#COMPLETE oneshot

[cheralith]

childhood bestfriend!kaiser who specifically always demands his managers to reserve a spot for you at every single one of his games.

you always go to support him, with him insisting he needs you there as some sort of “lucky charm” (he won’t actually admit he thinks those superstitions are bullshit), so imagine his shock when he finds out that your seat is empty on the day of one of the most important games of the season—the game that will decide who gets to compete in the german cup.

it’s ten minutes before the game starts and despite his coach’s pep talk to the team, all kaiser can focus on is your empty seat and the absolute betrayal you’ve bestowed upon him, your supposed “best friend.”

he hasn’t realized it—nor will he admit it if he ever were to come to such an epiphany—stubborn as he is, but the reason as to why he does so well in games that you’re present at is because of the fact it gives him more motivation to win and impress you rather than just solely being dependent on the faces of despair from his opponents. a unique sort of euphoria that he gets whenever he can spot you jumping up and down in your seat with his number #10 jersey on, that your praise belongs to him and him only.

so when he steps out on to the field and sees that your seat is still collecting dust, he seethes silently to himself, gritting his teeth, pissed that he even called you his best friend to begin with. because what sort of friend doesn’t show up to one of the most important games in germany’s football?!

he’s still planning to win, of course. he’s michael kaiser—he’s famous for doing so. and he plans to use all his rage that you’ve caused to do so, just in spite of you.

because he’s michael kaiser, number ten of bastard mündchen. he doesn’t need your help. he never did.

(see, what he doesn’t know is that you’re simply home sick with a cold and that you’re still dressed in his jersey, just also with a sweater and bundles of blankets on top to stay warm, but regardless, you’re still watching and cheering him on from behind the tv screen. you’ve sent him some texts and voicemails telling him so, but none have received a reply back yet and you can only imagine what this drama queen has in store for you once he wins the match.)

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

What if instead of threatening to take Ford's eyes, Bill just took Fiddleford's?

Tate still remembered the night his father's sight was taken from him.

"What have you done to me, Stanford?"

He felt the storm coming even before the first lightning struck. From the very moment he opened his eyes that morning until the very moment he lay back down to bed, he could feel a vicious tension brewing in the otherwise serene household.

Storms were very uncommon at Tate's house, and on the rare occasions they did arrive, they never stayed for long.

Yet, after a quiet breakfast full of anxious, unmet glances and clattering cutlery that rang far too loudly in the silence of the table, he knew that this storm was going to be unlike any other storm he'd witnessed before.

A prickling, disquieting static seemed to have made itself at home underneath his skin, that day. It had made every hair on his body stand on end, and an odd stinging sensation to dance across his spine and tongue; an uncomfortable urge to duck and take cover low on the ground nearly overwhelming his every sense. It was like waiting for the shattering thunderclap to sound after the sky turned white with a blinding flash of light. He knew what was coming, and the anticipation was unbearable.

His mother and father had acted as though nothing was wrong; as though they didn't feel the looming presence of the darkening clouds growing like a murky gray forest on the ceiling.

He hadn't been able to fathom at the time how adults could seem so all-knowing, and yet simultaneously be so utterly clueless about the very obvious happenings that surrounded them. Now, though, he just found it strange how adults often tend to assume children don't feel the stifling weight that they hung around themselves; as if children didn't breathe the same bitter choked air as their parents did. It wasn't even as though they did a very good job at pretending; his parents always were terrible liars.

When the lightning finally struck, it set the house ablaze.

He heard the thunder from his room, and felt the crackling heat crawl up the stairs and seep through the gap beneath his door. He'd laid in his bed, hand clasped nervously across his chest and looking up at his room's cloudy, weeping ceiling as a cacophonic explosion of noises came bursting from the living room downstairs. The fight had erupted with such unprecedented force that in Tate's young mind, he'd felt genuine fear of the house collapsing atop them all from the sheer force of the yelling.

The smell of burnt tongues gently wafted through the air, and Tate briefly wondered if it hurt his parents when they scorched their mouths with such scalding words just as much as it hurt for him to hear it.

It was a big fight; a terrible, big fight; so loud, and so very angry, and helpless, and desperate, and betrayed, and sad.

The back and forth screeching seemed endless, and eventually the screaming words began to muddle and merge into one another until they hardly even sounded human anymore. Suddenly there were animals wailing in the living room downstairs, and Tate could do nothing but listen helplessly and grip his interlocked fingers tighter; hoping that if he stayed still enough, then the growling beasts that were shattering plates downstairs wouldn't come upstairs.

But then,

then,

something changed.

The shift was all too sudden; too abrupt; too quick even for the usually sharp witted child to catch on, and before he knew it, the screams of anger suddenly shifted into one of pure, unadulterated horror.

"Fiddleford, your eyes- good lord, your eyes! Let me look at them!" "Don't touch me! I- I must call Stanford, he's done something to me. Him and that demon, they've cursed me." "For Heaven's sake! Please, forget about that damned Stanford of yours for one moment and listen to yourself! My husband's gone mad, mad!"

And suddenly his parents were human again.

Tate was restless in his bed as his heart seemed to beat bruises against his ribs, his sweaty fingers digging crescent shaped grooves into his skin as fear enclosed its frigid claws around his throat in a vice-like grip. He couldn't breathe.

The storm was over, and it should have reassured him, and yet he was anything but.

Curiosity and fear had been what forced him to kick the sheets off himself and creep his way down the rickety wooden steps. He had to know what happened, he had to know what damage the storm had caused, he had to know.

His steps were far from quiet, and the creaking of the floorboards beneath his feet hardly did him any favors, but no one answered the calls of the squeaking wood. No one came peeking out from the living room to stop the obviously sneaking presence that was tip toeing through the halls; No one called out to check on their little child; all was silent, and calm, except for his mother's soft sobbing coming from the kitchen.

When Tate eventually found his father, he saw

devastation.

The storm had been merciless. It had left nothing behind but a shuddering husk of a man. His father was shaking like a leaf, shoulders tense and back hunched over as though bowed by an incredible burden. The telephone receiver was held in his hand like a lifeline; as if it was the only thing in the world that was keeping him tethered to sanity, and somehow, Tate didn't doubt that it was.

Curled up on the floor in the dark, muttering and trembling, he dared say his father looked... small.

It almost felt surreal to see his father in such a state, like witnessing a God collapse, or a star's light dim to nothingness. His father had always been a solid, permanent pillar sho seemed able to hold up the whole world on his shoulders, and still stand tall and proud despite the weight.

And yet, the crumbling remains of a once impermeable monolith now lay scattered across the hallway floor and splattered across the walls.

The sight had scared him.

At the time, Tate hadn't known what had happened. Even to this day, he still wasn't too sure he understood what exactly had taken place in that living room for his father to have so sudddenly gone from seeing to blind in the matter of seconds.

His mother had tried, in vain, to explain it to him later, to try and make him understand when he was eventually old enough to hear the gruesome tale; but still, he struggled to fully wrap his head around it.

"It was as though his eyes just sunk into his skull," his mother had recounted to him with a haunted look in her eyes. "They suddenly just vanished into the empty sockets of his face, like someone pulled them out from inside his head. There was no blood, no resistance, no tearing. It was as if his eyes were simply plucked out of sight by some invisible hand."

There had been blood on the walls when he had found father back then, a long trail of gorey wet red smeared all across the lovely yellow wallpaper. He realized only now, recalling the memory, that the blood back then had not been from his father's eyes, but from the deep gouges he had dug into his face with his nails, his searching fingers desperately looking for eyes that weren't there beneath his empty eyelids.

"What have you done to me, Stanford?"

Tate had never heard his father's voice sound so raw, so afraid. It was so unlike the familiar comforting drawl he'd grown to love and recognize, it almost sounded alien, coming from his father.

"I can't see, Stanford, I can't- my eyes, they're gone. Why are they gone? What have you done?" "Answer me, damnit, what have you done?"

His father never got his answer, because whoever was on the other side of the line soon hung up, and his father was suddenly left blind and alone.

[lotus-lamps]

tysm the weekly light for giving me motivation to draw LMAO

a lil messy but thats ok. it was a lot of fun so thats all that matters haha (I LOVE RENDERING AND DO THE LIGHTING AND ALL THAT SHIT ITS SO FUN) rip mothy gilbert also had too much fun ig lmao

[smolcatpilot]

Huevember - Purple!

[dinzeeyz]

been slowly continuing PD, and i finally get it. i get it, Mark Winters

[anto-pops]

Heart of Vipers - Ominis Gaunt x Female!Reader

Summary: After an ill-fated confrontation with Ominis' family, you come to learn that they want you for themselves. More specifically, they want your abilities for themselves. Ominis is less than pleased with the revelation and returns home with the intention of proving that the only person you belong to is him.

Alternatively summarized as Dominis turning into a possessive alpha male in the wake of his family's sudden interest in you.

Word Count: 9.3k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, minor depictions of violence, explicit sexual content, rough/possessive sex à la Dominis

Descriptions of Marvolo and Aleister Gaunt heavily credited to legacyshenanigans

Full fic can be found here on Ao3 (as always with more eclectic tags)

This was a bad idea. Truly one of the worst ones you had come up with in recent times– which was saying something when you stopped to consider all the stupid shit you’d gotten yourself into since starting at Hogwarts. But this was a decision born of desperation, and one that you adamantly refused to go back on. 

Not that you could, realistically. You were already here. 

The Gaunt Estate was massive. It was an imposing structure, shrouded in a perpetual darkness that seemed to kill off even the tiniest slivers of light, and you’d noted the distinctly foul scent of dark magic that encased the mansion from roughly a mile away. There were no Floo Flames to utilize for travel, so you’d been forced to apparate to Great Hangleton and walk the remaining six miles to reach your destination. This was your first time setting foot anywhere near Ominis’ childhood home, and the threat of splinching yourself by apparating to an unfamiliar location was a very legitimate concern. 

You almost wished you’d taken the gamble, if only to spare yourself the harrowing journey on foot. 

Ominis had to already be inside the manor, having left long before you decided you would follow him to essentially eavesdrop on his meeting with his family. You had never seen him so agitated in the hours leading up to his departure, and it was entirely due to the letter he’d received from his father. What it had said, you didn’t know, but you knew Ominis well enough to figure out that it wasn’t anything good. His entire demeanor had changed upon reading the apparent summons, but he wouldn’t tell you a lick of what it was about. He’d promised to return home as soon as he was able and left without so much as a goodbye kiss. 

The memory only reinforced the fact that this was a really bad idea. What the hell were you thinking? 

Now that you were actually here, you had no clue how to go about your poorly thought out plan. Going inside had always been the goal, but now that you were face to face with the blood-chilling building, you found yourself hesitating. Something told you that getting out would be a lot harder than getting in. You didn’t even know where Ominis could be, especially if the interior was as gargantuan as the exterior. Getting lost– or Merlin forbid, caught and tortured– seemed like the most plausible outcome. 

It was as the saying went; curiosity killed the cat. You seriously hoped you wouldn’t end up dead as a result of your inquisitiveness. 

Forcing one foot in front of the other, you started down the gravel path towards the arched double doors with your wand in hand. Your anxiety was like a physical entity hiding within your chest, but you smothered it beneath the overwhelming desire to ensure that Ominis was okay. While you knew he could handle himself, his family’s reputation preceded them, and you’d feared the worst earlier when you had borne witness to his expression shifting into something far more sinister than you were accustomed to. 

You cast a disillusionment charm for extra measure before giving the handle a testing twist, relieved to find that the door was unlocked. It wouldn’t surprise you if there were other safeguards in place that you were unaware of, but pressing on despite that unknown possibility was a risk you were willing to take. You opened the door a crack– just enough for you to squeeze through before quickly shutting it behind you– and you were instantly encased in suffocating darkness. 

The windows that lined the walls were evidently just for show. 

It smelled distinctly old inside, as though there had never been a time when the mansion wasn’t inhabited. The wooden columns that lined the entryway were cracked and worn, stretching all the way towards the vaulted ceilings before disappearing into the inky shadows high above. There was a striking amount of antique looking decor that lined the walls; from suits of armor, to ornate vases perched atop mahogany tables. Straight across from the front door was a giant portrait of what could only be the Gaunt family.

Ominis was nowhere to be found in it. 

The sound of distant, unintelligible voices echoed throughout the vast foyer from somewhere deeper in the house, drawing your attention and making the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. Your eyes scanned the room once more before you were furtively moving further into the room in the direction of the noise. 

Following the sound of the voices brought you to a giant oak doorway– a mere fraction of the size of the main entrance, but still obscenely large. From within you could hear a man you didn’t recognize, his throaty timbre one that seemed to command attention, and you couldn’t suppress the shiver that danced down your spine. Nothing about his tone sounded pleasant. 

“It’s been put off long enough,” you heard the man say as you sidled up directly against the door, careful not to lean on it too much and risk shoving it open. “We entertained your rebelliousness while you were at school, but Apollonia has anticipated this union for years now. It will happen. Whether you’re a willing participant, however, is up to you.”

“You already know my stance on the matter.” Ominis. “I’d sooner dig my own grave before I let you marry me off to that deplorable woman. She’s psychotic–” 

“A non-issue,” interjected the older voice. 

“Perhaps it’s irrelevant to you, but not to me,” Ominis snapped. You hardly recognized the threatening lilt in his voice; he sounded thoroughly fed up with the discussion, and you briefly wondered how long he’d been going at it with the unknown man. “She’s utterly wicked. Moreover she’s family. Have you forgotten my opposition to these incestuous relations you continue to shove down my throat?” 

At this point, you were almost positive the deeper voice belonged to Ominis’ father. You knew next to nothing about the man, other than the fact that Ominis loathed him with his entire being. Before you could delve further into your thoughts, a distinctly feminine voice filtered through the thin slit in the doorway, sounding colder than ice. 

“Aleister, give it a rest. If he wants to be dragged to the altar instead of walking down it, then so be it.” 

Ominis’ laugh was crass and devoid of any genuine humor, and you could practically hear the sneer in his rebuttal. “Bold of you to assume I’ll let myself be dragged anywhere. Try it and see what happens.” 

“I just don’t understand why you’re so opposed to this,” the woman continued as though he hadn’t even spoken. “You never used to fight us to this extent– you’ve always known what was expected of you as a Gaunt. Does that girl from Hogwarts have anything to do with this?” 

Your entire body went rigid at the mention of yourself, and a tense silence descended over the room. It was suddenly so quiet that you were certain you could hear a pin drop– but in this case the lack of sound allowed you to pick up on something shifting across the floorboards closer to you. You had barely glanced over your shoulder before you were jumping away from the door with your heart hammering in your chest. 

The biggest snake you’d ever seen in your life was slithering across the floor, its iridescent scales somehow reflecting the nonexistent light within the hallway. Your eyes went wider than saucers as you stepped away as much as you could, silently backing yourself into the tiny alcove beside the doorway in a bid to remain undetected– because if there was one thing the wizarding world had taught you, it was that beasts of any kind were far more intelligent than they were given credit for. The snake’s long, forked tongue flicked out incessantly as it made its way towards the doors, but it stopped short of the entryway to pivot its massive head in your direction. 

It was looking right at you. 

Fuck.

Your body tensed in anticipation of the worst; maybe it was venomous and you’d die quickly, or maybe it was more inclined to strangle the life out of you before depositing your corpse in front of Ominis and his parents. The thought made your stomach churn, and your eyes flicked down to confirm that yes– the disillusionment charm was still working– but that didn’t seem to matter where the reptile was concerned, and you mentally chided yourself for ever having let your curiosity get the better of you. 

The conversation on the other side of the door continued as your staring contest with the snake pressed on. “That girl is none of your concern. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll refrain from speaking to me about her.” 

“Ominis,” Aleister admonished with a rough voice. “Don’t you dare speak to your mother that way. Such hostility for some witch we know nothing about– perhaps it’s time to rid you of her influence once and for all. She’s proving to be a greater distraction than I had anticipated.”

Your eyes stayed glued to the snake’s, but your blood ran cold. 

“Over my dead body. If you so much as look at her–”

“That can be arranged. No son of mine will be consorting with some harlot of unknown blood purity. You’d be better off in the grave–” 

“Aleister!” Ominis’ mother yelled, silencing the back and forth bickering instantaneously, and you found the willpower to shift your feet sideways so you could better make a break for the front door.

There was another flick of the creature’s tongue as it blatantly scented your presence, but it made no move to inch closer to you. While you were grateful to still be breathing, you were also deeply, irrevocably afraid, and you came to the resolute decision that it was time to get the hell out of there. 

You moved out of the alcove slowly while maintaining what you deemed to be a safe enough distance from the snake, and all the while its thin, slitted pupils followed your movements. The blasted thing had an awareness to it that sent shivers down your spine, overwhelming you with the urge to run and get away, but vigilance was key. It wasn’t poised to strike, but that just made you even more nervous. 

Why wasn’t it attacking you? 

You adamantly refused to turn your back on the reptile, so you kept your front to it as you skirted the edge of the wall in the direction of the entrance. The discussion between Ominis and his parents was muffled now– their voices distinctly lower after his mother had cut off their argument with her biting tone– but you no longer cared to listen in. You craved safety, and nothing about the Gaunt household offered that. 

As you came upon the final stretch of the hallway, the snake flicked out its tongue once more before it was turning around to begin slithering towards you, and the remnants of your bravery evaporated. Fear overtook you, and the disillusionment charm that had shrouded you in transparency fell away as you pivoted and bolted around the corner. A chill-inducing hiss echoed from down the corridor– the first real sound you’d heard the animal make– and it only served to propel you towards the exit even faster.

The gargantuan double-doors swam into view, and just as you were reaching out to curl your fingers around the handle, a strong arm was coiling around your waist and hauling you backwards with enough force to give you whiplash. A startled, pained yelp was expelled from your lungs as you were slammed into the wall beside the doors, and your hip connected painfully with a tiny side table that careened against the floor. The vase that had been perched atop it shattered loudly, the ceramic pieces scattering across the tile, but you barely got the chance to gauge the extent of the damage before an unfamiliar face was blocking your sight. 

“Well well well, just look at what the cat dragged in. Get lost on your way home, doll?”  

It took a second for the statement to register, but once it had, you were craning your head back to glare boldly at the arrogant sounding man. His tawny eyes were narrowed down at you in amusement, his thick forearm pinned horizontally across your chest to restrain you firmly in place between himself and the wall, and the predatory look in his gaze had your stomach sinking into your feet. Everything about him screamed dangerous; from the unruly hair that curled around his temples to the animalistic way he bared his teeth at you– there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that the man would kill you if he deemed it acceptable. You cursed yourself silently for having put yourself in such a predicament in the first place. 

The imposing man cocked his head to the side coyly as he teased, “I hardly think I deserve such a cruel expression when you’re the one sleuthing around my house uninvited.”

Your mouth opened and shut a few times before you managed to stammer out, “I-I wasn’t–” 

“Don’t deny it,” he cut you off quickly. “What other reason would Ominis’ little plaything have for being here? I sincerely doubt the house-elves held the door open for you.” 

The term ‘plaything’ made you scowl, distracting you from the fact that the man even knew who you were, and you brazenly planted your hands against his firm chest to shove him away. It was like pushing against an immovable boulder. “I’m not his plaything, you prat–”

His free hand shot up in a flash to grip the sides of your jaw painfully, the look on his face darkening tenfold as he growled, “Careful now, I’d hate to lose my temper and take away my brother’s pet.” The fingers splayed under your face tightened a fraction as the crazed man angled your head to the side, shamelessly pressing his nose against the sensitive skin of your throat before he inhaled deeply. You shuddered uncomfortably at the contact. “Although I’m beginning to understand his infatuation a bit. You smell… different. What is that, exactly?” 

You had no fucking clue what he was referring to, nor did you care to find out. Each passing second brought the towering man closer into your personal space, and when one of his legs started to weasel its way in-between yours, you found yourself attempting to writhe out of his ironclad grip. “Let go of me,” you demanded in a low voice, doing your best to keep your words steady and hide the rampant unease in your tone. 

“Answer my question,” he countered easily. “Or I’ll snap your scrawny neck and be done with it. Makes no difference to me whether you live or die–” 

“If you have any desire to keep those slimy hands of yours, you’ll remove them this instant, Marvolo.” 

Your eyes widened at the sound of Ominis’ booming voice echoing throughout the foyer, which had the elder Gaunt smiling wickedly at you. He didn’t bother turning around, opting to stay right where he was and drop his fingers lower so he could squeeze around your windpipe, and you knew your choked gasp reached Ominis’ ears when he swore viciously and began walking closer. 

“Did I stutter? I said to unhand her, you cretin.”

Marvolo tutted disapprovingly, angling his head to the side so he could better keep track of Ominis coming up behind him, but he kept his eyes glued to yours all the while. “Come now, Ominis. You know how I feel about rats, and she was certainly scurrying around like one.”

You finally caught sight of the blond over Marvolo’s shoulder, and the look on his face was downright murderous. His dark, expressive brows were slammed down atop his milky-blue irises, and his pursed lips contorted into a scowl as he leveled his wand with the back of the taller man’s head. Ominis continued to side-step closer, moving with the prowess of a wolf stalking its prey, and to your immense satisfaction Marvolo broke eye contact with you to fix his gaze on his brother. 

Maybe you were imagining it, but you could have sworn he looked wary. 

“Last chance,” Ominis grit out through his clenched teeth. “Let her go. Or you’ll be nothing more than a stain on the floor.” 

The sharp laugh Marvolo let slip past his lips was positively wicked, and Ominis’ threat only served to motivate his brother into tightening his hand around your throat. Stars danced in the corners of your eyes then, and your own hand shot up to grip at the man’s thick wrist in an attempt to pry his fingers away from your windpipe. Panic flooded your brain, your racing heart drowning out the sound of Ominis’ angry voice as your pulse thundered in your ears. Fight or flight was probably an appropriate way to describe what you were feeling, but Marvolo was making both options impossible to act on. 

He wasn’t listening to Ominis. He probably never would. You would have to get yourself out of this mess on your own. 

Marvolo was barking out insults and threats over his shoulder, taunting Ominis into hurting him as he called his younger brother’s bluff. You were able to school your nerves long enough to focus and dig deep inside of yourself in search of the magic you so rarely touched. Isidora’s abilities were as much of an unknown now as they had been when you’d first absorbed them, but it was comparable to a living entity within you, and the phantom presence of her magic roared to life as you called upon it. 

You felt the strange, darker magic crackle over your skin, and Marvolo’s head whipped back around to stare at you with his pupils blown wide. Whatever he saw reflected in your eyes was enough to spark alarm in his heart, and a sick, twisted part of you relished in the apprehension that washed over his features. 

“What the fuck is that?” His hand around your throat loosened a fraction, but you weren’t about to let him walk away from this unscathed. The arm that had been hanging limp at your side stretched out until your palm was directly against his chest, and you couldn’t help but grimace when the red bolts of magic skirted across your forearm and blasted straight into his sternum. 

Marvolo went flying with a barely there grunt– his arms and legs flailing as he tried to find purchase– to no avail. He hit the stone floor and slid an additional ten feet or so until he came to rest just beside the corridor you’d run out of earlier, and your blood ran cold when an older, imposing man with salt-and-pepper hair stepped out from within the hallway. The look on his face was enough to spur you into action then, and you spared a quick, panicked glance at Ominis before you peeled off of the wall and threw the front door open. 

The cool night air was like a slap to your face, sobering you up instantaneously and driving you to pump your legs harder— faster— as you sprinted down the path that led to the dark forest surrounding the property. There was a bang from somewhere behind you and an animalistic sound you could only describe as a snarl, but you didn’t dare look back. Not when it could potentially cost you dearly. 

“Marvolo!” Ominis shouted, his voice angry and distant, but as the footsteps slapping against the gravel behind you got closer and closer, you realized it had to be him giving chase. Your heart hammered in your chest and in your ears– drowning out the sound of the encroaching danger hot on your heels– but you knew there would be no outrunning Marvolo. That crazed look in his eyes you’d seen earlier told you everything you needed to know; he would pursue you to the end of the damn country on foot if need be, and you had no intention of getting caught to find out what he had planned for you. 

Another growl sounded from over your shoulder, causing you to will your brain out of flight-mode and force your magic into action. It surged in your blood, coursing through your veins as you thought of home– of safety. 

One second you were running, and in the next you had apparated. Marvolo’s hand came down on empty air, his heels digging into the ground as he skidded to a stop and realized what had happened. You were already long gone, but his rage-filled roar shook the foundation of the manor, somehow echoing in your ears as you collapsed to your knees in the center of your living room. 

***

Your eyes stung as the steam from the bath wafted up into your face, your gaze never straying from the surface of the water. It had been nearly two hours since your narrow escape from Ominis’ childhood home and you had been in the tub for the majority of it– calming your frayed nerves and racing heart with deep breaths that did little to quell the anxiety that still riddled you. The hot water had been charmed back to scalding temperatures twice now, having gone cold multiple times already as you sat with your knees curled against your chest and replayed every second of your fortuitous run-in with Marvolo Gaunt. 

The ache in your hip throbbed to life every time you thought back to the primal glint that had flashed in Marvolo’s eyes as he’d thrown you into that table. What had started as a tender red spot on your side had transformed into a nasty, colossal bruise, stark and obvious against your bare skin. You hadn’t been able to so much as glance at the finger shaped bruises that wrapped around your neck without feeling nauseous. 

You’d made a mistake in following Ominis– that much was certain. 

The man in question had yet to return home, and as a result, the seemingly bottomless pit of unease in your chest only worsened. Part of you was ashamed for having left him alone to face his family’s scrutiny after literally breaking and entering, but you knew he wouldn’t have had it any other way. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that he would have found a way to get you out as quickly as possible if you hadn’t done so yourself. 

Still, you worried. 

Another fifteen minutes passed without a sound from within the house, and you dimly registered that the water had gone cold once more. You were half tempted to heat it up again and spend the remainder of the night turning yourself into a human-sized prune, but the ache in your back from staying curled up for so long diminished the idea quickly. Swiftly, you hoisted yourself out of the water, using the rim of the tub to steady yourself as you stood and began drying yourself off. Rivulets of water still cascaded down your body as you draped your robe over your shoulders, but you couldn’t muster up the energy to care. Fatigue overtook you as you combed through your hair with your fingers and padded into your bedroom, and the second you laid down atop the sheets, your eyes were drifting shut. 

You had no idea how long you slept before the distinct feeling of the mattress dipping roused you from your light slumber. The room was cloaked in darkness, save for the pulsing, red glow that emanated from Ominis’ wand as he hovered it over you, and you slowly started to blink the fog from your eyes. 

You had no clue how he realized you were awake, but his voice was unmistakably tight as he asked you, “Where are you hurt?” 

It took your brain a second to fully register the question, and you propped yourself up on your elbow as your eyes adjusted to the dim light and muttered, “What?” 

“You screamed,” he gritted through clenched teeth, and despite the low visibility in the room, you watched as his grip on his wand turned white knuckled. “I heard you earlier. You were in pain– I know it’s the truth– so tell me now, where are you hurt?” 

On cue, the bruise on your hip throbbed to life, and you swiftly placed your hand on top of it while silently cursing yourself for not having brewed any Wiggenweld potions after returning home. Evidently your mind had been too jumbled to do the most logical thing following the altercation. “It’s not that bad–” you started to say, but Ominis cut you off before you could downplay the injury any further. 

“Please,” he implored you, silencing you instantly with his pleading tone. “I’m trying to leave this up to you, but don’t think for a second I won’t figure it out for myself if you don’t tell me.”

Something about the desperate look on his face made you pause, and you took a moment to really take in the sight of him. He was pale– far paler than normal– and the way his brows furrowed told you that he was more anxious than you realized. His posture was still impeccable but less poised– closer to rigid. His shoulders barely moved, giving the illusion that he was hardly breathing, and you honestly weren’t sure he was at this point. 

In short, Ominis looked petrified. 

Your lips formed a hard line as your gaze traversed his stiff form, swallowing thickly before you slid your hand away from your hip to reveal the dark purple blotch that decorated your side. “My hip,” you murmured, afraid that if you spoke the truth too loudly, the tentative composure Ominis was keeping would vanish. 

The muscle in his jaw ticked, and the hand he didn’t have wrapped around the handle of his wand came to skim along your waist before hovering ever so slightly above the bruise. “Where else?” 

“This is the worst of the damage–”

“Where else?” His voice was deeper and rougher than you were accustomed to hearing, and the notable difference had your stomach flipping over on itself. It left you feeling queasy, and you honestly couldn’t tell if he was mad at you or at the situation as a whole. 

“…My neck,” you relented quietly, all too aware of the blatant anger that overtook Ominis’ face. “At least I returned the favor,” you added quickly with a half-smile, trying to lessen the severity of the claim. It was a failed attempt, however, seeing as the man averted his unseeing gaze to the floor and shook his head minutely. Dimly, you watched as he waved his wand over his free hand, and a small vial of Wiggenweld appeared in the center of his palm before he wordlessly handed it to you. Given his tense demeanor, you opted not to say anything as you took it and removed the cork, then drank down the earthy contents graciously. The relief was instantaneous, and through the darkness of the room you managed to catch sight of the bruise on your hip fading away entirely. 

Your tiny sigh of relief reached Ominis’ ears, and the tension in his shoulders seemed to dissipate– albeit barely. “You should never have gone there. Why would you set foot anywhere near that damnable house? Do you have any idea the kind of danger you put yourself in– the kind of danger that you’re still in?”

At that, you finally pushed yourself up so you were sitting with your back against the pillows, setting aside the empty vial so you could clasp Ominis’ free hand in yours. His skin was cool to the touch, and you noted the miniscule tremors that emanated from him as you squeezed the appendage to will his attention back to you. “I’m sorry, Ominis. I was worried about you– you were so upset before you left earlier and I was scared that your family would do something to you.” 

“Of course they want to do something to me. They’ve tried puppeting me into a version of myself they can tolerate for my entire life, but it’s for that very reason that I can handle them. I’ve told you what they’re like– how relentless they are– and still you went there.” His head finally snapped back in your direction, and the expression on his face was one you were certain you would never forget; it was a mask of desperation, fear, and most notably, rage. “You have no idea what you’ve done– what it means now that they’ve seen you and what you can do.”

You’d hadn’t really done much of anything, aside from blasting Marvolo across the foyer before running for your life. Still, his words kindled a spark of fear in your chest, and your hold on his hand turned loose and clammy. “What are you talking about?” 

