any casualties came through.

Into the chaos.

The tails of his pristine white overcoat flapped behind his thighs as he jostled down the stairs towards the emergency room. There was no point waiting for the lift when others needed it more and Eddie could use the stairs.

He didn't like what he saw. People sat on the floor in the stairwell and the adjoining corridors. Sat on blankets. Holding gauze to major cuts, empty water bottles sat beside them. Water trickling down the stairs causing a major hazard. Two, three and four people sharing one oxygen tank between them, taking turns with the mask to try and keep each other from gasping like fish.

Were these people all walk-ins from the disaster? Were these patients that had been moved out of their rooms and wards to make way for more dire emergencies?

How many more people were going to be coming into the hospital? How many more people could they help before they were overflowing and had no space left?

Could they even turn people away? Eddie had never known them to turn anyone away, especially not in a disaster. But they were clearly reaching maximum capacity if people were sitting in stairwells and lying in corridors. They might have to turn people away, how could they help people if they had no space and were using up their extra resources?

The doors swung open when Eddie barged into the emergency room. He clipped his ID badge onto his waistband for easy access in case he had to go and grab more supplies. All the corridors were locked for safety, if the patients wanted through they had to be buzzed in and all staff had keycards.

"Darren, what have we got?"

"What haven't we got?" The nurse deadpanned, dropping his shoulders as he spun to face Eddie. He rose a brow when he realised what Eddie was wearing. He wasn't in his usual button up shirt or trousers. He was in pale turquoise scrubs and his usual bleached white overcoat. That was a giveaway that he had been in surgery.

"Alright, smart arse, who's shift lead down here?" Eddie's hands moved to his hips and he took a look around.

The emergency room had never been so compact.

Most of the curtains were pulled back with little privacy so they could push the beds closer together and squeeze more patients in. People were sitting on blankets on the floor. Others were lining the walls, sat, crouching and stood waiting to be seen by anyone available.

Some were wearing wristbands of different colours, red meant someone was in dire need of help, green were those who could wait and amber meant they would need attention soon.

Black was reserved for those who were either dead or not going to make it. It had been a long time since Eddie had seen the wristband system come into play.

"Jameston was pulled up to theatre, Macabee's been pulled somewhere else, we're just helping who we can."

"Fuck." Eddie's fingers scratched through his scrubs until he was sure he would have red indents in his skin and blood wheels bubbling up beneath his skin. If no one was on shift lead then people didn't have anyone to report to, that meant people would just help whoever they wanted or whoever was closest. They needed a system.

If no one was going to take charge then Eddie would take that role himself. People could listen to him or get out the emergency room.

"Alright, listen up." He made his way over to the circular reception desk in the middle of the room. "If you don't have a wristband, come get one. Green bands in that corner, amber over here. If you have red then someone will come and move you towards the back."

Coloured bands were there for a reason, people were meant to be segregated into their groups, not compiled together like this. Eddie pointed for where he wanted them to go and waved his hands towards the back for all the red patients to be escorted over. The back was closest to the equipment and near the lifts for easy transfer.

"You three, go to red I want four nurses in the red corner at all times, do not leave those patients. Johnson, you're in charge or those three, deal with amber and get them onto a different floor. The rest of you sort out the greens, anyone who can be stitched up and sent out needs to go. We aren't a cafe we are here for serious injuries."

Eddie could see the funny looks he was getting, but no one dared argue with him. He was putting himself in charge and they needed to agree or go to a different ward for different orders.

This was a hospital. Anyone who had minor injuries needed to be given paracetamol, checked for cuts and sent home. They could get antibiotics from their GP and they could get seen by a pharmacist for any minor complications. They had no room, no space and no time to deal with anyone who wasn't in critical condition.

"We've been separated, w-we need to find out families-"

"Ma'am, I completely understand that, but you can't do that here."

"We need to see if our families have been admitted!" An angry father, or, Eddie presumed he was a father by his stance and his panicked temper, stomped his foot on the floor.

He wanted to find his loved ones. He had a few injuries that weren't life-threatening. He wanted to find his family and he couldn't leave the hospital if he wanted to do that.

He looked Eddie up and down when the doctor advanced over to him with a calm expression and his hands at his sides.

