#They were caught in a bloody ambush or something

[armpirate]

Until You're Mine || Choi San | Ch. 1

MASTERLIST Next

Pairings: Mafia!San x fem!reader

Genre: smut, angst, fluff, obsession, mafia love

Warnings: dom!San, sub!reader, explicit language, mention of drug and guns, violence, rough sex.

Summary: San, a notorious and feared mafia boss, has always lived in the shadows of power and violence. When an ambush leaves him wounded and on the run, he finds refuge in an empty event hall. Inside, Y/n, a rising star in the world of event planning, is nursing her own wounds -a career on the line after a confrontation with a powerful client. The last thing she expects is for her night to take a dark turn when San stumbles into her life, bloodied and dangerous.

Despite the fear and uncertainty, Y/n can't turn away. She helps him clean up, binding more than just his wounds in the process. What begins as an intense, chance encounter spirals into a dangerous obsession. San, used to being the hunter, becomes fixated on the one woman who dared to help him, even in his darkest moment. Meanwhile, Y/n, caught in the mystery of that powerful man, finds herself tracking his every move, unable to shake the dangerous allure of his world.

Neither knows that their fascination with each other is mutual. In a city teeming with danger, power, and deceit, their secret obsessions will pull them deeper into a deadly game -one where love, power, and obsession intertwine, and nothing is as it seems.

Chapter duration: 20 minutes

Chapter warnings: Violence, shooting, mentions of blood and drugs

The night had gone according to plan: the cabs were on time, the guests started arriving -with a significant amount of people showing up for the event-, the cloudy sky only showed its black tone with some shining starts standing out -at least, what the city of Detroit allowed-, which meant the cocktail would be held on the outside as planned.

Everything was going according to plan… until it didn't.

Y/n's fingers trailed absently over the clipboard, eyes scanning the banquet hall for any last-minute hiccups. The small awards ceremony had flowed as smoothly as she'd envisioned -perfectly timed speeches, lights dimming at all the right moments, and not a single technical glitch. The guests were enjoying the short colloquiums, the awards were safe and taken well care of before handing them to their owners.

She had everything under control… until the cocktail hour came.

The shift to the cocktail reception felt like a descent into chaos.

Y/n's gaze darted to the far end of the adjacent room, where a tall, chubby woman -one of the night's winners- was animatedly arguing with a waiter. A simple mix-up over her drink order had somehow spiraled out of control. The brunette was waving her arms, her voice rising over the soft chatter of the crowd, her complaints turning heads. Y/n felt the knot tighten in her stomach as she hurried over, her heels clicking against the polished floor.

Those situations always made her nervous, but it wasn't something she hadn't seen before or something she wasn't able to find a solution to.

—Look at what you've done —the woman snapped, her frustration palpable—. Do you have an idea of how much this dress costs?

It was a trivial mistake, one that could have been handled discreetly, but that ended up having the attention of half the room.

—I'm sorry, miss. I'm sure it was an accident, she was trying to get through… —Y/n said in her calmest voice, attempting to calm down the situation— Let me help you clean you up.

—Are you blaming me now?

—No, no —she quickly shook her head—. I meant that she didn't do it on purpose, these things happen. There's a trick to clean wine up.

—I don't need your boorish tricks —the woman pushed her away before Y/n could even attempt to help her—. Shit, this dress cost eight hundred dollars. Are you going to pay for it?

Y/n's body tensed after hearing the price. That woman paid for her dress the same amount Y/n paid for her rent, which she thought was expensive just a few hours back, while discussing with one of the hostesses back in the hall.

That woman was making a big fuss, when she knew s\well he had no problem buying another one if she wanted to. Hell, she probably had that same dress in different colors back home.

—Miss, again, the waitress was trying to get through, but you were in the middle of the way. I'm afraid the company can't pay for the dress, but…

—Not only do you ruin my dress, but also call me fat?

—What? No, of course not. I never meant it that way.

Y/n was trying everything in her hand to calm the woman down and keep her from making a scene, but it was too late. All eyes were already on them as Celia Curry kept ranting about her dress, ignoring all her attempts on making damage control. Some guests whispered behind their hands, and others simply watched, relishing the drama of someone else's accident.

The situation kept scalating out of her control, feeling like every word she said only helped to make things worse.

It didn't take long for Y/n's boss, Darnell, to appear beside her, his towering frame and stern expression making her stomach clench.

Darnell was a man of few words, but when he spoke, his tone carried weight. His skin was as dark as the fitted suit he wore, his eyes sharp behind his glasses as he fixed her with a disapproving look, before he took control of the situation that she wasn't able to, moving away with the problematic lady.

Eventually, the situation was handled, but the damage was done. The smooth control Y/n had so carefully maintained all night was shattered.

Darnell was chatting with the few guests left, while the only people left were those working for the catering company -and who were picking up all the tables spread all over the room-, and the three hostesses that were chatting between them.

She hoped that conversation would last forever, because she knew what would come next for her wouldn't be good news.

—Y/n —he said, his voice serious—, you need to handle situations like that better. You're supposed to put out the fire, not to make it worse.

Her stomach twisted. She was convinced it wasn't that bad, but she guessed wrong.

—I know what you're trying to say, but she only calmed down because it was you who spoke to her —she tried to explain.

—I have to pay eight hundred dollars of my own money, just so she'd stop making a scene. You've been working in the industry for long enough to know that it's always better to just nod and let them rant than say something else that could get us in trouble.

—It was an accident. The waitress didn't want to ruin her dress. What did she expect us to do? To call out someone who was doing her job? It was her fault for being on the way…

—I don't want excuses —he cut her off, his tone sharp—. Celia was going to hire us for one of the parties she hosts, and we almost lost that opportunity because you still don't know what are the right words to say in situations like these. I won't let it pass another time.

With that, he walked away, leaving her standing alone in the now quiet venue, her confidence shaken.

Y/n stayed behind, even when everyone that formed the staff left, needing the time to process and, more than anything, catch her breath.

The venue was eerily quiet now, the earlier noise replaced with the echo of distant footsteps and the soft hum of the lights. She glanced at the bar, where leftover glasses and discarded napkins remained.

She sighed, sinking into one of the chairs in the now-empty hall. It was supposed to have been her night. A flawless event to prove she could handle anything. Instead, she was left picking up the pieces of a mistake that never should have happened.

Alone with her thoughts, Y/n's mind wandered. Little did she know, her night was just getting started.

San stood at the edge of the abandoned ceramics establishment that once belonged to his family, the dim light from a single hanging bulb casting long shadows across the concrete floor. The air was thick with tension, and the scent of dust and humidity filled the room. It was a place where deals were made in silence and sealed with blood.

That night was supposed to be no different.

He had chosen that place himself -an isolated part of the docks, far from prying eyes and the ears of law enforcement. No one in that part of the city spoke about what they saw, even less if he was involved.

His black suit clung to his form with a precision that matched his meticulous nature. Everything was always under control.

Behind him stood Mingi and Jongho, his most trusted men. Mingi's height alone made him intimidating, his broad shoulders like steel doors guarding a vault. Jongho, quieter but lethal, had eyes that missed nothing. The two were formidable, their presence an unspoken warning: Do not cross us.

San's gaze was fixed on the men standing opposite him. Four of them, each dressed in leather jackets and cheap denim, their eyes darting nervously between him and his men. They had the look of street thugs -greedy, reckless, but not entirely stupid. Their leader, a man named Lucas, had swaggered in as if he owned the place, a false confidence that grated on San's nerves.

It had been an important deal, one San had personally overseen. This wasn't just another routine drug exchange; it was one that could tighten his grip on the city's underworld, push his operations to new heights. But from the moment the other group had walked in, San had sensed something was off.

The bags of money and drugs were in place, stacked neatly on a table in the center of the room. The terms were clear: a large shipment of high-grade product for an equally large sum of cash. But the other men -they were stalling.

San narrowed his eyes, his fingers lightly tapping the handle of the gun hidden beneath his jacket. He didn't like delays, and he liked hesitation even less.

—What's up, Lucas —San's voice was calm, but it carried an edge that made people pause.

He didn't need to shout to be threatening. Power, he had learned long ago, was in restraint. When you had it, you didn't need to flaunt it.

Lucas glanced at his men, shifting on his feet. His cocky demeanor faltered.

—We just… we need to make sure the product's pure, you know? No offense, San.

San's jaw clenched. He didn't like repeating himself. The product had already been tested, vetted, and verified. These kinds of second guesses were a slap in the face, especially after the reputation he had built. But Lucas' behavior wasn't just about caution. It was something more.

—You're wasting my time —San said, stepping forward. His voice dropped lower, a dangerous warning—. It was already tested. Are you implying I'm trying to fool you?

—It's not about trust, but I guess you already know that.

Lucas fumbled, gesturing to one of his men to check the drugs despite the first rejection, but San's focus wasn't on the drugs anymore. It was in their hands. Fidgeting. Twitching. Lucas' right hand, tapping rhythmically against his thigh. The unmistakable sign of a man on edge -one waiting for something.

It clicked in San's mind: This isn't just nerves. They're uneasy for a reason.

His instincts, honed by years in the streets, screamed danger. Without a word, San's eyes flicked to Mingi and Jongho. The two moved imperceptibly, hands ready on their weapons, their muscles coiled like springs, waiting for his signal.

—There's the money —Lucas insisted, his voice cracking slightly as he pulled a gun from his waistband, waving it casually like a prop.

A bad attempt to look tougher than he was, while trying to distract the man in front of him.

San didn't flinch. He never did.

—Test the fucking coke —he said coolly, nodding toward the product—. Do the job you came for. Unlike you, I know you don't have the balls to trick me.

Lucas hesitated. His men shifted, their gazes bouncing between each other. It was a subtle tell, but enough for San to know what was coming.

They've already decided.

San's eyes hardened. His blood surged with the cold realization. He didn't wait for the first move -he made it.

In one fluid motion, San drew his gun, his aim deadly accurate as he fired at Lucas' man who reached for the drugs. The shot rang out, the deafening crack of the gun a declaration of war. The man crumpled to the floor before he could draw his own weapon.

Gunfire erupted from all sides. Lucas' crew had been waiting for that -ready to steal both the drugs and the money. Bullets ricocheted off the metal beams, and the sound of shattering glass filled the room as chaos took over.

San moved with precision, his body a blur as he fired off two more shots, dropping another of Lucas' men. But in the frenzy, Lucas and the remaining two scrambled for the table, grabbing the bags and making a break for the exit.

Blood pulsed from a sudden, sharp pain in San's side. He looked down, seeing the dark stain spreading across his shirt. He'd been hit.

He stumbled backward, bracing himself against a pillar. His vision blurred for a second, but he forced himself to stay standing. He could hear Mingi and Jongho taking down more of the traitors, but it wasn't enough. Lucas had slipped through their fingers, dragging the stolen goods with him.

—Boss! —Jongho was beside him in an instant, eyes wide with concern—. You're hit!

San waved him off, anger fueling him more than the pain.

—Go after them. Now.

—We can't leave you here —Mingi insisted.

—I said go! —San's voice was steel, leaving no room for argument.

He wasn't going to bleed out there while his enemies walked free with what was his. He could still feel Lucas' smirk in the air, and that thought alone sent a fresh surge of fury through him.

Mingi and Jongho hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. They bolted after the escaping men, their footsteps echoing as they disappeared into the night.

San stood alone in the now-silent establishment, breathing heavily, his hand pressed hard against the wound. He could feel the warm blood spilling out between his fingers. Soon the police sirens reached his ear, making him curse in between her teeth, before he chose to escape through the back door.

He needed to get out, find somewhere safe, but the pain made each step harder.

Dragging himself through the alleys, he pushed forward, determined to stay conscious. After what felt like an eternity, the dim glow of a nearby venue caught his eye. He didn't know what it was -a bar, a club- but the lights were still on. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere he could stop the bleeding, and somewhere where he wouldn't be found, because the police wouldn't look for him there.

Without another option, he stumbled toward the door, pushing it open with what little strength he had left.

And that was when he saw her.

Y/n jumped, startled by the sudden crash of the door slamming against the wall. A man stumbled inside, his tall figure nearly crumpling as he lurched forward. She froze, her breath catching in her throat, eyes widening in shock.