“Before tonight, you were just an unknown witch I’d been… ‘cavorting’ with, in my father’s eyes. Easy to get rid of should the need arise. Until earlier, they didn’t believe you to be exceptionally powerful or particularly useful.”

The sudden dryness in your throat became painfully obvious. “Useful how?” 

“The Gaunt’s value power and authority over everything. Both things guarantee them the influence they need to further their own ends, and as unknown as your abilities are to them, they are undeniable. They’d be fools to ignore such a potent form of magic, and as much as I detest my family and their convoluted values, I’ll be the first to admit that they aren’t stupid. They will find a way to make that power their own– blood purity be damned– and stealing you away and marrying you off to my brother would be their most likely course of action.”

Ominis practically spat the word, his teeth bared and eyes narrowed as murderous thoughts of his brother flew through his mind. Your own head was reeling at the revelation, nausea crashing over you as you thought back to Marvolo and the sadistic way he’d smiled as he tried choking the life out of you. Someone like that wouldn’t– no, couldn’t have a caring bone in their body. But you also knew that someone of his caliber was bound to be determined to get what he wanted, and if Ominis believed that his family now sought to obtain you for their own ends, Marvolo would do everything in his power to make it happen. 

You had really, really fucked up. 

Somewhere in-between thinking of Ominis’ brother and the sickening idea of being kidnapped, your breathing had kicked up dramatically. You didn’t notice, but the blond man beside you certainly did. Ominis turned fully so his torso was angled towards you, feeling around the bed for your other hand before clasping your trembling limbs in his cooler ones, and your wide eyes flicked back up to meet his. “I won’t let them have you. Do you hear me? If they so much as glance at you, I’ll leave them wishing they had never set their sights on you.”

“You can’t know that,” you whispered, and your voice was unrecognizable to you. It was small and shaky, timid and so very, very afraid. “Marvolo is– he’s a beast. He’ll kill you in a heartbeat, Ominis. You’ll die and it will be all my fault. I-I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, this is all my fault–” 

In a flash, Ominis silenced you with a kiss. It took you by surprise, but it was far from an unwelcome one– especially when his wand bearing hand slid to the back of your neck to pull you impossibly closer towards him. You were pleased to discover that the skin there no longer throbbed with discomfort, the Wiggenweld potion he’d given you having done its job for all the bruises, not just the one on your hip. The revelation calmed you further, and before you knew it you were melting against the taller man, grabbing fistfulls of his shirt to cling to him desperately.

Ominis broke away momentarily to murmur against your parted lips, “No one will ever take you from me, you’re mine.” 

Despite the circumstances that led the two of you to this moment, you found yourself enraptured by the possessive declaration, and you couldn’t help but lean closer into the blond’s personal space until your hands were sandwiched between his chest and your breasts. Your mouth found his again, and you fervently bit at his bottom lip as you breathily whispered, “I’m yours, Ominis. Only yours.” 

Instantly, Ominis was pushing you back towards the headboard until your head knocked against the wooden frame, not once breaking the kiss as he positioned himself on top of you. His long legs came to cage your own against the mattress as he threw his wand to the edge of the bed, freeing both of his hands so he could plant them on either side of your face. Pulling away seemed physically difficult for him but he didn’t stray far, opting to rest his forehead against yours and fix his hazy eyes directly on yours. How he knew where to aim his heady stare, you didn’t know, but your toes curled at the ardent need for you that reflected in his blue irises. 

“Say it again,” he implored you with a voice like pure sin. 

“I’m yours,” you obliged him without missing a beat, and a sigh slipped past your lips as Ominis lowered his face to pepper featherlight kisses along your jaw and down the now unmarred column of your neck. Goosebumps broke out virtually all over your body when you felt one of his cool hands fall to the neckline of your robe, and as Ominis slowly tugged the material apart to expose your bare chest, he sank his teeth into the tender spot above your clavicle. The pain laced pleasure left you moaning his name in earnest, your voice steadily growing louder as his thumb came to graze over one of your nipples. 

You felt the pressure from his teeth lessen as you arched into his touch, followed by his kiss-swollen lips latching over the bite to suck lightly. “Again,” he breathed, continuing to work his searing brand into your flesh. 

There were too many ways to describe his actions; primal, dominant, and greedy, to name a few. Yet there was a softness to his words that left your heart aching within your chest– a tenderness that spoke volumes of the fear he’d felt upon realizing you had entered into that nest of vipers. He had nearly lost you tonight, and when the hand against your breast shifted down to curl around your waist, you realized he would never allow for it to happen again. 

“I’m here, Ominis, I’m right here,” you moaned, your reedy voice bouncing off the walls of the bedroom and causing the man above you to shudder. “I’m here and I’m yours.” 

Before long, Ominis was moving back into your line of sight to capture your lips in another searing kiss. The hand on your waist traversed the bare expanse of your lower stomach before reaching your aching center, and you mindlessly wound your arms around his neck to tug him closer, bucking your hips into his hand as he slid a slender finger through your folds. 

“Mine,” he growled against your parted lips, and your next breath caught in your throat as he tentatively pushed the digit inside your wet heat. Your contented sigh filtered through Ominis’ hypersensitive ears as he pressed his finger in all the way to the knuckle, and the arm he supported himself with trembled minutely as he fought to control his baser urges. 

After everything that had transpired tonight, he wanted nothing more than to bury himself deep in your cunt, desperate to feel you clamp down around his cock and suck him in further and further as he claimed you. He longed to mark you, brand you, consume you, in every possible way– his family’s wishes be damned. He would make you his and his alone. Should any of his kin so much as attempt to interject, he vowed he would defend you until his last breath– and then not even death would stop him. Ominis knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would defy the laws of nature if it meant keeping you safe from harm. 

As you continued to rock your hips in time with Ominis’ hand, your legs spread apart of their own accord, silently beckoning him closer as you shivered under his dutiful ministrations. Ominis felt the movement and groaned in blatant appreciation, taking advantage of the newfound space to siddle down the bed and kneel comfortably between your legs, and all the while his finger continued to pump in and out of your wet heat languidly. He bestowed another toe-curling kiss upon your lips before breaking away to slide fully down the mattress, your heart stuttering in your chest as he moved low enough to settle between your quivering thighs. It was impossible to overlook the animalistic expression on Ominis’ face as he gazed in your direction– following the sound of your barely there whimpers– and your blood ignited in your veins at the sight. 

All too eager, Ominis wasted little time in securing his grip around your waist with his free arm to better pull you harder onto his finger. The keening sound that slipped from your throat was replaced almost instantly by a guttural moan, drawn forth by the feeling of your lover’s lips latching around your clit to suck enthusiastically, and your head thunked against the headboard as wave after wave of sheer pleasure cascaded through you. 

Your thighs absentmindedly clenched on either side of Ominis’ head as he shamelessly pulled your bundle of nerves into his mouth, the action accompanied by wet, perverted sounds that had damn near all the blood in your body rushing to your cheeks. “Merlin, Ominis– fuck–” 

Beyond a throaty growl, he said nothing. He simply tightened his hold on your waist, his other hand angling itself so he could better curl the finger inside of you, the combined sensations making your head positively spin. Entirely at his mercy, your hands flew to his soft, blond hair as you effectively surrendered to the pure bliss he granted you. 

If you had been hot and wet already, Ominis’ mouth felt a thousand times more so as he torturously dragged his tongue up your cunt. He removed his finger from your clenching walls and replaced it with the wet muscle, wriggling it as much as he could as though he were desperate to lap up everything that escaped out of you. Your breathing hitched and your hips involuntarily bucked when his ministrations traveled higher towards your clit, and when he finally reached it, the tip of his tongue was slow and methodical as he pressed firm, torturous circles around the throbbing bundle.

Ordinarily, having Ominis appreciatively go down on you would have been the highlight of the night, but given his domineering persona at present, you knew you were just plain fucked now. 

“Ominis, please,” you managed to croak out. “I’m not going to last, I– ah!” You practically yelped when the tips of the man’s teeth raked along your inner thigh, nipping at the soft skin there hard enough for you to jolt. 

“Just relax and let me work,” he muttered coolly, pressing a featherlight kiss to the spot he’d bitten as he dragged his hands down your abdomen to squeeze your tensing thighs. 

Despite your best efforts, you were quickly losing your grip on anything other than the sensations Ominis was lavishing you with. You felt lightheaded as you attempted to release your tense muscles, struggling to do so as your lover devoured you with reckless abandon. His nose brushed against your clit as he slipped his tongue inside of you once more, the sound of his wet, suckling noises intermingling with your breathy whines as you felt your climax building higher and higher in your gut. You couldn’t tell if your arousal was stemming from how Ominis enthusiastically used his tongue, lips, and teeth on you or if it came from the demanding way he directed you, but you decided that you didn’t care; every feeling had burrowed deep inside of you and taken root in your mind. 

You wanted more– no, needed more. 

Head whacking back against the wooden bed frame, you needily tugged at the strands of his hair wrapped around your fingers as you pleaded, “Please, Ominis, I need you…” 

Those five words did more to stroke his ego than you would ever know. Right now, Ominis needed you to need him. He wanted you to succumb to his ministrations and bend to his will, all to parry the baseless demands of his deranged family. There wasn’t a chance in hell he would ever willingly hand you over to them– much less to Marvolo– and through your rapture-filled begging, he knew he had succeeded. 

You were wholly and unequivocally his. 

He pulled away for a moment to run his hands up your thighs, over your hips, then along the pebbled peaks of your breasts. The way you trembled at his touch told him everything he needed to know; you were hanging on by a thread, and he didn’t need to see you in order to know you looked absolutely wrecked. 

Unable to endure a second more of the teasing, Ominis raised himself up on his knees to remove his clothing. Swiftly and efficiently, he dexterously undid the catch of his trousers before shoving the constricting attire down his narrow hips. There was no stopping the sigh of relief that spilled through his clenched teeth as his cock finally sprung free– long, heavy, and leaking from the red, swollen tip. With his shirt disheveled, hair mussed, and pants haphazardly hanging below his hip bones, he was truly the picture of temptation. You stared up at him through hooded eyes as he stroked himself a few times, taking in the sight of your lover towering over you as you lay prone atop the sheets beneath him. 

Once again, Ominis’ uncanny ability to feel your eyes on him surprised you, and a cheshire-like smirk blossomed across his face as he asked, “Enjoying the view?” 

“More than you are, I’d wager,” you retorted, and Ominis scoffed as his smug expression turned into one of amused disbelief. That mouth of yours was bound to land you in trouble one of these days. 

“Smartass,” he murmured affectionately, keeping one hand on his shaft as the other reached down in search of your waist, squeezing the flesh there with a bruising strength that only served to intensify the ache between your legs. You aided him by wriggling down the sheets in order to press your ass against his bent knees, and Ominis lowered himself once more so the heavy weight of his cock rested against your spit-slick folds. It was hard for you to believe that the wild haired, smokey-eyed man kneeling between your legs was the same boy who had shyly walked with you to your classes all those years ago. Both of his hands pressed against your hips this time as he sat back on his heels, white teeth flashing as he aligned the head of his manhood against your entrance. 

“Are you ready for me, darling?” Ominis asked, as though you hadn’t been begging for this very outcome minutes before. 

“Yes,” you breathed out shakily, your hands twisting in the fabric of your long-abandoned bathrobe beneath you. “I’m–”

Despite his privileged upbringing, Ominis was a fan of the simple things in life. Good food, long walks during the warmer seasons, and the sound of your voice catching when he took you by surprise and slid inside you abruptly. In one fluid motion, he breached your walls, listening intently to your sharp intake of breath as he inched himself forward until his knees were under your rear and he’d bottomed out completely. The small whimper that slipped from your mouth had a deep, throaty chuckle escaping his, and his thumbs took to tracing encouraging circles against your hips as you clenched around him. 

“I’m sure you are,” he purred in an infuriatingly sexy tone while you struggled to regain control over your breathing. Instantly, the dim embers of lust within you were rekindled, every inch of your body warm and borderline electric. Your hips writhed in Ominis’ hold in an attempt to wriggle closer, the unyielding grip he had on you coupled with the hungry expression on his face almost enough to make you come undone then and there. 

“Fuck, Ominis–” your words were cut short by a stifled moan as the blond slowly withdrew himself, arching back until only the tip of his cock was inside you before slamming his hips forward in one quick, sharp thrust. Your hands flew to his clothed knees as you dug your nails into the rumpled material of his trousers, desperate to touch every inch of him that you could but struggling to catch your breath in the midst of his slow, methodical thrusts. 

Well, methodical at first. 

You could feel Ominis’ acute desire for you with every pump of his hips, and a groan snaked its way out of his chest as he freed one of his hands to reach down and thumb over your clit. You hissed triumphantly through your teeth as you saw his expression slowly shift into something needier, his thrusts becoming less precise and more visceral. With how tight he was gripping you, you were positive the healed bruise from earlier would be replaced by long, finger shaped stripes, but you didn’t care. If it was Ominis, it was fine. If it was him claiming you, branding you, consuming you, it was more than fine. 

The blue-eyed incubus above you seemed to think similarly, if the low rumble in his chest was anything to go by. He was absolutely lost in the euphoria that came with being encased in your pulsing, tight heat, causing him to abandon his pretenses of control and give into his want for you with gusto. The hand he had on your sensitive bundle of nerves returned to grasp your waist, and even elevated as he was, he still had to thrust down into you– shaking the headboard with every plunge as he effectively fucked you into the mattress. 

The distinction was clear and evident in your mind as your legs came to wind around Ominis’ waist; the two of you had obviously been intimate before, and you had definitely made love before, but you had never been so carnally fucked like this a day in your life. It was hard to recall if Ominis had ever ravished you with such need in every stroke, enough so that you found yourself unable to control your shaking breaths or the volume of your voice. It was enrapturing– getting caught up in the way he staked his claim on you– so intent on fucking himself harder and deeper into you that his own husky murmurs of your name fell from his lips like a mantra. 

Your inability to fight your moans and curses and feverish pleas for more was what Ominis lived for. The blond craved the sound of your voice like a drug, and he drew unparalleled strength from your vocal satisfaction. Maybe it had more to do with the events of the night than anything else, but hearing you cry his name and feeling you claw at the tops of his thighs made his chest swell with possessive affection, thrilled to hear you unwittingly proclaim that you were in fact his. No one else would ever have you– no one else would ever find themselves lucky enough to have you reduced to such a state beneath them other than him. 

“M-More,” you practically sobbed the request as Ominis gripped your hips tighter, dimly registering the thundering crack of the headboard banging against the wall. “More– please– I’m s-so close–”

You asked for it with each breath expelled from your lungs, and Ominis would graciously give it to you. He couldn’t have refused you any longer if he wanted to. “You want to come, darling?” He panted, receiving only whimpering nods in return. “Ask.” 

“P-Please, please let me come, I can’t–” you gasped, squeezing your eyes shut as your teeth clenched together hard enough to make your jaw pop. You teetered on the brink of oblivion, waiting only on Ominis’ say-so to fall over the edge which seemed to loom so, so close. 

“Beg,” Ominis rasped thickly, his fingers tightening and digging into the skin of your hips as he bucked harder against your ass. “Beg for it– beg for me to let you come.” 

You couldn’t even find the brainpower to realize he was demanding to hear you say it to fuel his unrepentant hold on you. The taunting, the pleasure laced brutality– it was all to assuage the bitter anger that had coursed through his veins upon hearing his family refer to you as tradeable cattle. Later on, he would be collected enough to reassure you that you were your own person, free to make your own decisions and go wherever your heart desired. 

Right now though, his baser urges had won out, and he needed to hear you say it. 

Your head slammed into the pillows as your back arched off the mattress, doing your best to shut out the mounting pleasure that threatened to break through your crumbling resolve. “Please, Ominis! Please let me–” you hiccuped around another gasp, the ache in your gut bordering on unbearable. “L-Let me… let me…”

One of his hands released your waist to feel up your torso and curl around the back of your neck, lifting your head off of the pillow so your eyes were on him as he uttered five words that struck something deep inside of you. 

“Then come for me, love.” 

Your breaking point smacked into you hard and fast, leaving you equally breathless and brainless as your mouth fell open around a long, drawn out cry of Ominis’ name. Your climax ripped through you ferociously, your vision flashing white and your muscles tensing for a moment of near perfect silence as your lover continued to thrust in and out of you with unwavering focus. Even after you’d collapsed back against the sheets and gone limp in his arms, Ominis continued to chase his own finish, balancing precariously over you on his elbows and burying his face in the crook of your neck to muffle the shaky groans he failed to bite back. 

Maybe you were imagining it, but you could have sworn he continued to murmur quiet declarations against your skin that sounded a lot like, “Mine.” 

Before long, Ominis was following you over the edge with a throaty purr that slithered out of his throat. His arms trembled on either side of your head, his hands gathering fistfuls of the pillows as he buried himself completely inside of you with one final plunge of his hips. You heard the blond moan hoarsely in your ear as he spilled into you, grinding against your ass to milk every last drop of his seed from his twitching member, and when he mouthed wetly against the sweat-slick column of throat before biting down, all you could focus on was the warmth that filled you as you quivered under him. 

After a few moments of the two of you panting softly, you lifted your hands to Ominis’ clothed back in a bid to usher him to the side. He tensed, however, and you paused as he wedged one of his arms under your back to hold you flush to him as he continued to re-center himself. “Not yet,” you heard him grumble into the hollow of your throat. “Not yet… give me a second.” 

“…Alright,” you relented quickly, only mildly concerned as you wrapped your arms around his slender shoulders. With your fingers tracing lazy shapes against his clothed back, you allowed yourself to enjoy the feeling of Ominis’ weight pressing down on you, his gentle exhales fanning against your clammy skin, and the steady rhythm of his heart beating against your sternum. 

Given the severity of what had happened at his family’s house, you weren’t sure the two of you would ever get another moment like this again. So, you held on tightly to him in the hopes that the night would last just a little bit longer. 

The two of you stayed like that for what seemed like hours but realistically could only have been a few minutes, and shortly after Ominis began peppering kisses up your throat and along your jaw, your eyes drifted shut as you dozed off once more. When you woke the following morning and found yourself tucked in beneath the sheets, you propped yourself up on your elbow to glance around the otherwise empty room, noting immediately that Ominis was nowhere to be found. 

In a panicked flurry of movement, you threw off the blankets and were still tying your robe around your waist as you hurriedly shuffled down the hallway. Your dread was smothered in the next instant by overwhelming ease as you rounded the corner to find Ominis in the kitchen, gripping the countertop and working a muscle in his jaw while he hovered his wand over a letter that looked eerily similar to the one he’d received just a day ago. 

Even though he could hear you approaching, he said nothing as you padded across the room to stand behind him, coiling your arms around his waist to press your front against his back. A shaky sigh escaped him, and you stared at the wall as you contemplated your words before deciding on, “What are you reading?” 

A pause, “A formal summons for you, inviting you to meet my family officially.” 

Your heart fell into your stomach, arms tightening around the taller man a fraction as you pursed your lips in blatant distaste. “We won’t go,” you announced, and Ominis shifted in your embrace so he could wrap his arms around you to hug you back with a firmness that spoke volumes of his agreement. 

“We won’t,” he said. “But we can’t stay here, either. Not anymore.” 

“I know.” 

He buried his chin in the mess of hair atop your head, shamelessly inhaling your scent before he told you, “We have to leave– go somewhere far away– and we can’t tell anyone.” 

“I know.” 

The way his nimble fingers gripped the back of your robe told you of just how conflicted he was to ask this of you– to uproot your shared lives here to flee the meddling of his family. His voice was laced with remorse as he asked, “And you’re okay with that? Truly?”

“I am,” and you really were. There wasn’t a lick of hesitation in your voice– not a shred of apprehension hidden in your tone at the prospect of packing up and running as far from here as humanly possible. “So long as we’re together, I am.” 

Ominis skimmed his hands up your back to cup your cheeks, angling your head up at him so he could kiss you fully, and you returned the gesture with equal fervor. As long as he was with you, you knew you could do anything. With Ominis by your side, you would fight tooth and nail against every hellish creature or person in existence to ensure your future together. 

Wherever the two of you ended up, you already knew that your home wouldn’t just be some place. It would always be him.

[katelynnwrites]

Still Worship This Love (Even If It’s A False God) | Laura Freigang

warnings: some serious smut so read at your own discretion

word count: 4004

summary: your girlfriend gets her turn to take an intimate set of photos

a/n: requested, the long awaited part two to Got Lovestruck (Went Straight To My Head), it can also be read as a standalone :)

Your girlfriend’s possessive.

You’ve known that from the very beginning of your relationship.

The extent of which you’re only just starting to find out.

‘My girlfriend.’ She introduces every chance she gets.

She holds your hand everywhere you both go and if her hand is not in yours, it’s in your back pocket. The blonde makes it known to your mutual friends, teammates and fans that you are hers.

The hickies she marks you up with makes it known to everyone else.

None of that is new.

What is new is the way Laura’s got you in her national team jersey and nothing else.

Freigang is the name prominently displayed on the back. Her number is printed there too.

‘Look at the camera.’ She instructs.

You do as she asks and she presses the shutter button down.

The Polaroid camera spits the film out and the striker hums in satisfaction. She sets it aside, fixing her gray blue eyes on you again.

‘Spread your knees for me.’

You’re helpless to resist her, parting your legs and giving her exactly what she wants.

The striker snaps another photo, the click of the camera making a rush of arousal shoot through your body.

‘Lau.’ You moan and she smirks.

‘You’re so wet. Is it because of me?’

Your cheeks flush red and the blonde laughs, settling her camera down for a moment.

She tilts your chin upwards, pressing her lips onto yours for a moment.

‘Don’t tease Laura. It’s not very nice.’ You pant when she pulls away.

The blonde looks even cockier than before, if at all possible.

You think you fall even harder for her when she says, ‘I love you like this. So beautiful and just for me.’

She gives you one more heated kiss before returning to her Polaroid camera and snapping a close up of your soaking cunt.

‘Laura.’ You moan.

Under her watchful gaze, you squirm on the bed.

Back in her usual position as the one in charge, she is content to make you wait.

Until you physically can’t anymore, begging, ‘Lau please.’

Your girlfriend quirks her eyebrow upwards, ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Touch me please. Please Laura please.’

You fight the urge to play with your own clit, having been explicitly told by your girlfriend not to. She had wanted to take photos of how wet you are first.

Laura snaps another photo, relishing in how desperate you look.

‘But why? You’re practically dripping already and I haven’t even touched you yet.’

‘Please.’ You whimper and it is the way your voice fractionally breaks that has the German woman giving in.

Carefully putting her camera aside, she swings her leg over your body and grinds down.

You groan immediately, at the feel of her hips pressing against yours.

The blonde grins and palms your breast through the material of her jersey, causing you to whimper.

Your nipples are sensitive and they rub up against the fabric. Laura seems to sense how pleasurable it feels for you because she repeats the action, getting you to whimper her name before deciding to switch things up.

Her fingers pinch your nipples, twisting and pulling them slightly so that you gasp sharply.

‘Laura.’ You moan.

Your girlfriend leans up to kiss you, murmuring, ‘You drive me crazy you know? The way you say my name. The noises you make when I fuck you.’

As she speaks, the blonde slips two of her fingers into you.

‘Laura!’ You cry out.

The blonde sounds entirely satisfied as she coos, ‘Just like that.’

She thrusts her fingers a few times, her thumb finding your clit as she sets up a good rhythm.

Your knees tremble and she keeps kissing you.

When she brushes up against that special spot inside you, you have to break the kiss in favour of gasping.

The forward is very capable of stealing the air right out of your lungs and she delights in proving that over and over again.

Laura pushes another finger into you, letting you feel the stretch. Her thumb presses down on your swollen clit and she swallows your ensuing moan by capturing your lips with hers.

‘I want to try something. Can I try something new with you?’ She asks against your lips.

Your girlfriend sits back, giving you time to think.

It’s not unusual for the Eintracht Frankfurt player to bring kinks or toys into your relationship. She always makes sure you are comfortable beforehand and so far, you have been okay with everything she has wanted to try. You have loved it even, especially when it gives Laura pleasure.

It takes you a moment to catch your breath and when you do, you softly ask, ‘What do you have in mind?’

The blonde hesitantly bites her lip before going into the bathroom and returning with a small bag.

She hands it to you and you glance at her with some confusion, ‘Schatz?’

‘Look inside.’

So you do, a small surprised exhale leaving you.

To check if they really are what you think they are, you tip the contents of the bag out onto your palm.

Coloured glass butt plugs. In a variety of sizes and all with two initials embossed on them. The letters L and F, Laura’s initials.

‘Want to fill you up. To make you so full for me.’

You shiver at your girlfriend’s words. There is no denying how appealing that idea is to you.

It’s clear as day in how you practically beg, ‘Yes. Please Lau fill me up. Make me yours.’

The blonde moans, ‘Fuck you’re so good to me. So good for me.’

She can’t resist picking up her Polaroid camera and taking a photo of you, catching precisely how needy you look.

‘We’ll start small okay?

Laura selects the littlest of the plugs, a little pink one.

As she coats it liberally in lube, she gently says, ‘Remember to use your safe word if it becomes too much. The second it becomes too much, you let me know and we’ll stop.’

You nod quickly, completely focused on the delicate motions of your girlfriend’s fingers.

It’s almost mesmerising and the heat between your legs pool.

The German woman finishes what she’s doing and then easily slips back into her role of being in charge.

‘Get on your stomach for me.’

You obey immediately, the muscles in your ass tensing involuntarily.

Laura hands you a pillow to prop your head up against.

Despite her dominance, your girlfriend can’t help showing how deeply she cares.

She presses a kiss onto your back and then carefully runs her index finger up from your clit and through your crack.

The striker feels your gathered wetness coat her skin and it’s a lot but not enough for what she wants to do to you.

So she squeeze a generous portion out of lube onto her palm, letting the substance warm for a few seconds before she spreads it between your ass cheeks.

You can’t help the gasp that escapes, already so sensitive to the blonde’s touch.

She massages it in and you whine.

You need her in you and you need it now.

‘Schatz.’ You plead.

Laura grins and takes pity on you, pressing the plug against your ass.

You still immediately, the penetration overwhelming your senses for a minute.

Clenching around the glass plug experimentally, you find that you don’t mind the intrusion. In fact, as you squeeze around it again and again, you realise that you rather like it.

Your girlfriend gives you a minute to adapt, occupying herself by pushing her jersey upwards and scattering kisses onto your now exposed back.

‘I’m good Lau.’ You breathe, giving her the go ahead to do whatever she has planned next.

Experimentally, the Eintracht Frankfurt player presses down on the plug.

You groan out loud, tightening around the toy.

The plug has a flared base and Laura tugs on it lightly, fucking you with it.

Your fingers grip onto the pillow and your thighs quiver at the pleasure.

‘You look so perfect like this.’ Laura praises, her own cunt beginning to flood with arousal.

There’s the familiar click of her camera and you moan again as you hear it.

‘Can you take a bigger one? Can you let me stretch your gorgeous ass out more?’

‘Yes!’ You eagerly answer.

With some difficulty, you relax enough for your girlfriend to pull the toy out. It comes free with a wet noise that has you blushing a bright red.

Laura resists the urge to chuckle, instead opting for, ‘Don’t move.’

She looks over her plugs and her hand hovers over them before she picks out a blue one. This one is two sizes bigger and you give a quiet whimper as you see the one she’s chosen.

‘I said stay still. Or I won’t let you come.’

Right away, you turn back around.

Trembling with anticipation, you bite your lip as you wait for her to spread lube over the glass butt plug.

Laura takes her time, noting that the suspense seems to be making you more aroused.

She snaps a quick photo before putting her camera and the developing film aside.

With both hands free, she spreads your ass cheeks apart, placing the blunt head of the toy against your hole.

It’s much thicker than the one before but with the copious amounts of lube and steady pressure, it begins to slip inside you.

Your tight ring of muscle has to stretch to accomodate the plug and the burn has you groaning Laura’s name.

‘Full. So full.’ You pant when it’s halfway in.

The blonde pauses. The plug is certainly bigger than the previous one but she had thought you could take it, given how easily you had taken the earlier one.

Realising why your girlfriend is stalling, you assure her, ‘Don’t stop Lau. Feels nice too, I promise.’

Your pussy is aching when Laura resumes applying a firm pressure to the plug.

She’s slow about it but eventually, it slips in.

You cry out as it does and the striker heaps praise onto you.

‘You look so beautiful. In my jersey and made so full by me. I love my initials in you.’

The last part has you moaning, ‘Am yours. Always will be.’

Laura moans herself, ‘You don’t know what you’re doing to me.’

Her fingers play with the plug in you, each nudge eliciting a whimper or whine from your lips.

It builds up and the blonde smiles knowingly. She relishes in it, knowing that you are coming close to your climax.

She is proven right shortly, when you choke out, ‘Please may I come?’

The movement of the plug in you has you on the edge and you intentionally clench around it.

Instead of deigning to reply to you, Laura presses her palm harshly against the base of the plug.

It forces it deeper into you and you sob, entirely taken by surprise.

There is no describing the sort of sensory input that rushes through your body. Your clit pulses and the muscles in your ass flutter around the toy involuntarily.

Tears form in your eyes and your fingers grip onto the pillow desperately.

‘Laura. Laura. Laura.’ You mumble hazily, lost in the influx of sexual gratification.

Vaguely, you register the clicking of a camera.

It continues for a few minutes until your girlfriend’s attention returns to you and she gives the butt plug a brief wiggle, eliciting a wrecked moan from you.

Your moaning grows in volume when the German woman moves her fingers to your clit, drawing firm circles on it.

‘Stunning. You’re so stunning.’

Laura slips her two of her fingers into you and your ensuing cry is so loud that your girlfriend is glad that the neighbours are away.

She stops playing with your butt plug just to briefly pinch her own clit. It’s beyond swollen and Laura thinks she could come just from hearing you moan her name.

The striker scissors her fingers in you, the double stretch causing you to arch your back.

Laura groans at the feel of you around her fingers. She can feel your walls trembling around them and from experience knows that you’re close to coming a second time.

She pushes both the butt plug and her fingers in deeper, timing her thrusts perfectly so that they form an almost punishing rhythm for you.

You’re unconsciously rocking your hips back and forth, trying to meet your girlfriend’s thrusts to gain the most pleasure out of her actions.