"Look around," Eddie's voice was gentle but his words were oddly firm. "We aren't taking names at the moment, we treat people, we get them onto a ward or on their way. We don't get names until they are safely in a bed or about to leave. In here, we have no way of knowing if your family have arrived, have been transferred or are in theatre."

They couldn't take names straight away. Some people weren't in any fit state to give their names or ask about their families. Their job as doctors was to patch people up and get them safely into theatre or onto a ward.

"If you go out into the gardens, the emergency services will set up tents and take names. They will help you find your family, but I can't have you taking up time and resources in here if you are fit and able to wait outside. Please."

It sounded harsh, but this was an emergency like no other. Eddie had no space for people to sit here and people-watch, waiting for their families to come in or to hear any news they were desperately seeking.

The emergency services and some of the hospital reception staff would already be setting up tents outside. They took names and cross-referenced against those who had been able to give their names on arrival. They checked for people on wards, people in the morgue and those who were dead but yet to be identified.

Once the man nodded, Eddie pointed at someone to check them over and guide the group of people out who had green wristbands.

He turned to face the reception desk, taking deep breaths to try and calm down the tremors that were rattling through him. But his brows furrowed and he sighed when he looked at the desk. Papers were scattered everywhere. Some were drenched in water from the patients who came in, scrambling for help at the desk. Others were scribbled so hastily that Eddie couldn't make head nor tail of the words.

"Janice, what is going on here?" His hands fumbled around, motioning to all the paperwork.

"I've had over two hundred people to sign in and send upstairs-"

"How do you know which ones are which?"

Her lack of reply had Eddie running his hands over his face with a deep, grumble that racked his chest and had his jaw locking in place. Could no one organise in this mess? Had they all forgotten how to cope in a disaster? It had only been a year since the Earthquake and Eddie had worked three days straight during that period.

They had a great system during that disaster, did everyone just forget how to cope and how to function in times like these?

"Dios, we can't work like this-"

"What do you want me to do? Doctor?" She added on quietly at the end, looking down to her hands when she realised she might just be speaking a bit out of term to a senior doctor.

"I want you to organise this desk. Forget about filing the paperwork, okay? Blank paper is what you need. Get people to write their names down if they can, one page for green, one for amber, one for red. Keep them in piles, then we know where people are when we have to log into the system after everyone's sorted. Get rid of this shit, start over."

Eddie's abdomen dug into the desk while he grabbed a large stack of paperwork and tossed it behind the desk onto the floor.

Forms were no good in an emergency, things needed to be plain and simple. Names, where they were being sent, that was all they needed right now. No insurance forms, no past discharge notes, just the main details. Names, dates of birth, allergies, that was it.

When Janice nodded, Eddie spun on his heels and looked around. Everyone was listening to him, people were more organised and it meant the nurses fluttering around here were helping the right people and they weren't stuck like headless chickens.

"If you just sit down here-"

"If he's amber sit on the left, if he's red move to the right but not in front of the bloody doors please." Eddie snapped, pointing across at the young nurse who was just about to sit an elderly man in front of the back doors that led off to the X-ray corridor.

Did people not use their brains? Where they all shutting down and waiting for Eddie to take charge? Was he going to have to order them all around and do their jobs for them? They couldn't sit someone in front of the doors because if they swung open that poor man would be knocked flying and he would be in a worse shape than when he arrived.

He could see the nurse bite down on her lip as if she might start crying and it made Eddie's heart spasm. But she held herself together. She put on a shallow smile and helped shuffle the man to the left and sit him down next to a cot bed with a young woman on.

"Doctor Diaz?" A timid voice broke Eddie out of his thoughts and had him spinning on his heels.

A young nurse. She couldn't have been more than twenty-five, maybe younger, he wasn't sure. Both her hands were clasped together in front of her and her fingers were scratching at the back of her hands. Her arms were shaking, elbows were pinned into her waist and her shoulders were hunched and pulled forwards.

She looked like she needed medical help with how anxious she was and Eddie wasn't sure if she was about to be sick or not. Tears were in her eyes and she was breathing shallow.

"Yes?" His tone was softer than before and he tried to smile to calm her down but it didn't seem to work.

"What- um, what do we do with the bodies?"