He wore a gray suit, or what was left of it. The jacket was torn, stained with something dark -blood. A long, black coat hung loosely from his broad shoulders, but his sharp features were marred by the ghostly pale complexion of someone who had lost too much blood.

His dark, almond-shaped eyes scanned the room, his lips pressed into a tight line of pain. The man was hurt, badly.

Too much blood.

Her hands trembled as she shot to her feet. Instinct screamed at her to help, but fear paralyzed her for a moment. Her mind raced, panicked, as she saw the crimson seeping through the fabric of his suit, the gaping hole in his side.

—Oh god —she breathed, stepping back, her eyes glued to the growing red stain.

The man's knees buckled, and he stumbled forward, grabbing onto a nearby table for support. His gaze locked onto hers, sharp despite the pain.

—Help me —he rasped, his voice deep and commanding, a raw edge to it.

Her first instinct was to reach for her phone, call an ambulance so he'd get the help he needed, but he stopped her before she could get her purse.

—Don't call anyone.

—What? —Y/n blinked, not fully understanding— But you're bleeding…

—I said don't call anyone —he repeated, this time stronger, more forceful.

His words cut through her panic, grounding her. His eyes, dark and unreadable, pinned her in place. It wasn't a request; it was an order.

—Please… —his tone softened, just slightly, almost pleading, but the command remained. He leaned harder against the table, fighting to stay upright.

Y/n swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest. She moved toward him cautiously, instinct taking over despite the fear gnawing at her insides. He was a stranger -dangerous-looking, clearly involved in something violent- but something in his voice, his gaze, pulled her closer. She couldn't just leave him there.

—I… I don't know what to do —she stammered, glancing at the blood soaking his side. Her mind screamed at her to run, to call for help, but instead, her hands hovered over his coat—. You need a doctor.

—No doctor. So I guess the only thing I need right now is you.

—But… —Y/n hesitated, eyes wide.

His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist with surprising strength, making her gasp. His fingers were cold, but his grip was firm, insistent.

—Check my back —he ordered, his voice rough but steady—. Is there a hole?

Her stomach turned at the request, but she nodded, swallowing back the lump in her throat as she slowly stepped behind him. Her trembling fingers lifted the edge of his black coat, revealing more blood. It was everywhere. She winced as she saw the tear in the back of his suit -another bullet wound.

Oh God, there's another one.

Her knees nearly buckled at the sight of it, her breath catching in her throat.

—There's… there's another wound —she whispered, panic rising in her voice.

—Good. That'll make it easy —he mumbled—. Just… clean it. Stop the bleeding —he ordered again, his voice hoarse but laced with the same cold authority.

Y/n nodded, her movements stiff and robotic as she grabbed a towel from one of the tables. She didn't know what else to do -there was no medical kit, no real supplies to help someone who had been shot. But San moved first, clenching his jaw to omit a whine when he attempted to take off his shirt. She could hear the tremor in her own breathing as she pressed the towel to his back, feeling the warmth of his blood soak through the fabric.

He winced but said nothing, his jaw clenched as he leaned against the table, his chest heaving with labored breaths.

—You're losing too much blood —she whispered, pressing harder to stem the flow—. I don't think I can…

—You can —he interrupted, his voice low but firm—. I'll tell you what to do. Just… focus.

Y/n bit her lip, forcing herself to breathe, to calm down. She could feel the weight of his eyes on her under his wet bangs, even as she worked to stop the bleeding. He was staring at her -his expression unreadable but intense, almost like he was sizing her up, gauging her resolve.

—Who are you? —she asked quietly, glancing up at him through her lashes as she pressed the towel harder against his back— What happened?

He didn't answer. Instead, his eyes darkened, his face tightening with pain as he leaned more heavily against the table.

—That's not important right now.

Y/n swallowed hard, feeling the gravity of the situation sink deeper into her bones. That man, whoever he was, wasn't just hurt. He was dangerous. The way he commanded her, the way he dismissed his injuries, like this was just another day -it wasn't normal.

And yet, there was something about him, something magnetic, that kept her rooted in place. Even through the fear and confusion, she couldn't look away.

—Please —he said again, softer this time. His voice cut through her racing thoughts like a blade—. Help me.

Y/n pressed the towel harder against his back, her hands shaking as she tried to stop the bleeding. The man's breathing had become shallower, each breath coming in ragged, painful bursts, but he still didn't let up. He gave her instructions with a calm authority that unnerved her.

—Press harder —San murmured, his deep voice steady, though strained with pain. His dark eyes flicked between the wound and her face—. You're doing fine.

—I doubt you're doing fine though —she swallowed back the panic clawing at her throat, focusing on his words. Her fingers trembled as she tore strips from the tablecloth, fashioning them into makeshift bandages—. I'm not a doctor—. she whispered, her voice shaky—. I don't know if this is enough.

—It's enough —he said with a certainty that silenced any protest.

His hand rested against the table, steadying himself, while his gaze lingered on her face. His sharp eyes softened just for a moment as he noticed her red, puffy eyes -evidence of the tears she'd been shedding before he barged in.

San's brow furrowed slightly, an unfamiliar feeling rising in his chest. He wasn't used to caring about anyone else's emotions, let alone a stranger's.

—You were crying —he said, the statement coming out more like an observation than a question.

Y/n froze, blinking rapidly. She hadn't expected him to notice -he was the one bleeding out in front of her, after all.

—I… it's nothing. Just a bad day.

—A bad day? —his voice held a hint of something she couldn't quite place… curiosity? Amusement? His gaze darkened as he watched her work, her delicate fingers moving swiftly despite the fear in her eyes.

He was used to seeing fear. He'd seen it in countless faces before, but it was different. Her fear wasn't for him -it was for herself, for something else entirely, like she was scared of hurting him more.

—What kind of bad day makes someone cry alone in an empty venue?

Y/n bit her lip, trying to suppress the tears threatening to return. This wasn't the time to break down again. Not in front of him.

—Work —she muttered—. It's… complicated.

His eyes narrowed as if weighing whether to push further, but then a wave of pain hit him, and he gritted his teeth, letting out a low groan.

Y/n's heart pounded as she moved in front of him, her hands trembling as she pressed the makeshift bandages against the wound in his side. She could feel the heat of his body when directly touching his torso, and the smell of blood lingered in the air.

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and for a moment, everything seemed to still.

His gaze was locked on hers, unblinking, as if he could see straight through her. Those dark, intense eyes sent a shiver down her spine, and she found herself unable to look away.

—Thank you —he murmured, his voice softer now, almost intimate.

He reached up, his fingers brushing lightly against her wrist. The touch was subtle, yet it sent a surge of warmth up her arm, and she felt her breath hitch in her throat.

—You didn't have to help me.

She blinked, her pulse racing. Why does his touch feel like this?, she thought. She couldn't understand why that stranger -that dangerous, bleeding man- was making her feel so vulnerable, so exposed.

—It's not like I had a choice —she whispered, though she wasn't sure if that was entirely true.

She could have run, called for help, but something about him -something about the way he looked at her- had kept her there, as if she were drawn to him by an invisible force.

San's fingers lingered on her wrist for a second longer before he pulled away, his eyes still locked on hers. The tension between them thickened, and she could feel the air grow heavier. She had saved his life, but in doing so, she had become entangled in something much larger than herself.

—Your name —he said suddenly, his voice a low rasp—. What's your name?

Y/n hesitated for a split second, then answered softly:

—Y/n.

—Y/n… —he rolled her name over his tongue, as if tasting it, memorizing it. It sent a strange thrill through her, one she couldn't explain.

He took a deep breath, wincing slightly from the pain, but his gaze never left hers.

—I won't forget it —and he was so damn sure he meant it—. It's a beautiful name.

Something about the way he said it made her heart skip a beat. She wasn't sure if it was a promise or a warning, but she could feel it -a connection, sharp and undeniable, forming between them in that moment. The world outside seemed to fade, leaving only the two of them in the dimly lit room.

Then, without warning, he leaned forward, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered.

—I owe you one.

Y/n's breath caught in her throat, her pulse racing as his words sent a shiver down her spine. His closeness, the heat of his body, the intensity of his gaze -it was all overwhelming. She should have felt afraid, but instead, she felt something else entirely.

Before she could respond, his hand gently cupped the side of her face, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped. His touch was both gentle and possessive, as if he were claiming a piece of her in that moment.

—Don't cry for them —he murmured, his voice low and dangerous—. They don't deserve your tears.

Her breath hitched, and before she could process what was happening, he leaned in and pressed his lips softly against hers. The kiss was brief, just a brush of warmth, but it ignited something deep inside her. A spark. A hunger she hadn't known existed.

When he pulled back, their eyes locked, both of them breathing heavily. In that moment, Y/n knew that she was no longer just a bystander in his world -she was a part of it now.

San's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, as if memorizing every detail of her face. Then, with a grunt of pain, he straightened up, his movements slow and deliberate. He adjusted his coat, his hand pressing against the wound one last time.

—I'll find you —he said quietly, his voice full of an unspoken promise. And with that, he turned and walked toward the door, leaving her standing there, her heart pounding in her chest.

She had been so lost in his aura, that she hadn't been aware of the car parked outside, and that San had called while she was in the bathroom making the napkins wet.

As the door closed behind him, Y/n stood frozen, her fingers brushing her lips where his had been. She should have been terrified, but all she could think about was the way he had looked at her -the intensity in his eyes, the way his touch had made her feel alive.

She didn't know his name. She didn't know what kind of danger he had just brought into her life. But one thing was certain:

She needed to see him again.

[phospolipid-bilayer]

Been rotating this scene in my head for a while now. Tfw the girl who just died right next to you and whose blood you are drenched in is standing upright. Looking at you. Walking toward you.

[lowkeyerror]

Always There

Agatha Harkness x Vampire!Reader x Rio Vidal

Word count: 4.9k

Notes: Non-major character death, depictions of violence, graphic violent content (blood, mob violence/torture, detailed wounds), angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, small mention of suicial tendencies, italics=past

Summary: Vampire reader has had a casual relationship with Agatha and Rio, but eventually too many years pass since their last encounter, the vampire starts to wonder if they still cared for her.

An: Posting this immediately after I finished writing it. Hope you enjoy. Likes, replies, reblogs, and all of that are appreciated 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ Edit: Not me saying itallics and forgetting to actually put them lol

Masterlist

You’ve had a casual fling with Agatha and Rio for as long as you can recall. There’s a stereotype about witches coming and going as they please, and you find it to be frustratingly true.

It's easier to get ahold of Rio than Agatha, which is ironic considering that Rio is literally Death. With the title comes the job, so all you truly needed to get a glimpse of her was a body. Perhaps you could arrange the carcasses in a way that said ‘stay with me forever’.

As a vampire, you had time to wait. There was no rush, which is how you believe things got so casual. You could never forget how you met the pair.

At the time angry mobs were running rampant, looking for anyone to persecute. You were a known vampire living not to far from a village. They hunted you for sport. There were many of them that you killed, but eventually they were able to ambush you. When they did, they used wooden spikes to pin you to a large ‘X’ that they built. The scars from were they impaled your flesh still present today.

They tortured you; punching, spitting, stabbing, you had eventually lost track of time after a few hours. The need for blood weakening you enough to where breaking free was nearly impossible.

They’d come in shifts for the torture and leave only one person to watch you in the night. That was their only flaw. You didn’t expect anyone outside of the village to come across you, but someone did.

Your head was hung low, when you heard the unmistakable sound of a body hitting the ground. You raised it slightly, to see the guard that was supposed to be watching you, dead on the floor.

“You don’t look too well.”

It had been days since you had tried to speak, so your voice was hoarse, “I wouldn’t think so.”

“What are you? Only someone different, is worth all of this trouble,” a different voice spoke.

Your eyes look to where the voices are coming from, but you only see shadows. Your tongue is dry as it passes over your bloody chapped lips.

“Vampire,” you mumbled.

“Help me get her down.”

When they approached, you finally got a good look at them. You couldn’t help but stare at their features. Both youthful with rosy cheeks. Rio’s large brown eyes caught your attention immediately, warm yet hiding something. Agatha’s features were sharper, her cheekbones, her jawline, even her eyes.