The blonde can’t help adding a third finger, your cunt practically dripping for her.

‘Lau!’ You choke out.

‘Fuck you look so beautiful.’ The striker breathes.

She’s sure you are a work of art. The light sheen of sweat on your body has got her jersey sticking to your skin, both your pussy and ass a mess because of your copious arousal and Laura’s generous use of lube.

Your girlfriend knows heaven’s a thing. She goes there when she touches you.

The specific noises you make, the facial expressions you have when you orgasm…she is confident that only she can draw them from you.

She is in love with worshipping you. Your hips, your lips, everything about you.

The Eintracht Frankfurt player is drawn out of her reverie by the strained moan of her name, accompanied by your uncontrolled clenching around her fingers and toy.

‘Going to come. Please schatz.’ You beg.

Laura smirks. You’re right where she wants you.

‘No.’

You still in a desperate effort to obey her.

But you can’t stop her from teasingly stroking your puffy bud with her thumb. It’s almost too much, pushing you to the brink of your control.

‘Laura please.’ You beg, knowing better than coming without her permission.

Especially when she is in such a dominant mood.

‘No. You won’t come until I am finished with my photos.’

She slips her fingers out of you, eliciting a pitiful whimper.

The German woman is abundantly aware of the way your cunt pulses around nothing, having been stretched open by her.

‘Be good.’ She warns as she picks up her camera once again.

You focus on your breathing, on the pillow beneath your chin. On anything but Laura’s fingers skimming over your skin.

There’s the tell tale click of her Polaroid camera, followed by a whirring sound as it spits out the film.

Your girlfriend takes a particularly close one, wanting to focus on her initials embossed on the plug inside you.

To her, it is a worthy investment and it crosses her mind that she might have to make more similar ones.

The thought of using a new dildo or vibrator on you, with her name on it is an enticing one.

‘Get on your hands and knees.’ She instructs suddenly.

Gingerly, you do as she asks. Not because you’re unwilling too but rather because you’re hyper focused on the movement of the plug within you.

You are so sensitive and as you move, it sends little jolts of pleasure up your spine.

The base of the toy fits snugly against the rim of your hole and Laura can’t help twisting it sharply, just so she can capture the look on your face as she does so.

With a simple press of the shutter button, it’s done and the forward gets to savour your ruined expression as it develops.

‘Please Lau. Please.’ You beg shamelessly.

Your girlfriend hums, ‘Help get me off first.’

Her blue gray eyes meet yours and you nod rapidly.

‘Sit up. I want to come on your thigh.’

You let out a moan, changing positions so that you’re seated on the edge of the bed.

‘Fuck.’ You gasp, as the plug drives into you.

Your chest heaves as you struggle to push the sensations away. Laura said not to come so you can’t.

The cocky look on your girlfriend’s face lets you know that she had planned for it.

She kisses you, her hands cradling your face before she sits herself down on your thigh.

You both moan, the blonde immediately beginning to rub her clit up and down.

‘You’re so good to me.’ She mumbles, when you brace your hands against her hips and tense your muscles so that she has a firmer surface to stimulate herself against.

Laura’s swollen clit is exquisitely compressed by your thigh and she holds onto your shoulders, panting, ‘Feel so good against me too.’

Her motions grow more frantic and you leave little love bites on her chest, nipping and kissing her delicate skin.

Your fingers dig into her hips as you hold her steady and the striker cries out when you suck one of her nipples into your mouth.

You swirl your tongue around it till it stiffens. Then you repeat the process on her other nipple.

Your girlfriend groans as you do so, her arousal coating your thigh.

There is so much of it and Laura’s breathing begins to grow shaky. Her grip on your shoulders tighten and she lets out a soft grunt as she works to reach her climax.

‘Are you close?’

‘Almost!’ She pants.

You smile, pushing the blonde’s sweaty hair aside to gain access to her neck.

There, you place lingering kisses and whisper about how much you love her, how much you love her riding your thigh until she sucks in a harsh breath.

Your striker trembles through her orgasm and drops her head down on your shoulder.

She’s clearly tired so you help her out, nudging your thigh upwards so that her swollen clit gets extra friction.

It works, the forward moaning your name as she keeps rolling her hips onto your thigh.

Laura lets out a quiet whimper as the last of her high crashes down on her and you lean in to kiss her.

She initiates a second kiss by grabbing the collar of her jersey and pulling you even closer.

When the German woman breaks the kiss, her pretty eyes meet yours for a second before smiles and gets up.

‘Schatz?’

With the distraction of the Eintracht Frankfurt player's soaking pussy off your thigh, you’re now very much conscious of your own arousal.

Laura’s smile turns almost arrogant.

‘On your hands and knees for me.’

The plug within you shifts as you move and you fight the urge to play with it yourself.

‘Lau.’ You exhale shakily once you are in the position she asked of you.

‘My good girl.’ She praises, taking in the way your pink bud is still swollen.

Her gaze never leaves you as she states, ‘You know, I think my last name suits you very well.’

The former Penn State player allows herself another long moment to truly admire you in her jersey before she slips her finger between your folds.

You react beautifully and it’s to both your surprise when your build up comes much faster than usual.

Laura chalks it up to the long time you have spent suppressing your orgasm while you don’t even think about it, far too occupied with how your girlfriend’s attention has drifted to the butt plug.

She runs her fingers over her initials and then firmly tugs on it.

‘Laura!’ You moan and she continues manipulating it with one hand, the other slipping into your other hole.

She has two fingers knuckle deep inside you and she pushes them into you, over and over again.

‘You’re doing so well for me. Letting me stretch you open, letting me use you.’

The thoroughly sinful noise that escapes you at her words, has the forward savouring it and the rush of wetness that promptly coats her fingers.

She thinks you’ve come for a second but the way you begin to beg proves otherwise.

‘So close Lau. I gotta come, please can I come?’

Then she realises that you must really like being told how both your holes are being fucked by her.

She can’t help slipping a third finger into you as a reward.

‘Laura…’ You choke out.

You barely manage to stay on your hands and knees, your arms nearly giving out beneath you.

‘I need to come Lau. Please I-I can’t hold it.’

It’s so much, the constant waves of pleasure that your girlfriend delights in giving you.

As if to prove your point, the blonde curls her fingers inside you and you make a distressed whimper, your walls squeezing around her fingers uncontrollably.

Laura presses down hard on your butt plug and your clit.

‘Come then.’

You sob, unable to keep yourself on your knees this time.

Crying messily, you collapse onto the bed.

The striker keeps pumping her fingers in and out of you, intrinsically drawing out your climax for as long as she can until you reach behind and tap on her wrist frantically.

‘Too sensitive.’ You pant.

Laura gently withdraws her fingers immediately, placing delicate little kisses all over your back.

While your breathing settles, your girlfriend gets her camera out and uses the last of her film to capture the fucked out bliss on your face.

‘Absolutely beautiful.’ She murmurs as she looks through the viewfinder.

Then she keeps the Polaroid camera away properly and turns her full attention to you.

‘Are you okay baby?’

You’re still panting but you turn onto your side, smiling tiredly up at Laura.

‘Completely perfect.’

The blonde presses an affectionate kiss onto your forehead.

‘Roll over and tuck your knees up.’ She gently instructs.

It’s not easy because your body is sore but you manage.

Your girlfriend lightly taps on your ass, ‘Bear down for me.’

Groaning quietly, you try to get your muscles to cooperate.

Laura sees you struggling and grasps the plug carefully, pulling on it.

You gasp at the oversensitivity and strain harder, forcing the butt plug to finally slip out of you.

‘Good job.’ She praises, taking it and setting all the used toys aside to be cleaned.

Truly exhausted now, you flop down and starfish yourself out on the bed.

The striker grins, leaning over you and kissing you.

‘Ich liebe dich.’ She murmurs against your lips.

‘I love you too.’ You promise.

Full of adoration, your girlfriend brushes sweaty strands of hair out of your face.

‘Do you want me to run you a bath? Or just clean you up with a warm washcloth?’

‘Washcloth please schatz. I think I’d fall asleep in the bath.’ You laugh.

Laura giggles, sneaking in another kiss.

‘Washcloth it is then.’

******

The German woman knows she can be silly and possessive. Even after the night you've shared, she can’t help the immense self-satisfaction that swells within her as she watches you.

You’re wearing her hoodie, eating breakfast that she made, in her bed, with hickeys she has generously marked you up with.

‘Lau.’ You amusedly tease, eyeing her knowingly.

‘I can’t help it.’ She shrugs with pink tinted cheeks.

Chuckling, you get her to settle down next to you.

‘Eat schatz.’

‘No. No. I made it for you.’ She protests.

The smile on your face grows bigger, the kind of smile that you reserve just for Laura.

‘We can share. Come on, you know I can’t finish all these eggs and fruit.’

With a fond roll of her eyes, your girlfriend gives in.

She lets out a contented sigh as she chews on the mouthful of eggs that you feed her.

Thoughtfully, she says, ‘I’m a brilliant cook.’

‘A brilliant photographer too.’ You add, suddenly growing shy at the thought of the photos the blonde had taken of you.

They’re kept safely by her now, just like your set of hers are by you.

Completely sure of what’s on your mind, your girlfriend uses a finger to delicately tilt your face towards her.

‘Only when I have the most beautiful of subjects.’ She whispers.

There’s no hiding how intense your blush is after that and Laura giggles brightly, planting small kisses all over your face. Just to convey how incredibly much she loves you.

German Translations:

schatz - sweetheart

ich liebe dich - i love you

[justghoulythingz]

curled smoke and gossamer clouds

an au in which you and cooper howard get snug as a bug in a rug inside a photo-booth at the county fair.

pairing : cooper howard/afab reader

word count : 1.3k

warnings : sentimental horniness, finger banging in a confined space, desperate grinding, light praise kink, cooper being a genuinely kind, suave motherfucker. 18+, mdni

writing tag

gif credit

divider credit

The photo-booth is a snug fit, perfect for two adults enjoying an evening straight out of their youth. You taste like cotton candy and he smells like cigarettes. A contrast that melts into one another smoothly, painting a picture of curled smoke and gossamer clouds.

His words are spun sugar in your ear, your laughter hoarse and secretive in his.

“‘Member the first fair we went to?” Cooper reminisces, tracing circles along your abdomen.

Your initial pose is looming, so you stare at the lens, anticipation for more (always more) of him beginning behind your ribs and spanning your limbs.

You make sure to smile before you answer, the timer moving faster than the leisurely pace at which you like to experience these moments.

Outside, you hear muffled conversations and the buzzing of insects. It’s industrious farm land and the pleasures of city life combined. An eight o’clock hue beneath the curtain. Summer.

Every day is a summer’s night with Cooper Howard.

“God, I was so nervous,” you finally reply, and the deep rumble of his own laughter tickles your backside.

His thighs flex. As they distract you, pressed so tightly to yours that they’ve started to stick, one of his hands slips through the dense humidity to caress the front of your hip.

You twitch. He grins, award-winning. Your heart demands an encore.

“Scared outta your wits by a harebrained ranch hand, were ya?” he teases, peppering kisses along your throat, the shell of your ear. Right where you feel the thunder of the ocean.

The second photograph captures your full-tooth smile, glancing toward the floor, his smirk buried in your throat.

“Who is this harebrained ranch hand you’re referrin’ to? Because I distinctly remember a very determined teenage boy who excelled at everything he put his mind to. Hell, you even got me t’talk. Remember how mousy I was?”

Your speech warms him, igniting a flame, a match struck by fingertips grazing the sinew of your inner thigh. You inhale as if sparks flew directly from its tautness. He speaks against your straining tendons, watching you swallow.

“I can still make ya squeak, darlin’,” he purrs, nuzzling the bridge of his nose into you. A fever passes on to the sweet softness of your lower belly, fluttering like the wings on the other side of this maroon curtain.

In retaliation, you roll your eyes and your hips, hard. Cooper groans, his other hand sliding upward toward the curve of your swathed breast.

“‘Sides, y’weren’t mousy. Jus’ selective. I felt pretty damn lucky y’chose t’have me in your winner’s circle. You were always someone I wanted t’impress.”

You sigh contentedly: charmed, transported, as the third picture snaps.

“Coop,” you breathe, lips ghosting his. He lifts the hem of your dress, its airy texture silken against the heat dampening your skin. “You’re a naturally impressive person. Never had t’try so hard.”

He roams the length of your body, squeezing you, dipping lithe fingers between your clenched thighs. Your underwear is like a glistening veneer of dew blanketing early morning grass. His dull nails split your supple folds through the white fabric, stroking you lovingly.

The gaze you’re met with is rife with affection, adoration, ardor. Witnessing how you unfurl within its grove; how alluring you appear, how beautiful he is; causes your stomach to seize. It clamps down around everything and nothing and suddenly thaws.

The tranquility of winter, then the newness of spring.

You moan quietly, tenderly. All for him.

He stiffens underneath the pressure you provide, solidifying the more noise you make, the more you squirm.

“I wanted to.” Cooper’s voice echoes that smoker’s rasp, an amorous break. “I already told y’that. I want to. For you- ain’t that what you want? A fella who aims for your sky an’ doesn’t miss a single speck?”

Instinctively, you swallow him whole with your outstretched pupils. He lulls and stimulates you, grip on his pant leg firm, yielding, firm, yielding.

He finds specks you neglected to name. Reaches somewhere beyond the pines and hits the overwhelming enormity of space. Somehow, he makes it seem attainable.

“I want you, no matter what sky you’re aimin’ for.”

The fourth and final still is as intimate as a carnation fastened to the lapel of a school boy’s jacket, restless as he waits for his prom date at the bottom of the stairs. Dodging scrutinizing glances from her parents. Complexion reflecting streaks of sunlight as he follows her descent, standing straighter, shoulders pinned behind him.

There’s no one else in the room.

You have your arms around Cooper, drawing him closer until whatever gap remains is filled entirely with avid mouths and Elysian Fields. You live and die as many times as you devour and bring him back, returning hungrily to the parting of his lips while he delves between yours.

“Well, right now,” he grunts against you, accelerating, shifting, sneaking digits inside your panties. “I’m fixin’ for you t’cum. All over this pretty, pretty dress.”

He slots a finger beneath one of your straps, eluding the shawl decorating your shoulders, and playfully snaps it against your kindled flesh.

“All over me.”

Words are trapped in your chest as you nod. Anticipation and longing hang in the expanse of tongue and cheek, lingering like a raw scratch in the throat.

You whimper, almost wounded, as he massages your panty line, pinching and fondling the elastic like he hasn’t already made an incredible mess of you. Like you aren’t about to be ravaged inside a very small, very public photo-booth.

You are his sole focus as he ultimately succumbs to your shared desire, jaw clenching and pointing toward the ceiling while staring you down the heavy lids of his eyes.

Panting, you spread as wide as limited room allows, scuffing one of your kitten heels on the ground below. It scrapes along solid surface, sending tremors up your calf toward the tingling of your scalp, pulled by the roots.

He nods out of encouragement, mouthing whispered praises of that’s it, baby, that’s it, dulcet tones making you wetter, your release steadily building.

Like he’s aiming for.

Holding you stable, Cooper’s opposite palm fastens to your lower back, clutching you, feeling the rigidity of your spine bump into his fingertips. Added weight shoots directly to your cunt, squeezing his middle and ring finger, coaxing a breathless moan from his lungs.

“Fuck. Yes. Gettin’ close. C’mon, sugar. Gimme somethin’ sweet t’taste.”

He throbs beneath you, undulating, thrusting the littlest bit upward. You salivate at the mere imprint of his intoxicating arousal, giving him friction as you rock back and forth.

Driving him deeper inside, his thumb swirls your clit and you dip backward, exposing the slender column of your throat.

Seizing the opportunity, he sinks his head into your open, thrumming chest, cleavage cushioning and hardening him further. Fingers work faster, applying ample pressure that gathers in your belly and blossoms, stemming to each and every inaccessible part.

Your strangled gasps, both of you attempting to keep these matters private, blend and bleed together as your orgasm plunges outside of you, gushing all over the digits that gradually still.

Cooper doesn’t wait for your heart to cease its racket. He leans away and leaves you empty, a stream of restrained essence draining from you and onto his lap.

He pops fingers into his mouth, one by one, including his thumb. Humming satisfactorily, he samples them like he’s on his fourth course. Then he offers you to yourself.

You observe him past a rose-colored haze, cotton-candy film. Gripping his wrist, you bring his center digit to your lips first, wrapping your tongue around its length, moaning as the salty summer air of you brushes your senses. Tar from his cigarettes mingle with what you originally picked up on, easing in like banter on a date.

Cooper reminds you that he loves you. Loves watching you enjoy yourself. Loves being the cause of it.

You return the sentiment, reluctant to untangle your body from his. You’ve already tangled up this booth much longer than necessary.

You are, however, excited to see how the pictures turned out.

[waitineedaname]

POV for the no excuses writing meme, please 👀 (i love this game so much!)

a bit of context: this is for my lesbingqiu wip inspired by that "can yuo put that out on me" tweet! the wip is from binghe's pov, so here's shen yuan instead. she strikes me as the kind of person to think being thirty makes her old (it does not lol)

--

Shen Yuan wasn't sure why Shang Qinghua had insisted on dragging her out drinking if she was just going to abandon her at the first sight of her situationship across the bar. She didn't care if Shang Qinghua insisted she needed to go out more! She had work to do! Never mind that her "work" these days mostly amounted to opening her dissertation document, glaring at it for an hour, and then closing it again. She was simply getting too old to go out drinking. She was thirty now; she might as well join a knitting circle if Qinghua was that worried about her social life.

She continued grumbling to herself as she lit her cigarette. It was much quieter outside the bar, though she could still feel the music thumping through the wall behind her. She would give Shang Qinghua another five or ten minutes to prove she hadn't completely forgotten about her, just long enough to take a smoke break, and then she'd leave. She could go home, change into her pyjamas, and spend the evening working through her reading list like she'd originally intended.

Her plans were interrupted by a sudden spike in the bar's volume as someone opened the door and stumbled out into the alley beside her. Shen Yuan nearly dropped her cigarette as she was suddenly confronted by the most absurdly beautiful woman she'd ever seen.

She wondered deliriously for a moment whether there had been a modelling event that she didn't know about, because there was no other explanation for a woman this gorgeous being loose in the wild. Her dress hugged her curves in all the right places, and she had the kind of artful curls that Shen Yuan thought only existed in professionally styled wigs. Her bone structure was fine, and her skin was perfect. Seriously, was Shen Yuan hallucinating?!

The woman was also, Shen Yuan realized, extremely drunk. She stumbled over her high heels, reaching out to support herself on the wall with a groan. Shen Yuan's hands itched to reach out and support her, but she resisted the impulse.

"Are you alright?" she asked instead. The woman looked up, startled, eyes wide as if she hadn't realized Shen Yuan was there. Absolutely no way those eyelashes were real. They had to be falsies.

The woman made a slightly incoherent noise, and Shen Yuan frowned. How drunk was she? She then abruptly stood up straighter, though she was clearly still supporting herself on the wall.

"I'm fine," she said, surprising Shen Yuan with a low, smooth voice like honey. "I just needed some fresh air."

Shen Yuan nodded sympathetically. Poor thing. "Drink a little too much?"

The other woman's lips pursed in a pout. "My friend ordered shots," she explained.

And then just let her wander off?! Shen Yuan would like a word with this friend of hers. "You should be careful with those," she cautioned. "They can get you drunk very fast."

The woman nodded with the earnestness of an eager student. "Jiejie is very wise."

Oh, she was far too cute. Is this what people were referring to when they talked about blessed interactions between drunk girls at a bar? Never mind that Shen Yuan was hardly buzzed herself. She wanted to pat this girl's head and give her more wisdom, even if this wasn't really her area of expertise.

"Would jiejie keep me company while I sober up?" asked the other woman, her speech slightly slurred and her dark eyes pleading. As if Shen Yuan could say no to eyes like that!

"Of course." Shen Yuan nodded. It was her responsibility, after all! A code of sisterhood, to look out for drunk girls! "What's your name?"

"Luo Binghe." She found a more comfortable position leaning against the wall, resulting in her curls spilling over her chest. Shen Yuan foolishly tracked the motion, then forced her eyes back up to Luo Binghe's face. Aiyah! That dress really left very little to the imagination! Wasn't she cold?! Should Shen Yuan offer her jacket? "What should I call jiejie?"

"Shen Yuan." She lifted her cigarette to her lips and took another drag in the hopes that it would make Luo Binghe's appearance less distracting. Luo Binghe was staring at her with an intensity that made her want to squirm. "Are you here for some special occasion?"

Luo Binghe just continued to stare at her for a while. Poor thing, she really must be drunk. Shen Yuan knew how slowly she processed things when she was drunk. She could be patient with the girl. "My friends wanted to celebrate me starting graduate school," Luo Binghe eventually explained. Her pretty features pulled in a slight frown. "I think it's just an excuse for them to get drunk."

Shen Yuan chuckled at the petulance on Luo Binghe's face. "Maybe, but that’s a worthy thing to celebrate. Congratulations on starting grad school."

"Thank you, Shen-jie." Luo Binghe's expression softened into a smile again, still laser-focused on Shen Yuan's face.

Shen Yuan took a moment to look Luo Binghe over again. Grad school, huh? Shen Yuan struggled to believe that, but she couldn't see why Luo Binghe would lie. It's just, Shen Yuan was in graduate school, and she felt horribly outclassed by the girl in front of her. With looks like hers, she could easily become an idol or something! She didn't deserve to waste away in academia like Shen Yuan, though she admired Luo Binghe's academic drive. And so young, too...

"You seem awfully young for grad school," Shen Yuan said. It could be that she just took good care of herself, but she wouldn't have been surprised if she'd said she was still an undergrad. "How old are you?"

"I'm twenty-five," Luo Binghe said.

"Twenty-five," Shen Yuan repeated. Twenty-five! And she was here, talking to thirty year old Shen Yuan outside a bar. Shen Yuan's earlier impression was right; this really was not the scene for her. "I think I’m officially too old for this bar. People will think I’m a creep if I keep coming around here." She took another drag from her cigarette, feeling morose over her age. "When I graduated high school, you would’ve been thirteen. Isn’t that weird?"

It had seemed like Luo Binghe was sobering up, but she suddenly wobbled on her heels. She was staring intensely at the cigarette in Shen Yuan's hand. "Can you put that out on me?" she slurred.

Shen Yuan's heart rate spiked. Ah! How could she be so oblivious? What kind of helpful jiejie was she if she was blowing smoke in Luo Binghe's direction?! "Oh! I’m so sorry, I should’ve asked if it was okay to smoke near you. I’ll put it out." She quickly ground it out on the wall. Luo Binghe made a pitiful noise of complaint, but that's okay, Shen Yuan had this handled now! No more smoke when Luo Binghe had specifically wanted to get fresh air!

"I know it’s a bad habit," Shen Yuan attempted to make an excuse for herself, her fingers itching with nervous energy. "It gives me something to do with my mouth and hands. I guess I should get a fidget cube or something less bad for me, but…" She trailed off with an awkward laugh.

Luo Binghe's eyes were still wide and slightly wet, fixated on her hands. Poor thing, the smoke must've made her eyes water. She opened her mouth, but she was interrupted by the door to the bar opening with a slam.

"Bing-jie!" A girl burst out of the bar, covered in jangling jewellery and not much in the way of actual clothing. She latched onto Luo Binghe's arm, speaking way too loudly to be sober. "You left your Ling-er all alone in the bar!"

Luo Binghe's expression immediately soured, but based on the way she didn't shove the other girl away, it was clear she knew her. Ah, Shen Yuan realized. This must be the friend who'd ordered the shots. Well, she'd just been planning to keep an eye on Luo Binghe until she sobered up or a friend joined her, and here was the friend. Her company was no longer needed here.

"I should probably get going," Shen Yuan said, giving Luo Binghe a soft smile. She had been scowling at her friend, but when she looked back up at Shen Yuan, her eyes were wide and puppyish again. "Get home safe, okay?"

Luo Binghe nodded, once again reminding her of an earnest student. "I will, Shen-jie."

Shen Yuan waved and left the alleyway. She sighed and pulled out her phone to call a cab. Shang Qinghua could find her own way home. Serves her right.

Still, the night wasn't a complete wash. Even as she made her way home, her thoughts drifted back to Luo Binghe. Did she get home alright? Was she drinking enough water? Would she be too hungover in the morning? A girl that pretty and that drunk could be a real target for unsavory people. Shen Yuan didn't doubt that she could handle herself -- those arms of hers were impressive -- but she couldn't help but worry.

Ah, well. Worrying wouldn't do her any good. It's not like they'd ever see each other again.

She put thoughts of Luo Binghe aside and decided to put her energy towards preparing orientation for her department's incoming graduate students.

[butterfly-stitches]

AMERICAN DREAMING.

[ Explicit ] // MDNI

AO3

Pairings: Russell Adler / Bell, Russell Adler / Reader Russell Adler & Bell, Russell Adler & Reader Ensemble: Russell Adler, Bell (Call of Duty), Female!Bell, Reader

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence ☁️ Major Character Death ☁️ Memory Loss ☁️ False Memories ☁️ Brainwashing ☁️ Past Brainwashing ☁️ Identity Issues ☁️ Loss of Identity ☁️ Depression ☁️ Dissociation ☁️ Psychological Trauma ☁️ Medical Trauma ☁️ Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD ☁️ Flashbacks ☁️ Stockholm Syndrome ☁️ Hurt/Comfort ☁️ Hurt No Comfort ☁️ Sad Ending ☁️ Character Death ☁️ Older Man/Younger Woman ☁️ Parenthood ☁️ Family Dynamics ☁️ Family Bonding ☁️ Made For Each Other ☁️ Oral Sex ☁️ Penis In Vagina Sex ☁️ POV Second Person > Other Additional Tags to Be Added <

Synopsis: Life is but a dream… Fleeting, inconsequential. A stone unburdened by the snowfall of winter and snowmelt of spring. Like a river it flowed, a surging tributary of memory and memoir. Ever going, never ceasing. But to you, life was not fleeting nor inconsequential. Life was not dreamlike. To live, was to suffer. To suffer, was to live.

-----------------------------------

Chapter 1: reality, reverie.

Words: 20,020Chapters: 1/1 Summary: In which you face reality and reverie …

Something wasn’t right.

Even in the embrace of sleep, just on the verge of consciousness, you could tell. Warm, comfortable. Cozy even,  and… safe. That alone made you stir, shifting against the confines of something that held you close. Too close. Restrictive, digging into your skin. Suffocated you. Drowning, you were drowning. No, you were being dragged underneath the water. Again, you stirred. Struggled against the hold. Again and again. But to no end, as you were only being dragged down further into dark waters. Still, you fought against the restraints you couldn’t see. Freeing within yourself a sudden violence armed with teeth and claws. A trapped, aggressive beast awakened after all this time.

You fought. Fought hard, fought strong and desperately. But, it still wasn’t enough to free yourself. Further and further, like deadweight, a stone thrown into a lake, you free fall into the deep, dark depths below. Light above you, fading away in the darkness. Your lungs burned, nostrils flared. Everything in you, ached for oxygen, choking for air. Pressure built into your chest, heavier and heavier, threatening to split your ribcage open. Screams silenced by water, your mouth filling with water. Air bubbles escaped your open maw, your frantic releases of breath leaving an effervesced trail as you sunk. Buried in a watery grave, pressurized and all consuming. Death was slow. Your death was inevitable like grave soil being thrown over your coffin. 

Your sight blackened but you thrashed about still, screaming and fighting in the throes of inevitable death. Then you heard it. A symphony of sounds, echoing like a whale song. Cacophonous and jarring as it reverberated in your bones and repeated in your head. An evocative vocalization that you began to understand, to recognize. It called to you, spoke a name. ‘Bell, Bell, Bell’   it said, repeating over and over like a mantra. From a voice that you knew wholeheartedly, deep down in the intertwisted threads of the tapestry of soul and flesh. Something reached for you, strong against your skin. Pulling you up and out of the water. You jolted awake. Bleary-eyed and fearful. Everything around you was but a blur of colors and shapes. A warbling in waterlogged ears, a chorus of inharmonious noise. 

Your world was rendered all but a kaleidoscope of sight and sound. A clarity absent to your senses and sensibilities. But touch, though averse and scarce, was not beyond you. It was a deliberate feeling that you focused on, even as your body ached like sunken stones. Something held you down still, something tangled around your body, constricting like a boa. The hold you felt was trapping, capturing. Freedom revoked. It made you start to panic, fighting against its hold again. That viciousness returned like a cornered animal. All tooth and claw. Running on survival, guided by a pure instinctual reaction.

“Bell!”

At that name, at the voice in your ear, you immediately stilled. Chest heaving with your heavy intakes of air. There was something solid behind you, holding you tight against it. A respiring that matched your own until it synced with you. Something that was living, breathing. All blood, bone and skin just like you. A warmth emanated into you, one that you couldn’t help but indulge in. You were shivering, all shaking bones, quivering lips and sheened with cold perspiration. In the lingering feeling of being underwater. Doused in freezing water. 

With a stuttering breath, you leaned back into a wide chest, the weight of burly arms around you providing you a heaviness that was more comforting than it was tenacious. Like the singing of a mother after a nightmare. It brought you back down within the gravity of reality, the weight of the world settling onto you. And you felt yourself relax. All fight leaving you as you fell limp against the person holding you. Racing hearts beat into a slow thrum. Skin pressed into skin, your shaking gone. Your sight began to clear, the instinctual takeover of your brain waning away like fog over a harbor with the onset of sunrise. Yet even then… you were still held, embraced. Allowed you the time to adjust, to process your surroundings. To recognize the illusions of dreamscape, the falsehood of truth in the face of actuality.

You were in unfamiliar surroundings. In a bright bedroom, on a bed. Early morning sun peeking through the window curtains behind you, streaked across the white wall in front of you; streams of sunlight washing over the room and onto your body. The sheets beneath you stuck to your clammy skin, your thin nightgown like a second skin. Duvet tossed away, a throw blanket tangled around your legs. The warbling in your ears, nothing but birdsong. That voice in your head, belonged to the body behind you. Who had you in their arms, limbs around your own.