Her words stunned Eddie and he took a cautious look around. He had seen people looking like they were on Death's door, but no one seemed to have passed away yet. But when the nurse shakily pointed over her shoulder, Eddie saw.

He saw the body of a teenager, just a few years older than his own son. Not breathing. Not moving. Laid languidly on a cot bed as if he was passed out.

Eddie ran a hand across his face and took a strangled breath through his fingers.

He could feel his hands about to tremble with the adrenaline shooting through his system. He reached out, tensing his fingers to keep his hand from shaking and he gave her shoulder a squeeze before he spun to face the reception desk.

His nimble fingers scoured through the paperwork behind the desk until he found what he was looking for.

A black lanyard. A rectangle piece of paper, as black as night and as scratchy as hay. There were white lines for a name to be written across and a time, date and cause of death.

"Johnston! Gurney." Eddie waved the nurse over and walked the younger nurse back towards the patient. He handed her the lanyard. "Do we have a name?"

She shook her head.

"Then take him towards X-ray, out the side doors and into the foyer… he needs to be laid with the unidentified and recorded."

Eddie didn't want her taking the teen out through the ER doors. People were still coming in. No one deserved or needed to see a dead body being wheeled out, it would cause panic and it wasn't respectful. If they had a name then he could have been taken to the morgue. Without a name, he had to be laid in the tent with the other unidentified and the easiest way to get there without alarming people was through the X-ray corridor.

This was going to be a long day, and it had only just begun.

***

"We're nearly there, you just hang on for me, okay?" Tremors rattled through Buck's voice and gave away the sheer desperation welling up inside of him.

He continued to push the gurney with his right hand while his left hand deadlocked around his sister's palm. He could feel her hand, a mixture of sweat and salt water dribbling between their fingers, squeezing his tightly. And her nails that were split and had layers of mud stuck beneath them were scratching into the back of his hand. Holding tightly to let him know she was still hanging on, just like he asked.

The emergency room doors parted easily and allowed the 118 to glide straight through, but Buck's voice boomed over the rest of the sounds like a siren, demanding to be heard.

"Diaz! Where's Doctor Diaz?"

"Sir, we're very-"

"Get me Doctor Diaz now!" Buck all but slammed his foot down on the glistening tiled floor that was littered with smudges of blood, dirt and puddles of salt water that was as brown as milk chocolate.

He needed his brother in law. He needed Eddie. (Y/n) needed a doctor and the only one she needed right now was her husband.

Eddie spun on his heels, pen light clasped between his teeth and stethoscope hung around his neck. He looked over his shoulder, hands paused in mid air as he crouched in front of a young boy he was trying to assess.

It wasn't enough to direct people in the ER and try to create a system, Eddie was still a doctor and until he was called up to surgery, he had to assess people down here. He had to do his fair share, or more than his fair share when no one here seemed to be able to do their jobs properly. Eddie had assessed patients, sent them to X-ray, sent others to an MRI.

He had done CPR on an elderly woman, a tracheotomy on a middle-aged man choking on what he had inhaled during the floods. And he had the harsh job of sending another three people to the unidentified tent out in the foyer when they passed away.

But he knew that voice.

He knew that loud, sometimes obnoxious, but mostly caring voice that had risen an octave and sounded as distressed as Eddie had ever heard him.

Buck. His brother in law. Eddie thought his brother in law would be working today, this was an emergency and he knew Buck was all for helping anyone he could. But Eddie hadn't thought he would see Buck today, he thought their jobs would keep them separate and he would see him in a few days to talk and go over what had gone on today.

"Buck?" Paranoia flooded Eddie's voice as he narrowed his eyes and looked around the emergency room.

He found Buck easily. That sandy blond hair, damp and curled to the max. Those broad shoulders, towering over everyone else within reach. Those ocean blue eyes that held so much pain and panic within them that it physically made Eddie feel sick.

"Buck, what are you…"

(Y/n).

His wife. There she was. Not safely tucked up at home. Not at home snuggled up with Chris watching a movie or listening intently to the news.

She was laid on the gurney, looking worse for wear and clinging to her brother's hand.

What had happened?

"No, no no!" The pen light dropped to his feet, his hands began to shake and his shoes clicked against the floor as he skidded over towards his wife.