“This will hurt,” Rio examined the wood embedded into your skin.

“I know,” you spoke weakly.

You expected them to pull the spikes out with their hands. Instead your eyebrows furrowed when purple and green tendrils of magic worked around the spikes. Instead of 4, painfully slow, agonizing moments, there was only one rough pull, before your body fell off of the ‘X’. Only your knees hit ground as Agatha and Rio held up the rest of your body.

Your full weight pushed against them as your head rested in between their shoulders, “Thank you.”

“Hungry?”

Your eyes glowed a dim red, “I could drain a village.”

“Bloodthirsty, even in this state?” Agatha teased.

“Especially in this state,” you corrected.

You could hardly move, but you attempted to stand on your unstable legs. You grunted in pain as you put one foot in front of the other. Your focus was on the dead guard. His heart was no longer beating, but blood still filled his veins. It was calling to you, it had been too long since you had fed.

Your fangs snack into the man’s neck viciously. You had no remorse for the corpse as his body began to lose color as you drank. He wasn’t a large man, which was unfortunate, but he sufficed for the moment.

Harsh breaths and clearing of your throat, were indicators of how much you needed that. You wiped the blood off of your mouth with the back of your hand.

Your wounds were slowly closing, but it was taking all of the energy you had just gained.

“I can heal you faster,” Rio said tentatively grabbing your forearm.

She extended it so that it’s flat, before quickly running her tongue over the spot. You looked at her as if she was crazy, but then back at your wrist. The hole from the stake was gone, in its place was only a scar.

If you had a pulse, you were sure that it would be beating wildly.

You glanced at Agatha, who watched on, “Do you do that too?”

She shook her head, “Earth witch specialty.”

“How long did they have you like that?” Rio’s eyes have examined your body, noticing the extensive damage. Her finger trailed one of the nastier slashes across your stomach.

“I don't recall,” you spoke honestly.

Rio was careful as she healed the larger wounds on your body, you told her not to worry about the less significant ones. Even when she was done you were still caked in dirt and mostly your own blood.

“Let me help you out doll,” Agatha waved her fingers swiftly, and soon you were clean as a whistle.

Your tattered clothes replaced as if they were new, dirt and blood alike removed from your body. Ugly scars, now covered except for the few that littered your face.

“Why help me? We are only strangers, I don’t even know your names.”

“Abominations to humanity must stick together lest we want them to wipe every one of us out . You can call me Rio.”

“Agatha Harkness, pleasure to save you beautiful.”

One of your eyebrows raised, “Witch killer, Agatha Harkness?”

The woman chuckled, “I see my reputation supersedes my community. Does my aura scare you…”

“Y/n, and it does not. There are no rules when it comes to preservation of self. I’ve killed my own kind for good reasons and some not so good reasons. Bodies just seem to pile up when I’m around.”

“That why they nail you up like that?” Rio questioned.

You shrugged, “I suppose, a mixture of that and fear.”

“People fear death,” she spoke.

You shook your head as you corrected her, “Mortals fear death. I know people who are thousands of years old, who run from ailments of morality. They are foolish, death cannot be outran. Though it may take longer for her to come, she will eventually get all of us.”

“You aren’t afraid to die?” Agatha questioned you.

“No, there’s no point. She’ll come for me when it’s my time, but until then what is there to fear besides a wasted life.”

Rio had a small smile on her face, “Quite the philosophy you’ve fostered. Just one question, if you feel that way, then why kill anyone in the first place?”

It was your turn to chuckle, “If someone was meant to live, they simply would. I’m not stealing life, simply gifting death to those who have decided that it is their time.”

“How do you know that they’ve decided?” Agatha counters.

“Well you see, many people are weary of vampires and they should be. They let their guard down, they get comfortable, they play with their food instead of finishing the job. Those actions have consequences and I like to deal with those consequences personally. So I suppose when they choose to wrong me, they’ve chosen to die.”

“And the villagers who did this to you?” Rio pondered aloud.

You eyed her cautiously, “Do you stand to stop me?”

Rio shook her head, “I keep a witch killer in my company, you think I’m above a rightfully earned massacre?”

“Well you spoke of solidarity amongst-”

“Think of it this way, we can do what we want amongst each other, as it is our business. The humans have no right, to do what we do.”

You nod, “I agree.”

“So, you’re going to destroy the village?” Agatha questioned.

“My goal is to drain every last one.”

After that first encounter you were drunk on the thought alone of Agatha and Rio. Finding out Rio's true identity only made you lust for her even more. You knew that both had bonded with each other in ways you hadn’t understood, but that didn't stop your feelings from developing.

It didn't take long for them to fold you into their relationship, at least partially. They weren’t always around, but when they were everything seemed to fall back into place.

However, you’d be lying if you said you hadn't been getting restless these last few years. It was feeling like you saw less of them, especially Agatha. It felt like a game of cat and mouse. Somehow you had ended up chasing after them.

Tonight you walk the streets bored, part of you looking for trouble. Rumblings of new age vampire hunters in the area had piqued your interest. So you’d have a chance to have some fun or at minimum find your next meal.

Your fingers play with the rings they had gifted you, centuries ago. In the past you could feel both of them signaling you through the jewelry. It was a faint buzz, something like a hum, through the ring. A feeling that you hadn’t felt in ages. You longed to feel it again, to feel them.

Alleyways didn’t scare you, hardly anything scared you these days. Yet as you take a step into this alley, you sense something immediately. You feel eyes on you, as you walk.

“Has anyone ever told you to be mindful of where you settle demon?”

You continue walking, the empty threat meant nothing to you.

“I know what you are, I can smell it on you,” the voice echoes against the walls.

Your ears twitch, and soon you’re holding a frail man against one of the concrete walls in the alley.

“If you know what I am, you should be more mindful of how you approach me,” your strength speaks for itself.

You don’t give him the pleasure of seeing your fangs or glowing red eyes.

“Ah, you’re one of the older ones. This will be quite fun,” he says gleefully.

“What are you-" the question dies on your lips as you feel a needle being jabbed into your neck.

Your hand instinctively shoots over the spot, and your growl in frustration. You drop the man against the wall, turning your attention to the person who stuck you from behind with the needle.

This man was much bigger than the other. He was about twice your size, but it did not matter. You bare your fangs, hissing at the muscular man.

“Why isn’t she dropping?” He yells, fear laced through his voice.

You take the moment to pounce on him. Your teeth wasting no time, sinking into his neck. The man convulses under you, but you’re stronger than him. Even when he grabs your neck you don’t relent.

“Impossible,” the frail man, whispers from his spot against the wall.

“Nice try, but-”

The sensation hits you like a truck. You feel your vision get blurry and your muscles weaken. You blink a few times trying to will yourself against the late acting sedative.

The frail man nods excessively as you begin to lose consciousness, “Slower than usual, but captured nonetheless.”

You’re jolted back into consciousness when you feel the stake being driven into your skin. You attempt to shoot out of whatever position you are in, but it only causes you a familiar pain. Unlike the first time you were nailed to something, this time it was straight up rather than ‘X’ formation. Your arms hung up straight above your head and your feet were slightly spread underneath.

One spike was used to pierce both of your hands in place while you had one for each foot. Your breathing only quickens even more upon noticing you are in a forest. This couldn’t be happening.

“Glad you could finally join us,” the frail man from earlier want alone this time. He had a group of people with him.

“Let me go, and I’ll consider sparing you one I'm free,” you say, yet no one moves.

“You hold no power here, demon,” the man walks around you. “I am doctor Helsing, you may be familiar with my ancestors.”

Your jaw twitches, “ Van Helsing.”

He chuckles, “What a smart creature you are?”

“What do you want from me?”

His chuckle turns into a boisterous laughter, “ You can't offer me anything that I don't have the ability to take.”

You glare at the people in front of you, eyes turning a vicious shade of red, “The last group of people that tried something like this, paid for their sins with their lives. I hope you’re prepared to do the same.”

“They did quite a number on you, I can tell by your markings. Their only mistake was letting such a beautiful thing like you go,” Helsing says, his hand sliding across the scar on your abdomen.

“They didn’t let me go. I got out.”

His eyes had a glint as he leaned in, “And then you killed them all, how sad.”

He stabs you in the scar. Carving harder and deeper than the previous person. You grunt, but try to steel yourself under the knife. Yet you squirm finding the sensation to be more unpleasant than you had recalled.

“Silver cuts a little different doesn’t it?” He says watching the cut pour blood.

“You’re going to regret this.”

He turns his attention to the people, “Empty threats mean nothing when a beast is tied up. Would anyone else like a turn?”

People in his crowd begin to circle around you. Some with weapons, others cracking their knuckles. You're being attacked from all sides. The pain makes you tear up, but you avoid crying.

Instead you left out a bitter laugh, “That’s all you’ve got. Come on if you're gong to torture me at least put some passion behind it.”

“Oh, we’re just getting started. I want to hear you beg for your life, I want to see you broken, beaten, defeated. I want you to ask for death and then I'll award it to you.”

You spit at Helsing, “I’m not scared of death.”

He wipes your spit off of his face, a scowl now present, “For centuries my family has been driving your species to extinction. The failures may eclipse the successes, but don't think that we were never successful. You will fall at the hands of Van Helsing, creature.”

He has a device in his hand, he shoves it into your mouth. It forces your mouth open and your fangs out. He stares at them in awe. You try to clamp your mouth shut or retract your fangs, but you are unable to. You start to panic.

“Just like a snake, de-fang the vampire and a lot of that fear is gone,” his smile is sadistic.

You feel your adrenaline sky rocket as you shake violently. Your eyes wide in terror. The wood stake ripping your skin, but the pain was nothing akin to the fright.

You don’t remember the last time you were truly this scared.

He laughs and some of the crowd laugh along with him, “Are you afraid now, demon?”

Tears fall from your eyes and he coos. You flinch at his hand touching your face. His fingers were rough and callused against the swollen skin. You move your head as if to attack him and he stumbles back.

He grabs your jaw roughly, “This is the power of man.”

“Looks like someone is having a party and forgot to invite us.”

You know that voice. It makes you close your eyes in relief. The panic you felt in the moment begins to dissipate.

Everyone looks to the sky following the sound of the voice. It’s there that they see Agatha and Rio floating in the sky. Most of the crowd has their mouths agape, not believing what they are seeing.

“Should we offer them mercy, Agatha? Maybe our invites got lost in the mail?”

“This matter does not concern you foul wenches, be gone,” Helsing says, his voice trembles a bit at the end.

It’s Agatha that cackles looking down at the man, “See that’s where your wrong because…”

Rio appears behind the man, her skeletal form on her face, “If it concerns her, then it concerns us.”

Her dagger lays on his neck and he looses his composure.

“Anyone want to be brave?” Agatha questions the crowd, who screams when she shoots her magic at a nearby tree exploding it.

“What happened? A second ago you were lining up to torture her, but now you’re scared,” Rio adds pressure to her dagger.

“Don’t get shy now, doctor. Nothing to say?” Agatha gets closer to him.

The group tries to scatter but she traps them in a circle full of fire. They’re forced to gather close to each other. Their screams make you smile.

Agatha pulls the device out of your mouth carefully. Her hand caresses your face gently. You lean into her touch.

“We have to stop meeting like this doll,” Agatha mumbles only for you to hear.

“We wouldn’t have to meet again if you stopped leaving,” you shoot back.

Agatha casts her gaze away from you and over to Helsing. She and Rio switch places. The Green Witch, uses her vines to pull the spikes out of your body. It’s a feeling that never gets easier to experience.

You land on your feet ignoring the burning sensation. With your back tall you walk over to Helsing. You crouch in front of him, despite your own agony.

You hold his eyes, “Funny, I recall you telling me I’d beg for death. Well now she’s here for me, just not in the way you expected is it?”

Rio wiggles her fingers at the doctor, “I loved dragging the souls of your family to eternal damnation, can’t wait to reunite you with them.”

“Humans are all the same, always playing with food that’s not yours,” you stand towering over the man.

“Hey I like to play with my food,” Agatha pouts.

You smile, “When you have power you can do what you want.”