You took a breath, inhaling. Smelt the familiar scent of salted skin and a faint musk. Deep like leather and aftershave. Cedarwood and bergamot; a rich smokiness that filled your lungs. Though comforting, evoking a sudden feeling of safety, such a scent was like smelling salts to your disoriented mind. You were wide awake now, though still uncertain if not confused. A sudden soft yet loud banging on wood, and you instantly recoiled, tensing up with panic. Your eyes darted to the door along the wall you faced. Fight-or-flight response started to take hold again. A firm squeeze of arms around you and you leave the trap of your mind, of your ingrained instincts, even as the banging on the door continued, voices calling on the other side. 

“Bell.” The person behind you said, warm breath against your neck. A word that made you attentive, responsive. It was spoken firmly, yet gentle. You focused on the voice, the body pressed against yours. Coming down from your panic attack as you calmed down. Breathing slowed but your body still tensed by the noise, alarmed. Gradually and gingerly, you were released. The body pressed into yours moved away, the warmth at your back disappearing. In the blur of the sun, you watched as the person entered your sight, heading towards the door. A man; tall, wide-shouldered and bare-chested. Disheveled hair shimmered like gold. The expanse of a broad, muscled back tensed as he turned around. 

You watched as he opened the door. Slow and careful. Using his body to block the opening from the voices on the other side as if to protect you, hide you away from prying eyes. As if the voices would burst through the door forcefully. It seemed like that rang true, was an expectation, as something did try to dart inside only to be stopped by the man. Whatever it was that wanted in, protested, verbalized their displeasure at him. But the man was adamant with his tone, assertive with his position. Yet just as gentle as his words were with you. Hushed voices, questions answered briefly, low spoken words. Too quiet for you to overhear. Whatever the man had said to them seemed to work as the voices quieted and silhouettes disappeared from the doorway and the pattering of feet sounded down the hall.

Running a hand down his face, the man closed the door, making sure to lock it. He turned, eyes glancing at your rising form before he dipped away into a side room. You heard the rush of water from a sink and less than a minute later, heavy footsteps on the carpet towards your side of the bed. You straightened up as he stood over you, something in his hand and you reacted. Scooted backwards, clawing at the sheets in an attempt to escape. Kicked out your legs as the man reached over, the beginning of a scream forming in your abraded throat.

“You need to calm down.”

But you couldn’t. Violence was all you knew, all you were. A wild animal deep down inside, hidden behind the façade of domestication and domesticity. 

“Bell.”

A pet’s name, a moniker he saddled upon you. Straining at the leash to get away, you crawled further to the other side of the bed, on his side of the bed. The warmth from his body still radiating from his spot, seeping into you as your palms tightened around the sheets. He gave you a disapproving look as if you were nothing more than a misbehaving dog — his disobedient pet. One he was determined to bring back to heel. Your eyes were on him as he slowly sat on the edge of the bed, opposite of you, the mattress dipping with his weight. He held a damp towel in his hands, showing it to you. Letting you know what he had was innocuous. But you remained in your far corner, unconvinced. 

You studied him from afar, watching every little movement of his. Anything to signal danger and warrant a reaction from you. He was patient nonetheless. But something in you knew that wasn’t typical, accustomed to his persistent, proactive nature. A go-getter who was on the verge of fanatical and obsessional in his pursuits. But the longer you watched him, stared at him. The more you wracked around your brain. The more you became nostalgic. A remembrance tingled in the back of your head. He was no stranger to you. No threat. 

He read you easily it seemed. Called out for you again. Bell . Your name on his tongue, a gentleness, a fondness just for you. You only watched as he reached forward to you, for you. You were face-to-face now as he settled next to you. In the sun, in the warm glow of the early morning, you saw him for who he was. Who you remembered. His name was on the tip of your tongue. You searched his face; all scar-faced, square-jawed, stone-faced, and blue-eyed features of him.

“Adler.” You whispered. 

He pressed the damp towel to your forehead, wiping away the beads of sweat. The sudden coolness made you flinch. You tried to move from it, but his hand went to your chin. Held it firm, keeping your head still as he tapped it along your brow. 

“Adler.” You said again, more to yourself than anything. 

He stopped, mouth pressed into a line as sharp eyes flicked down to you. You went slack in his grip, eyes fluttering. You pressed yourself into his body, tucking your head underneath his chin. Though he was surprised by it, Adler didn't protest. He wrapped his arms around you, your face in the crook of his neck. Taking in the smell of him greedily. Adler pulled you down with him, onto the bed. Broken memories played, too quick to grasp, too minimal comprehend but enough to give rise to some sort of response. An ache in your chest, conflicting emotions. But above all else, you clung to the arms around you. The only thing that gave you a sense of solidity, of feeling real. Your name again spoke above you, into your hair, and Adler pulled away slightly, looking down at you as he rose up, pulling you with him. With you still curled into his chest. 

“You need to take your medication.”  

You only pressed yourself harder into his chest, the speckling of hair there scratched against your cheek with your nuzzling. 

“Bell.” 

Gently, Adler pried you away. A hand on your shoulder, as he held you inches from himself. Dark blue eyes on your face. Whatever he saw there, whatever expression you showed, made his eyes narrow and his mouth twist.  

“Your medication. You need to take it.”

You blinked up at him, processing what he said. From his slow unfurling palm, he revealed a capped syringe. An unknown liquid in its barrel. Your eyes widened, panic coming once again as alarms bells blared in your head. Realizing that he had hidden it underneath the towel, right underneath your nose. Like a dog’s medicine hid within a treat. Betrayal simmered, over the fear. And his face hardened at your realization. 

“Focus, Bell. I need you to focus.” 

Your eyes flicked to him, then back down to the syringe in his hand. Inattentive, unsure. Your mind fought against itself. Trust and mistrust, a cocktail like oil and water in your mind. His hand gripped your shoulder harder, nails into your skin as you began to pull back. Cowering from the raised hand holding your medication. Memories again, more debilitating than before. They played like a broken cassette tape in your head, experiencing them again as if renewed, reimagined. A touch of death that stained you, a resuscitation that saved you. Blood on your tongue, swollen nose seeping into your mouth — bleeding wounds.

Metal chairs, gurneys. Interrogation rooms, your reflection — bloodied and bruised — stared back at you in the dark glass. Red, white and blue. The national colors of bloodletting, of broken bones, of sorrow sown. Threats and questions. Questions you refused, threats you disregarded. Drowning, you were drowning like before. Dragged forcefully underneath dark waters, swallowing you whole. A drumming noise inside your head, a ringing in your ear. The water didn't drown it out, only amplified the overwhelming din and it only grew louder and louder inside your pounding head.

A sudden sharp pressure in your eye socket and you squirmed against the person that held you down. Your eyelid forced open as it slowly sunk into your cerebral. You grit your teeth, grinding your jaw against your molars. Then you screamed but you were soundless; mouth opened in a voiceless wail. As quickly as it came, the sensation subsided and the needle was carefully pulled from your cornea. The afflicted eye stung from the intravitreal injection. Then, a strange tranquility befell you, reined you in. Stopped your aggression. A calloused hand cupped your face softly, turning your head to the side. A worried look on his face as Adler scrutinized where the needle went into your eye, the needle just missing the blood vessels from all your movement.

His sweaty body was over you, you soon noticed. Panting down on you with uneven breaths. His other hand held your arms across your chest, his legs tangled with yours. Keeping them pinned to stop you from thrashing and kicking out at him. Adler moved away as you came to, giving you space. Letting you rise up on your own. He sat back, moving to the other side of the bed again, watching you intently from the distance he put between you two. You, yourself, took deep breaths, trying to steady your breathing and slow your rising pulse. A heavy silence waned in the bedroom, the mingled heavy breathing of both you and Adler was the only sound in the bed space. The morning sun sat higher in the sky now, shining down harder in the room, and onto you both. Noises outside the bedroom, more voices and a pattering of feet. A restlessness that beckoned you towards it. You turned towards Adler, who met your eyes. His body leaned forward, his hand reached out slow and onto your bare knee. And squeezed it. 

“Bell.” Your eyes rose from his hand on your knee, to his face. Focusing on him.

The next words that he spoke, made you falter. A strange conglomerate of distant phonics, of harsh sounding syllables. A Slavic language. One that made your ears perk up, though you struggled to understand what he was saying to you. But it wasn’t foreign to you, you knew it deep down inside. You could feel the rhythm of the language. It thrummed in you, spoke to the blood that rushed into your veins. Russian . You could speak it naturally, fluently. Your mouth opened, lips dry and throat raspy. Tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth. Questions existing, but words were lost to you. Adler stood from the bed, walking back into the bathroom. He returned with a disposable paper cup full of water, a couple of pills in his hand. 

“Pain relievers.” He explained in Russian, answering the questioning look you gave him.  

You took them from him, making a show of swallowing them down as he watched you take mouthfuls of the cool water. When you drank all the water in the cup, he left to fill it up again. And you gulped it all down, your parched mouth and dry throat relieved by the drink. He took the cup from you when you were satisfied, setting it on the nightstand next to him. You both stared silently at each other, things unspoken. What transpired weighed down heavily on the both of you. Your gaze flicked down from his face, to his scarred lips, down to his chest, to his arms. Wholly taking in the sight of him. An awful realization and then sudden shamefulness overcame you as you tore your eyes away, to the hands in your lap. He scooted closer to you and you met his eyes again, admiring the blue of them. But you couldn’t help it when your eyes wandered back to the marks that littered all on his skin. Red welts and scratches, bumps and bruises forming. All by you.

“I’m sorry.” The apology was rough sounding still, Russian wobbly on your tongue. 

Adler hummed. Letting your fingers trace along all the marks on his chest, around the dried blood of crescent marks of his arms when your nails had dug into them. All the way to the small bruises and finally to a bite mark on his wrist.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”  You told him. 

“ I know .” He reassured, his chest rumbling as he let out a soft hum. Your fingers traced back up to his face, lingering over the deep trenches of a lightning strike scar, and stopping to a contusion forming on the underside of his strong  jaw. Your fingertips ghosted over it in your studying.

“Haven’t gotten hit like that in a while.”

You knew it was an attempt to lighten the mood, but you couldn’t help but let it wound you. Deflated, you tried to move and pull your hand away from his jaw but his hand was quick to clasp over your own. So easily Adler enveloped it entirely, holding both against his bruising jaw. Yet you still couldn’t meet his eyes. 

“Bell.”

Back to English now, as he intertwined your fingers together, moving both your hands from his jaw to his rough lips. Turning them, to kiss the back of your knuckles. But something else caught your scrying eyes, marks on your own skin. All over your arms. Scratches and welts similar to the ones on the man in front of you. All from yourself, all self-afflicted. 

Silently, Adler cleaned up your scratches and cuts. You didn’t flinch as he did. Unfazed by the cold sting of the cotton ball across them. Soaked in disinfectant that he pulled from the first aid kit, retrieved from underneath the bathroom sink moments ago. You watched him care for you, inspecting each inch of skin, and tend to your wounds. So attentively, so… lovingly . That realization made something stir within you, in the confines of a twisted soul. Deep seated, deep rooted. Bile rose in your throat. Wrong, this was all wrong. It wasn’t right. Wrongness you felt underneath it all. By the way your skin crawled, the hair on your nape standing on ends, and muscles tensed up. Fight or flight instinct on overdrive.

D̷̡̫̯̪̺͚̬̥̘̭̻͈̼̐͌͒o̷̹̻͚͔͇̠̓͛̉̂͐̿̐̔̒̈́̚͜͠͝͝ ̵̨̱̬̰̰̺̝̠̐̍̀̐͐̉͒̆̾̽͂̽̏n̵̯͐̊̓̊̉͑͛̽͊̅͝ó̴͖̝͍̩͊̏ț̸̢̬̪̙̯͎̝́̃̓̒̈́͋͜͠͝ ̵̢̟͊̐̓̅͋̒͝t̸͚͐̎r̸̢̼͔̜͒̃́̃́͋̐̓̏̒̇̕ȗ̶̬̓̇̇s̶̨͙̘͇͓̗̯̓͊̾̈̂̿̎͛̏̃͛͘͘͜͜͠͝t̴̜͙̗̺̯̘͍͎͓̮̱̤̣̝̔ ̷̨̝͔̻͕͉͔͙̔͆̃̄͛̃̿̃̚̚͝A̶͔̘̟͓͙͊̋͐̆̓̕͠d̵̛̲̲̯̫͇̘̱̿̈́̂͜l̴̯̫̠͚̗̺̞̀̄̈́e̸̢̢̥̩̦͓͕̣͎͍̞̞̦̦̮̗͐̃̏̓̄̈́̚͜r̸̢̲̦̼̗͙͆͛̔̓́̅̈͊̋̕͘͘̚̚͝

Lies. Lies, all of it lies. This wasn’t real. Nothing was. You looked around, saw everything for what it was. Head pounding, memories that weren’t your own stuffed in your head. You were a shell of a woman, a discarded shed of old skin repurposed. Disturbed metamorphosis, an empty chrysalis, from where a butterfly would have emerged, unfurling its wings for flight, only to be picked open like a old wound and swallowed up. Hollowed out until all that kept you together was the name given to you and the person who gave it to you. This wasn’t you, you weren’t this… Bell. And this man in front of you who tended to you so delicately, wasn’t the savior you saw him as. Not a pure and noble heart, but had one as black as night. You didn’t know him, not truly. He was not your safety, not the gravity keeping you on your feet. 

You should loathe him, you should fear him. You shouldn’t trust the man in front of you. You knew it all as true. 

But love and hate always tasted the same to you. 

Hadn’t it?

“Who I am?” You asked as he tended to your throat, where you had clawed and scratched at it in your sleep. Adler stopped and looked at you then. Quiet as the weight of your words settled onto him, while weighing out his own. 

“Bell.” Adler soon replied, bringing your intertwined hands to his torso, over the red scratches across the expanse of his chest, right to the center. Where his heart beat against your open palm. “You’re Bell.”

Noisiness from behind the door again, shadows moving underneath the door frame, knocking on the door’s wood more rapidly in succession. More impatient. A harsh sigh left Adler’s scarred lips in response. He stood from the bed, packing away the first aid materials back into the plastic kit box. Tucked it underneath the bed frame. 

“You should lay down and rest.” Adler grabbed the duvet from the floor and pulled it over your bare legs. You blinked at the action, at him. His form disappeared into another space in the bedroom then back out. A walk-in closet you realized. Staring at his back as Adler pulled a shirt over his head and headed towards the door.

“I’m dangerous.” You told him in English, Russian was suddenly sour on your tastebuds. “I can’t trust myself. I don’t know who I am.”

“Then trust me.” He said, exhaustion was clear on his careworn face. Bags underneath his eyes. But there was something there, beneath his words. An undercurrent in the baritone of his voice… something akin to defeat in his tone. A vulnerability that you recognized, a weakness mirrored within yourself. Something you both buried away within yourselves. You swallowed then, running your tongue across your teeth. You shouldn’t put your trust in him, or believe his words. Yet… and yet. Without another word, you nodded at him. You believed him.

Adler ran a hand through his hair, brushing it back. In a semblance of tidiness. 

“Lay down and rest.” Adler repeated, hand on the doorknob as he gave you a once over. “I’ll wrangle the kids.”

Your head snapped to his face, eyes wide like saucers. 

“ Kids ?!” You repeated as if such a word was foreign to you, even spoken in your mother tongue.

Adler gave you a look, lips pressed tight together. Knuckles whitened as his hand flexed around the turned doorknob. 

“Yes. I’ll deal with them. Just… please lay down. You need to rest up.”

At your speechlessness, and with a one last longing look, Adler left the bedroom, closing the door behind him. But even as he left, you were still sitting up, staring at the door right where he had stood moments ago. You heard muffled sounds behind the door, far down in the hallway. You blinked, feeling your body start to slacken, your body heeding Adler’s words as you nestled into the covers. Right on his side of the bed. The blankets and pillows still smelt of him. A scent that, like the smoking of a beehive, calmed the thoughts swarming around in your skull. You closed your eyes, relaxing, but it wasn’t enough to slumber. The sensation of sinking, of being dragged down, down, down. Made you afraid to fully commit to sleep once more. Still you laid in bed, underneath the blankets. Basked in his warmth and smell. 

But eventually, you grew restless, tossing and turning. Felt his absence deep inside. You threw the covers away from yourself, standing on shaky legs towards the bathroom. Then to the bedroom door, wrapping a silk bathrobe you grabbed on your way out around your nightgown. You stared at the door. The edges of your surroundings started to fade away around you as it stared back at you. The sensation was jarring, like freefalling. A loss of gravity. You had to move away, stepping back until you felt the bed behind you. You sat on it for a moment, letting the motion sickness and the upturning of your stomach peter out.

Facing the door once more, you took a breath and grabbed the doorknob. The door shook, rattling against its hinges from your touch as you tried to pry it open. But to no avail. Trapped, you are trapped. You pressed your hands onto the wood, pushing against it. Beneath your palms, the door creaked and then it cracked. Fissures in the wood grain, splitting open as the layers started to peel like wood shavings. Rot and corrosion bloomed by your hand, by your simple touch. Like stab wounds, from the cracks in the door a deep scarlet poured out. Stained the wood grain darker. The smell of metal in the air. And before you knew it, the wood door was gone, wasted away. But in its wake was another door. A red metal door like the ones leading to an underground bunker. It beckoned you. Whispered to you, called you in an accented voice that sounded far too familiar. A faraway memory. It said your name, your true name. One you had long forgotten. An itch in the recesses of your mind, a jolt down your spinal cord. A hesitancy in your step, in your hand that hovered over the metal door bar. Fascination or recognition, you couldn’t tell what drove you forward. You lifted the bar up with an audible click, pushing against it until it opened. 

You went through, blinded by a bright light on the other side. Behind the door, you were met with a long hallway that stretched on and on. Miles upon miles. Faint laughter echoed from the end of it and you walked forward, following the sound. Just when you thought you reached the end of the hallway, it grew longer. The end was more imperceivable than before, indeterminate in its entirety. Seemingly going on and on indefinitely as you stared down the way. But still you continued onwards, voices in the distance. Although it was nothing but a maze of white walls, white tiles, and linoleum flooring. 

There were wide windows all along the length of the long hall, a consistent width apart. The windows peeked into lab rooms full of medical equipment, surgical tools, flickering projectors in the ceiling, and T.V.s sat on metallic utility carts; cassette tapes stuck in their players. You stopped at one of the windows, looking inside, curious. You scanned around but like a moth to a flame, an old habit, your eyes instantly trained to the T.V. display, waiting expectantly. The streams of static on the screen flickered. A bell clanged, white noise in your ears. Fixated on the sudden flashing images, the pieces of war footage playing then it stuttered, only to rewind and start again. 

A single exhale and blink of dry eyes, and you were suddenly inside the room. Strapped down to an integration chair. You tested the restraints, feeling how they cut into the circulation of your wrists and ankles. Another clamor rang out, and your body sat straight in the seat, expectant and attentive. Pavlovian conditioning —  a dog that waited for their kibble. The display screen flicked on in front of you. Like staring into an endless void, on a blackhole’s event horizon, your surroundings melted away and your body jerked forward. Pulled into a fierce orbit, lunged headfirst through the playing T.V. screen. Warped into some sort of dark backroom.

Two projectors, right beside each other, both sat on small wooden tables on either side of where you stood. Their lights converged, shone nothing onto a single projector screen in front of you. There were a few show slides slotted into both of their compartments, in random order, in different spacings. All you needed to do was change the slides and the projectors would display them on the screen. You changed the slides on the projector to your left, it clicked a couple times as you rotate by the empty slots to the first inputted slide. The left slide showcased a split image, the other half missing like a photo torn into two pieces. It was hard for you to make out the image, to grasp what it showcased. You stared at it for a beat, before moving to the projector to your right. Flicked through its rotation, the first slide of it closer in slot than the left one.

Then the display was completed, the other half of the image found. Whatever it showed, whatever it was, grew clearer the longer you stared at it. Red, you saw red. Another red bunker door. You stepped forward towards the projector screen, confused just as you were intrigued. In front of it now, your body in front of the projector lights doesn’t cast a shadow onto the image or screen. As if you were non-corporeal, a ghost lost in limbo. But unlike you, the display image of the red bunker door wasn’t intangible. You reached forward and pulled the handle bar up. And it opened and you walked through it. 

A sequence of fading whispers, a little girl’s giggle, while you looked around your new surroundings. Dark, damp, and dank. A cavern, like a hollowed out chest missing its heart. Stalagmites and stalactites jutted out like jagged teeth, water dripping from the ceiling above, trickling down and pooled in the eroded stone. You heard something moving in the cave, somewhere in the dark, slow and steady, like the dragging of chains across the floor. More childlike giggling from afar, and the noises got louder, more disturbing. Inhuman and innumerable. Feet shuffling onwards, a thousand marching on. Dripping liquid onto the cave floor, louder than the cave condensation. Of a removed heart, still bleeding and beating outside the body. You gathered yourself, looking around in the dark. Tried to pinpoint the sound’s source in the dark, squinting but you couldn’t even see even an inch in front of your face. 

You backed away, until your foot caught something on the floor. You reached down for it, patting around the rock empty-handed until your fingers brush against something cold. It is heavy in your hands, but the feel is familiar. A pistol and an extra mag, loaded already but with the safety lock in place. You held it, old training coming back to you like clockwork. A flashlight attachment on your pistol flicked on wasn’t enough to penetrate the dark. From the shadows, eyes glowed like they do on trail cams. Predators on the hunt. You shined your flashlight to them, only to see rotten bodies. Flesh falling off the bone, gray skin – stringy and gamey. Walking dead. Rumbling roars and screams from ripped open throats. The rapid resonate of dragging limbs, peeling flesh, congealed blood splattered in globs. 

They all lunged forward on decaying legs, too quick to be natural. You dropped a few of them with shots to the head and torso, they dropped like sandbags only to be trampled over by the others, their positions replaced. But they only kept coming and coming, and your pistol soon clicked, the chamber empty. You run, legs shaky on the uneven rocky surface. Deeper and deeper into the cave you went, kiting them through. Glowing eyes right behind you. You reloaded your last mag, shooting the ones leading the pack then running forward to gain distance. You went until your lungs burned, your legs aching. Until your pistol was empty, the flashlight attachment dimming out. But ahead, in the dark, a blaring light. An escape route. A bunker door, the light at the end of the  tunnel. 

You were sprinting to it, the once wide cave seeming to get smaller. Gradually, the surrounding cave walls narrowed around you. You had to slow, to squeeze through the gaps and holes, the sight of the bunker door in the distance are only glimpses now behind the small openings. A crowd of dead right on your trail, a misstep, a moment of being too slow, and they would catch you. You were hyperventilating now, your skin abraded and cut from squeezing yourself through the narrow gapes and crevices. But the light was closer, the bunker door just out of reach ahead of you. Your body against a stone wall, pressing against the solid form. One with no opening.

Animalistic roars echoed against the rock and stone catching up to you. Dimming light of the flashlight scanned around the wall, anything that dictated a path forward as you desperately searched around. Shining on a pile of loose stone at your feet. You wasted no time, no effort. Dropping the empty gun, low light shining to the dark behind you. You clawed on the rock formation, pushing and rolling away heavy stones. Uncaring as your fingernails were chipped and torn from the nail roots. Leaving bloody handprints behind onto the discarded stone surfaces. 

Underneath the rubble, was a crawl space uncovered  in the stone wall. Cramped and claustrophobic but without nowhere else to go, the undead behind you as encouragement, and you went on your belly. Squeezing yourself into the passageway. You crawled on, forcing yourself through even when the space grew smaller around you, compressing down onto your body. It became harder to breathe in such a tight space. You were panicking, breathing uneven. The crawl space constricted, like a fist around your throat. Something reached in behind you, arms extended to grab for you. A mass of rotting hands outstretched, bodies colliding as they tried to enter the small spacing all at once. They clawed and crawled, teeth gnashing against their loosening  jowls behind you; fingers grasping out for you. A bear trap around your foot as multiple hands curled around one of your legs. Hauled you back, your skin scraping against the stone. You kicked out at them, fingers digging into rock for purchase. Sharp pointed stones, loosened by your movement, cut into your body as you were dragged back.

But you saw it ahead of you. A distant light, a red door – opened. And you saw him. Adler on the other side of the door. Standing, staring. Waiting for you. You called out to him, but to no avail. You were voiceless and he remained there in the doorway. The tear of fabric being ripped, cracked teeth sunk into flesh. The burst of skin breaking. Pain in your leg, shooting up your spinal cord. One of them had your leg in what remained of their mouth, as others clawed at your bare calf. You were being eaten alive, torn apart, dragged back. You fought against them still, kicking and shaking your captured leg as much as you could in the small space. You were tired, bleeding out. Still you pulled yourself through the crawlspace, eyes frontward. Towards Adler who awaited you. A final push, a final effort and you were on the other side. Your extraction within reach. 

You grabbed a rock, between both hands, and down onto the undead hanging off your leg like a tick. You brought the stone down and the head caved it, split open like overripe fruit. But even then, it didn’t let you go. You brought the stone down again and again, until the head was nothing but a splatter of brains and shattered skull pieces on the stone. The hands around your leg were next, as you slammed the stone onto the rotting arms until they snapped at the elbow joint. Limbs loosened on you, as they fell to the side, lifeless. Freeing you. You crawled backwards. Yellow glowing eyes deep in the crawlspace, bodies conjoined and mutilated, forced into a single space. More arms outstretched from the other side, growls and screams in your ears. 

You pushed yourself onto your feet, limping. Hobbled forward as fast as you could, adrenaline numbing the pain. You called Adler’s name, relieved, exhausted. You get closer and closer, your blood swirling into the ankle deep pool you push yourself through. On the threshold now, and the image of Adler grew fuzzy. Red, red, red. He was a maroon figure, his face was blurred. Like a glitch, a horizontal blear twisting his identity. The door slammed shut, metal mechanisms inside shifting and grinding as it locked in place. You called out to him, pounding your bloody fists against the metal. The metal handle bar unmoving as you pushed it. Rumbling roars and screams, bodies yanked themselves out from the crawlspace. Inflamed eyes in the dark. You pushed and pulled, banging on the door. Blood prints on the metal, a darker red smeared all over. Screaming, wailing. Adler, Adler, Adler . But he was never there to save you. Only to drag you down, down, down. Deeper in hell and to keep you there. Laughter, laughter all around you. The undead were laughing at you, cackling like hyenas in the deep of night. 

You pushed the bar up once more, desperate and frantic. Underneath your fingers, the door starts rusting, metal oxidizing. Painting peeled away. Door handle rusted in place. Still you pushed, all your might, all your effort. Flakes of verdigris crumbled, falling like ash on your skin. The handle squealed, corroded metal grinding against each other, as the mechanisms are forced to move. The metal handle snapped in your hand, but the door creaked open; Not fully but with a sliver of opening. The bash of your shoulder against the bunker door and it moved gradually, hanging off of its hinges, the bottom of the door scraping against the doorstop. The dead scrambled to you, limbs missing, slower than before. 

But you made enough of an opening to squeeze yourself through it and you push yourself through. Falling onto your hands and knees onto the other side. You looked up to see a stipple ceiling. Sun on your face, plush carpet against your palms. No pain in your leg, no scrapes on your body. Elbows and knees unscathed. Shoulder not dislocated from your battering against metal. You looked behind you only to see a wooden door ajar and a bedroom behind you. A girl’s laugh in the distance filled your ears. 

But it felt real. All of it felt real. Too real, to be nothing but night horrors.

“Mommy?”

A small voice down the hall and you snapped your head to it. A small child at the end of the hallway stared at you. Face dipped in shadow, features obscured. You were frozen, still on your knees. Head pounding, confused. But something inside you tugged at the title. A mother’s love, a mother’s embrace. A mother’s sacrifice. The child scurried down the hallway towards you and you recoiled. A phantom pain in your leg and you reached down for a weapon at your side that wasn’t there. The child jumped to a stop, looking down at you with big, blue eyes as you tensed up. 

“Mommy, why are you on the floor?”

Silent and still, you were emotionless, motionless. An uneasiness that made your body stiffen. Your mouth opened but you couldn’t speak. The child watched you curiously, attention waning as they balanced on the balls of their feet. Soon the child joined you, kneeling down. From the way they smiled, the child thought it was a game. 

“You can’t be on the floor, silly.” The child chastised and you only stared at them. Grubby hands outstretched. 

You expected them to claw you, to rip open your skin. But they only grabbed your wrist. With all their strength, they tug on your hand, trying to help you up. It took you a moment to process it as anything but a threat to you. Gradually, you stood up as the child helped. Who thought it was because of them that you were able to get up. You didn't pull your hand away, even as the child intertwined their own. You let them lead you down the hall, the smell of food wafting ahead of you both. The child took you into the living room. You recognized the blonde man in the kitchen next to the living area. Who stirred something on the stovetop, whatever it was that he was cooking, smelt delicious despite your nausea. 

“I found her!”

The child announced, letting your hand go and bouncing like a bunny to Adler. The child tugged at his shirt, pointing to you with a toothy grin. Adler’s head snapped towards you hovering in the threshold of the hall. A pointed look aimed straight at you, sharp eyes narrowed, and mouth pressed tight. Another face appeared, bounding from the living room. Another child. Taller, older than the first. They smiled at you, shyer. But went to you nonetheless, hugging your waist. Eyelashes framed over blue eyes,  staring up at you. 

“Now we can go have a picnic!” The youngest exclaimed, beaming up at the man in the kitchen. Obviously too excited to be contained as they hopped up and down. Using the countertops for stability.

Adler patted the child’s head, stopping his jumping up and down with a firm hand. Eyes still on you. “Not today. Your mother’s sick, she needs to rest.”

There was a command there. A jab at you that made your skin prickle.

“But you promised.” The child whined on. The oldest around your waist made a disappointed sound too.  “You said we can go.”

“I know I did. But not today, kiddo. We can go next time.”

Both children sulked, huffing and awing at Adler. But Adler didn’t relent, absolute with his decision. He walked forward, his shoulders tensed. A few steps and he was stood in front of you. His attention went to the oldest at your hip. 

“Come on.” He jutted his chin to the side, a gesture for them to move away. “Let your mom go. She needs to go back to bed.”

You didn’t know what overcame you as your arm wrapped around the child’s body, protectively. Keeping them in place, close to you as you took a step forward. The action doesn’t go unnoticed by Adler. He stared at you, eyes flitting down to your hand clutching to the child’s pajama shirt. You had trouble reading what he was feeling, what he was thinking. Yet Adler had always been like that, you thought. Difficult to read, to predict and to understand. Like you.