He didn't know the other people gathered round the gurney, but it didn't take much to work out that they had to be Buck's team who he worked with. There were three of them, to be exact, all gathered round the gurney like they were waiting for a premonition to take place.

The moment he reached the gurney, Eddie was stooping over. His trembling hands cupped (Y/n)'s face that was damp, although he couldn't tell whether it was sweat or sea water. His thumbs glided over her cheeks that were a mix of hot and cold all together, all at once. He creased his abdomen to double over the gurney and his elbows pinned into (Y/n)'s arms.

She shakily let go of her brother's hand and tried to open her eyes. They were still burning like the fires of Hell from all the water. She could barely breathe. She couldn't see properly. Eddie's figure looming over her was almost as if she was seeing an angel, guiding her to the afterlife.

A halo of light surrounded Eddie's frame, but (Y/n) just managed to make out the creases around his eyes, the bridge of his nose and those ruby red lips that were barely touching her own.

"Mi amor," Eddie didn't trust himself to speak properly and he couldn't drag his eyes away from his wife.

He pecked her lips, feeling just how frozen cold they felt against his own and it made him cringe. His thumbs continued to glide across her cheeks while he tilted his head to the right and looked up at his brother in law.

"Eddie," (Y/n)'s voice was quiet and each breath she took hitched higher than the last, but the look in her eyes had Eddie's heart breaking. She was relieved. She was staring at him like she had taken a long pilgrimage and had finally found safety and sanctuary with him.

She knew she was safe now.

"What happened- w-where's Chris?"

"We found them clinging on top of a swamped fire truck. Chris is in our truck, h-he's fine I swear. But you need to help her."

A small ounce of relief dwelled in Eddie's stomach. His son was safe. Chris was patched up and clearly didn't need any medical attention like (Y/n) did. They had found both of them and managed to get them out of the wreckage. (Y/n) had been saved by her brother and his team. She had managed to stay with Chris and not get separated, at least, not for very long. They had both been found.

"Let me look at you, mi amor." He hushed quietly and pecked her lips again before he reeled up enough to assess her.

His hands wandered up and down, checking for any deep abrasions or broken bones or anything that didn't seem right.

Both (Y/n)'s arms were pinned to her chest, but she deadlocked her hands around Eddie's arm. Tears flushed her face, sniffles and gasps left her split lips and she was trembling back and forth. Her knees were lifted up like she was trying to curl up and get into the fetal position to make herself feel better.

Eddie could see hundreds of cuts littering her arms and her exposed chest. Her shirt had been cut down the middle, presumably so they could assess her chest and there was a cut just under her fifth rib. It didn't look extensive, but it would need stitches.

When he tried to press down on her abdomen, (Y/n)'s knees jolted up and a mewling sob left her lips. Her head tilted back into the gurney, pushing her throat out and she gurgled through each breath.

"Hurts!"

"Shh, sorry baby, I'm sorry. Let me see, please." He gently moved her arms away so he could assess again but when he pressed down on the right side of her abdomen just above her hip, she coiled inwards again. "Intestine's ruptured. Shit."

"I'll go sit with Chris." Chimney patted Buck's shoulder before he jogged out, they didn't want to leave Chris sat on his own for too long.

"Her breathing's very laboured and mismatched." Hen had tried to assess (Y/n)'s chest, but she was still breathing. Every now and then she would cough or take five sharp, thin breaths all at once. She couldn't hear any water in her lungs and she was still breathing so that couldn't be the case.

Eddie swiped the stethoscope from his neck and pressed them to his ears. He let (Y/n) smother her face against his right arm while he leaned over her and pressed the stethoscope against her back to listen to her lungs.

But he suddenly felt (Y/n)'s forehead slamming into his arm and her fingers scraped through his jacket sleeves, digging into his arm so tightly she was cutting off his circulation.

He dropped the stethoscope and reached forward, taking the small torch light from Hen's top pocket before she could ask what he was doing.

He twisted (Y/n) so she was laying on her left side, facing him as he crouched down in front of the gurney.

"Open. Open up."

Eddie shone the light in her mouth and squinted to try and see if there was any obstruction.

(Y/n) clasped her fingers around his wrist, closing her eyes tightly as she started to shake. Something didn't feel right. Her chest felt constricted, her lungs weren't opening up and taking proper breaths anymore. She felt like she was going to be sick.