You open your hand and Rio drops her dagger into your grasp. The crowd watches in panic behind the flames as you approach the man.

“However, I’ve never been one to play with my food,” in a swift motion you slit his throat.

The gasps and screams of his followers sounds like music to your ears. He gargles his own blood reaching for his neck.

“Your blood isn’t worth drinking,” you watch as he collapses. You turn to address the crowd, “None of you have worthy blood. Cowards, followers, miscreants, I hope it was worth it. The price is your life, now burn.”

Agatha waves her hand dismissively and the crowd of people are quickly evaporated. Ash and burnt grass the only remnants of the aggressors.

Upon their destruction you crumble to the floor. Your body screaming at you for the abuse you endured.

Rio starts with the wound on your stomach before healing the spiked points. Your body still aches when she’s finished, but it’s substantially less than before.

“Déjà vu isn’t it bunny?” Agatha opens the floor for conversation.

“Now isn’t the time Agatha,” Rio scolds the woman, who raises her hands in defense.

“I was just reminiscing, is that a crime?”

You stand, “Well, good seeing you. Same time… in the next few centuries or…”

“You’re hurt,” Rio argues.

“You healed me enough,” you shrug.

Agatha rolls her eyes, “What’s with the attitude princess?”

You place a hand on your hip, “When was the last time we saw each other, Agatha? Rio, you only come when I leave bodies in my wake. So sorry if I’m not thrilled it takes me being captured and tortured to get some time together.”

“It’s always been this way,” Agatha argues back.

Your voice takes on an uncharacteristically soft tone, “I know and I’m tired. I don’t want whatever this is. I need something more, something tangible. It’s fine if you don't want to give that to me, but I can't keep waiting.”

You try to keep calm as you pull the rings off of your fingers, hand out stretched to give them back to their original owners.

“Y/n…”

“Take them… please. Free me, from whatever this is. I’m grateful that you saved me on our first day and maybe the same thing happening again is fate telling me that this is our last day,” you get the courage to look at them with teary eyes.

“You don't even believe in fate,” Agatha tries to reason with you.

“How would you know, you haven't been around. Things change, people change,” you tell her.

Agatha looks to Rio for help, but The Green Witch, just keeps her eyes on you.

“That’s bullshit! If change is so real, how’d we end up right back where we started hmm? Poor little hung up bat, in need of saving and here we are like always,” Agatha’s theatrics peak through her words.

“Like always?” You repeat, in disbelief.

“Look sweetheart, I know that-"

You ball your fists at your side, “What could you possibly know Agatha? Tell me, I’m interested in hearing. Did you know I spend all my time waiting for either of you to tell me if you want me or not? I don’t sleep, I just think and think and think about finding a way to end it all without having to see either of you. Hard to kill yourself with Death keeping tabs on you, even without a heartbeat. I knew this guy was tracking me, I knew what he wanted to do, and I said fuck it. I don’t care, what’s there to live for anyway?”

“You can't be serious?” Rio doesn’t want to believe what you’re saying.

“Of course I’m serious, part of me thought that after all these years humans would be over torture, but that was foolish of me. Why would I think that you'd come to save me? I still don’t understand why you did.”

“Because we love you, you fucking idiot!” Agatha shouts at you.

You scoff, “Do you really? I couldn’t tell by the hundreds of years apart.”

“We were protecting you,” Agatha gets in your space.

“What could have possibly been protecting me? Oh no, a loving and caring environment? How ever could I have managed such domestic delights and pleasures,” your voice drips sarcasm.

“You do realize that Rio is Death, right? Her job is literally to reap souls, you aren’t the only one that doesn’t get to see her often. And me… I’m all trouble, doll. There’s not a pleasant bone in my body.”

You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest, “Did you forget who I am? Have you had a head trauma recently, or maybe you need a refresher? I’m not the greatest either, cupcake. I just slit a man’s throat and had his followers executed.”

“By me,” Agatha points out.

“Ok and you want credit for the villages I killed too? The vampires I murdered? The people I lied to? The whores I fucked? I’m not some sweet innocent thing you picked up off of the side of the road. My ledger has had blood on it since before you killed your original coven.”

Your eyes are red as they stare into her blue ones.

“We were scared,” Rio interrupts the rising tensions between you and Agatha.

“Scared of what?” You glance at her.

“Of committing to you. Hell, Agatha and I can’t even fully commit to each other. This game of cat and mouse, it’s all we know. You’re right, you deserve more, so much more, but we don’t know how to give it. We don’t know what a domestic life looks like, we aren’t domestic people. I didn't think there would be any doubt in your head that we loved you, and maybe that just shows how fucked up we really are,” Rio monologues.

Her words hit you harshly. They make you want to start crying all over again. You cast your gaze to the floor.

“I guess that brings us back to the original point then, doesn’t it? Maybe it’s better if we just, end it here,” you can’t look at them.

“If that’s what you want?” Rio nods solemnly.

Agatha looks between the two of you, “Are you two stupid or something? You have to be if you think I’m just going to agree to this.”

“Agatha-”

“Don’t. I love you, both of you. I don’t want this to end and if that means changing the way things operate, then I guess things just have to change,” Agatha speaks seriously.

“What are yo-”

You startle when Agatha grabs your hands in both of hers. Her eyes locking fiercely onto yours. She doesn’t blink as she speaks, “Move in with me.”

“What?”

“You want time together, we can have time together. We’ve basically been together for centuries, come live with me.”

“Agatha, I think you've lost the plot,” Rio says, cautiously.

“You too Dr. Green Thumb. Let’s all move in together,” Agatha nods her head.

“That doesn’t fix everything,” you focus on her hands over yours.

She doesn’t hesitate to raise her hands to cup your face, “There’s obviously a lot to fix, but you can���t tell me this isn’t a step in the right direction. Y/n, I don’t want to- I can’t lose you. I’m not willing to let you go without a fight.”

Your face heats in her hands. Her eyes are ablaze with passion as they keep contact with yours.

You sigh and rest your forehead against hers, “I don’t know Agatha.”

Rio joins the moment, carefully wrapping her arms around your torso, “I don’t think any of us really know, but I think we’re supposed to find out together.”

“Please,” Agatha’s breath hits your lips. “Just a chance to make up for lost time. If it doesn’t work, then it doesn’t, but please don’t give up on us yet.”

Hearing Agatha beg like this tugs at your heart. You don’t want to give in this easily, but you’ve already wasted so much time.

“Ok.”

As the word falls from your lips, Agatha surges forward. You can recall the last time her lips were on yours. The warmth that they were able to send through your body. How firm she was in her kiss, not scared or uncertain as your lips moved together. She knew what she wanted and it was hard to picture a world in which she’d kiss someone she wasn’t interested in the way she was kissing you. You were the one she wanted.

Your legs grow weak, but Rio holds you steady. Her shifting grip, makes you turn to face her. Unlike Agatha she hesitates. She takes a moment to admire your features, she wasn’t in a rush. Neither were you. Rio’s kiss is softer than Agatha’s, her plush lips, move experimentally against yours. It’s not like she’s forgotten, more like she’s re-exploring. She's playful, as her teeth nibble on your bottom lip. You laugh at the sensation.

Rio rests her head on your shoulder. She extends her hands, motioning for the other witch to get closer. Agatha wraps her arms around the both of you. Her front to your back while her hands rest on Rio’s back. You’re encased by them, a feeling that is welcomed yet foreign to you.

“Promise that you'll keep me close” you say to both of them.

“Until the road ends, my love,” Agatha kisses the top of your head.

“I’ll hold you even after the road ends,” Rio kisses the base of your neck.

“Do you always have to one up me?” Agatha says to Rio.

Rio chuckles, “Sounds like a skill issue sweetheart.”

“Oh, we’ll see who has a skill issue later, when you’re begging me for help because my fingers are longer than yours,” Agatha says smugly.

Rio pulls back from you to glare at Agatha, “If you don’t want to ‘help’ me, I’ll just ask Y/n. Isn’t that right sweetheart?”

You blush at the innuendo.

“Nuh uh, bunny. I think I recall you liking my treats better, because someone has a skill issue,” Agatha sticks her tongue at Rio.

You turn an even deeper shade of red.

“You can never let an emotional moment be,” Rio says.

“Well you’re always trying to out ‘emotional’ me,” Agatha replies.

“It’s not my fault you’re not as smooth as me, mi vida,” Rio counters again.

Agatha throws her hands up, “I know Spanish and Latin too, you’re not special Vidal.”

Rio raises an eyebrow, “And who taught you?”

The back and forth makes you laugh, “Are you sure you don’t do domestic, because you bicker like an old married couple?”

They both huff at your statement.

“We’ll continue this at home,” Agatha points at Rio.

The brown eyed woman puts her hand over her heart in faux-fear, “Oooo, I’m terrified.”

Agatha opens a portal to her house and both women step through. Not stopping their bickering for a second. You smile as you watch them, feeling hopeful for the first time in a long time.

“The portal isn’t going to stay open forever, bunny, come on,” Agatha reaches her hand to pull you through.

You take it, stepping into your new beginning.

[miniwheat77]

Watch it burn. (Ghost x Reader.)

!this is pure smut, you've been warned. absolutely no minors. age gap, sex pollen, unprotected p in v sex, violence!

Ghost was hard headed and everyone knew that.

He didn't always communicate too well and sometimes he kept things to himself until it was unhealthy but that's who he was. He was a damaged person. He had walls up like fort knox. That was just Ghost. Not many knew about his past, but when you came along. Things started changing in weird ways that everyone on base never really seen coming.

Ghost seemed irritated by you at first. You were still pretty new to everything and needed some training but Laswell and Captain Price had both taken a liking to you and decided pretty quickly that you'd be a great addition to the team. It was an easy decision.

When you officially started on base, everyone fell in love with you immediately. Aside from Ghost obviously. You were still a little immature and Ghost didn't like that. The military wasn't meant for people like you and that caused a rift between you in the beginning. Slowly though, you started to prove yourself to him. When he was training you followed him around like a lost puppy asking him for tips and asking him to show you the best ways to stay in shape.

When he was in charge of you on missions, you always buckled down and followed everything he said to a T. You didn't act out or try to make light of any situations. You were mature when you needed to be and maybe that's where he started to grow soft for you. Ghost was always alone. He liked to work alone.

But once he'd gotten used to you being by his side all of the time, he almost hated it.

You followed him all over base. You ate each meal with him, even had a watch shift with him. You stuck by his side so often people started referring to you as his shadow.

At first, he didn't like it at all. Had even blown up on you for following him around so much which in turn got a taste of a side of you he had never seen.

"Why can't you just leave me alone? You're so bloody annoying. I'm not your fucking dad. Go away." He growled. You stopped in your tracks. Eyes narrowing.

"Is that an order, Lieutenant?" You had asked, which in turn made him roll his eyes at you.

"You're being ridiculous."

"No. I don't think so. Because unless you're giving me orders, you don't talk to me like that."

The hair on his body rose and he swore he'd never been so angry. But even as he stepped closer to you, you stood your ground. "Excuse me?" He asks. "You heard me. I'm not a kid, and you sure as shit aren't going to talk to me like that. I'm keeping you company and maybe I'm not doing that for you. Maybe I'm doing it for me." You step closer to him, his nose nearly touching yours. "And I know you're not my dad. But unless you're trying to meet him, lower your voice when you talk to me."

Your voice was quiet, but steady. Letting him know that you were not playing around.

He found out through Price the next day that your dad had passed away at some point in your childhood.

He'd never run to apologize to someone faster in his life.

From that point on, he'd gone easier on you.

---

It was a mistake.

A simple mistake that he knew he shouldn't have made as a Lieutenant.

You were the first to be infected.

Captain Price had sent the both of you on a mission. Meant to be a simple one of course. He sent his best he said.

You'd gotten a gash on you, but something was on the knife. Your veins started to glow. Pink almost as Ghost had described, which resulted in your eyes to roll back. He barely caught you as you passed out.

He quickly found a room and barricaded you inside. He needed answers.

After ambushing a man and dragging him inside with you, he started asking questions. "What was on the knife?"

"Was it poison?"

"How long does she have?"