“We should go.” You finally said, your voice shaky and raspy. A clearing of your throat and you steeled your spine. “Let’s go have a picnic, Adler.”

The children audibly agreed. You released the oldest that clung to you as they moved and joined the youngest at Adler’s side, who was tugging on his shirt, begging and pleading. He was displeased, you could tell. But you challenged him nonetheless, eyes meeting his own. A chorus of: ‘Please, dad!’, ‘Can we go!’, ‘Mom says we can.’ ‘You promised we could go.’ chanted out in the tension between you both. And eventually Adler let out a deep sigh, shoulders heaving as he did. 

“Alright.” He agreed. That defeated tone returned but it was quickly gone as the children cheered happily, clinging onto him now. 

You watched them, a sudden emotion fluttering your heart at the sight. Of Adler’s small smile, though strained, it was genuine. Of the children… your children. Their happiness you felt as your own. The early morning forgotten, the wounds, the memories, the hallucinations, the night terrors. The ringing inside your own head. Your suffering, your pain, your detachment from the world. 

It was all worth it for this. 

You were pulled from your thoughts as the oldest grabbed your hand again. Clasping the smaller hand back, you walked to Adler whose attention went back to you. He let out a huff, an annoyed sound. But he leaned down, pressing a small kiss to your forehead. A sudden softness on his hardened features. The smell of something burning, rising smoke in the kitchen made Adler quickly duck to the stovetop towards the simmering pan. You were led by your hand again to the dining room, that was connected right to the kitchen. You sat down, watching the child run off to the living room to join the youngest sitting on the sofa. Your gaze shifted. To the television. A sudden feeling as you focused on the screen. White noise, your sight wavering. 

Something clunked down next to your arm and you blinked up at Adler leaning against the tabletop. A fresh cup of tea next to you, a coffee of his own in his hand — a dark bitter brew. No sugar, no cream. 

You smiled your thanks, eyes back to the children. But Adler’s eyes were on you. 

“Saturday cartoons.” Your head turned to him right as he took a sip from his steaming mug. “They wanted to watch them. I can turn it off and cover the T.V. if it’s bothering you again.” 

Your eyes fluttered at that, giving a quick look back to the living room then back to him. “No, it’s ok. Let them enjoy it. I'll live.”

But he was unconvinced. Lines on his face, more prominent. Those ending words of yours made his frown deepened.

“I’m fine.” 

But you didn’t know if you were trying to reassure him or yourself.

He shook his head at you. “No, you aren’t, Bell. You’re not fine.”

Something inside ached. For him, for you. 

But before more could be said, Adler left into the kitchen. His back to you. Alone now, you sat there wordlessly. Taking slow sips of your tea. It helped you think. Its warmth spread throughout your body, reinvigorating you with a comforting feeling. Your wary eyes looked around as you finished the rest of your tea. Training was still an instinct as you took mental notes of the windows and doors, places to hide, places to bunker down, ways to escape, choke points and objects to use as defense. You wondered if Adler did the same.

But you were not alone for long, not lost in your own head. Soon Adler served breakfast, a simple meal of eggs, bacon and toast. He seated the children, though they protested. Wanting to eat in the living room so they could watch their cartoons. Only to be upset when Adler shook his head no. He served you a plate, your eggs made the way you liked; an additional bowl of sliced fruit on the side. Along with a cup of warmed bone broth in case you couldn’t stomach the solid food. The kids were quiet as they ate, heads turned to the television across the way. Like them, you and Adler ate quietly as well. Both lost in your own thoughts. 

You ate as much as you could handle, taking a few bites here and there of your food. But mostly you nibbled on your toast. It helped your nausea, abating the queasiness you felt. When the children were done eating, they gathered their dishes, rushing to put them in the kitchen sink. Before racing into the living room and onto the sofa just as a new cartoon show began. You pushed your plate away towards Adler. He grimaced at it, at the food you barely touched. Yet wordlessly took your plate, adding your breakfast to his own to finish. You sat there quietly, forcing yourself to drink the broth. It was enough of an effort to ease Adler’s disgruntlement. 

But mostly, your attention was to the children. Your children; yours and Adler’s. Who had eyes just like the man sat next to you, reading a newspaper. A deep dark blue. Their faces, a blur in your withered memories. Their names you didn’t remember. But that pull, that motherly instinct in the back of your head was all that you needed to know. There was a time you think, some time ago where such a life. Such a domestic thing was not meant for you. Surrounded by death and secrecy, a pact of self-sacrifice. Of yourself and others. By your own hand, the world’s strings pulled taunt like nooses. Such a life was never for you. But you wondered if you had wanted such a life. Had you yearned for it still? Or did you accept it, for a cause. Or had you never wanted it in the first place? A family. You tried to recall but no answer came to you. As Adler grabbed both of your dishes, taking them to the kitchen to start cleaning up. You walked to the living room. Hiding in the shadow of the archway as you watched your children. The oldest sat on the sofa while the youngest was on the rug in front of the television. Playing with a toy as they watched, the same one as one of the characters of the show. 

You avoided looking too long at the screen, an old habit you’re struggling to fight off especially now. Whispering bells in your head again, tolling in a soft breeze. You found yourself moving on your own accord. Walking into the living room, taking a seat on the sofa. You were at the far end of it, tucked away in the corner. Distance put between your oldest and yourself. Observing closer, wanting to be closer despite yourself. But still cautious. Your vicinity wasn’t as ignored as you hoped, as your oldest moved closer to you. And your youngest began to show you their toys, the ones from the cartoon they’re watching. Your youngest chatted on, giving you all the details of the show and the characters. Pointing them out on the screen. Your oldest at your side, listening along, and adding more details. And you listened intently, engaged, intrigued. Your heart ached.

A feeling at the back of your neck and goosebumps rise on your arms. You grew stiff, turning around to catch Adler watching you from afar, leaning in the archway. Closely. Too closely. As if you were dangerous, a muzzled mutt. But you were, weren’t you? So volatile, so impulsive. Even you couldn’t control yourself. It was only a matter of time before you lashed out again. A commercial break that caught your attention as your oldest wanted you to look at a toy product – some sort of puzzle cube with multicolored squares on each side. But when you turned back to the archway, Adler was gone. You tried not to be on edge, that wrong feeling returning once more. 

Something was draped over you, something soft in your lap. A throw blanket. You run your fingers through the soft wool as Adler interjected himself between you and your oldest. Forced apart from your side, they expressed their complaint, but eventually acquiesced as he made room for them to lay against him. The other arm was thrown around you, pulling you close to his side. You inhaled his scent, conflicting feelings subsided and you went lax against him. The rest of the morning was spent like this, all of you in the living room. Your face pressed into his shoulder when looking at the television grew too much for you to bear. Focusing instead on the sounds of his breathing, of the smell of him. All of him against you. Until it was just you and him in the living room. 

Eventually, the kids had run off somewhere when Adler changed the channel and flicked on the news. But soon they grew impatient as the afternoon came. Asking when you all were leaving for a picnic. Adler brushed them off, using your dozing off as an excuse to delay and obfuscate. But when you stirred, looking up at him from his chest. You gave Adler a pointed look of your own. It was enough to get him on his feet, knees audibly creaking. And you followed suit. The kids rushed to their rooms, getting dressed to go. You went to get ready too, into something casual and light. A sundress you decided on, your favorite one you think. A pretty long cotton. Didn’t Adler get this for you? You pulled it over your body, smoothing the wrinkles out in the fabric, and  stood in front of the bathroom mirror. A stranger stared back at you. Sickly looking. Hollow-eyed with a haunted look, hair frizzy and brittle. Life drained from your face; wan and ghastly.

Shell-shocked.  

Feelings of repugnance. Of sadness and of disbelief. 

Was that truly who you were? That person who was staring straight back at you, was you?

Warmth at your back as a body stood behind you, into your back. Fingers went to your shoulder, brushing against your collarbone and pulled a loose strap of your dress up. Your eyes lifted upward to meet Adler’s in the mirror. Watched him bend down, mouth going to your neck. You bared it out to him, instinctively turning your head to the side. Marred lips traced up along your jugular vein — slowly and steadily. Sharp blue eyes kept your gaze in the reflection as he did. A small act, yet you were already worked up. Breathing hard, heart beating in your chest. A death grip on either side of the porcelain sink. Adler stopped behind your jaw, right on the thrumming pulse there.

“Ready?” He asked, voice husky. Lips still on your neck.

You nodded, breathless and speechless. He took a step back from you, giving you a nod. Your eyes were still on his in the mirror.

“C’mon.” 

You ran your tongue across your lips deliberately as Adler watched. Turned fully around to face him. Taking in the sight of the man in front of you. Light sandy brown hair brushed down and groomed to the side. Always stylish, always well-coordinated. Even in leisure clothing. You followed him out of the bedroom. A cardigan sweater in your arms. The kids were waiting by the front door. Your oldest was holding folded quilts and a straw picnic basket, and the youngest was with an armful of toys. You tried to help carry supplies, plastic wrapped food, drinks, anything you all needed. But Adler was quick to stop you. You both agreed to let you at least hold the picnic basket. While your oldest helped Adler with packing the cooler. 

You shielded your eyes from the sun outside, a burst of white light that blinded you as you stepped out of the house. The day was warm and mellow with a cool breeze like a soft sigh. It made your sundress flutter, a relief against your heated skin. You stared out at a suburban neighborhood full of large family homes, green lawns, and white picket fences – the all American Dream. It was almost nauseous, the manufactured appearance. People were out and about: walking dogs, mowing their lawns, sitting on their porches talking to each other as their kids played outside. You kept your eyes downcast, not wanting to garner any attention or be greeted by overly friendly neighbors. But you could feel their unsubtle eyes on you. 

In the driveway sat a vintage muscle car. Adler’s most prized possession, besides yourself. You headed to the sedan parked further down the driveway where your youngest child waited next to it, talking to a neighborhood kid riding their bike. Boasted about the picnic you were going to have. It wasn't long until your oldest appeared then Adler afterwards. A cooler in one hand, car keys and his iconic shades in the other; a portable radio tucked underneath one of his arms. It seemed Adler had the same idea as you, kept his gaze away and not making any eye contact with the neighbors. 

You sat in the passenger seat while the kids and him packed some stuff in the trunk. So quickly that it wasn’t surprising that an efficient man like Adler would teach your children to be as well. Before long, you were all on the road. Assured beforehand that the drive wasn’t too long. You stared out the window to the blurring shapes of the surroundings passing by. Music in your ear, filled the silence inside the car. A song that Adler particularly liked started and he turned the volume dial up. Gary Wright’s “Really Wanna Know You” played louder from the car speaker. He rested a hand on your knee, rubbing it soothingly. The other wrapped around the steering wheel. You took a peek at him from the passenger seat. The interior of the car reflected on his sunglasses. Noticed him mouthing the lyrics.

Adler pulled the car into a municipal park. Surprisingly vast and full of greenery — trees, shrubs, fields of long grass and plants. Picnic tables underneath the shades of towering pines and oaks. Benches were set along the sidewalks. Hiking trails that lead further in the park grounds. A playground was at the forefront of it, surrounded by a pit of play sand. Your children were restive, overly excited just by the sight of it. But were made to stay and help unload the car before they could go run off and play. With a nod from Adler, like missiles, they beelined straight to the playground. Adler carried the cooler, radio, and disposable dishes. You, on the other hand, had just the picnic basket in the crook of your elbow and the quilts. You followed Adler towards a picnic table across the way, in the shade of an overarching American basswood – a lush crown of heart-shaped leaves swayed with the subtle breeze. It was more private, situated just on the edge of the treeline yet it was still near eyesight of the playground. 

But you and your family weren’t the only ones there enjoying the nice weekend. People were there walking the trails. Other parents sat on the benches near the playground, other families on other benches. Kids in Various age ranges were also on the playground; running and tumbling in the grass. And your children made friends instantly. You kept a watchful eye on them, on others in your peripheral. Aware of the strangers, of any possible threat or hazard. All while Adler fiddled with his radio – pitches of high and low frequency static emitting with his tinkering. Until he grew annoyed, slamming a fist on top of it until it juddered with music. You scoffed at him, eyes still focused on your children on the playground, playing tag with other kids. 

“Ok?” Adler settled down next to you with a long, weary sigh.

You nodded at him, pulling your cardigan sweater over yourself and leaned closer. Knees touching, his body heat transferring into you. The radio was a nice thrum in the background as you enjoyed the sight and smell of the surrounding nature. It was a salve to your broken mind, a tortured heart. You both stared straight ahead towards the playground. 

“Are you mad?”  

Your question was softened, spoken as you exhaled an uneven breath. 

He was quiet for a moment.

“No.” Adler rubbed the underside of his jaw where the bruise blossomed. “I’m not mad, Bell.” 

You felt him relax next to you, shoulders dropping as he leaned his weight into you. There was nothing more to say. Nothing more for him or you to add. With that, a silence befell between you both, in each other’s company. Guilt and shame came and went, soon replaced by a stifling numbness. You focused externally instead. Adler next you, the soft breeze against your face. The tumbling of the canopy above you. Another one of Adler’s favorites playing from the crackly radio on the picnic table. The laughter of children in the park; yours amongst them. All of it; the pace of the world around you.

But such tranquility was only temporary as your children ran towards the picnic table. Out of breath and sweating, gulping down cold bottles of cola from the cooler. Before running off again like energetic puppies. It was a pattern. Going to play then coming back to get refreshments before returning to the playground again. By the third time, you expected them to be too tired to play anymore. But you underestimated their energy. The youngest tugged at your arm while the oldest did the same to Adler, wanting both of you to get up and join them. Adler was the first to give in, luckily for you. Letting the kids drag him up and away from the picnic table; his sunglasses handed to you for safekeeping. Though by the look Adler gave you as he was taken away, it was deliberate. Letting you have the time to rest and relax, saving you from their clutches. Although your kids definitely tried.

So you sat back and resumed your relaxation. Watched Adler play with the children, chasing them around as they screamed and laughed. A warm feeling spread throughout your body, a feeling you didn’t want to think too much about. One that was too bittersweet for you. Then a strange thought, a bewildering realization as you started to ponder more on it. Of your childhood. One that you didn’t remember, couldn’t remember. Even if you tried. It was a time lost to you. A blank space in the gray matter of your brain. To remember was to stare in murky water. At a muddled reflection. You wondered if you were the same as a young girl. A wild child without a care in the world. That drove your parents crazy. Or if you were a quiet child. Shy and sweet – your parent’s pride and joy.

Did you have siblings? Cousins and grandparents? Were they alive? Dead or excommunicated? Were you excommunicated? Did you even have a family? 

That query made you queasy, made you startled. 

What did you remember? 

Not very much. Always forgetful, always unstable. Always lost in your own head. Gathering the pieces of your shattered mind until your fingers bled. Putting them together to make a mosaic. A tattered paper collage that made a semblance of a begotten past. All you really knew was the here and now. All you knew was Adler and the bits and pieces of your long history together. Camaraderie, kinship; Enduring war together. Bled together. Fought together. Together , always together. Then a relationship beyond warfare. Beyond bloodshed and despair. A soul, once long lost and far forgotten. He was your world, your everything. The reason you were here breathing still. Still living, and still a part of a world that was so cruel and unforgiving. Despite all your reservations. 

Did Adler feel the same towards you? Were you his purpose now? His everything? Like he was to you? Did both of your children occupy the same space in his heart as you think it did yours? 

A man like him was not easily readable; reticent as he was. But his actions spoke volumes. From the picnic table underneath the span of the basswood, where you watched your family, there you felt it. An understanding between the uncertainty of past and the certainty of the present. Memories like sand between your fingers. No matter your identity crisis, memory issues or brain trauma, Adler was there. Now and always. Like he had been throughout your deployment together, during your clandestine operations. You were his shadow. His protégé. Two sides of the same coin. Eyes that always found each other in a battlefield. Always accounted for each other afterwards. Shared rations, shared canteens. The stench of cigarettes as you smoked side-by-side. A mutual respect. A symbiotic bond. 

It was always ever you two — Bell and Adler. Adler and Bell.

Always had been.

Even now as he and your children walked back to the picnic table as the afternoon sun came and went; giving way to the early hours of the evening. As the sky exploded in watercolors of yellow, orange and pink. You stood up, smiling. It was a small upturn of your mouth. A strange, unpracticed facial motion. But with such a sight as the man you held dear and both of your beautiful children together, you couldn’t help but want to smile. And snap out of your torment and conflicts. Even if it was only temporary, just for now. You approached Adler, the children at either side of you both. Hair out of place. His dark polo was drenched at the collar and underarms, khaki jeans stained from wet grass. And you couldn’t help the fleeting feeling of wanting to taste the salt of his skin. You shared a look with him, unspoken communication between you both. A wordless exchange just like on a battlefield.

You ushered all three of them to the picnic table. All exhausted, breathless, and sweaty. And unsurprisingly starving. You pulled all the plastic wrapped food from the cooler and the bags on the table. Setting up the family picnic, a simple one. But one nonetheless. Everyone was practically salivating as they watched you set it up. A platter of sandwiches, chips, potato salad, pasta salad, sliced seasonal fruit, deviled eggs, and lemonade. Cola and water in the cooler. And with your go ahead, all three immediately dug in; your children had to be corrected more than once from their table manners. Even you served yourself a plate of food. In the corner of your eye, the hint of a smile on Adler’s marred lips. Sparse for him just as it was for you. By the time you finished eating, so had everyone else. Even the peach cobbler, Adler’s favorite, remained untouched. A treat for later you imagined. 

Reinvigorated and re-energized by their meal, you and Adler watched in surprise as your children went to go play again. Most of the families there had left beforehand, but there were a few still there; the remaining children on the playground too.

Adler let out a sigh next to you, arms across his wide chest. “I’m getting too old for this.”

You leaned towards him, staring up from where you lay against his shoulder, and laughed. In the setting sun, he was a god to you. Hardened face dipped in half-shadow. The searing hue of the sunset highlighted the other side; scars, skin, and all. Made his eyes that much brighter, his hair like aureate silk. But at this angle, you also could see the years on him. Of his time on the field that whittled him down: a battle-hardened veteran, a calculated agent. A red-blooded American patriot through and through. Wrinkles and lines on the planes of his face, crow’s feet in the corner of his eyes. A slight grizzling in his golden mane as you brushed your fingers through it.

Still good looking as ever, still in shape.

Aged like a fine wine. 

“You’re practically dust, old man.”

A hearty chuckle rumbled through you, deep from within Adler’s chest. 

“Don’t get me started on you, kid .”

An old nickname that made you stare up at him and playfully glare at the side of his face. Your nose crinkled and face grimaced before huffing  and nestled back against him.

As the sun started to disappear in the horizon, in the shadow of dusk, you and Adler began to pack everything away and clean up. You called for your children, rounded them up while Adler put things in the car. Not even a few feet down the road, and the youngest and oldest were already asleep in the backseat. The ride home was pleasant, a companionable silence between you both, listening to the lowered radio. Cruising to the blues. Sunglasses perched on Adler’s face despite the dark. You found yourself starting to doze off, your head leaned against your arm on the car door. Until a hand on your shoulder shook you. You jumped a bit, blinked rapidly at the blurry face in front of you. 

“Bell, c’mon.” 

Rubbing at your eyes, you stretched a bit before getting out of the passenger seat. The youngest, still asleep, was slung over Adler’s shoulder while the oldest groggily slid out of the backseat. Tasked with putting away the food and drinks while Adler put your kids to bed, you grabbed the rest of the food and the cooler, leaving the rest of the stuff in the car to be put away tomorrow. The day had come and gone. Faster than you anticipated. The entirety of it weighed down on you. The strain of it held in your shoulders, in your neck. You opted to take a much needed shower. Hot water pelted against your body, washing yourself of the stress and weariness and down into the drain. 

The duration of your shower was longer than you thought. Making even Adler worried as he knocked on the bathroom door to make sure you were still breathing. By the time you got out, the entire bathroom was filled with steam. The humidity made you lightheaded. You expected Adler to already be in bed but you were surprised to find your bedroom empty and the bed untouched. You padded across the carpet, towel wrapped around your body towards your dresser. The curtains blew open with a sudden breeze, making you shiver. The balcony door was slightly ajar. Let in the night air inside and the smell of pungent smoke. You dressed yourself swiftly into just another nightgown and walked towards the balcony. There, leaning against the wood guardrail, was an outline of a tall, imposing figure. The flicker of a small ember where a lit cigarette rested between thick fingers. 

“Thought you wanted to quit?”

You joined the shadow on the balcony. Arms around yourself as you looked up at a dark night, the moon eclipsed by passing clouds. The flickering light of the cigarette reflected in his sepia lenses.

“Hm… I said that?”

You rubbed at your bare arms as a cold wind blew against your skin. Hair still damp, your nightgown was helpless against the chill. And you moved closer, seeking his body heat. “Something of the sort.”

Adler inhaled, the cigarette burning brighter with his deep intake. Then exhaled. 

“Can’t shake off old habits.”

You hummed at him, plucking the cigarette from his fingers just before he could take another hit of it. Adler turned to you, curious and interested. Watched you take a long drag. Saw your own reflection in his sunglass lens from the bedroom light behind you. Instantly, the addictive taste of nicotine filled your mouth, a rush of dopamine straight to the brain. You let out a soft sigh, smoke curling out of your lips. As you savored the taste of it on your tongue.

With an effortless motion, Adler retrieved the cigarette that was taken from him. And puffed at the end of it. “Thought I weaned you off of cigarettes.”

“You did. Doesn’t mean the cravings ever stop.”

He passed you the cigarette again. “Hm, guess so.”

You both stayed like that. The comfortable silence of the night. Smoking in each other’s company. Reminded you of the times in Vietnam after a long, hard day. Adler let you finish the rest of the cigarette, disappearing into the bedroom, wanting to take a shower to wash the day off too. Adler didn’t leave you much, having smoked most of the cigarette. But you weren’t picky, grateful for his scraps like a starved dog. When it was finished, you snubbed the rest of it against the railing. Uncaring for the stain of soot and ash on the white paint. Then discarded it in an ashtray on a coastal glass side table in the far corner. Where your potted plant sat on top next to it. Leaves yellowed and withering, but saved. But not by your nurturing care that was for certain. You realized that your revitalized plant had just been watered, by Adler no doubt. You went inside, locking the balcony door and nestled yourself into the bed covers. But you couldn’t fall asleep. Something in your chest prevented you, like the beat of your heart was too much for you to bear. Your mind was disquiet, running rampant. The older man was the centerfold of it all.

Adler didn’t take as long of a shower as you had. He walked out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist. Hair darkened from his shower and brushed back. His upper body was on full display in the glow of the table lamp, stray water droplets rolling down the expanse of his chest, down to his abdomen. Adler disappeared into the walk-in closet. Coming out a minute later, dressed in loose fitting pajama pants and a plain T-shirt. 

He flicked the lamp off, plunging the bedroom into sudden darkness. You felt the mattress dip as he got under the duvet and settled on his side of the bed. 

Adler wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer. You burrowed your face into his chest. Head tucked underneath his chin. The smell of his body wash and the fresh scent of detergent from his shirt filled your nose. Your body relaxed against him. Feeling him do the same against you. Your lips pressed to his cheek, a goodnight kiss he thought. Until your lips strayed to the bruise on his jaw then dipped down to his neck. Where you found his pulse, running your tongue against it slowly. Feeling it began to quicken underneath. His body tensed against yours. Arms tightened around you, fingers digging into your waist. 

“Go to sleep, Bell.”

A low, sleep-ridden voice said above you. It was a warning. A chastisement. A command he expected you to follow. But you were in no mood to listen, let alone close your eyes and go to sleep. You swallowed, moving away from Adler’s neck. Then back up to his face and ghosted your lips over Adler’s. He stirred, body still tensed, but laid unmoving. 

“ Bell .”

Another warning. Spoken like a growl right before the bite. But you were determined, undeterred.

Your hand went to his face, thumbing softly at his scars. “Adler.” 

He leaned into your touch. Stubbled and scarred cheek against the plush of your hand.

“ Please .” 

You didn’t need to ask twice. 

He was hesitant at first, worried. Fingers pressed into your skin, keeping a gap between you two. Warm breath fanned against your face. But you guided his head down to yours, brushing your lips together with his. It was a chaste kiss. Lips against each other for a fleeting moment before separating again. Where tongues just barely brushed, barely stroked into each other's mouth. Before you both braved another then another.  Until such restraint was forgotten in light of unbridled passion. A crash of mouths, a hungriness between you both. Blood rushed throughout your bodies. Hearts racing, heat rising. The hint of smoke on his tongue. 

Just as quickly, you both pulled away from each other. Panting, out of breath. Lips swollen. And all you and Adler could do was stare at each other. Wide-eyed and mouths agape. But the standstill didn’t last long. Adler was the first to close the gap again. Arms around your waist pulled you flush against him, your fingers in his hair. Lips locked to yours in a searing kiss. Siphoning the air from your lungs. You gasped for breath as Adler angled his head, pulling you into a deeper kiss. All tongue and teeth. His desperation matching your own.

You moved forward, Adler chasing after your lips when you pulled away. And quickly straddled him. His fingers dug into your hips, keeping you still. Dilated eyes met dilated eyes as you stared down at the older man from above. He was a mess underneath you already: hair disheveled, skin flushed, the rapid rise and fall of his chest under your palms. Marred lips bruised from the aggressiveness of you both. You couldn’t help but admire the beautiful sight below you. To have such a man like Adler at your mercy. Looking up at you so eagerly. So hungry for more. 

But  in your admiration you let your guard down. And Adler had full intention to take advantage of that. He shifted, quicker than you anticipated, and before you knew it you were on your back. Him over you, caging you against the mattress with his frame. A slight upturn of his lips at your surprised gasp before you were swallowed into another kiss – softer and slower this time. But just as devouring. You squirmed against his hold. Felt him shift again, a knee hooking underneath your leg and pushing it aside as he leaned forward, body pressed down onto you. 

Adler left your mouth, lips across your jaw before dipping down. Lips to the pulse underneath your jaw like you had done to him. His teeth tracing it as it throbbed against his tongue before he bit down – leaving the indentation of teeth in his wake. The morning came back to you, standing in front of the mirror. Watching Adler against your throat. You wished you could see him now like you did then, as he kissed down the column of your neck, tongue trailing all along your jugular. Nipping at your collarbone towards your chest. Nipples poking through the material of your nightgown. 

Hands at your hips that held you still hiked your nightgown up, bunching it at your abdomen before it is pulled over your head and tossed on the floor. Bared to him now. He admired you for a long moment, piercing gaze taking your nakedness in, all along your goosebumped skin. He pulled his shirt over his head. Then Adler pressed his lips between your breasts, ever slow and ever steady. Ignoring your whimpers, your impatience. Heeded his own need to savor you. To evince your worth. His mouth left a scorching path down your abdomen. All across the scars and marks that littered your body, new and old. To the recent bruises, scratches and cuts. On the florets of old gunshot wounds on your torso and midriff that still felt freshly healed and much too tender against Adler’s scarred lips and light stubble.

His head descended down, down, down . Your fingers threaded through his mane of hair, feeling his warm breath above your hips. Calloused hands against your thighs, the one he hooked with his leg was thrown over his shoulder. His body settled between your legs. Already so wet. His mouth kissed up the one over his shoulder. From your thigh all the way up to your ankle. Then back down in a trail of wet kisses. You watched, heavy-lidded, your eyes meeting Adler’s. As he buried his face between your spread legs. You choked a gasp, tugging at his hair. Your thighs wrapped around his head, hips automatically  bucked against his face. As Adler eased you open with his tongue slowly. Kissing, sucking, licking, lapping. Your hips lifted up from the bed, legs taunt, but he held you down. Using his arms wrapped around your waist to stop your squirming and the width of shoulders to pry your legs open even wider. 

Adler was merciless with his tongue. Swirling around the most sensitive part of you. Sending jolts of electricity shooting up your spine, right up to your foggy brain. Added onto the heated pressure that was building in your core. You were already making a mess, dripping down your thighs onto the sheets. Your breathing only grew more uneven, more quicker. Chokes and moans fell from your lips, encouraging the man between your legs. Adler leaned on his side, moving an arm from underneath your waist only to go back and resume to his assail on you. He pressed a thick digit into you slowly, between the lapping of his tongue. Until he was up to the knuckle. Though you moaned at the feeling, you wished he filled you with something else. Adler pumped the finger into you, curling it against your tight, slick walls. Then, after a few moments, added a second. His fingers were calloused but clever. It didn’t take long before you were keening off the bed. Mouth agape, hands clenched around the sheets, hearing the sounds Adler was making between your legs. You were already close, right at the summit. But it wasn’t surprising, adroit and ambidextrous as he was. 

Your fingers shot to his hair again, pulling as the pressure in your core grew more and more. Your thighs squeezed against his head, legs shaking, hips rolling against the movements of his tongue and pumping of his fingers into you. But Adler didn’t relent. He was never a man who could. You were close. So, so, so close. Right on the edge, fire coaxed underneath your skin. Heart bursting, tears pricking the corner of your eyes. Focused solely on the pleasure Adler was giving you. You begged and pleaded, sighed his name in broken breaths. Russell, Russell, Russell. Until your breathing stuttered, breathless as you began to quiver. Like the snap of string, the unspooling of thread, your orgasm crashed over you. Hard and unexpected. Pulled you down underneath the depths, slamming you against the ocean floor. 

Mouth opened in a silent cry, body rose, hips rolling, fluttering around Adler’s fingers, tears rolling down your cheeks as Adler talked you through it. All the emotions, all your pain and suffering, all your fears and insensibility surged forward. A hurricane of mixed, conflicted feelings. Then all at once, it was gone. And you felt… you felt. You didn’t feel much of anything. You didn’t know what to feel. At peace? Unburdened? In limbo? It wasn’t numbness or detachment. But something you couldn’t quite name nor explain. In its wake, as you came down from your orgasm, all you could do was stare up at the ceiling, trying to catch your breath. Tears were still falling from your eyes from an unknown cause. Hands intertwined with yours, grounded you as you laid there motionless. 

Carefully, Adler moved away from between your legs, kissing lazily against your salty skin. Up to your collarbone and neck, then a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. He laid beside you, not holding you, but there just so you could feel the tangibility of him. Of the warmth of him next to you. Skin against skin, heart beating in the ribcage next to yours. 

“Bell.”