She could feel someone's hand at the back of her neck and when she started to cough, her body shuddered and she jerked her legs out when Eddie's hand moved to her mouth.

"I'm sorry- baby just keep breathing it's okay." Eddie grimaced as water spluttered past (Y/n)'s lips and dripped down onto the floor. He pushed his fingers past her lips towards the back of her throat, hating the way she squirmed and tried to push him away, but he could see she was choking on something.

Buck wrapped an arm around his front and gagged, turning his head away when he watched Eddie slowly pull a long stream of either seaweed or some sort of tangled up plant from (Y/n)'s lips. She must have inhaled it during the struggle when the first wave hit. She didn't even know she had inhaled that into her lungs.

Eddie tossed the seaweed onto the floor by his feet, shaking his hand, relieved he was wearing gloves for doing that.

"Janice!" He tossed his head to look over his shoulder at the receptionist who was dumbstruck, unsure what to do. "Find me an OR and a surgical team. Ruptured intestine, I need to operate now."

"Um… theatre four, floor two should be free."

"Someone bring Chris."

Eddie reeled up back to his full height, grabbed the edge of the stretcher and began steering them towards the back corridor through the middle of the ER. Chris could come up, he could wait in Eddie's office where Buck could wait with him once (Y/n) was in theatre and being looked after.

This was his worst nightmare. This was something Eddie had always been fearful of. Having his wife and son caught up in something horrid like this. He had been extremely lucky last year that Chris had been safe at school and (Y/n) had been at home when the Earthquake hit. Both of them had been out the way and in no danger.

Not like today. They had been caught up in this natural disaster and now Eddie had to operate on his wife. He had never done this before. He had stitched (Y/n) up at home a few times, but he had never had to operate on her or have her need any type of hospitalisation like this.

He wasn't supposed to operate on family members. It was too dangerous in case something happened or she died or Eddie made a mistake. But this was an emergency. All their staff had been redirected, no one was where they were supposed to be. Any doctor was being diverted to any theatre, operating room, ward and scan that they could to observe and help and intervene.

Eddie didn't have time to wait around for another colleague to come over and operate on (Y/n). He had done this procedure hundreds of times before and he wasn't going to trust anyone else to look after his wife the way he would.

"E-Eddie," (Y/n) gave a soft tug on Eddie's hand that she had confiscated and pinned against her chest. She could barely open her eyes to look up at him, but she was relieved when he leaned down and kissed her temple.

She managed to focus enough to watch him scan his badge against the doors and guide them out of the emergency room and into a more secluded corridor with less casualties around ever corner.

"Yeah, baby?"

"Don't l…leave me."

"I'm not going anywhere without you, mi amor." He kissed the back of her hand before the three of them crammed into the lift.

Bobby was hanging back with Hen, waiting for Chimney to come out with Chris so they could catch them up. The team weren't leaving, they would wait and stay with Buck so they could comfort him and wait on any news of his little sister. It had been a stroke of luck that they had found (Y/n) rather than any other team. Buck had made it his mission to look after his sister and he told them exactly which hospital to go to, although none of them had known why Buck was fixated on this hospital. Until they saw Eddie.

Once they were up on the second floor, Eddie flagged down a passing nurse before he turned to face Buck.

"My office is around that corner, second door on the left. I'll find you as soon as it's done." He unclipped his keycard from his scrubs and handed it over. Buck was welcome to wait in his office, Chris had been in there hundreds of times before so he would know where to go and he would be okay there. Chris had a few of his books in the office to occupy him.

Once Buck headed back into the lift so he could go find the rest of the team, Eddie began his descent down the corridor, pushing the gurney single-handed.

"Okay, reception said we have an emergency?" Cranston placed his hands on his hips and stood outside the empty operating room he had been told to get scrubbed up for another surgery.

But once his eyes landed on the girl on the stretcher, his hands fell at his sides and he shook his head. (Y/n). He had seen her here many times when she came to visit Eddie or when she brought Chris down for a visit. Eddie couldn't be here for this. He couldn't be the leading surgeon, he wasn't allowed.

"No, Diaz you can't-"

"No one else is touching my wife. I'm her doctor now, got it?"

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