But only seemed to get laughs from the man who he had tied up.

"It's not poison." He grits his teeth. Ghost is sure the knife in his leg is what's making him talk at this point.

"It's a drug."

Ghost grits his teeth. "What is it?" He slams him back into the wall. "So help me god if you don't start talking." He growls. Grasping the knife that's still in his leg, going to pull it out. "WAIT!" He yells, stopping Ghost. "It's..." He pauses. Looking down. "It's a reproductive drug."

Ghost looks at him confused. "What?"

"It's meant to increase your sex drive. Your body goes into overdrive." He hisses. "Reproductive organs work twice as hard and the hormones in the drug help induce pregnancy. It's.. still in the works." Ghost looks back at you. Still unconscious.

"What do you mean it's still in the works?" He asks.

"It's deadly in higher doses. It started out as a drug but it made it into the wrong hands and now it's a weapon." He breathes. "So.. she's going to die?" Ghost asks.

"Well.. Technically yes." He sighs. "Unless." He trails off. "Unless what?"

"How long ago was she infected."

Ghost looks down at his watch. "37 minutes ago." He looks at the man. "So.. In about.. 10 minutes. She'll wake up. Her body will feel hot and she'll probably be more aroused than she's ever been. And if you can stimulate her enough.. Her body might come down from it."

"If you can survive that long." The man laughs.

"We're gonna be just fine."

Ghost grabs hold of the knife and draws it back, where he had stabbed into the mans femoral artery starts to spurt blood out and in seconds the man is no longer alive. Ghost knows he needs to clear out the rest of the compound and come back for you.

He sets a timer on his watch and starts possibly the most stressful mission he's ever been on.

He's moving quietly but quickly, taking everyone he crosses by surprise.

But unfortunately, he gets infected.

Knife wound to the arm, just like you. He watches his veins change and knows he doesn't have long.

He doesn't know what to do yet and Ghost hates himself. You shouldn't be here. You're too new.

When everything is clear and he's sure of it. He's rushing back to you.

He pushes the desk away from the door and gets back inside, barricading it from the inside. "Ghost? What's going on?" You ask. He feels sick to his stomach. He sighs as he turns around, nervous to face you again. "I... I'm sorry Y/N." He breathes. "What?"

"Your wound.. It's infected with a drug."

"Please tell me you aren't gonna say sex drug?" You breathe. Making him narrow your eyes. "I must've heard him in my sleep." You nod to the man who's leaning over now. Ghost kneels down next to you. "I'm sorry Y/N. I never should've let you come here with me." He sighs.

"That wasn't your decision Ghost. It's not your fault."

He shakes his head. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what to do."

"Are you infected too?" You ask.

He nods his head. You sit up. "I think you know what we have to do Ghost." You look at him. Your face is deathly still. Letting him know just how serious you are.

"No. Absolutely not Y/N." He shakes his head. Standing up. He starts to pace the room. He's scared. "You'd rather die?" You ask. "No. No of course not. I just... Y/N. I can't do that to you." He shakes his head.

Ghost knows that you trust him. He trusts you too. You even opened up to him about how you were still a virgin because you'd only been in one serious relationship.

That one person who abused you and hurt you in ways that Ghost could kill for. Ghost never looked at you like this and he hates that this is his only choice. "I can't do that to you. I'm not gonna hurt you like you've been hurt. You deserve way better than this Y/N." Ghost feels like he's got an open wound in his chest at the thought of forcing you into something like this. He hates himself for allowing Captain Price to send you along on this mission with him. He didn't want to take you down with him like this. Before he realizes it, you're standing right in front of him. His racing heart steadies in his chest as you reach for his hand.

"Ghost. If we don't..." You trail off, looking down at the ground before taking a deep breath and raising your eyes up to look at him. "If we don't do something, we're going to die. You heard what he said. You and I both saw it. Saw the paperwork, the smoke bombs. This... it'll kill us if we don't." You look up at him. "And.. I don't know about you, but I don't want to die like this." You laugh.

"I can't do this to you Y/N." He hisses, clenching his eyes closed. "Come on, lets go somewhere without. You know." You glance toward the man slumped over at the other side of the room. Grasping his hand and dragging him into another room down the hall, conveniently, one with a bed. He sighs. "Sit down." You force him back onto the edge of the made bed. Luckily this was an upkept building. You take his hands in yours, moving between his legs, feeling him stiffen up immediately. "I trust you, Ghost."

He goes to speak up, but you stop him.

"You are honestly my best friend, and I know you probably don't see it the same way I do. But I trust you. You've shown me so much. Taught me so much. You protect me and you always put me first. I trust you to do this Ghost."

He clenches his eyes closed again. "I am your friend Y/N, of course I am. But.. I'm so much older than you. I thought you looked at me like a father figure, not like this."

A hiss leaves your lips, and Ghost can Physically see your veins turning pink under your skin. It seems unreal. Like something out of a movie. He knows if anything is going to happen, it has to happen now.

"Are you okay?" He asks. "Yeah, yes." You take in a deep breath. Knees feeling weak. "It's... Intense." You breathe. He grasps your hips, sitting you down next to him. "Fuck.. Lay back okay? It's gonna be alright." He breathes. "He.. He said stimulate. He didn't say sex." He breathes. Seeing you nod your head.

He helps you remove your cargo pants. Pushing you further up the bed. He swallows hard. He wants to curse himself, feeling himself get more aroused at the sight of you. It's just he drugs, yeah.

Just the drugs.

He lowers himself into you. Wrapping his arms around your thighs. "I'm sorry Y/N." He breathes.

His tongue dipping into you has you gasping out, clutching at the sheets. His eyes feel heavy as you react to him. You taste sweet and he wants to savor it. He wants to ask for forgiveness and take even more. It's just he drugs. It's just the drugs.

Your back arches and you cry out. Tears streaming down your face. It's just not enough.

"Ghost." You sob, making him look up at you.

"It's not enough."

Any of your veins that were visible under your skin are no longer blue in color, but pink. Your skin is beat red and hot. He grits his teeth as he reaches for his waistband. Once he'd gotten himself free, pants down at his mid thigh, there's no going back now.

He moves himself over you, taking a deep breath. He presses his forehead to yours. "I'm so sorry."

Feeling him penetrate you, piercing into you. You can't help but cry out. He grits his teeth, eyes clenched shut tight. He loves this and he hates this. This isn't how he would've wanted this to happen. He rocks his hips into you, body swallowing him up so perfectly. He forces you to look at him, pushing your hair out of your face. You're sweaty and it's sticking to you. "Are you okay?" He asks. You nod your head. "Yes, yes." You whine. You're out of breath. "I didn't hurt you did I?" He asks. "No, please." You claw at him. "Don't stop." You're nearly sobbing when you say it.

"Harder." You whine. "Y/N.. I'm gonna hurt you."

"Ghost." You grasp his face, forcing his mask off. You're surprised when he lets you. "You're not going to hurt me. I don't want you to be sorry." You breathe. "I want this, I've wanted this. And it's not the goddamn drugs talking." You breathe, staring him in the eyes as you say it. It's like a pin dropping in a silent room when those words leave your lips.

"What?" He asks.

"I've felt this way for a long time. Thought about it all the time. How you treat me so well and protect me. How you always come to my defense, you care about me."

"I do, I do care about you Y/N. But I'm no good for you." He grits his teeth, eyes filling with tears as he rocks into you harder. "That's bullshit and you know it." You claw at the sheets, tilting your head back as he drives himself into you harder. "I wanted you to. Wanted you to be the one to take it- I was going to ask when this mission was over."

You're choked up.

"I love you, Simon."

He loses it, chest tight. Tears stream from his eyes and he doesn't want you to see. Burying his face into the crook of your neck. You using his name, his real name. It's raw.

"Goddamnit I love you too." He sobs, drawing his hips back and burying himself inside of you again. Biting down on your neck. You look up at the ceiling, feeling his weight on you. Everything finally starts to sink in. Tears spill over the corners of your eyes as he works you to a high you're sure you'll never come down from. You clench your eyes closed once more, allowing yourself to feel everything. His pants and sobs in your ear, knowing that he feels this way too. They're getting unsteady and you know by how sloppy his thrusts are getting that he's getting close.

Feeling him, every inch of him. Sliding inside of you, drawing you closer and closer to the brink of pure bliss.

You're gone when he mumbles into your ear.

"I love you Y/N."

You cry out, the sounds leave your lips uncontrollably. He lowers his hand, rubbing circles over your clit. Pushing you through your high. The first time you've ever cum at the hands of someone else. He groans out, drawing away. He stares down at you. His eyes are bloodshot and his eyes are still watery. "I love you Simon, I trust you." You cup his cheeks with your hands again. "Give yourself to me." His body shakes as he reaches his high. Groaning out. He rests his forehead on your chest, trying to calm himself down. Relishing in the pleasure he feels. He knows he needs to calm down now, he's too worked up still. His heart pounds in his chest, but as he relaxes into you, it settles. He stays like that for a while. Calming himself down. When he finally pulls away, sliding out of you. He lies next to you. Pulling you into his side. You rest your head on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around you. It's silent for a while, but he finally breaks the silence. "I'm so sorry Y/N." He breathes. Hearing you laugh lightly. "Simon..." you trail off. "Why do you keep saying that? What do you have to be sorry for?" You look up at him, eyes piercing his. "Because you deserved so much better than this." He breathes. "Yeah? Like what? An uncomfortable barracks bed?" Your lips raise in a smile and he laughs. "You're such a brat." His chest shakes as he laughs. "It's my best quality, thank you very much." You sit up, climbing over him. Straddling his hips. "I wouldn't have wanted this to go any different. Listen." You tilt your head back. "Hm?" He asks. "Nothing but silence." Your eyes flutter closed and he breathes out, resting his hands on your thighs. Thumb gliding up the inside. "Did I hurt you?" He asks. You shake your head. "No. Not even a little." You breathe, laying your head on his chest. He covers you with a blanket. Wrapping his arms around you and holding you right. "Simon?" You mumble. "Yeah darling?" He asks, pushing your hair out of your face.

"I want to be with you."

He takes a deep breath. "I'm serious. I want everything with you. I want the good days. The bad ones too. I want a life with you, and it's okay if you don't want that with me. But I think you should know." You sigh, relaxing into him. You're completely relaxed. You're always relaxed even in dangerous situations with him. He keeps you safe. "We'll talk more about it when we're out of here.. okay?" He trails off. You nod your head against him.

—

The fire reflects in your eyes, they're glossy. Simon stands next to you. Arms crossed over his chest. His mask is on again, but pulled down around his neck.

The building is nothing but burning flames now. Everything that happened inside is a memory now. It's gone. "It's pretty huh?" You turn to look at him. He laughs. "Yeah, it is." He smiles. "You think it'll be all gone? The drug and everything inside?" You ask. He wraps an arm around your back, pulling you into him. "I'd like to hope so. But.. I don't think this is our last time crossing paths with this." He looks back at the flames. The warmth on your skin feels nice. "Let's get to exfil, yeah?" He looks down at you. "Wait-" you stop him as he goes to walk off. "Simon?" You ask. He turns his head to you. Taking him off guard by pressing your lips to his. He's frozen for a second, but relaxes into you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into him. You cup his face again.

When you pull away, you grasp his balaclava. Raising it over his nose once more. "Let's get out of here." You smile. He grasps your hand, pulling you along with him. Picking up all of your gear and returning it to where it belongs.

[s0apmactav1sh]

Traitor AU! 141 x male reader.

TW: Violence. Mentions of a knife? Reader going through physical torture. Youve been warned

Theres so real mention of pronouns but reader is a male. Minors, fem alligned do not interact. My works are purely for 18 + and are male centered. Thank you.

- Price who gives the order after a tip off directing them in your direction. For what? For giving out info on the recent mission that got them ambushed. You who wakes up in an interrogation room by freezing cold water being splashed over you.

- Ghost who carries out the first part of the punishments they deemed reasonable for your betrayal. Choosing which bones to break that would cause the most pain and injury to you. Starting with bashing in your knees to make sure you wouldnt be walking out of there. Next deciding on breaking a few ribs. To hell you be damned. Each bone broken had you writhing in pain and pleading with him that it wasnt you.