Your name was whispered in the crook of your neck. Your hands intertwined with his once more. You blinked, shaking through the fog in your mind. Turned your head, eyes meeting Adler’s as he stared at you worriedly. His eyes still dilated, his face drenched with your wet slick. Watched him as he licked his lips. You leaned forward, kissing Adler again. Tasting yourself on his lips. His hand cupped your jaw, deepening the kiss. He pulled away from you, kissing away the tear streaks on your face. Your arms wrapped around his neck, tugging him closer until he hovered over you. Adler was tense again, searching your face.

But you wasted no time, fingers following along his happy trail, tugging at the waistline of his pajama pants. Adler was quick to get the message. Still hesitated, still worried that it was too much for you. Convinced only by your gentle kiss and your pleading eyes. He helped you tug away his clothing, relieving the tightness there. He was rock hard; heavy, ruddy, and curved. You couldn’t help but ogle, licking your lips. Wanted to run your tongue on the underside of it, along a thick vein. Reciprocating, giving him the same pleasure he gave you. But you were both too eager. Your arms were still thrown over his neck, keeping him still as Adler settled between your legs again. Wished he would hurry up already. But the man had other plans. Osculated along the inside of your thigh again, all the way up to your ankle like before. 

“Adler.” Your voice was hoarse, growing frustrated at his delay. 

He ignored you however, still taking his sweet time. Sucking on the skin until he left welts and marks all over. Then did the same to your other thigh. Only stopped when he was satisfied. You pulled him closer, feeling him finally prod against you. Adler hissed low and you winced as he entered you. Still oversensitive, still overwhelmed. Still unused to the size of him. He pressed himself into you leisurely — inch by inch. Much too tight to take him in all at once, but you took as much of him as you could. 

Adler stopped, feeling you squeeze around him in a vice grip.

“Bell.” He hissed through his teeth, “I need you to relax for me.”

You heard the strain in his velvet voice, felt the tensity of him above you. You took a slow breath, trying to get your body to relax. It worked somewhat, Adler eased up. But you could feel him throb inside you. Surprised by his restraint. He searched your face. Pulled out of you carefully, then drew his muscular thighs closer for leverage and sunk his fists into the mattress on either side of your head. Your hands on his shoulders gripped tight as Adler enfolded over you. A measured thrust and you both threw your heads back. He rocked his hips slowly, grunting as you clung to him. Legs wrapped around his hips, whimpering and keening. His face in the crook of your neck. Teeth on the underside of your jaw. His pacing was relentless, persistent. Not too slow, not too fast, but steady. Unwavering, as he fucked you into the mattress. But you wanted more. You wanted his brutality, that calculated violence. The agony and misery. You wanted him to ruin you. 

He already had. 

You were in a muddled state already. Cried out his name as Adler sunk deeper into you. Having been fucked wider to take all of him now. A hum of approval low in Adler’s throat, pleased by how well you took him. Like you were made for him. And only for him. Falling on his forearms, his body pressed on top of you. Flattened by his weight, caged by him. Large, calloused hand over your mouth, to muffle the noises you made; cries, whines and moans. His other ventured down, between your legs, where you were both connected. Felt him cup you, deft fingers rubbed against you. You tugged at his hair, sweat sheening on you both. Adler growled in your ear as you constricted around him again, writhing underneath him. Overstimulated. Your eyes closed shut. It was too much, it was all too much. 

Adler panted above you, jaw clenched. Your name spat through clenched teeth. But you were too lost in the feeling of him pistoning in and out of you, your toes curling, breathing unstable. Bed frame wobbling under you both. Adler removed the hand from your mouth, shot out to the headboard. His other hand left from between your legs, grabbing your jaw. Pulled it forward to face him, forcing you to open your eyes and meet his own. Your mouth opened wide, wanting to cry out. But Adler shoved his fingers into your mouth. Fingers glistened from your sticky slick, curling inside your cheek. Making you taste yourself again. You wrapped your lips around his fingers, sucking them clean. The only sounds you could make now was incoherent babbling. As Russian filth was whispered in your ear. 

Close. You were both so close. 

Together, always together.

Adler pulled his fingers from your mouth, throwing your legs over his wide shoulders. Placed his hands on your hips in a bruising grip; knew it would leave prints afterwards. He was even deeper now that you thought possible. Still kept that steady pace of his. You pulled him into a messy kiss; all tongue and swollen lips. As the foundation of your orgasm grew stronger and more powerful. You broke the kiss as you felt it building higher and higher. Ready to all come crashing down. Adler could feel it too by the way 

you tightened around him. It only encouraged him. His pace grew faster, enough to make you arch up from the bed. Your nails clawed at his back. Mouth agape in a silent scream. Then it crashed over you. Harder than your first. More violent and intense. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head. You fluttered around Adler, gushing over both your thighs. And it wasn’t long before he followed suit. A guttural groan deep from within his chest and a hard thrust into you. Then another and another, rocking your body forward, making the headboard slam the plaster. As he spilled himself inside you. Groaning and growling, his head thrown back. Exposing the column of his throat and the bites you left there.

“Fuck. FUCK.” 

Then a few final thrusts and he collapsed on top of you. Panting, kissing along your neck. As you both came back down like falling feathers. You both laid there like that, in each other’s arms. Trying to catch your breath. Eventually, Adler rolled off of you, pulling himself out as you winced. You could feel him start to spill out of you already, mixing with your slick on your thighs. You had the mind to take your fingers and push it back inside you where it belonged, and by the way Adler watched in deep thought, he shared the same idea. But instead, the older man grabbed his discarded shirt from the floor and cleaned you up. Tossing it away when he was done. Adler pulled you close, your head to his sweaty chest as you let out a drawled out sigh. Ear to his rapid heartbeat, cheek nuzzling against his coiled chest hair. His arms wrapped around you, his legs intertwined with yours. Skin against skin, souls bared to each other. 

“Sleep, Bell.” 

His hands rubbed at your back softly. As he kissed your forehead and let out a deep sigh. Already falling asleep. Your eyes felt heavy. You were exhausted and satisfied. You were starting to ache everywhere; knew that you would feel it all in the morning. Adler fell asleep before you, soft snoring into your hair. His deep breathing lulled you. And for once, sleep came to you easily… 

And yet…

Yet…

Something wasn’t right.

Even in the embrace of sleep, just on the verge of consciousness, you could tell. Cold, uncomfortable. Unbearable even, and… unsafe. It made you stir, shifting against the confines of something that held you close. Too close. Restrictive, digging deep into your skin. Suffocated you. Drowning, you were drowning again. Being dragged down underneath dark torrents. But there was no sudden violence to save you, no inner animalistic urge to weaponize. You were pacified, a limp body lost in the depths. A corpse sinking to the endless bottom. 

You couldn’t fight. Couldn’t fight hard, couldn’t fight strong or desperately. Nothing was enough to free yourself, nothing would ever be. You were a deadweight, a stone thrown into a lake. Free falling into the deep, dark depths below. Light above you, fading away from you. Everything in you, ached for oxygen. Your lungs burned, nostrils flared – choking for air. Pressure built into your chest like wet concrete. You opened your mouth to scream, but your cries were silenced by the water, your mouth filling with it. Frantic releases of breath left an effervesced trail as you sunk. Down, down. Further and further. Buried in a watery grave, pressurized and all consuming. Death was slow. Your death was inevitable like grave soil being thrown over your coffin. There was no more fighting the throes of inevitable death. No screaming and no mercy.

Your sight blackened until all you saw was red. Red, red, red . The color of wounds, the color of bloodsport. The color of hellfire. Then you heard it. A symphony of sounds, an echo like a whale song. Cacophonous and jarring. It reverberated in your bones and repeated in your head. An evocation that you began to understand, to recognize. It called to you, spoke a name. ‘Bell, Bell, Bell’   it said, repeating over and over like a mantra. From a voice that you knew wholeheartedly, deep down in the intertwisted threads of the tapestry of soul, bones and flesh. An echo, a whisper in the nothingness. 

“Bell, we've got a job to do.”

We’ve got a job to do. 

We’ve got a job to do. 

W̸̡̾e̸̙̽’̷̮̅v̷͎͝ë̶̥́ ̸̳̈́g̸̓ͅō̸͎t̶͎͆ ̷͚͘a̵͍̔ ̴̘̈j̵̦̈́o̴̮̊b̵̥́ ̸̖́t̶̢̓o̵͔͌ ̴̢̀d̵̻̕o̵̲̎.̸̞͝

A trip down memory lane. A series of memories: the smell of napalm and gunpowder. Sweat stinging the eyes, the taste of blood and mud in the mouth. Mazes of wire and explosives. Booby traps, land mines. VC rats scurrying in escape tunnels. The flash of the muzzles. The clink of bloodstained dog tags as they were yanked off of dead soldiers. Shadows between the trees; VietCong hiding in plain sight. Gunfire, a helicopter crash. Burning remnants of it stuck in a canopy. Thrown in a firefight in a paddy field. A voice, a narrator to the palimpsest of your own narrative. A tour guide through your own head; the devil on your shoulder. Old ruins, a fork in the road. Across a river, a rope bridge. A tunnel. A burning village. Then a red door. Always one at the end. You cannot escape it.  

You walked through the door. A bright light blinded your sight. The sounds of a tropical jungle, palm leaves and elephant grass brushed against your skin. An oppressing heat. A long, white hallway that stretched on and on. Miles upon miles upon miles. Imperceivable, indeterminate. An endless iteration, a feedback loop. White walls and one way windows. Lab rooms full of medical equipment, surgical tools, projectors, and flickering television screens. 

Purgatory . 

White noise in your ears. In the distance, a bell swings. But there’s no ring.

Your surroundings started to crumble, decaying right in front of you. The walls cracked, the foundation split. The windows shattered. Falling, it was all collapsing in, from the ceiling to the floor. And all onto you. You sprinted through, running down the deteriorating hallway endlessly. A voice in your head again; another red door in front of your face. Through it again as always. And there in the middle of endless darkness was a long metal table. You knew what to do even with a broken mind; took a seat at the head of the table. Right where you knew you belonged. Faces, faces all around. Other people in the room, sitting around the table too. And a towering man with silver, slicked back hair and a thick mustache. He looked at you, talked to you in an accented voice that sounded far too familiar. Too familial . He said a name, your true name; Your real name. One you had long forgotten. You blinked at him as the man spoke, words like a distant echo. It reverberated in your head. Resurfaced memories. Of a plan. One you helped contrive.

‘Nukes. Europe. Detonation. Safety of Solovetsky.’

Solovetsky .

From the safety of Solovetsky.

Something reached for you, someone. You started to wake. Your body ached all over. Your left eye throbbed. Your sight burned – white, white. Too bright. Bright lights above you. Bleary-eyed; eyes seeing and unseeing, like a camera lens trying to find focus. Your surroundings were nothing but a blur. A warbling in waterlogged ears, a chorus of inharmonious noise. 

Sepia shades in the dark, a looming figure crept out from the shadows.  

“Bell, no more fucking around.”

You tried to sit up. But you’re restrained to a metal gurney. Forced to lay down on your back. There was relief there, seeing Adler. Affection and admiration, relief. Underneath all your confusion, all your dubiety. The fogginess in your head, the conflicting emotions that bubbled in the cauldron of your sensibility. He wasn’t alone in the dark room. But your eyes always looked to him. Only him. Pinpointed him wherever and whenever. Adler grabbed you roughly, a hard grip on a tactile vest you were wearing. Forced your upper body up from the gurney, the thick strap around your chest that held you down, cut into your ribs and stomach.

“What did Perseus say? Where is he?”

You stared at Adler. It was all you could do. Alarm sirens in your head at the way he looked down at you, acted towards you. Like you were nothing to him. There was no subtle softness on the rough features of his face. No crinkling of his crow’s feet in the corner of his eyes as he looked down at you. You weren’t in the bedroom like you expected, sunlight streaming through the curtains. Wrapped in his embrace, your children sleeping in. 

Children. 

Where are your children at?

Your gaze darted around, eyes bulging with a sudden panic. But all you saw was Adler. Your tongue was like lead, heavy and stuck to the roof of your mouth. Your jaw ached like you’ve been grinding your molars together. Despite it, you tried to speak. Throat dry and scratchy. 

Where are your children? Are they safe? Where are you? 

Who are you, really?

Disoriented, Adler assured you. You were just disorientated. Help is what you needed. But it wasn’t just your own, Adler needed it as well. An exchange, you both needed to help each other. 

Bullshit. It was all bullshit. 

Adler wasn’t pleased with you. 

“‘Bullshit’ is what your whole life will amount to if you don’t come clean. Tell us where Perseus is!”

Adler was unrecognizable in that moment, not the man you remembered. One you held dear to your heart. This wasn’t him, was it? This wasn’t the Adler you knew and cherished. He wouldn't subject you to this. Adler would never do this. Wouldn’t he? This man wore his face, spoke his words. But he wasn’t Adler. You blinked up at him, this wasn’t real. He wasn’t real. You tested the restraints, feeling how they cut into the circulation of your wrists and ankles. And his grip on you only tightened, fist flexed around the rough textile of your tactile vest. Your head throbbed. You felt your chest tighten with the constricting compression of pain. Emotional turmoil churned inside you. This fake Adler, this impersonator was the cause of your pain, of your suffering. The puppeteer behind the scenes. A conjuring of your worst fears. 

What did this man do to you? 

“We gave you a second chance when you were shit out of luck. Now we just want some assistance in return.”

He dropped you with a harsh push, and you fell back onto the gurney. A second chance. Tit for tat; quid pro quo. Someone held up a blue folder; a dossier soiled with a dried bloody handprint. 

Then you remembered. Remembered it all. 

A quick succession of memory; Betrayed. Bleeding out in the back of your hummer on an airfield. Blood stained dossier in your lap. Melting metal and burning rubber – a gas leak. The wreckage of a plane on fire in the far distance. Dying, you were dying. Left for dead. But these people, this man with the face of Adler. They’re perfidious. Manipulating you, you were nothing but entertainment to them. Like picking a scab and watching it bleed over and over again. 

Lying. He’s lying. He put all that shit in your head. 

“The CIA reinvented you, Bell.”

Reinvented you; built you back up. Fragments of your consciousness, stained-glass windows. Shards of you too sharp to fully put back together. You were just a golden joinery of flesh and bone. Nothing but haphazardly put-together. A shell of a person. A conflict of your own self. Memories that weren’t your own stuffed in your damaged brain. Menticide, MK-Ultra. A fabrication, a falsification. Of identity, of background, of bonds. They used you and your expertise. Used you for their own bidding. Adler used you, pretended your ties together.

But this was all a trick. It was all in your head, a torment specified for you. Your children were real, they were safe back home. And this man, he wasn’t truly Adler; Adler would never do such a thing to you. You've been through so much together, done so much together. 

Together, always together. 

It was a macabre joke, all a sadistic game. They were toying with you.

These people were sick. Sick in the head, more than you.

“Are your hands clean, Bell?”

Were they clean? Cleansed of wrongdoings like Adler said? Weren’t you a sinner, just like them? 

Purgatory. 

This was purgatory. Consequences, punishment. What you deserved for sins that stained your soul. For a past, a personhood you cannot remember. A false identity given and granted by them, for you. A trick, a false reassurance. Integration, interrogation. Interrogated? You were interrogated? No, it was a confessional. An admission. One you fought, one you refused. You weren’t a sinner like them. Like they claimed you were. Purgatory. 

This purgatory was all in your head. A delusion. 

Fuck this. Fuck them. 

“I don’t think so. You’re still holding back on us, and we are going it out of you.”

Again, ‘Adler’ seized hold of you. Hand curled into a fist around your tactical vest. With the other the older man grabbed your jaw, rough fingers digging into your skin. He forced your head to the side. Face-to-face with him now. 

He leaned down closer.

“We have a job to do.” 

Your brain went blank, something within you triggered. Like a switch. Enchanted, hypnotized, mesmerized. Stuck in a trance. You instantly relaxed. Eyes to those behind his shades. Waited for his direction, for his command. A dog at his heel. 

He released you slowly, stepping back from you.

“The trigger phrase kept you in line but it didn’t give us everything we needed. Your innermost secrets were always locked behind a door.”

The red door. Always an obstacle in your way. A gateway through the labyrinthine corridors of a shattered psyche, the ruins of broken mind. For which all paths converged and led back to him. Back to Adler. Like a northern star; a flame in the dark. He was always the one to reel you in, to ground you. A planet caught in his gravity.  But this trick, this manipulation tactic was not untrue. This brutal man that stood over you was not a figment of your imagination, no matter how much you blinked.  Nor was he a trickster or an impersonator. This man was Adler. And what you both had… your complicated and complex relationship. It was never real. None of it was. Your past together, even your future together. Your children… none of it was real. Pain deep in your chest, coiling around your heart like thorn vines. The mother inside wailed and sobbed, grieving for what you never had in the first place.

You watched him as he talked on. Words he was saying to you, seeped into your head. You probably hate them right now, he said. Hate, you should hate. It was the only understanding you needed; nothing of the stakes, of a threat of nuclear fallout, of the death of millions off the face of the earth. A realization. One that you couldn’t fully heal from. A pain that broke your rhythm. A flow of agonizing hurt washed over you, a remembrance of a ghostly past and a once tangible future. This was purgatory. Not one manifested by your woes and fears, or created by your own head or designed for you. It was a byproduct, a fact of life. To live, was to suffer. To suffer, was to live.

It had all been a dream, a fantasy. Hopeful wishing in light of your suffering. The only source of strength and hope you could cling onto. You shared no life with him. No allegiance, or connection. You didn’t know him, not truly. He was not your safety, not the gravity keeping you on your feet. Your world crumbled, unfurling at the seams. Between the subtle shading and the absence of light laid the nuance of illusion. Of the lie fed to you, of the life spun for you, of the personhood falsified unto you. You should loathe him, you should fear him. You shouldn’t trust the man in front of you. You knew it all as true. 

“This is your chance to define who you really are, Bell.”

But love and hate had always tasted the same to you. 

Remember?

“Where is Perseus?” Adler asked you, expectantly. 

The voice of that tall silver-haired man in that dark room, in your ear once more. Whisperings in your head. Truth on the tip of your tongue.

From the safety of Solovetsky.

….Solovetsky.

“Solovetsky. It’s the Solovetsky Monastery.” You told him. 

Adler repeated the word.  “Solovetsky.” 

He sent whoever was there out of the room, appointed tasks in preparation for what’s to come. You watched as he untied your restraints around your wrists and legs. Undid the one around your chest. Without hesitation. 

“You made the right choice, Bell.”

Truly? Had you truly chosen correctly?

Adler clasped your hand, helped you up from the gurney. The heat of his palm seeping through your fingerless gloves. The hand on your shoulder, steadied you as you stood on wobbly legs. 

“You’re still one of us.”

One of us. 

It was bittersweet beneath it all. 

All the conflicting emotions, the pain and fear, the grieving for a life you never shared together. The memories that weren’t yours, but Adler’s. In that, you at least shared. But despite it all. You did what you always had done. Even now. You put your trust in him. Followed him dutifully. Heeded his words. It was all you knew. All you knew how to do. Whether it was implanted into you or learned over time. His ambition, his will; your purpose. A fatal flaw. Following him to the ends of the world, to hell on earth by his side. As the cards of fate were shuffled and played. 

Even now after the all-out assault on Solovetsky, the foiling of Perseus' plan. You were found and rescued from underneath all the debris: rubble, concrete and metal sheets. Rebars stuck out of the remnants of the monastery like broken bones. Voices on the other side. A figure between the dust and smoke, fires burning around you. Adler appeared in front of you, and you couldn’t help the sigh of relief at the sight of him. He extended an arm out to you there on the ground. 

“Take my hand, Bell.” He said.

And you did.

Reached out for him. Let him pull you back on your feet as you steadied yourself. Listened to his triumphant speech afterwards. Of the evil you helped stop. Without your knowledge at first, then with it afterwards. 

“This is how wars are won, Bell.”

You couldn’t help the chill that ran down your spinal cord as he spoke directly to you. Goosebumps rose. Felt like ants marching one by one, up and down your skin. It was a declaration of devotion. Not to you, never to you. But to his country. For the safekeeping and welfare of the Western world and its idealisms. You were nothing but a means to an end. A stepping stone in the cobble path. Just another pawn on the chess board sacrificed for the checkmate. The early morning broke through the clouds of smoke. The fires still burned bright against the waning dusk, even throughout the incoming dawn. Soon the leeching light of the fires was but a memory. Fleeced clouds roamed through the pastorals of a calm sky, subsiding away, and freeing the sun from its subjugation. The sun rose, blooming against an azure sky, unfurling its golden tendrils, to bare its fierce face once again. Apprehension prickled along the back of your neck, the hairs there stood at end. You couldn’t shake off the feeling and that fight or flight instinct was becoming very hard to ignore. 

Yet, you still followed right behind Adler as he led you up a hill. Towards a cliff that overlooked the Arctic sea. He was a few paces ahead but still looked back towards you to make sure you were still following. As if you would bolt in a split second when he turned his back and wasn’t looking. The smell of brine became stronger as you reached the top of the cliff. Carried on the cold winds, the exhale of wintry dread. Of death’s call. The taste of salt was a sharp bitterness on your tongue, making your mouth prune and your thirst more fierce. You watched him take a deep breath through his nose, inhaling the cool scent of the sea. Adler leaned a leg on top of a rock and peered over the edge. He lit up a cigarette, taking a drag of it, and stared out to the sea. 

You stood only a couple feet away, just observing him. Wallowed in uncertainty, in the unknown. In the aftermath of the truth revealed. The dealer’s hand had already been dealt, but you didn’t know what it read. What it entailed when it came to you. The roar of crashing waves battered against the jagged rock of the cliffside in your ears. Filled the silence between you both. But it wasn’t enough to drown the endless stream of thoughts in your headspace. 

Adler turned towards you. Cool and impassive. Wholly inscrutable to you. 

“Arctic air. Clears the head, doesn’t it.”

An ice breaker, something to cut through the tension between you both. Then came his praise, and something inside fawned at his words. A simple acknowledgement that was everything to you. 

“I just want you to know that this little thing that’s happened with you and me. It was always for the greater good.”

Adler flicked his cigarette away. Your eyes watched him waste it, as it fell down into the sea. More praise from him. You were a hero, he told you. That dreaded nickname tumbling from his lips again. Kid . More talk about being a hero. Heroism, sacrifice. Sacrifice of the self, of others. Sacrifice. You were the sacrificial lamb, another pawn on the chess board sacrificed for the checkmate. For the greater good. Why would it turn out any different? You served your purpose. You were no longer useful. 

It would always end this way, with your death at the very culmination. You were just another loose end that needed to be dealt with. 

“... it was never personal.” 

You habitually wobbled on the precipice of life and death. Between luck of the draw and the short end of the stick. Firm-footed at its edge at the very last second. Death had been elusive to you once. A mercy neither given nor received. But now, you saw the margins of error permitted in between. You barely felt the bullet as it struck through your chest. Scarlet bloomed beneath your fingertips, stained your skin like overripe raspberries. Shedding liquid dripped onto the ground in splatters. A contrast of color that was vibrant against the mellow pigmentation. There it burgeoned under the sun, roses and scarlet sage. Sarcodes and carnations. Bouquets and garlands, a gathering of plucked lifeblood. Your knees buckled as your body went slack and you collapsed to the ground. Clutching at your lower chest, you grimaced at the excruciating pain of a deep-seeded wound. The bitter taste of a sob was on your tongue. But you swallowed it down, let it simmer out as the coppery taste overpowered both the bitterness and the saltiness in your mouth. 

You could only lie there on the dirt, bleeding and exhausted. Supine in your own pool of blood, your eyes to the sky. Watched the seagulls glide in and out of your vision carried by the oceanic winds and the clouds floating above you. Blood swarmed in your mouth. Your respiration stuttered, uneven and wheezing with every breath rattling your ribcage. Dirt and gravel shifted as heavy footsteps approached you, stopping inches away from where you lay. You turned your head, letting it loll to the side. Wanting to look out to the horizon in the distance. The boots in front of your face moved. Feet planted next to your head instead, giving you a clear view of the sight over the cliffside. He was quiet as he stood next to you, looking out the horizon like you were. But you felt his eyes glance down at you every so often. Waiting for your last breath. 

There was a strange comfort there with him by your side. As a bedside presence, as company as death creeped in. Nobody wanted to die all alone. And at least a man such as Adler had the decency to stay. But underneath the solace, there was a hard truth. The realization that he only wanted to make sure that you died. That all loose ends were gone. 

You knew as well as he did that death would eventually come. He had aimed for a quick kill, a merciless end to not prolong your suffering. But your fast draw of your pistol from your side as you mirrored his action. Moved just slightly with your unholster as you stared down each other’s gun barrels. But it was enough for him to miss his mark. Only for the shot to hit your chest instead of your head where Adler initially aimed. Now you would suffer, your own doing you supposed. Self-afflicted in a last ditch effort to live. Or rather take him down with you. Together, to the depths of hell. Tit for tat; quid pro quo. 

The sound of metal clicking above you of an adjustment of a pistol. You took as much of a stable breath as you could, expecting another gunshot to come. To quicken your death, take you out of your misery like putting down a dog. All to finish what was already started. But no shot rang out, instead the pistol was holstered to his side and buckled around his thigh. You were not worth the waste of another bullet it seemed. You felt his eyes stray from the horizon, down to you. You heard him let out a deep, weary sigh. After your bloodied coughs sent blood droplets onto the ground next to his boots. Your chest heaved and you gasped out aloud for air, like you were being submerged. Head pushed underneath the frothy surface. Drowning in your own blood. Your body had accepted death, but your soul refused to rest; psychosomatic prodromes. A restlessness that couldn’t be overcome.

Fighting still, even in your death throes. 

“Sleep, Bell.” 

A whisper on the wind, a ghostly graze along your cheek of a feigned loving touch. One last command, one last instruction. 

Whether you knew it or not, unconsciously or consciously, you heeded those words. Your eyes fluttered close like butterfly wings as you started to go limp, letting go of it all. The horizon began to fade in your blurring sight. And soon after, you lost all feeling. The cold winds against your skin, the sounds of lapping waves and the taste of brine and blood  — they were nothing to you now. Clutched in the cold grip of death. Where a frostbite numbness overcame you like you were plunged in a tub of ice. Doused in freezing water. Senseless and insensible. Capitulated. Your life was beyond you now. Below, where the cliffside stretched down towards the sea. To the ebb and flow of turbulent waters.

Blue. Dark blue. 

The color of Adler’s eyes. One of his favorite genres that played on the radio. The complexion of a corpse. The quadrangle that held fifty stars on the national flag. The color of solitude so cold. The expanse of water as it swallowed you whole. Body tossed over the edge, lost to the sea. Paths intertwined now to be untangled for good.

Here, on this heroic day, you dreamed a dream. 

In your brain’s oscillations of replayed memories, a last recall of life events just before death.Of a life not merited. Of a life lost to you. One that was never yours to take. You lived a false life in a world that was falser still. Enraptured by the being of your damaged brain. Deluded, deceived. How it comforted you with vivid illusions of the intangible of your own life in the haziness of hoary dreamscapes. Influenced by your capture, shaped by the man you should loathe. But instead who you found comfort in. You only made it easier for them to erase you, for him to manipulate you. The beginning and the end; the end to your beginning. 

The ‘what-ifs’ and ‘should-haves’ all but questions gone unanswered. A mirage in a desert, right before reality set in when you looked too close, got too close. The sounds of your children laughing, their arms around your waist. Clinging, attached to the hip. Their cries to you when they had nightmares. And your consolation afterwards. Adler in the doorway. Watching, always watching you. Sharp eyes that found yours. In the gap of the evidence board when you were out of line of sight. He kept you close. Right under his thumb. The feel of Adler next to you, on you, inside you. Flesh to flesh, skin on skin. Lips to yours. Scars shown, souls bared. Fates so intertwined, so interlaced with each other, that neither of you knew where you ended and he began. But such deep ties needed to be severed. For his own good more than yours. 

And here, on such a heroic day, the complexity of the mind was incomparable to the simplicity of the heart. 

Beloathed, behated, betrayed, yet still beloved; dearly in life as in death. Heartbroken, heartsick. Disheartened. A heart that beat against contused ribs. Flames of love buried beneath ash and cinder which laid still your tender heart. But there were no asphodel fields to bury you. No tombs to house your remains. You had no headstone, no eulogy, no mourners to mourn you. No church bells in the distance. Only you, to mourn and grieve for what you never had. You would be the unspoken, the redaction. Another lost and forgotten file in the archives. No one would ever know. You would never be known or remembered. Removed from all historical accounts. Blacked out, scratched out of the records.

To Adler, you were a temporary asset. To Perseus, you were a traitorous rat. And to you? Who were you in the eyes of yourself? You thought you knew once. Even when your memories were but sand grains in the cusp of your palms. Although you felt more ghost than human, watching as the world went on without you. You were nothing but an echo of a heartbeat from a long dead heart. Where life was not for you. Never was for you. Such life was beyond you now. Where the planes of reality and dreams had collided. You were never anything more than what you needed to be. What you needed yourself to believe yourself to be. For such a life, for a family. For Adler by your side, was only conjured by a midst of madness. A madness you had thought another found beautiful. But it only made you a liability. Your brain trauma, your memory loss, your identity crisis; it was the only guarantees you knew about yourself. A byproduct of a supposed life of soldiering and espionage. Self-sacrifice. The same thing that Adler drilled into your head. It had always been for the greater good. He prepared you for this. For your eventual end. So here, it was reaped and sowed. 

Here, on this heroic day, there remained only a revered silence. 

For a dead dreamer and a sullied dream. 

----------------------------------

A/N:

Critique welcomed and encouraged as long as it is constructive and polite (don't be rude/mean pretty please ◡̈ ).

[deityoftherain]

redhot anger - Snowbugs Wild Life Session Three Fanfic

there are wild life session three spoilers because it takes place then

Rating: Gen

Relationship: M/M

Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Status: Completed Oneshot

Word Count: 2,028

Summary: It's Wild Life Session Three, and Tango is (rightfully) frustrated, stressed, annoyed, and angry- everything was going wrong and he could only contain himself, his emotions, his /fire/, for so long before everything boiled over... luckily, Scott is there to help (takes place around the time Tango is GRAJFHDSJKHFSDJ-ing as his base burns)

Full fanfic underneath the cut! Please reblog, leave kudos on the AO3 fic slash notes/likes here on Tumblr, comment either place, and etc if you enjoy the story :D

Tango saw red.