- Ghost who leaves you with several broken bones all over. None of them even caring to question you. Its not like he comes back either. No he stays away after that being unable to look at your face without seeing a traitor. He had half a mind to go back in to break your jaw or give you a black eye but that was to be left up to soap or gaz.

- Soap. Who wasnt usually quick to anger but this? Was unforgivable and you deserved it right? Each time he took the knife to add another cut somewhere a small voice was telling them there was something wrong. But he shook it off taking out his frustration on you cutting you up. Swapping out different blades depending on how angry he was feeling in the minute.

- Gaz who doesnt even go when its his turn instead ignoring your pleas for them to listen. Just watching you through the two way mirror as other soldiers go in and take there revenge for you betraying them. Watching how they beat you bloody, broke bones like ghost had done, cut you up like soap had done and spread the word like price had done.

- You who gave up fighting against it all after 3 days of the constant beatings and torment you were going through. You tried convincing yourself that they were only angry because they thought it was you. Theyd surely come rescue out of there as soon as they came to their senses. Right? Right??

- You who gave up the hope after two weeks. None of them had returned leaving it up to the other soldiers to torture and do what the wanted to you. Your body had numbed most of the pain. Even when a soldier took a pilars to your teeth. Ripping some of them out. When said solider then broke your jaw with the same pilars leaving your mouth a bloody mess.

- Price who was going mad at not finding anything that he could properly pin the betrayal on you. All he had was the tip off but even then was it true? No. It wasnt. Ghost had caught the proper mole. The one who was selling information. The one who had framed you.

- Price who demanded all torture towards you stop. But it wasnt quick enough. Most of the wounds left were infected from being left untreated in a damp room. Even medics were sure you'd heal properly because they werent allowed in to asses your injuries until now.

- Ghost who felt guilty but didnt show it. He was disgusted with how easily they all believed it, how quick they were to resort to torture. Soap who couldnt believe the little voice in the back of his head that he had been ignoring was telling the truth. After seeing you in the hospital covered in bandages and casts for the broken bones he knew he shouldve listened to it but he was blinded by his anger.

- Gaz who had refused to visit you, almost like he had refused to torture you. It didnt mean he wasnt as bad as the rest of them. No he had let others do his piece for him which made him just as bad. Now all he cpuld do was watch you through the mirror to your hospital room hoping you'd heal.

- Price who was in denial over what he had done. Refusing to accept he had given the order. He had been to visit seeing you hook up to the machines the fact that you would have to take leave for who knows how long. And the possible chance that you would never be the same. Torture did things to people, altered their mindsets and he was worried that would happem to you.

- You would didnt properly wake up until a month later, medics having to sedate you when you did wake up since the pain was clearly unbearable from the way you thrashed and squirmed in the bed. You who had to be strapped down so you didnt fall and worsen the injuries that were struggling to heal already.

- You who couldnt even look at any of them when they finally came to visit. Just staring up at the ceiling. Deep in thought remembering the harsh words they screamed at you the way they tortured you in that room for 17 days straight. They tried their best to talk to you or get you to look at them but you couldnt. Nor would you. You didnt feel safe around them. A chill piercing you each time they even touched you.

-now came the question was what would you do when you healed?

Pt 2???

[oneforthemunny]

the struggles we face |mafia!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: based off of their first fight.

contains: 18+, mafia!Eddie, language, mentions of violence, blood, drugs, fighting, suggestive themes. angsty-ish with fluff at the end

Eddie leaned his head against the wooden door of your townhouse, bangs sweaty and matted against the skin of his forehead. He rapped his knuckles, bruised and bloodied, against the chipping white paint, waiting and hoping that you'd still be awake; that you'd open the door.

He gripped the bouquet in his hand hard, hard enough he was sure the stems would break, waiting a moment longer before he knocked again, a little louder this time.

Eddie could hear your footsteps, pounding little steps that got louder and louder as you got to the door. He heard the lock click and turn, perking up at the sound. It swung open to reveal you, in your little chemise night gown, silk and short. He knew you'd be wearing your matching silk panties underneath, mouth salivating at the thought. He'd bought you that very set, made you try it on when you got home. It was short and sweet, fit you perfectly and left him weak kneed at the sight of you. He longed to reach out and touch you, feel your fleshy skin underneath the smooth silk material, but the way your lips twisted, pursed in anger, hurt, he knew to keep his hands to himself.

"Hi, baby," Eddie muttered weakly, giving you a tiny smile.

He sounded tired, defeated, looked a little beat up. Normally, that would have you softening, relenting and pulling him inside so you could fuss over him. Not tonight.

"Don't," You snapped, not moving from your place in the doorway, manicured nail gripping the wood. "Don't you dare 'hi, baby' me when you were supposed to be here three hours ago!"

The shrill in your voice made his eyes pinch close, brows knitting together. His head was pounding, probably a result of the small cut over his eye.

It wasn't often he had to get involved in the dirty work, but with the more they brought in, the more people wanted it for their own. His guys had been ambushed during a drop, by a rival wanna be 'gang' who thought they were slick, thought they were tough until Eddie and his boys showed up. He'd give them credit, they didn't go down as easily as he thought. It had been a hard night, a lot of fighting and breaking to get their answers and supply back, but they did. At the expense of your date night.

Eddie sighed heavily. "I'm sorry. I really am, I-I got caught up with some shit, baby, you know how it is." He looked at you, brown eyes rounding and pleading. He was never this soft with anyone else. "I had to take care of business."

"And you couldn't call?" You snapped, throwing your hand out.

Eddie blinked at you. "What? You wanted me to pick up the phone while I was beatin' the guy? C'mon, honey-"

"No," You huffed in annoyance. "You could've called me before you left. Or had someone call me, Eddie. I sat at the restaurant waiting for over an hour! I looked like an idiot!"

Eddie ran his free hand down his face, his rings reflecting in the glow of your porch light. You could see how his knuckles were split, dried blood that he'd tried to clean was still left around the swollen bone. "I'm sorry, ok? I'm really sorry, and-and I just... I had to take care of work things, alright? I'm sorry you sat there and wasted your time waiting for me."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes hard back into your head. You were fuming, irritated and hurt all in one. "I was so fuckin' scared, Eddie." You snapped. "I tried to call your house a million times-"

"-You did what?" Eddie's eyes snapped to yours harshly. "What have I told you? You don't call me, ever. If I don't call you, there's a reason. You calling my house could put you in danger, fuck-"

"-I was scared, Eddie." You snapped, eyes bulging at him. You leaned forward, past the threshold, hand still gripping the door angrily. "I thought something had happened to you. You didn't call me before, you left me there, no one's heard from you, and it was a long time. I was worried about you!" You threw your hands out.

Eddie swallowed hard, grinding his jaw lightly. "I'm fine." He quipped. "Don't be worryin' about me, alright?"

"That's fuckin' easy for you to say, when you're the one who's disappearing all the time. You're the one in danger." You snapped. "How would you feel if I just went MIA for a while? Didn't show up for a date, didn't answer your calls, just untraceable, huh? How would that feel?" You challenged.

Eddie's jaw clenched, fists balling by his sides. His heart squeezed and dropped at the thought, even the mention of it all made him feel sick, nauseous and head spinning.

"Stop." Eddie sneered. "Don't you fuckin' even think about it, or I'll-"

"-or what?" You spat, eyes narrowed. "How is that fair? You get to disappear all the time, and I don't get to know what you're doing? Maybe I should do the same to you. Give you a taste of your own medicine."

"Can you quit?" Eddie sighed, exasperated and on edge. The thoughts alone were making his head spin, but now, it was starting to feel to real. The familiar creeping of acid crept up his throat, making him swallow hard. His heart was hammering in his chest, uncomfortable hard and ringing in his ears.

"Just knock it off, alright? I told you I was taking care of business." Eddie huffed, eyes narrowed at you. "I had shit to handle. I'm very sorry I didn't get to come to date night."

Your lips twisted, pressing together in a tight line. "You don't get it." You sighed, shaking your head. "You just don't fucking get it."

"Get what?" Eddie's shoulders dropped, tired. Too tired for another fight. "Get what, baby? Just tell me."

"You never tell me anything!" You shrilled, throwing your hands out. "And I know, I know, it's dangerous or whatever, but I'm not asking for every little detail, Eddie. I just want to know that you're going to be late, or you're going to not be able to make it, that something came up, or-or that you're alive."

Your breath hitched in your throat, white knuckled grip on the door. Eddie felt his heart drop slightly at your hurt expression, wobbly lower lip and glassy eyes. "I need to know that you're ok." You whispered.

"Kitten, I didn't have the time to call-"

"No? But you had the time to get flowers?" You shot back, eyes flickering to the bouquet in his hands. "You had the time to clean yourself up? To switch cars, so that means you went home, and you still couldn't call me? Just to let me know that you're safe." 

Eddie swallowed hard, guilt settling deep in the pit of his stomach, heavy and uncomfortable. Your lip quivered, biting down on it to keep yourself from crying. You had to be strong, tough, even if you didn't want to be. Even if you wanted to let him in, and have him smother you in affection, win you over with tender touches and sweet promises.

"I'm sorry." Eddie whispered, eyes locking with yours. "I really am sorry."

You shook your head, turning so he wouldn't see your face crumble. You stepped back inside, shutting the door on Eddie.

"Honey, wait, please-" Eddie begged, moving his face towards the crack of the door before it shut entirely. He heard the lock click, panic rising in his chest. "Please, I'm sorry! I-I'll do better, ok? Please, just open the door, baby? Please, let's talk it out!" Eddie begged. He never begged, not even in the face of danger and fear.

The porch light flicked off, leaving Eddie standing in the dark, alone on your front porch step. His shoulder's dropped, breath catching before he let out a shuddering sigh, deep and broken.

He cursed, throwing the flowers angrily at his car, fists balling in anger. Angry at himself, angry at the stupid fuckers that had to ambush his guys, angry that he was dense enough not to call, angry at everything, every choice he made that led him to this moment. Most of all, he was angry that he'd hurt you. He'd kill anyone who made you sad like that, who made your face crumble and cry like that. He wasn't sure what to do when he was the one causing it.

Eddie sat in his car, waiting for hours, knee bouncing, smoking through his entire pack in the cold night air. His heart hammered and twisted with anticipation, in the hopes that you might come back out. He saw the curtains move a little after two am, he knew she was looking to see if he was still there. He perked up hoping that maybe, maybe she'd let him back in. She didn't.

Eddie fell asleep in his car, parked out on the side of the road, car turned off and arms wrapped around himself. He wasn't leaving until he talked to you, he couldn't. He had every intention of waiting up for you, waiting until the morning when you opened the curtains and saw he was still there. Waiting to return back to the porch and wait and beg for you to open up, but the sleep overtook his body, exhausted from the fight before and the fight with you, completely drained.

The sharp knocking of the glass against his window awoke him with a startle. He was already reaching for his glock, ready to flick the safety off and empty a clip if he had to, but there stood you, through the dark tint of the car in the morning light.

You looked like you hadn't slept much either, bags under your puffy, red rimmed eyes. He felt his stomach plunge again at your face, knowing that he was the reason you'd been crying.

Eddie opened the door slowly, scampering to stand in front of you. Your arms were crossed over your torso, wrapping around yourself like a shield, protective of yourself. "Are you going to stay out here all day? Seriously?" You huffed.

"I will." Eddie nodded, shutting his car door. "I'll stay out here as long as I need to, until you're ready to talk to me."

You rolled your eyes, heart squeezing at the admission. You knew he would, truly, too love struck and stubborn to not. You sighed heavily, shivering in the cold of the morning. "Just-Just come inside." Your shoulders dropped. "We can talk."

Eddie nodded, following you inside. Sitting at your little kitchen table across from you. You already had a cup of coffee for him, for yourself. You'd planned this. He didn't comment on that.

"I-I really am sorry-" Eddie started, but you held your hand up, silencing him.

"You've said that." You bit, eyes cold and fierce. There's a pause, the air between the two of you tight with tension. In any other scenario, Eddie would be the dominating, intimidating force of the conversation, looking down the slope of his nose towards his prey in front of him. Here, sitting at your little table, he felt weak, small, at your mercy entirely.

Eddie tapped his fingers nervously against the wood of the table. "I don't know what else you want me to say." He said truthfully, brown eyes rising to meet yours.

"I don't want you to say anything." You admitted with a small sigh. "I want you to listen, to hear me." Your eyes were rounded, pleading with him silently.

Eddie nodded slowly, spine straightening in his chair. You took a deep, cleansing, steadying breath. "Eddie, I know you can't always talk about work and what you do with me. I know you want to keep me safe and away from all of that, I do." You started slowly. "But, baby, I'm in this with you. I know what you do, Eddie. I know it's dangerous, and-and when you don't call me? That scares the shit out of me."

Eddie felt his heart twist and squeeze in his chest, the same guilty feeling pooling back, deep into the pit of his stomach. You looked down at your own hands.

"I'm not asking you to tell me all the details, or stop everything to call me and tell me every time you leave the house, but," You sighed heavily. "On nights where you know you might be late, or you are late, can you just call me? Let me know. I was embarrassed sitting at the restaurant, yes, but I was more worried about you. Thinking something happened or-or, fuck, I don't know... I was scared."

Your bottom lip quivered, tears pooling back into your eyes and you tried to blink them away. Eddie swallowed hard, the burn of his own tears in his throat. He never wanted to make you scared, never wanted to make you cry.

"I'm sorry," Eddie whispered, brown eyes soft and vulnerable when they met yours. "I know I've said it, but I mean it. I'm not used to having someone look out for me. I always do the looking out, and it's taken some getting used to." He admitted, twirling the rings on his fingers.

You nodded slowly, wiping your eyes with the back of your hands. "'S alright." You muttered. "I know you didn't mean to. I didn't mean to lose my shit on you like that last night, I just-"

"-No, you should have." Eddie nodded. "Sometimes you need to lose your shit on me. Keep me in my place, kitten." Eddie grinned up at you.

You gave him a sweet smile back, pink blush dusting over your own cheeks. Eddie stood, hands on either side of your face, his nose nearly touching yours. You could see the cut on his eye, and it made your stomach flip again.

"I'll do better, I promise." Eddie whispered, his lips brushing over yours. "I'll try my best not to scare you anymore, and not to miss anymore date nights."

"You better." You whispered back, smiling against his gaze, warming you from the inside out.

"I'll make it up to you." Eddie moved his lips, bruised knuckles under your chin, tipping your head forward. "I promise, kitten."

You let him kiss you, sweet and slow, pillowy lips moving against yours, hands sliding up the silk of your gown, gripping onto your hips. You let him push you down the hall, towards your own tiny bedroom where he got on his knees between you to really make it up to you.

Eddie insisted on taking you out, later. A makeup dinner complete with a shopping trip beforehand. You told him he didn't have to buy you anything, that you'd be content with pizza and beer at home, but he wanted to. He lived to spoil you, to have you pressed up into the booth at the restaurant, kissing down your neck, lips trailing lightly down the chain of the new necklace he'd just bought you.

[thelov3lybookworm]

AZ x yn where reader is a Serial Killer and az takes her to the dungeons to introgate her only to find out that she only kills the pedophiles and abusers and let's her go but now helps her in these murders😈🔪

Sloppy Killer

@azrielappreciationweek

Day 7: free day

Summary: Y/n gets an unexpected trainer.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: anon thank you so much for this idea ♥ I had so much fun writing it 😏

•○🌑○•

Y/n hurried through the alleyways in the camp, hoping to slip back into her house before her brother and father noticed her absence.

The spaces between the houses couldn't really be called alleys, but that was not really the point.

She had just discarded her bloody clothes and gloves in her cave before rushing out of there. It was not near the camp, and it was hidden fairly well, so she didn't have to worry about someone finding her things.

She was just worried about getting caught by the higher ranking officials of the camp.

Not that there were many left. Thanks to no one but herself.

The night was silent, dawn not too far away if the changing colour of the skies near the horizon were any indication.

It was that little slip of time where it was guaranteed that no one would be awake. Hence the lack of noise. All that could be heard was the quiet chirps of the birds, the croaks of frogs in the distance, the sounds of animals in the nearby forest and her own breathing.

Y/n was so busy in thinking about how she needed to hurry her steps before her family woke up that she didn't notice the change in the air. Or maybe she was so used to being the only one awake around this time and her experience in navigating the place all alone in the dark that she had dropped her guard.

Whatever the reason was, she didn't notice the uncanny quiet that fell around her until it was too late. When she did, the hair on the back of her neck stood, and she froze in her steps.

Something was not right. She knew it.

Someone was stalking her.

She decided that stopping and facing whatever or whoever she thought was watching her would not be the best choice, so she began walking again.

She pretended she didn't feel the change, pretended she was not preparing to defend herself if the need arose as she tugged on the hood of her cloak nervously, making sure that her face was covered. Because someone or something was definitely following her.

She didn't have fae hearing by any means, but her hearing was still better than that of mortals.

But again, she was no trained warrior, and everything she knew, she was taught by herself or her brother.

She couldn't hear any footsteps, but she knew the creature was still following her.

That was not at all a good thing, because she didn't know how close her follower was.

Fucking inconvenient, honestly.

A light breeze brushed against the skin of Y/n's neck half a moment before an arm went around her waist, trapping her favoured hand between her body and the strong arm banded around her, and, panicked, she swung up her hand, the one holding a small but sharp knife towards where she estimated her captors shoulder or face was.

Of course, she missed spectacularly, and, her captor then caught her wrist, his hand encircling her wrist tightly. She squirmed against his hold, trying to dislodge his hold on her to no avail.

He was a male, bigger than her in size. He probably had years or even centuries of training, while all she knew was how to chop vegetables. He also had a lot of strength, more than she had. It was obvious he would overpower her.

She tried to stomp on his foot, and was rewarded with a grunted dammit.

His hold on her wrist loosened the slightest bit, and she tugged it out of his grasp completely. She was about to drive her elbow into his abdomen when she felt a hand on her neck, and before she could panic about it, everything went dark.

•○🌑○•

Azriel's pov.

The cloaked and hooded male went limp in his arms, and Azriel sighed.

Finally, after weeks of planning the ambush, Azriel had found the serial killer who had been on a killing spree recently. And, being the spymaster of night court, he was assigned to look into these murders.

Immediately, Azriel had noticed a pattern in these killings.

The attacker always attacked in the dead of the night, he always left before dawn. As far as the people in the camp and the lord knew, it was no one from the camp, because, according to them, no one from the camp would murder someone so sloppily. Apparently, they'd either make it a whole bloodbath, or be clean in these murders.

Azriel always wanted to roll his eyes whenever he recalled the way the camp lord had bragged, as if it was something to be proud of.

But, no matter how sloppy these kills were, they piqued Azriel's interest immensely. All he had been thinking about the past few weeks was this male and his sloppy kills.

Azriel decided staying in the camp longer than necessary would be a waste of time, and so, he bent down to lift the male into his arms.

He damn near lost his balance when the male turned out to be lighter than Azriel thought. That's when the doubt started creeping in. Was this really a male?

Before he could ponder much about this mysterious figure in his arms, Azriel felt a scratch on his mental shields, and he lowered a part of those majestic walls to speak to his brother.

Any leads on that killer, brother?

Yes. I'm holding him right now.

A surprised laugh came from the other side of the mental bridge between Azriel and his brother. Woah, that is amazing. Bring him to Velaris so we can interrogate him.

Azriel sent back a word of affirmation, then pulled the walls back up as he readied to fly.

Once in the air, Azriel realised that the figure in his arms had gone extremely stiff, and that could only mean one thing.

He was awake.

Just a moment after Azriel realised that, the body in his arms started squirming, kicking their tiny feet and pushing against Azriel's body. Azriel grunted, trying his best not to drop the male, but it seemed like he wanted to be dropped.

Azriel tightened his hold, his fingers digging into soft thighs instead of hard muscle.

In the struggle for dominance, the hood over the person in Azriel's hold slipped, and Azriel's wings stopped flying of their own accord.

This... this killer, was not a male.

The killer was a female.

Cauldron burn me.

Azriel stared at her for a long long time, watching as she struggled to rid his hold on her. When she damn near slipped out of his arms because he was so busy fucking ogling her-his own words- he tightened his hold on her.

She stopped squirming for a moment, looking up at him, her eyes widening as she realised her hood had slipped off.

She stared at him, and he stared at her.

Azriel knew the both of them had very different reasons for staring.

She was definitely trying to gauge his motives, what with the frantic way her eyes moved.

All his mind was thinking about was how beautiful she was.

How could someone like her murder someone? Surely, Azriel thought, I'm mistaken.

But he soon realised he was not, in fact, mistaken.

Her fist came hurtling towards his face, and his head snapped back from the unexpected force of the punch.

That was when he decided that this female was not interested in cooperating, and he couldn't take her to Velaris if she was trying her best to fall to her death.

Azriel grunted, diving and gliding towards an abandoned house he had found before this mission specifically for this purpose.

Found it so he could use it as a makeshift torture chamber to gain information from the killer in case he couldn't take them to Velaris or Hewn City.

•○🌑○•

Y/n's pov.

"So... you are telling me... you have been killing abusive males?"

"And males who prey on little children, yes." She didn't look up from her lap, where her fingers twisted around each other. But she knew he watched her as he sat in a chair opposite her.

He sighed, leaning back, and Y/n dared to look up.

He was staring at her in a way she couldn't decipher. All she knew was that it was certainly not the way males looked at females when they were about to take advantage of them. That gave her some relief.

Still, she prayed he would not take advantage of her. That he was not like other males.

He dragged a hand down his face, rubbing his eyes and his jaw as he seemed to contemplate something.

"How many have you killed by now?" He finally asked.

Y/n gave him a look. "I am pretty sure you know. Are you not the spymaster?"

A small, exasperated smile bloomed on those inviting lips, and Y/n had to force herself to meet his eyes and not stare at his lips.

As soon as he'd sat her down on a rickety chair, he'd asked her if she would throw a tantrum here too. When she had scowled at him, he'd simply stated that he would have to tie her down if she was uncooperative, and grumbling, she had agreed to talk.

After he'd situated himself in front of her, he had told her he was the high lord's spymaster and shadowsinger, and that had prompted Y/n into submitting to his questions.

"So basically what you are doing is killing assholes to keep women and children safe?"

Y/n nodded as worry started creeping in at the glint in the spymaster's eyes.

Was he going to punish Y/n? Was he going to kill her? Torture her?

Before Y/n's mind could come up with worse scenarios, Azriel stood.

Y/n held her breath, watching as Azriel stalked to her, then bent down at the waist to get to her eye level.

"You're doing good work, but you've been quite sloppy." A smirk curled those sensuous lips, and Y/n's lips parted as what he'd said settled in.

"Yeah well, I was not allowed proper training. That is why it is sloppy. But atleast I was doing something, instead of sitting on my ass all day and attending parties under the guise of ruling the court." Y/n all but snarled.

His smirk faded a little, his eyes hardening. "Do not talk about my high lord like that."

"Or what? Are you going to kill me if I don't kiss the ground he walks on? Then do it." She lifted her chin, hoping she looked braver than she felt.

The spymaster studied her for a moment. "When are you free?"

Y/n blinked. "What?"

"You do chores all day. When do you get free?"

"Why?"

He sighed. "Can you not answer a simple question?"

"Can you not be such a pain in my ass?"

Now it was his turn to blink. He stared at her for a moment, then threw his head back in laughter, his whole body shaking as he straigtened. After laughing for a moment, he wiped a stray tear in the corner of his eyes and grinned at her scowling face.

"I want to know so I can train you." At the look of shock on her face, he continued. "I have been thinking about teaching illyrian females to fight by myself because the bastards in the camp simply won't. I have to start somewhere. So tell me, lovely Y/n. When do you get free so I can sneak you out to train you?"

Y/n was very proud of herself for not paying attention to the word lovely. "Most of the females, including me, get done with our chores by dusk."

Azriel smiled. "And you set out on your murderous journey when the camp goes to sleep?"

That made Y/n blush. She simply nodded, and his smile grew.