He did! Promise!

And Tango didn’t mean that he saw red in the metaphorical way, like people often claim to when they are very angry, though, well– he supposed that interpretation wasn’t necessarily wrong either, but still! He was furious and stressed, and he was having to pierce his tongue with his fanged teeth to bite back the long string of swears threatening to escape his lips. 

Ugh, why did Grian insist that they attempt to stay PG while playing a death game?

He knew the answer, but that didn’t mean he cared for it, but Tango tried his best to not argue and abide by them anyway. It was a small price to pay to be included.

Tango was a blazeborn, and because of his heritage, his vision literally became tinted with red the more extreme his emotions became. Doc theorized that it was something related to how red his eyes were, but seeing how very few blazeborns even attempted to live a full life away from the nether and their birth Pyre, there was little information on them in the overworld, and the goat-creeper hybrid hadn’t gotten around to attempting in-depth research on blazeborn anatomy or culture before getting to know Tango.

Anger simmered violently in his stomach, threatening to boil over as he tried (and failed) to manage his stress and frustration. Everything seemed to be going wrong for him, and it was all piling up, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could tolerate it all! His hair grew in both size and temperature as he stalked away from his murder snail and complained about the actions of others. Even while actively moving and talking, it was difficult to think clearly, difficult to focus!

The extra energy and adrenaline that pumped through his veins were the result of territorial instincts every blaze had ingrained in their code, aiding them as they protected whatever they thought of as theirs. If Tango lived his life like most other blazeborns have the last who-knows-how-long, then perhaps he could have cultivated his fury to be a mighty asset to his Pyre, likely tasked to guard a nether fortress from invaders, but that life wasn’t for him. Tango knew that for a fact, and even if he wasn’t as sure, he doubted his old Pyre would welcome him back with open arms after functionally deserting them. 

Even if they would accept his return, Tango didn’t plan to crawl back to his old Pyre and prove them right, that he would regret leaving his home. There were times where he grew uncomfortably needy, desperate for a Pyre’s connection, but he’s learned to soothe himself by seeking out his friends. They were his Pyre now, even if he hadn’t expressed such a concept to them yet. They didn’t need to know the exact reason why he was suddenly clinging to anyone who would let him after emerging from working on redstone the past two weeks.

If the involuntary response had any uses for the life he led now, he didn’t know them. All Tango could see were downsides, his genetic coding maladapted to the world he was currently living in. Whenever his emotions got the best of him, he attempted to control himself, he really did, but it wasn’t like the fragility of the overworld could handle any margin of error like the nether could. Tango struggled often to tame the fire and bloodlust within him when every fiber of his being itched– screamed– to destroy, destroy, destroy!

Such an instinct may have been a strength to his ancestors, but it wasn’t to Tango, and he learned to despise this part of himself over the years. The willpower he had to gather in order to hold himself back– to prevent himself from becoming as hot as a dying star– was astronomical, and maintaining it was sickening. 

When Tango’s vision went red, he would make senseless choices and take irrational risks, but there wasn’t much he could do. It wasn’t like he had a say in the coding of his genetics! It wasn’t his fault that he was hardwired for a much warmer climate, one where he could let off steam when it got this bad without causing irreparable damage! It wasn’t–

Do it, a voice in the back of his mind tempted. Burn bright and fierce. Show them how dangerous you really are. Make them fear you, Tango! Don’t let them view you as weak.

Tango shook his head as if to physically dismiss the thought, trying to bring himself back into the moment. If his friends were speaking to him, he wasn’t registering a thing they said. He knew that he needed to calm down, but the quickest way was to burn off steam, but it was too risky, it was too much! Too much, too much, too much–

He could accidentally hurt someone, which may have been fine if he was permitted to kill, but he wasn’t a red name yet, and he couldn’t break the rules like that without consequences, and he didn’t want the others to hate him or kick him out of the game... Tango didn’t want to lose his friends, his Pyre! He had worked too hard to get to where he was just to let it all slip through his fingers like grains of sand!

Smoke and fumes billowed off of him, unable to prevent their existence any longer. The rational part of his mind ordered him to jump into the water, to extinguish himself before this whole section of the map looked more like a meteor landing site than a base, but his body refused to obey. His body seemed to move without him consciously aware of what he was doing, and he could hear himself talking, but he couldn’t make out what he or his friends were saying. Focus, Tek! Focus!

Tango had to stay calm– try to stay calm– the normal way, even as his body was trembling with the effort. Even as he jumped around the base he hadn’t even managed to finish before someone (cough, Scar) took a flint and steel to it, attempting to outrun Tangastrapod, his snailificatior of death! Even as various snarls, growls, and irritated cries spilled out of him…

Everything was just building, building, building, and he braced for his will and spirit to finally Snap! under the pressure, and, and– it never came. 

Instead, something pleasantly cold took Tango’s hand in their hold. The contrasting sensation seemed to snap Tango out of whatever funk he had entered, the red that flooded his senses clearing up as his consciousness was fully returned to his body. Tango blinked rapidly, encouraging his eyes to focus on the owner of the cold.

“It’s okay, Tango, just breathe,” Scott instructed serenely, tone even and touch soothing. “Big breath in, deep breath out, just like that. Good job, firefly, you’re doing great. Just like that, keep going, keep focusing on breathing and the sound of my voice.”

Tango did his best to match Scott’s exaggerated breathing, though he couldn't bring himself to maintain eye contact. As the blinding irritation eased, shame and self-consciousness took its place. Tango’s gaze fell to his right palm, the hand Scott was cradling gingerly.

Using his ice abilities, Scott traced designs made of ice on his up and down Tango’s arm. Because of Tango’s abnormally high body temperature, the ice designs didn’t last long, melting and then promptly turning into steam, but Scott didn’t complain. Instead, Scott simply acted as if the evaporated ice just gave him more of a canvas, replacing the designs as soon as the previous ones dissipated.

As Tango surrendered to the tranquil and pacifying nature of his boyfriend’s chilly touch, his emotions settled and his body temperature lowered enough for the flame on his head to shrink. Tango’s code prevented his fire from charring anyone or anything under a certain degree, which is part of what made his raging emotions so hazardous to those around him. 

The ice designs Scott created began to last longer, Scott’s magic able to hold itself together against Tango’s typical range of heat. This meant that Scott’s canvas wasn’t renewing itself as fast, but that didn’t deter him. Instead, Scott expanded his canvas, trailing the artistry from Tango’s arm over his shoulder to spread the ice to his chest and then down his other arm. 

Tango may have described it like a warm hug, but, well, it was quite the opposite, and it was fantabular, just so everyone was aware of that fact. He cracked a weak smile at the silliness of his mind, but it dropped after only a heartbeat of time as embarrassment took over as his primary emotion.

He slumped forward into his boyfriend, resting his forehead against Scott’s shoulder and sighing heavily. Scott wrapped his arms around him, pulling him closer to his chest. His boyfriend was so pleasantly cold that Tango wanted nothing more than to curl up in a comfortable bed and allow Scott to small spoon him, but that wasn’t an option right now… It wouldn’t be until the games were over. They were a part of different factions, and the session was still running, meaning they couldn’t stay still much longer or those stupid jerks would catch up, even though they seemed to have moved a decent bit away from their snails.

“Thank you,” Tango murmured, breaking the quiet peace sooner than he wanted, but he had already taken enough of Scott’s time. He knew it was important to Scott to play these games fair and by the rules, and the rules instructed against outside-the-game-earned favoritism, and Tango hadn’t done anything to earn Scott’s favor since Wild Life started. With how things have been going for him and his team, Tango was sure he’s done the opposite and he doubted that would change anytime soon.

“Of course, lovebug. It’s the least I could do.” Scott continued to rub gentle circles on Tango’s back as he pressed a chaste kiss against his forehead. Void, Tango loved him. “Feeling any better?”

Tango raised his head so he could look up at his boyfriend, forever grateful that Scott loved him back. Instead of a verbal answer, Tango reached up to cup Scott’s face with both his hands, gently guiding him down a few inches so Tango could kiss him. Scott allowed Tango to take the lead with the kiss, though he pulled away before it became too deep.

“I would love to stay here and kiss you breathless,” Scott started, sneaking in the flirt with a teasing gleam in his beautiful blue eyes, “but I don’t think our snails will leave us alone for much longer. I don’t know about you, but I would love not to go down a life when I could have prevented it.”

Tango’s tail straightened in alarm, spinning on his heel to look at where Scott had glanced. As expected, Tangastropod and whatever Scott’s snail was named were crawling dangerously close to them. 

Scott interlocked Tango’s fingers with his before breaking into a mild run, pulling Tango behind him. “Come on! If they get too close, they will leap forward!”

Tango squeaked in surprise as he stumbled after his boyfriend, struggling to gain his footing at first, but he refused to let go of Scott’s hold, not yet. An amused laugh escaped Tango’s lips as he and his boyfriend ran away from their snails of death together, the humor not lost on him now that he was feeling better, and Scott joined in on his laughter, which was always music to Tango’s ears. 

Scott hadn’t magically taken away his all-consuming emotions, of course… and Tango was sure he would become victim to them again, that much was to be assumed, but, well… Scott had been there for Tango when he had needed him, when he had needed an anchor to ground him to reality and help him regain control of himself, and that was more than enough for him. Tango knew it would all be okay, as long as he had his friends, his loved ones, his Pyre by his side.

[maleyanderecafe]

Kaede, the yandere boyfriend (Oneshot)

Created by: Murasaki yukari/Isako

Genre: Smut

It's been a while since I've done a yandere smut translation, but here we are. This one is actually surprisingly pretty sweet considering that Saya does accept Kaede at the end. Very cute. Originally this was going to be something that was translated with the translation group I'm in, but unfortunately I'm really impatient. As always if you like my work you can always donate to me at kofi.com/lunaslurp.

The story starts out with Saya recalling Kaede's confession to her in university. While she is happy about the confession, she also feels really inadequate next to him, wondering why he confessed to her all this time. During their date, Kaede gives Saya a smartwatch, something she initially refuses due to the fact that she had already gotten another gift from Kaede earlier, a necklace. She eventually agrees to keep it, though she does feel bad about it. At her job, she gets invited by a coworker to go out and eat with the other coworkers. She asks Kaede and after a brief questioning of if there will be any guys, she eventually decides to go. During the hangout, a bunch of guys come in and crash the party, with Saya being too awkward to try to leave. One of the guys starts to talk to her and compliment her, making good conversation about a comedy show they both like. At this point, Kaede starts to call her like crazy, with her watch and necklace buzzing as well. Eventually, Kaede comes in person to drag Saya away from the other people, basically getting jealous and having sex with her. During the sex, Saya asks if Kaede does love her, which he does respond with a happy yes. He also reveals that Saya is actually quite popular with people and that because of this he had to isolate her by getting rid of the other guys. He also mentions that her phone, necklace and watch are bugged with a gps tracking device. While he talks about this, he does seem to feel that Saya is unlucky to be with him, but Saya accepts all of him regardless, happy that he has confessed to her in this way. After some more sex, we get a flashback to when Kaede fell in love with Saya in the first place. Kaede had apparently been involved between some sort of fight between the girls, and was talking to Saya about it. Saya states that he should treat himself with kindness as well just as he treats the girls with kindness and falls for her in that regard. The next day, Saya apologizes to her coworkers for suddenly bailing, giving them the money. Her coworkers ask if that man was her boyfriend, to which she responds happily, even complimenting him ina a lovey dovey way. Upon leaving, Saya finds Kaede evesdropping on the conversation with the earbuds he has on, embarrassed that Saya said such things, presumably for her to hear. The coworkers talk about how Kaede is kind of scary, but if that the two of them are happy, then it's okay.

This story kind of reminds me of Yandere Killing!! ~When I told my obsessive childhood friend, “I love you too,” she shifted to the romantic comedy route~, which is the other smut I translated, since they both accept the yandere during sex. Of course, Yandere Killing!! is much more comedic in nature while this one is more sweet, but it is weird that it happened twice. I honestly did think initially that Saya's feelings of inadequacy were actually caused by Kaede, but it actually turns out they both felt they weren't good enough for each other, which kind of adds to that sort of sweet factor when they do end up confessing to each other. Kaede has the general factor of stalking Saya through tracking devices, namely on her various gifts that she was given, so it was cute that in the end Saya basically talked about how much she loved Kaede presumably so that he would hear it as well through the devices. Though as a smut, other than the cuteness factor (both in the story and between the people who made it), I don't really have too much to say. It's cute, the artwork is rather nice and it has some yandere things in it.

Anyways, hopefully you guys enjoy this translation. I don't really have much to say about it, but I hope you do read it because I did take the time to translate it. If you have suggests for what yandere manga to translate from Chinese to English let me know.

[jade-of-mourning]

sorry sometimes i think about mako and my heart hurts so much. this kid raised himself and his brother on the streets in homelessness and utter poverty from eight through fifteen, promptly after seeing the violent death of his mother and father. he turned to the triple threats because they couldn't survive as a pair of wretched kids without any adult support, and the environment forced him to turn into the exact character that killed his parents in a terrible twist of irony. and after sheer-fucking-luck hits and they aren't homeless anymore, their livelihood wavers on the outcome of what's a literally game to everyone but them; and after things are finally starting to look up and their team is going places and things just might be okay, his gradually stabilizing world unceremoniously expands and everything goes to shit.

and the city that chewed him up and spat him back out, ruined him as a child and took away his ability to stay afloat in a true sense of normalcy as an adult — when it's on the verge of destruction and falling to pieces before his eyes, he gives himself to save it with the full expectation to die. he went from the kid who didn't and couldn't care about anything outside of himself and his brother, to finding redemption for his younger self in his police work despite its injustice against him, to willingly sacrificing himself to a world that had never loved him.

he's a desperate people pleaser, socially and emotionally stunted for the adult he had to be as a kid, unable to navigate interpersonal relationships easily yet still trying his damned hardest. he's intensely and entirely devoted to the things that matter to him and for so long it was only him, bolin, and ensuring their survival — yet by the end, that devotion has expanded to protecting the rest of the world. he starts out entirely self-reliant and ends in trusting the people he cares about to know their own needs, to be able to take care of themselves, to be okay without him despite having spent so much of his life defined by his role in others' well-being.

just. what the fuck i'm such a big fan of this fictional guy and i'm unashamed about it at this point. also let him cry please (if you won't i'll do it i'll let him cry)

[lavenderscented-stories]

HIIIII HEEY HEELLOOO!!!!! :D

Subspace angst no comfort, no specific scenario but I want that man to SUFFER.🙏💥

Hello! I hope you are doing well yourself, here is your request.

cw // hurt no comfort, inaccurate portrayals of explosions

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Subspace was smart enough to not bring you anywhere near his line of work as you were much too important to be subjected to such dangerous situations, yet you kept poking and prodding about it everyday.

Much like his skin, his resolve slowly corroded overtime as the comfort he felt in your presence grew. He wanted to share the deepest parts of himself yet he knew the risk would be much too taxing for the reward to be worth it, yet despite that knowledge he took the gamble.

It felt so liberating to talk about it!! From small mundane things like an annoying coworker to extravagant breakthroughs like the crystals he told you everything, and you seemed to be so enthralled it somehow made him fall for you more than he already had.

So when you brought up the idea of actually going to his workplace he was most certainly skeptical, but after mulling it over he gave into the temptation.

He wouldn’t realize that it was his worst mistake yet until it was too late.

Subspace strutted through the halls as he prattled about his reputation in his line of work, while he knew you adored him and everything he did he still wanted to brag about his achievements before getting into the finer details of his work.

“Oh yes- I know my work is absolutely enthralling but make sure not to touch anything!! I wouldn’t want my dearest to accidentally explode a… Darling??” The scientist looked behind him to see you yet was met with nothing, his heart sank in worry as he started backtracking through the halls to find you.

He walked through the halls as he called out your name, going from room to room in an even pace filled with more confusion than anything.

Yet you never answered back.

Slowly the dread started seeping in as he quickened his pace and called for you more urgently. Why hadn’t he asked a Biograft to accompany you!? How were you able to slip away so quietly- when did you leave?? Why didn’t he notice that you left?? He was always so attentive so why had he failed now of all times??

Finally he found you. You had somehow found yourself in one of the rooms that held the more dangerous experiments, yet despite regulations it wasn’t locked off. He sighed in relief and was about to call out for you when he noticed that you were reaching out for something.

His eye widened in panic but before he could warn you about the crystal, it was too late.

A catastrophic explosion rang out as Subspace flew back from the impact of the explosion- his head hitting the wall. After a few seconds of recovery he shakily got up and clumsily ran into the room as panic and adrenaline fueled him.

He hastily looked around at the now messy and ruined room trying to look for you. His eyes finally landed on you as his heart skipped a beat and he looked down at you in horror.

He quickly kneeled down and cradled your body in his arms and tears formed in his eye.

A small crowd formed in front of the room- each gazing upon the scene in realization and horror. Subspace hadn’t cared for his reputation as he whipped his head to face them and screamed.

“SOMEONE- GET A DOCTOR!!” His voice was raw as it cracked with desperation, he gasped as sobs threatened to spill out from his throat and he turned back with his head hung low as he clutched you like a lifeline.

As paramedics came to the scene he reluctantly let go of you before being escorted to treat his own wounds, he prayed for you to be alright yet deep down he knew the revolting truth.

You were already dead.

[anto-pops]

Secrets - Ominis Gaunt x Female! Reader

Summary: After slinking out of Hogwarts for five long, stressful hours in the dead of night, you returned to a pissed off Ominis who is beyond fed up with your blatant disregard for your well being. The last thing he wants to do is let you off easy, so he patches you up and elects to 'punish' you for your infuriating secrecy.

Alternatively summarized as really, really shameless Dominis smut.

Yes, this is the most gratuitous thing I've ever written. No, I will not be taking questions at this time.

Word Count: 9.5k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, explicit sexual content, rough sex (seriously)

Full fic can be found here on Ao3 with much more informative tags

It was well after midnight by the time you returned to Hogwarts. You would have come back sooner if it had been up to you— seeing as you weren’t particularly keen on slinking through the school’s deserted corridors in the dark. But you were tired, bruised, and lacking a good amount of blood that had left your body through the deep slice in your leg, so naturally you moved slowly.

At least with the late hour, you would be able to avoid Ominis. There was no way you could deal with his particular brand of ire right now. 

You didn’t mean to keep these things from him, but he was a chronic worrier. Every time you left the castle walls for something– be it for potions ingredients, or to help out in a nearby village– Ominis would grouse about it. While he knew you could handle yourself in most situations, he was convinced that you continued putting yourself in danger simply because it was the only thing you were used to. From the moment you entered his world in your fifth-year, you had been fighting for your life and solving other people’s problems without so much as a spare thought for yourself.

He made it very clear to you that he wasn’t a fan of your heroism. “It’s not your job to fix everything,” he had told you one night after you missed dinner to take on an entire Poacher camp by yourself. 

You knew that. But that didn’t mean you wouldn’t at least try to help where you could. 

Which was precisely why you had agreed to travel to Marunweem in the first place. The town’s doctor had sent you an owl requesting your assistance after a caravan of medical supplies was raided by Ashwinders. The grimy bastards had holed up in a cave a mile outside of the village for the better part of a month and had been robbing its denizens left and right, leaving the townsfolk too terrified to leave their homes and run the risk of getting hounded. 

Finding the slippery fuckers had been easy enough. What you hadn’t counted on was the second group of them that returned to the camp half-way through dispatching the first bunch. Their arrival had caught you off guard, which was the only reason one of the Scouts succeeded in hitting you with a Diffindo charm when your back was turned. You had been effectively handicapped for the remainder of the fight, limping around to dodge more curses and charms alike, but it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle. In the end, you had made it out victorious, leaving a pile of Ashwinder bodies behind in your wake. 

Climbing the staircase to the Astronomy Wing was a trial in and of itself; your leg stung fiercely every time you lifted your knee to take another step, the torn skin pulling uncomfortably and throbbing with every minute movement you made. You were all too grateful to reach the top landing, the massive, oak entryway to the Room of Requirement revealing itself before you’d even reached the wall. A small mercy.

The heavy door swung shut behind you as you limped straight from the entrance over to your potion’s table. There was only one thing on your mind, and you already knew you had no vials of Wiggenweld left, so you started methodically gathering what you needed to brew a fresh batch. You lit the burner and added Horklump Juice to the cauldron first, letting that simmer over low heat while you riffled through a drawer to grab a rag. 

“Aguamenti,” you murmured under your breath, saturating the cloth with water before firmly pressing it against the jagged gash in your thigh. The fibers burned the raw skin underneath, but you grit your teeth through the pain, whimpering softly as you turned back to your Wiggenweld potion. Healing magic was always something that had eluded you– despite your best efforts– and as a result, you didn’t trust yourself to properly stitch your skin back together with a spell.

As you picked out a handful of Dittany to toss into the bubbling mixture, the telltale sound of clothing shuffling reached your ears. After the hellish night you’d just lived through, your instincts had you whirling around with your free hand hovering inches away from your side, ready to draw your wand from its holster in a heartbeat. 

It was Ominis. Shit.

He was sitting on the couch on the opposite side of the room, bathed in the silvery moonlight that streamed through the skylight overhead. Your tunnel vision upon entering the room had allowed you to overlook his presence entirely– but he’d also made no move to make himself known. His sharp, angular features were drawn into a tense expression, and his fingers tapped impatiently against his crossed legs, betraying just how pissed he actually was. 

Fuck. 

“Ominis, what are you doing just sitting there? You scared me, why didn’t you say something?” Your heart hammered against your sternum so hard, you were certain that he could hear it. 

“What am I doing?” Ominis’ voice was like a whip, cutting through the air as viscerally as the Diffindo charm that had sliced your leg. “How about you tell me where you’ve been for the last five hours, or why you’re bleeding out and trying to fix it with a potion instead of going to the Hospital Wing?”

There was a split second where you considered denying his claims, but you knew it was pointless. He had likely heard you mewling and smelled the blood the moment you walked through the doors— and besides, lying would only upset him further. “I had to deal with a few Ashwinders in Marunweem,” you confessed, wanting desperately to leave it at that so you could focus on dealing with your leg.  

Ominis finally stood from the couch, his imposing presence amplifying as he strode across the chamber with his wand clutched tight in his white knuckled grip. “Since when are ‘a few’ Ashwinders getting the jump on you? Don’t sugarcoat the truth, I’m in no mood for your tip-toeing.”

You sighed as the blond planted himself directly in front of you, the slender fingers of his free hand reaching for your shoulder, and once he found you, he followed your arm down to where you held the rag against your thigh. His brows slammed down at the grating confirmation that yes– you were hurt, and he tsked disapprovingly before nodding over your shoulder at the potion’s table. “Sit down, I’ll do it– and turn off the burner.” 

Once again, you found yourself hesitating, if only because your pride had never allowed you to easily accept assistance from other people. But the rigid set to Ominis’ shoulders had you complying relatively quickly, afraid that if you protested him helping, he would really let you have it. So you cranked the burner knob to the off position, then shuffled over to the other end of the table. 

A soft hiss slipped through your teeth as you shifted to hoist yourself onto the flat surface, the movement pulling at your wound painfully, and you instantly felt Ominis’ warm hands around your waist. He helped you hop up on the table, letting you get settled as he pried the rag away from your thigh. His ministrations were soft and thoughtful; a stark contrast to the unyielding, vexed expression on his face. 

Your trousers hung in tatters around your injured leg, fluttering listlessly around your calf, so Ominis tore the remaining fabric away and discarded it to the floor. His wand flared briefly as he summoned a collection of Wiggenweld potions beside you, handing one to you soundlessly. 

As you worked the cork out of the top, you muttered, “When did you brew these?” 

“I didn’t,” Ominis replied evenly, taking the damp cloth from your trembling fingers to re-saturate it with water. You jolted in place when he pressed it to your thigh, but the tender sweep of his thumb across your unmarred knee soothed you instantly. “They’re technically Sebastian’s. I’m sure he’ll be less than pleased to find them missing from his trunk, but he’ll understand.”

Humming your acknowledgment, you finally popped open the vial and knocked back its contents, relaxing into the table as the liquid warmed your insides and worked its magic. When Ominis pulled the rag away from your leg, you were pleased to find that the bleeding had subsided significantly, but the skin was torn too deep to fully stitch back together after one dose of Wiggenweld. 

The blond lifted his wand to cast a diagnostic spell, setting the blood-soaked cloth off to the side before a lyrical chant slipped from his lips. Vulnera Sanentur was far from an easy spell to cast– much less master– but Ominis did it without a second thought, never once lifting his head as he expertly worked to mend your skin. You knew that he had taken to studying healing magic after your sixth-year, but you hadn’t actually seen Ominis use any of what he’d learned until now. The feeling of your skin pulling together was strange, but not uncomfortable, and you watched wide-eyed as the gaping wound closed up and left only a faint, pink scar behind. 

“When did you become so proficient with healing spells?” You asked him as he stood straight, summoning a few Dittany leaves into the palm of his hand. He twisted them between his fingers and wafted the scent towards his face before holding them out to you. 

“Around the same time you and Sebastian started using yourselves as shields in Crossed Wands. Now hold these on top of the area for a bit, otherwise the scar will linger,” he instructed you matter-of-factly, and his stern tone made your shoulders sag. You truly hated it when he was upset with you. 

“I really am sorry, Ominis.” You muttered remorsefully as you accepted the leaves, and his brows pinched together at the sound of your dejected tone. “I didn’t mean to upset you with all of this–”

“I’m getting rather tired of sitting idly by while you throw yourself into danger. What is it going to take for you to realize that what you’re doing is incredibly careless? What happens when the next spell hits a little higher and kills you, hm? What would I do then?” His frustration rolled off of him in thick, potent waves that made your stomach churn with anxiety.

“Ominis please, I know you care about me, but there are things I’m obligated to do– especially as a wielder of this ancient magic. No one else can do what I can–” 

“I really don’t care about everyone else,” he practically growled the statement and closed the miniscule space between the two of you so that he could brace his arms on either side of your hips, caging you between his long, lithely muscled arms. “All I care about is you and your wellbeing, but you have this infuriating ability to do the exact opposite of what I ask. Why? Sometimes I get the feeling you see me as more of a chastising parent than your boyfriend.” 

Hearing that made you scowl, “That’s absurd, of course I don’t see you that way. I just hate to worry you with these things–”

“Well, I am worried. I’ve been worried. You used to be more careful about these excursions of yours, but now you’re beyond reckless. You used to listen to reason and now you’re too stubborn for your own good.” His eyes were like burning pools of moonlight, piercing through your very soul as he leaned forward to trail his hand up your arm and across your shoulder. “I have a growing distaste for your rebellious streak. Why must you insist on being so disobedient?” 

Something about the word disobedient had your retort shriveling up in your throat, and your mouth snapped shut with an audible clack of teeth while your eyes flickered between Ominis’. His expression was drawn tight, but there was something else there– something domineering about the way he spoke to you. You’d seen this side of Ominis before, but it had been a long time since you’d actually done anything that worked him into such a state. Uncertainty washed over you like a bucket of cold water, and you swallowed around a lump in your throat. 

Ominis’ hand on your shoulder continued to rise, the tips of his fingers ghosting over your clammy skin until they splayed outwards and he was holding you loosely by the neck. There was no helping your startled gasp at the brazen move, and you stared wide-eyed up at him as your nails dug into the surface of the table. Your silence was palpable, as was the shiver that coursed through you, and Ominis acknowledged both of those things with a taunting smirk. 

“What, nothing to say now? Has it sunk in? Have I finally gotten through that ironclad head of yours?” 

You honestly didn’t know what the hell was going on in your head. Things had shifted so suddenly that now instead of feeling remorseful for aggravating your boyfriend, you were keenly interested in seeing what treatment you’d won yourself by doing so. “I-I’m sorry, Ominis–” 

He tightened his hand briefly to angle your head to the side, pulling another gasp from your parted lips, and he hunched forward to nuzzle his face into the crook of your exposed neck. You could feel his lips smiling against your pulse, betraying exactly what he had in mind for you, and you whimpered pitifully under him. 

“I didn’t ask if you were sorry, I asked if I made myself clear; I don’t like you putting yourself in harm's way, but I especially loathe it when you try to keep things from me.” You felt the pinprick of his nails digging into the soft skin below your jaw– not overbearingly tight– but it made you acutely aware of the placement of every one of his fingers, and the sensation had your heart skipping beats one after another. 

“I know, I understand,” you whispered, your voice airy and fleeting. “I wasn’t going out of my way to keep secrets– I just came here to take care of my leg, I wasn’t expecting you to be waiting for me–”

His teeth nipped at the skin of your neck, pulling another gasp from your throat and cutting your rebuttal short  “Would you have told me about it if I hadn’t caught you slinking in here tonight?” 

“E-Eventually–” you started to say, and in a flash Ominis was pulling away from you to glare fixedly in your direction. His grip on your throat stayed gentle but firm as he angled your face back to his, and one of your own hands finally shot up from the surface of the table to wrap around his slender wrist. 

“No lying,” he hissed, nearing closer so that his lips were mere inches away from yours. “You and I both know you would sooner tangle with Devil’s Snare before telling me you’ve been galavanting through the Highlands taking on dark wizards by yourself.”

“I would have,” you bit back at him, the conviction in your tone making him draw pause. “Maybe I would have omitted a few details, but yes, I would have told you. I don’t make a habit of not telling you things.”

“And yet, here we are.” The ghost of his breath danced across your lips, your mind flooding with unrestrained fantasies and ideas that were made all the more potent at the feeling of his thumb brushing against the curve of your jaw. “Sometimes I feel like the only way to keep you out of trouble would be to restrain you and lock you away in your bedroom. At least then I could make sure you stay safe.” 

You hated arguing with Ominis. You despised making him doubt your sincerity. It made you anxious anytime you knew he was upset with you, in large part because he got angry with you so rarely. But right now, an offhand comment like that was doing more to frazzle you and fuel a slew of unholy thoughts that had no business existing at the same time he was scolding you. 

What the fuck was wrong with you? 

Ominis elected to release his hold on your throat at that moment, jarring you from your thoughts, and he dropped the appendage to your thigh. Your breathing hitched when he trailed his palm lightly over where your wound had been minutes earlier, and he shook his head disapprovingly at you. The scar was still evident under his touch– the Dittany leaves he’d given you still gripped loosely in your fist, unused. 

“How does your leg feel? Any other wounds I need to know about?” He asked you, almost somewhat… cunningly. 

The sudden change in topic wasn’t unusual, but it was the way he presented the question that made you pause before answering. You decided to humor him and testingly lifted your knee, pleased to find that doing so didn’t cause you burning pain any longer. “No, and it’s a lot better actually. Thank you.”

He seemed to contemplate his next words carefully, his wand-bearing hand sliding up your forearm to lightly grasp your elbow as the other skirted higher up your leg, stopping to toy with the frayed fabric of your torn trousers. “Don’t thank me yet. Come with me.”

In a flash, Ominis had tugged you off of the table, his grip on your arm like a vice as he began leading you further into the Room. “Ah– Merlin, Ominis, what are you doing?” You nearly tripped over your own feet, but the blond’s unrelenting hold on you kept you upright as he pulled you behind him down the narrow staircase that led to the larger portion of the vast chamber. 

“Such simple instructions and yet you fail to follow them,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “At this point, I’m convinced you’re doing it on purpose to get a rise out of me, so consider this your punishment.”

Ominis knew exactly where to steer you when he reached the bottom step– with or without his wand– and the nervousness you felt was greatly overshadowed by the ripe anticipation that blossomed in your gut. He threw his shoulder against the door to the bedroom to shove it open before hauling you through the entryway, immediately getting to work to show you exactly what sort of ‘punishment’ he had in mind. 

—

“Stop whining and use your words.” 

Ominis’ sharp voice cut off your guttural moan, and he removed his hand from your throbbing core once again, killing your building release for the nth time tonight. You couldn’t help it; you sobbed at the loss. The imposing blond man leaned forward, whispering his response along your jaw slowly and playfully nipping at the skin as he moved down. “The sooner you apologize, the sooner we can cease this incessant game.” 

You’d been here for some time already, sprawled out on your shared bed in the Room of Requirement with Ominis circling you like a hawk. Every so often he would elect to touch you again, giving you a modicum of reprieve from the burning tension between your legs, but not before pulling his fingers away right as you were on the cusp of your climax. The two of you had been going at it for close to an hour now, and it was suffice to say you were losing your fucking mind. 

Your wrists had been tied snug together and bound above your head, rendering your hands useless as your boyfriend toyed with you to his heart’s content. You were a flushed, panting mess underneath him, hopelessly writhing against the sheets in search of more of anything. The ache between your legs was tantamount to torture.

As you drew your knees together in a feeble attempt to create some friction for yourself, Ominis felt you fidgeting and sat up to stop you in your tracks. His long, elegant fingers gripped both of your legs and spread them apart, leaving you fully exposed to him as a throaty whine sounded from your lips. 

“Please, Ominis–” your raspy voice cracked on his name, drawing a dark chuckle from him that sent a thrill down your spine. 

“I don’t know why you’re begging when you know you should be apologizing,” he chidded you, tilting his head to the side to cast a taunting look in your direction. “I know what you want, but what about what I want?” 

“I-I already said I was sorry,” you gritted through your teeth, momentarily grateful that Ominis couldn’t see the piercing glare you fixed him with. How many times did he want you to say it? “What more do you want me to do?” 

He moved into your space so fast, it made you gasp and press harder into the mattress. His eyes were stormy and swimming with emotion as he growled, “I want you to mean it. Every word. Apologize for keeping secrets and for making me worry– then you can start begging me to come.”

Ominis brought his hands to your chest to drag his blunt nails lightly down your front, stopping the appendages over your pert nipples to pinch the sensitive buds, and your stuttered apology caught in your throat at the feeling. “Hah– I am sorry Ominis, I really am. I’m sorry I scared you, I’ll tell you everything from now on– n-no more secrets– ah–”

The wet warmth of Ominis’ mouth came over one of your nipples, followed by the sharp sting of his teeth clamping down, and it had you moaning and arching into him further. You heard his throaty laugh, blearily lifting your head in an attempt to get a better look at him, but he was already moving back to sit on his heels with his hands tracing burning circles on your legs.  

“Hm, that sounds better,” Ominis murmured down at you, trailing his fingers tentatively over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You had half a mind to shift your hips closer to him– desperate to finally have your release after so long– but you knew doing so would just set you back even further. The urge to please Ominis any way you could was bone deep, so you fought down the desire to move, remaining a twitching, keening mess atop the sheets. 

“Please,” you whined softly, tugging pathetically on the rope bindings around your wrists. “I want you so badly Ominis, gods– I want you to fuck me, make me cum for you. P-Please, Ominis, please.” 

He didn’t respond at first, his hands stilling against your legs as he swallowed around the lump in his throat. You sounded divine begging for him like this. It almost made him want to cave early and finally give you what you wanted… but that would be too easy, especially considering it was your sneaking around that had landed the two of you in this position in the first place. 

No, he intended on playing with you a little while longer before wrapping things up. 

“You know I like taking my time,” Ominis purred down at you, and there was no missing the teasing undertone to his voice. 

The tension in your gut seemed to worsen in that instant, and you honestly could have cried. 

Ominis’ hands left your thighs to brace on either side of you as he leaned forward, a predatory glint in his milky blue eyes. His head dropped into the hollow of your throat, flicking the tip of his clever tongue against your pulse before licking a broad stripe down the vulnerable column of your neck. You shuddered at the bold move, whimpering at the expression he bore when he pulled back to smooth down your hair affectionately. 

“So I will take my time fucking you, and you’d best believe I’ll have you screaming my name so loud you won’t be able to speak afterwards. I’ll bend you in half– fuck you so hard that we break the damn bed– and you know what?” 

It took you a second to realize he was asking you a question, but the most coherent response you could muster was a soft whine. It was enough. 

“When you’re shaking under me, fucked out and sensitive from finally getting to come…” Ominis smiled, licking his lips as he bent forward again to whisper devilishly in your ear, “I’ll keep fucking you, hard and fast until you’re brainless and drooling and all you can think about or say is my name.” 

You were positive you were already brainless. The filthy, wicked promises dripping from Ominis’ mouth left plenty to the imagination, and you were a damn good visualizer. With a low growl, he sank his teeth into the curve of your shoulder, biting and sucking an angry mark into your clammy skin. You moaned in earnest, all too pleased to finally be moving forward with things. You didn’t think you’d ever wanted to come so bad in your fucking life. 

When Ominis pulled away, you half expected him to start marking up the other side of your neck, but instead he backed off to shift around and swing one of his knees over your bare chest. He held himself precariously over you, refraining from smothering you with his body weight, and in doing so you were faced with Ominis’ straining, confined arousal mere inches from your lips. You huffed out a needy breath. 

“Be a good girl and take it out,” he instructed, a coy smirk stretching across his face.

You squinted up at him then, giving the rope around your wrists a pointed tug, and he felt the motion reverberate through your prone form. He only laughed at you, shifting slightly to rub his clothed erection against your lips teasingly. 

“Use your mouth if you can’t use your hands.” 

It took you a second, but when you finally understood, your mouth parted on a long, low moan as your hips wriggled excitedly. Taking a moment to collect yourself, you drew in a deep breath before zeroing in on the catch of your boyfriend’s trousers. You surged forward and dragged your tongue up the thick outline of his cock, tracing along his undoubtedly uncomfortable arousal until you were kissing your way up the fly to the button. 

Ominis just listened, half amused and half extremely turned on as you struggled to figure out your plan of attack. You nuzzled briefly against his groin before throwing caution to the wind and deciding to just go for it. Hooking your front teeth over the edge of the fabric above the button, you absolutely allowed them to scrape over Ominis’ light happy trail, relishing in the shiver it drew from him. You tugged the material down, and with a helpful push of your tongue, you managed to get the button through the catch. 

You didn’t bother to hide your excitement; a giddy noise weasled it’s way past your lips, and you grinned smugly to yourself. Ever the perceptive one, Ominis felt his waistband loosen and gently raked his fingers through your mused hair in silent praise. That was the extent of his congratulations, though, before he was tugging on the strands softly to urge you towards the significantly easier zipper. You caught the thin bit of metal between the tip of your canine and clenched your teeth, dipping your head to pull it down, and your victory was marked by the barely there sigh that snuck out of Ominis’ parted lips. 

The blond elected to take pity on you then, sitting up on his knees just enough so that he could shove his trousers and briefs down around his hips. His fingers moved slower when he got to the front of his waist, tilting his head to the side before carefully peeling the restrictive fabric away from his groin, and his cock sprung free and arched proudly against his taut stomach. Taking himself in his hands, Ominis shamelessly angled his cock towards you and slapped the leaking head against your cheek a few times, leaving a streak of pre-come across your face that you feebly tried to lick away, to no avail. 

You nestled fervently against his shaft, your enthusiasm palpable and more than enough to make Ominis’ head spin. He was positive he wasn’t meant to be feeling such warm fuzzies when he was supposed to be wrecking you as punishment. 

Then again, you’d been a little too interested in his idea of payback earlier, so nothing was really going according to plan when he thought long and hard about it.  

“Ominis,” you breathed, dragging his attention back to you restrained between his legs. Your soft lips brushed against the head of his cock then, your quick tongue flicking gently at the sensitive slit, and the sensation had him shivering as his breathing kicked up in anticipation. “Can I suck your cock?” 

“I thought I answered that question already,” Ominis murmured, nudging his hips forward so he could smear warm pre-come all along your flushed lips. Your tongue darted out to lick at the slick trail, staring up at him with such intensity that you were certain he could feel your eyes on him. “You want it?” You nodded, licking your lips again as you tried leaning up to run your tongue over the head, but Ominis chose that moment to pull back just out of your reach. The whine that fell from your mouth was like music to his ears, and Ominis felt you begin wiggling your hips impatiently. 

There it was. Ominis’ goal was to work you into a needy, frantic mess— he wanted you begging and moaning for him until he was sure he had shattered your composure entirely, and somehow he had a feeling that was what you wanted too. 

Ominis’ fingers spread through your unruly hair and tightened a fraction as he pulled your head towards him, using his free hand to angle his impressive length towards your mouth. “Open.” 

He could feel and hear your hot breaths against his achingly hard cock as you stuck your tongue out in invitation, and Ominis couldn’t help the sharp pang of lust that shot through him at the way you just… obeyed him. It was exactly what he’d wanted from the moment you walked into the Room tonight. 

Breathing a quiet laugh, he went ahead and slapped the slick head of his member against your tongue, hissing softly when you immediately swirled the muscle around the head to lap up the copious amounts of pre-come he was already dripping with. The lewd, wet sounds coming from you beneath him were enough to leave Ominis twitching between your lips against his better judgment, and he tipped his head back as he lost himself in the blissful strokes of your perfect tongue. 

“Ominis,” you breathed after a minute, your lips brushing lightly against his cock entirely purposefully. “Please fuck my mouth.”

Merlin.

He needed a fucking second to process that, his eyes widening up at the ceiling at the same time a predatory grin split your face. The shock was quickly buried, however, and Ominis regained some semblance of control when he tilted his head down at you and tightened his hold against your scalp. “Hm, I don’t know. Have you been good enough to get your mouth and your cunt fucked?” 

You squeezed your eyes shut, chills breaking out all over your skin as a shudder coursed through you. Ominis loved being able to feel your physical reactions to his words, and he smiled despite himself. He was willing to bet that if he checked, you would be unbearably wet between your legs, staining the sheets preemptively with pooling slick. 

“You don’t think so?” You asked him, voice low with arousal. 

“It’s debatable,” Ominis moved back again, easily dodging your attempts to take him back in your mouth with an annoying smirk. “You’ve been pulling at the ropes for a while now, I can hear the fibers rubbing together.” 

You flexed your fingers on cue, your brows furrowing as you shook your head. “I was only shifting.” 

“Oh? How am I to know if you’re telling the truth?” 

Ominis languidly stroked himself with a degree of confidence that made your mouth water. Your eyes flicked down to his cock, any ounce of shame evaporating from your body as you wet your lips and forced yourself to remain well behaved. “You’ll just have to trust me.” 

“That’s unscientific– and also highly unlikely given the circumstances. How about this; you know I’ll always inevitably get the truth out of you one way or another. I’ll fuck your mouth, but if you’re lying to me, that’s all you get. All night.” 

Your jaw dropped, utterly appalled by the threat, and your drawn out silence told Ominis that you had absolutely been fibbing– but he just flashed you a sly grin as he continued to lazily work his hand up and down his shaft. He let you mull his words over, noting your audible gulp before you were muttering under your breath, “Honest witches have nothing to hide.” 

“Alright then,” Ominis hummed in amusement, sitting forward on his knees once again. “Open up, sweetheart.” 

You did so all too eagerly– ecstatic when Ominis finally guided his cock into your mouth, the wet heat making him groan low in his throat, and the sound got louder when you moaned and closed your lips around him firmly. 

Fuck.

Ominis slid deeper into your mouth, over your wet tongue, then oh– into your throat, and you had more than enough experience to be able to relax and take his cock nearly to the base. His thighs shook on either side of you, his hands finding their way back to your hair to hold you in place, and you took the liberty of hollowing your cheeks around him and swallowing. 

“Bloody hell,” Ominis moaned, his eyes pinching shut at the blissful feeling as he rocked his hips back. He moved just enough for you to be able to breathe, but after nearly an hour of dealing with his erection pressed uncomfortably against his trousers, that was about the extent of his patience. 

He got to work setting a steady rhythm, sliding his cock in and out of your incredible mouth, your tongue, hollowed cheeks, and the tiny movements of your head enough to leave him gasping your name. Your eyes were glued to him– unable to help but watch as a bright flush started to creep up the neckline of Ominis’ shirt and spread over his angular cheeks. In the heat of the moment, the urge to run your hands up his torso came over you, but the rope around your wrists stopped you in your tracks, making you whine around your mouthful. Ominis sighed and sped up some, encouraged by your muffled noises and the unrelenting, insane ministrations of your tongue against the underside of his cock. 

Ominis grew braver and rolled his hips perfectly in time with the shallow bobbing of your head, the tip of his shaft sliding into your throat for just a moment, and your choked moan betrayed exactly how much you liked it. Your whines turned pleading as you quickly adjusted to the intrusion, half brainless with need as you worked to pleasure Ominis the best that you could. The hand he had curled around your disheveled strands of hair moved your head in sync with his hips, giving you a small bit of leeway to angle your neck otherwise if you so chose, but you planned to do no such thing. 

“F-Feels so good, darling,” Ominis grit through his teeth, letting his head fall forward as waves of rapture danced down his spine. You made a throaty sound in response, your sucking growing sloppier with Ominis’ rushed bucking, but that was the farthest thing from a problem in his mind. The messy, wet sounds from his cock slipping out of your mouth before you greedily swallowed him down again were fucking addictive. 

It was all too easy to let himself be overcome with the sheer euphoria that came with being encased in your mouth, but the incessant, growing fire in his gut was becoming too much to bear. He was getting dangerously close, and he hadn’t spent all that time with his fingers buried in your cunt to ignore it entirely now. So as much as it pained him to, he shook the desire to come from his mind and tugged your head back. You pulled off of his cock with a shaky breath, thick strands of saliva and precome dangling between your lips and the swollen head. 

He hardly waited before he was shuffling down your body to give himself the space to start undressing, beginning with the top buttons of his shirt– and if you spent a little too long watching his deft fingers skirt down the row of clasps, he certainly didn’t need to know about it. The shirt fell open, revealing his smooth, pale chest, and he shrugged it off his toned shoulders without looking away from your spot on the bed. It never failed to make your stomach flip– how he always managed to zero in on your presence no matter where you were. 

With some impressive side stepping, Ominis shed his trousers and briefs together, kicking the offensive attire away from the edge of the bed so he could crawl back to you undeterred. He felt his way up your body, goosebumps breaking out over your skin in the wake of his fingers, and when he found your lips, he was leaning down to crush his mouth against yours in a heated kiss. He swallowed your mewls and gasps easily while he slid one hand up your raised arms to the rope around your wrists, running his fingers along the edge of the restraints in silent question.

“Leave it for now,” you whispered against his plush lips, and he smirked. “I like this.” 

Your voice was still rough from swallowing his cock, and the blond couldn’t help but notice— a spark of arousal shooting through him as he nodded and kissed you again. The two of you stayed like that for a moment, breathing hot against one another as your hearts raced in time and pulled you both away from the desperate precipice you’d been riding. 

“You’re shaking, love.” Ominis observed, feeling the small tremors reverberate through your body against his own. His hand trailed back down your arms while the other stayed propped under him, giving him better leverage to lean over you and press a chaste kiss to your temple. “I think you’ve more than made up for everything by now, what about you? Want me to take care of you? Will you be good for me?”

“Yes,” you rasped out, sounding ten different kinds of seductive without even knowing it. Ominis swallowed thickly, tensing when he felt you writhe in place against the mattress, your hips ever so gently brushing against his throbbing cock. “Please Ominis, I’ll be good– I promise– I’ll do whatever you want–” 

He silenced you with a suffocating kiss, fucking his tongue into your mouth and rendering your brain a useless pile of mush as he splayed his fingers around the curve of your jaw. It left you entirely at his mercy as he practically stole your breath from your lungs, licking and biting at your lips until they were swollen and throbbing, and your nails dug fitfully into your palms in response to the mounting pressure between your legs. 

“You sound so pretty when you beg, love. So eager to please,” he whispered against your mouth in-between kisses. “So I’ll fuck you, but you can’t come until I say so. Understood?” 

There was a good chance you were about to combust. 

You didn’t think you were going to last long with Ominis’ cock inside of you, but if telling him that ran the risk of not getting fucked, you would rather say nothing. Still, your displeasure was voiced in the form of a pained groan, and your frustrated sigh against your boyfriend’s lips dutifully conveyed your feelings on the matter to him. 

“Don’t complain. Here I thought you were going to be good for me,” Ominis mused sarcastically, obviously teasing you with the promise of being filled up. “I never did find out… were you behaving earlier?” 

Dammit. You couldn’t stop the whine that ripped from your throat as you tried to duck your head out of Ominis’ unrelenting grip, to no avail. His hold on your jaw stayed firm, forcing your eyes to remain glued to him while he unabashedly rolled his cock against the curve of your hip– as though to remind you of his earlier promise. 

“You weren’t, were you.” It wasn’t a question. You licked your lips, honestly considering your options when Ominis angled your head to the side to nuzzle his face in the crook of your neck. “Don’t you dare lie. If you tell me the truth, I won’t be mean to you.”

Your eyes slid shut, minutely shifting your hips towards the tantalizing feeling of Ominis’ cock pressed against your hip, before you shook your head and choked out a meek, “No.”

“Hm, of course not,” he murmured playfully, biting at the shell of your ear, then your neck, and he moaned softly when you tilted your head further to the side to offer more of yourself to him. “But I already knew that. Better late than never, I suppose.” 

In a flash, Ominis had released your face and was sitting back on his heels, gathering your knees together so he could pin them to the side and give himself better access to your ass. Before you could question him, he brought his free hand down and landed a good, echoing slap against the sensitive skin of your rear, leaving you arching helplessly off of the sheets with a wanton moan. With your wrists still bound, all you could do was flail your legs in Ominis’ hold, but his broad hand kept them pressed against the sheets– forcing you to bear the sting for a moment before he was soothing the spot with his warm palm. 

“O-Ominis–” 

You were cut off as he spanked you again, a shrill cry ripping from your lips as your spine rounded in your feeble attempts to escape, but Ominis held you in place despite your writhing. “Is that enough of a warning? Do you promise to be good?” 

“Y-Yes, yes, Ominis, please–” 

The pressure on your knees let up as Ominis shifted you back into your original position, only this time he nestled himself between your trembling legs with the heavy head of his cock dragging deliciously over your incredibly slick entrance. He slipped his hand under the crook of one of your knees, bending it back to give himself more room to rock his hips as he said, “I hope so.” 

“Please, don’t tease me anymore, Ominis– I can’t take it,” you gasped out your pleas, cracking your bleary eyes open to gaze up at the striking man towering over you. Those luminescent, unseeing eyes of his were seemingly alight behind the messy strands of blond hair that fell forward in his face, and the positively immoral expression he bore had you repeating his name like a broken mantra that filled him with renewed vigor. 

Ominis stifled a moan, biting the inside of his cheek as he finally pressed into you, and he let his eyes roll back at the feeling while you groaned with unrestrained contentment. You were fucking beside yourself, your hands twisting fitfully in your restraints as you let out a long, stuttered string of words that didn’t properly form, and by the time Ominis was fully sheathed inside of you, your patience had run out. 

“Merlin, Ominis,” your head flew back against the pillows, pathetically rocking your hips back in search of more, because his shallow grinding wasn’t going to begin to cut it. You craved this– you needed to get fucked through the bed, needed for Ominis to rail you like the world was ending– you needed more. “Ominis!” 

“F-Fuck, sweetheart,” He wheezed out, hugging your leg to his torso as he panted heavily from how unbelievably tight you were, and how incredible you felt. Part of him wanted to be gentle with you– to roll his hips smoothly and evenly to build you up slowly and perfectly– but Ominis knew what you wanted. Even if he didn’t, you took it upon yourself to educate him with your next breath.

“Ominis, fuck me, please,” you were practically sobbing, rutting down onto his cock with what little movement you could muster on your back. “Come on, fuck me– please just fuck me already– please, please, ah–”

Getting you this worked up took no small amount of effort. Ominis took immense pride in the mess he’d made of you for a brief moment, sighing when you squeezed tighter around his cock and moaned his name again. “You sound so fucking good, love,” he hummed, giving you a slow little grind that left you overcome with urgency. “I told you I’d take care of you.” 

Before you even had time to moan in response, Ominis was readjusting his grip on your leg, shifting the one still against the sheets further to the side so he had more room at his disposal when he pulled back and fucking rammed his cock back into you.

He didn’t waste any time in keeping up this way, either. 

You were utterly delirious. 

Ominis fucked you so hard and so fast, it seemed like it shouldn’t even be possible. The slap of his hips against your ass reverberated loudly off the stone walls of the bedroom, but it was overshadowed completely by how loud you were screaming. 

It was everything you’d wanted. Probably more so, because Ominis was fucking railing into you with some insane stamina, breathing loud moans of his own, gasping your name, and you couldn’t even find the brain power to beg for more. Every time he pulled back and left you nearly empty, he was fucking you open again with the force of his cock, jolting you up the bed until you were bracing your bound hands against the headboard and utilizing your newfound leverage to push back onto him. 

Ominis allowed you to rut against him for a few thrusts– enough to appreciate the lush sound of your ass bouncing against his hips– until the urge to take you over completely filled him. He moaned then, the noise low and savage, and he moved so that he was leaning over you with the knee he’d been holding flung haphazardly over his shoulder. Pressing into you further, you gave a whimpered protest at having your efforts cut short, but Ominis ignored you entirely in favor of spreading you wider to accommodate his larger frame. 

With you pinned beneath him in complete possession, Ominis wasted little time in fucking you harder, faster– his long thrusts switching to deep, hammering ruts that drove the head of his cock clean past your sweet spot so intensely that it damn near knocked you out. 

If you could use words at all, you would have tried to warn Ominis that you were about to come. There was no fucking way you couldn’t. You were so full of his cock, your throat raw from screaming, and you were being held down and fucked like you were merely a toy with your hands grasping pointlessly at air. 

You felt Ominis before you heard him when he loomed over you to groan hot in your ear, his cock reaching deeper and hitting you even better than before, and when you were right there– tense and tight and wailing Ominis’ name over and over– he fucking growled his warning against your temple, and you broke down and sobbed. 

“Don’t you dare come.”

Your noisy, brainless pleas fell on deaf ears as your boyfriend continued owning you, never letting up as he kept you pinned to the bed and chased his own pleasure. You were close– so fucking close that you didn’t know what to do with yourself besides cry and hope to whatever Gods existed that Ominis would have mercy on you. 

Pulling at the ropes around your wrists frantically, your garbled cries blurred together in a barely intelligible string of ‘please’s at the same time it started to hurt from how long you’d been on the cusp of your climax. Tears streaked down your face, frustration and desperation and too much pleasure twining together with the pain of holding back, and before you could figure out what was happening, Ominis was looping one of his arms under your back. He tugged you so you were arched towards him, your front held flush to his chest as he bent you precariously upwards, all the while maintaining his unrelenting pace. 

“Come on, darling, come for me,” Ominis urged you, his hot breath ghosting over your sweat-slick skin and making you shiver with delight for a multitude of reasons. He planted his feet firmly against the bed, bucking his hips up with a precision that left you boneless in his arms while he slammed his cock right into that mind-numbing spot so perfectly, and then you couldn’t hold back anymore. 

Your orgasm was earth-shattering. 

The world seemed to flash a brilliant white around you, making you oblivious to everything in existence but the guttural moans slipping from Ominis above you, and for a good, long minute, your mind simply halted. You were vaguely aware of yourself gasping as he stilled his movements, having the good grace to remain idly in place while his gentle hands willed you to relax. 

“I have never heard you scream that loud,” Ominis groaned, sounding equal parts wonderstruck and pained– which probably had everything to do with his still-hard cock twitching inside of you. He gingerly lowered your prone body down onto the mattress, relishing in the weak, fucked out whimper the action pulled from you. “Are you alright?” 

You tried saying yes, but it came out sounding more like a croak than a reassurance. Ominis chuckled darkly, sliding his hands down to your hips as though he were about to pull out, but your shaky legs wrapping around his slender waist stopped him in his tracks, and the movement had him choking on your name as he pressed down to hold you still. 

“You want me to keep going?” Ominis asked, his voice incredibly tight and strained from the way your pulsing walls squeezed around his cock again. 

This time, you managed to get your tongue to obey your brain and formulate a full sentence. “Y-Yeah, please Ominis. I want you to fill me up, please keep going.”

Ominis’ head fell forward, his fingers digging into the skin of your waist for a modicum of restraint. The tone of your voice was seriously doing him in, as was the way you seemed to suck him in deeper with your legs. “You have to tell me if it’s too much.” 

You made a tiny sound of agreement before melting back into the mattress as Ominis’ hand slid up your thigh, lingering for a moment on the tiny scar you’d failed to heal earlier. He said nothing of it though, instead leaning down to kiss you hungrily before taking advantage of your legs coiled around his back, rocking into your tight heat once again. 

The stark contrast between his earlier pace and his current one was almost dizzying. Ominis’ possessive snarls gave way to worshiping moans, and the hands that had previously pinned you down now reverently trailed up your torso to lovingly run his fingers up your chest, then your neck, and finally over your tear stained cheeks. It felt incredible; his cock moved so perfectly inside of you while his hands pressed and soothed whatever part of your body they could make contact with, but his restraint was still there. He had to be going insane– you’d been at this for an eternity, and he still hadn’t gotten to come yet. If his strained moans and trembling hips were any indication, he was holding back big time. 

“Ominis,” you murmured, forcing him into you harder with your legs, and the drawn out groan he let slip reflected his need all too well. “Come on, Ominis, please. I can take it.” 

“Fuck–” he blurted, his tempo faltering for a second before he braced one of his hands beside your head to once again pull nearly all the way out. When he snapped his hips forward again, he filled you with a hard thrust and ground into you so fiercely, the friction against your clit made your spine round off the bed with a keening moan. 

His gentle, easy pace fell away– his breath fanning warmly against your cheek as he kept up his firm, grinding thrusts. By some impossible miracle, you felt a familiar heat building in the pit of your stomach, your pleasure being drawn out of you for the second time all too easily. You were still overwhelmingly sensitive from earlier, and it allowed you to feel everything Ominis gave you even more vehemently. 

Ominis elected to drop his hand from your cheek down to your clit, rubbing tight, titillating circles over the nub as he continued spreading you open on his cock, and your scratchy voice filled the room as you threw your head back to wail for him. It felt too good– too perfect. You didn’t even know such euphoria existed, much less that your boyfriend could bestow it upon you so thoroughly. 

“Gods, I can feel you– are you close again?” Ominis buried his face in your neck to whine against your sweaty skin, barely maintaining his rhythm any longer– just desperate to feel you around him. “I’m so close– fuck.” 

“Yes, yes,” you croaked, wanting so badly to wrap your arms around his shoulders and curl around him like a second skin, but the rope around your wrists denied you, and your arms ached from the position they’d been left in for so long. “Me too– please Ominis, please– me too.” You threw your head back with a gasping cry as Ominis bucked harder into you, his hands grabbing and pulling at you as your combined sounds spiked higher and louder the closer you got. 

When Ominis finally came, he sank his teeth into the marred expanse of your shoulder, biting down to stifle the string of curses that threatened to spill from his mouth. The sharp pain intermingled with the burning pleasure between your legs, and that was as much as you could bear before you were falling over the edge with him. 

Ominis’ body tensed, his hips grinding into you as you twitched and gasped under him, and the rich feeling of him emptying deep inside brought you to new heights you’d never experienced before. He spent an ample amount of time just whimpering against your pulse, wrapping his arms around your waist to hold you tight to him. His lips parted on a soft moan when you held him back best you could using your legs, and he brought one hand out from under you to follow your shaky arms up to the headboard. You felt a telling tug on the rope around your wrists, and in a heartbeat Ominis had expertly undone the knot that tied you to the bedframe. 

As much as you wanted to wrap your arms around him, the appendages were practically useless. You felt pins and needles dancing down your shoulders, which didn’t do anything to help with your hyper-sensitivity. But all in all, you’d never felt so satisfied in your fucking life, and you turned your head to press your lips against Ominis’ messy head of hair graciously. 

He shuddered at the feeling, lifting his head to gaze affectionately in the direction of your soft breathing. “Are you alright, love?” 

You hummed contentedly and nodded, flinching ever so slightly when you felt Ominis slide out of your overstimulated walls. He bent down to claim your lips in a heated kiss, chasing away any lingering tension in your body as he ran his hands down your sides dotingly. 

“You were so good for me, darling… so well behaved. You sounded so pretty falling apart on my cock,” he whispered his praises against your mouth, making you whimper, and you felt his expression twist into a smug smirk against your parted lips. “No more secrets, though. The next time you want me to fuck you senseless, you need only ask.” 

You agreed embarrassingly fast, vowing to forever voice every last whisper that crossed your mind from this moment forth. Especially if it meant garnering treatment like this more often. What other sinful secrets was Ominis hiding from you? 

As sore and achy as you were, a very big, very shameless part of you seriously couldn’t wait to find out. 

[6uny]

test pages for a comic