"Be ready by dusk then. We are going to have a long night. Also, come prepared with your little murdering toys." He turned his back to her, and cauldron damn her, but she couldn't help but stop him.

"Why?"

He turned to her halfway, a half smile on his face as he regarded her.

"So I can teach you how to not be sloppy."

•○🌑○•

Azriel taglist: @darthdumbass @foreverrandomwritings

General Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686

[charliemwrites]

I’ve been thinking about “mean” (okay no they’re mean) characters.

Specifically, I’m thinking about Rook “Duke” Alistair being best friends with Actual Assassin and meanest bastard around, Velikan.

They’ve known each other since her early days back in the Air Force. Maybe Duke, freshly nicknamed and bright-eyed, got caught up in some sort of ambush with a shiny new unit.

And maybe Velikan was going to kill her as collateral, but for reasons not even he knows, he didn’t.

And now he’s got this duckling (she’s even blond and fluffy like one) that’s practically imprinted on him. Every time they cross paths (and they keep crossing paths for some fucking reason) she lights up and waves, babbling updates about her life. She doesn’t mind his gruff tone or his short temper, or the absolute mauling she receives when he finally acquiesces to spar her.

It’s not that she doesn’t know he’s an assassin. Oblivious as she can be, she’s not stupid. Just the opposite, in fact. She recognizes that approaching him at any point is like sticking a hand in a tiger cage. And yet she still does it, even when they’re out in the field.

How she’s not dead yet, for pure annoyance alone, he’s not sure. But he figures that she’s spent so much time being an inconvenience to him specifically that he’s earned the right to put an end to her.

And then he’s not sure how she isn’t dead from natural selection.

“I thought you were military,” he hisses, brushing dirt off her shirt and pants. Why is he doing so? Because he’s annoyed that she slipped on pile of wet leaves.

“I am!”

“You have no discipline, no coordination, and no sense of self preservation.”

She beams. “I think that last thing is something they encourage, actually.”

He stuffs her into a good hideout and tells her to stay while he takes care of their his tail.

It’s not just the slipping, tripping, and falling. If anything would make him believe in luck, it’s Duke having the worst of it. Falling objects and loose floorboards, changes in a guard rotation or a light coming on at the worst moment. She’s smart and quick enough to watch out for herself, but only just.

Maybe he lets her live out of pure bafflement. Morbid fascination with someone so smart and yet so—

“Stupid,” he growls, dunking her head in the rain barrel.

She comes up sputtering, but giggling. “This isn’t how you’re supposed to treat acid exposure.”

He dunks her under again for good measure. She shakes off on him like a dog afterwards and he genuinely tries to strangle her. But then she gets her sharp little teeth in his arm and bites, proceeds to inform him that he’s going to need antibiotics with a bloody smile.

Is he going to personally bring about her violent, gory end? Yes.

Is she also his best friend? Somehow.

“Do you think cinnamon floss or mint floss is better for improvised stitches?”

“I think you should just bleed out.”

“It’s not for me, dummy…. Yet.”

He’s not relieved when she gets the position with the CIA, but something close to it.

They hire him for their dirty work often enough that he sees her regularly. Her ridiculous, cluttered desk and her grotesque stash of snacks and her constant rotation of injuries because they still let her near machinery.

“You stink,” he scoffs, lifting her right out of her chair as she squeals. “You are taking a shower.”

And because she has the attention span of a fly, he goes in with her. She fusses when he gets soap in her mouth or eyes, but he just tuts that it wouldn’t happen if she were capable of doing it herself. And dignity? Long forgotten as he scrubs her down from head to toe, pinching when she complains about being babied.

“Do not act like a child, then,” he gruffs, throwing a towel in her face.

Honestly, Laswell should be ashamed.

“When was the last time you ate?” He demands, squishing her cheeks with a little shake. “Eh? When was the last time you had something other than blue candy?”

“‘S raspberry.”

“Are raspberries blue? No. They teach this in school. All that sugar has rotted out your little brain.”

It turns out the answer to his food question was “too long.” He trades her potatoes for carrots, but only after holding her nose closed until he could force peas in her stubborn mouth.

Ridiculous, really.

[iamqueenpotato]

I Hate That I Love You - Part Eight

A/N- Hi Lovelies! It has been a little bit since I have posted and I apologize for the wait. I am finally getting into a better place mentally and I am excited to be writing again. This part is the longest one so far and I sort of edited it, and its very late where I’m at, so if there are some mistakes, I apologize. But I hope you guys enjoy! 

Word Count: 4.4k 

Warnings: Blood, Mentions of Torture, minor character death, talks of dying, angst

Part One

Azriel could not calm himself. He had never felt such terror in his life. Your voice echoed in his head, the pain and fear resonating in his body. He looked down at his hands and the uncontrollable tremble that overtook them. 

He had searched the entire camp, ravaging through each inch of Windhaven, with no sign of you. The men there probably assumed he had lost his mind. And perhaps he had. Until he could find you, his sanity was as good as gone. 

He cornered anybody he thought may know what has happened to you. And the constant lack of information was beginning to piss him off. 

Azriel made his way up to the cabin, and before it was even in his sight a rancid smell hit him like a strong gust of wind. One that was all too familiar. 

Blood. 

And lots of it. 

He flew closer to the ground as he approached the land around the cabin. And as he landed he took in the massacre that had occurred there. Bodies laid mutilated across the snow. Many of them were Illyrians, ones that Azriel had never seen before. He had counted fifteen bodies before he even reached the front door. His heart raced each time he flipped one of them over, hoping to not find your lifeless body hidden underneath. Azriel couldn’t fathom the thought of losing you, if he had to ever bury you, he wished to be dead alongside you. There was no life worth living without you in it. 

“Y/N!” He called out as he burst through the front door, but to no surprise there was no response. Which in turn only made his panic worsen. He had hoped to find you safe within the cabin walls, but with the scene outside, something else had happened entirely. He knew your handiwork when he saw it, and those men were each victims to your blade. But Azriel needed to know why, Were you in danger? Why had they come to ambush you?

He looked around the front room, the questions and worries filling his mind like rising water, each one building that fear of what may have possibly happened to you. There was no sign of you at all, until a puddle of thick liquid caught his attention, his shadows rushing down the hallway where the blood stained the floor. Azriel felt his face go pale, his blood rushing to his ears, the cabin and the air around him had gone silent, all except for his own heartbeat that pounded in his ears. 

If he was too late- 

He shook his mind of the thoughts as he followed the trail of blood that led him down the hallway. There was a significant amount of blood, and if this was from you alone, whatever wound you had was fatal. And Azriel did not know how to feel with that information. He observed the smears of bloody handprints along the walls, the marks from your hands gripping the door frame. Azriel’s fingers shook as he traced the shape of your handprints that led him into the bedroom, his heart sinking further down, deep into his darkness that you helped pull him from, but at the sight of your blood on every inch of this cabin, the light slipped further away from his grasp. He attempted to pull on that bond once more, but there was nothing, not even a hum, it was like it was never there in the first place. And it terrified him. 

“Find her.” He commanded his shadows and they slithered out into the wilderness, leaving Azriel to follow your trail of blood to an open window. When he peered over the window ledge, he saw another body laying in the snow. An Illyrian with a butter knife sticking out of the side of his skull. But his eyes followed the traces of blood and footprints running away into the trees behind the cabin. 

Azriel ran out of the cabin, following the bloodied footprints further into the woods, his body felt heavy, his feet dragging along the ground, his fear took over, making him feel far from himself. He wanted to find you, but he was horrified by the worst possible outcome. And when he reached the end of the trail, his shadows returned back to him, leading him to the small stream a few yards ahead. 

He followed their directions, when he stumbled across a collection of rocks, another dead Illyrian floating in the shallow water. But he didn’t care for the male, his attention was drawn to the blood that painted the rocks, and the torn female Illyrian leathers that rested against the ground. His shadows swarmed around him in a frenzy as he kneeled down to pick up the chest piece. He was certain it was yours, your scent was all over it. 

He heard Cassian land behind him. “Azriel, what happened?” There was concern in his tone and Azriel couldn’t tell if it was for him or for you. 

Azriel held on to the discarded Illyrian leathers that he gave you, the ones now covered in blood, that had confirmed his fears. He handed them to Cassian who cursed as he took in the scene. Azriel moved his gaze back at the blood on the rocks. “They took her Cassian. They have my mate.” 

You didn’t know how it happened. One moment you were walking around the camp in search of Madok and the next thing you knew, twenty Illyrian males ambushed you in front of the cabin. You knew you took down a decent amount of them, but if it weren't for the blade laced with faebane, you would have finished the rest of them off. It seemed Madok had got word of your search for him, and if your mind was not already so clouded, maybe you would have seen this attack coming. 

Now you were chained up in a dungeon of some sorts, your wound still oozing blood, and you could tell it was getting infected. The faebane was slowing down your healing, your body slowly giving out.

Your arms were chained tightly above your head, barely able to feel your fingertips. You couldn’t help but think of your friends and family, if they even knew you were in trouble. If they were worried at all. You felt like a fool to come here by yourself, but after hearing Azriel’s confession, you needed to get away, even though it meant Windhaven. You weren’t running away, it was time you needed to think, to understand the mix of feelings you had inside. But being attacked was the last thing you expected to happen. Now you are facing those consequences. 

You attempted to call down the bond, to warn Azriel, to call for help. But you heard or felt nothing in return, perhaps he had closed it off, and by the time you were knocked unconscious the bond felt weak, like it was dying, or more so that you were dying. But yet there was no telling if anyone would come and save you. You were alone in all of this. And there was nothing you could do. 

You kept your head down when you heard the door to your cell open. Sensing at least four men surrounding the area where you stood in the middle of the room. 

“You are quite hard to kill Y/N” Madok spoke next to your ear, but you did not move, keeping your head hung low, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. “Look at me when I am talking to you.” He seethed, but you refused. One of his men pulled your head back by your hair forcing your eyes to meet Madok’s. His eyes were wide, hungry for violence. Then his fist connected with the left side of your face, a noticeable crack as your head flung to the side. The taste of iron fell across your tongue, you spat up the blood onto the ground in front of Madok. “Now here is how this will work. I will ask you questions about the high lord, you answer, and I don’t kill you.” 

You looked up at him now, and laughed. His men stepped backward startled. But you laughed louder, the manic laugh you forced out, they could harm you all they wanted. You would not betray your family. “Fuck. Off.” You spit out, with a crazed grin across your face. 

Madok’s face was expressionless as he nodded to one of the males, suddenly you were pricked with a needle, followed by an uncomfortable sensation across your arm as they injected you with the mysterious fluid. Then the pain hit you, like a thousand knives scraping underneath your skin, it was like being carved from the inside out. A scream erupted from your throat as you thrashed against your restraints, your body began shaking, white spots filled your vision. 

Your breathing was ragged when Madok lifted your chin, his face was blurry but you could clearly see the smile on his face as he landed a few hits to your stomach, enhancing the torture you felt inside. But you bit back your scream. “I hope you enjoyed that. My own personal faebane mixture. Enough to prolong the effects, make the pain ever so sweeter for you to endure.”

“You’re psychotic.” You attempted to control your breathing as you spoke, but it felt as though the air was being snatched from your lungs.

“Tell me all that you know about the high lord and his family.” 

You laughed again, spitting more blood towards his direction. “Go fuck yourself. I won’t tell you anything.” Your head began spinning, forcing out those words took more effort than you could have ever imagined. It was a feeling you had never experienced before, and it terrified you. 

“Oh you will, everyone gives in eventually.” Madok spoke and before you could respond, he brought his fist to your ribs, jolting your body to the side, making it harder to catch your breath. Again and again he hit you, until you coughed up blood down the front of your already red stained shirt. Your entire body felt on fire, the pain growing past tolerable. “How do I get into Velaris?” Another punch to your side. You felt the room spin slightly, vision fading.

“Fuck. You.” You spat out, your mouth filling with blood, making your words muffled. “They will come for me, and you’ll be as good as dead.” You only could hope that your words would be true.

Madok laughed as he gripped your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Is that why your precious highlord let you come here by yourself? That is why I doubt no one is coming to save you. You are worthless to them, just some lonely fae that thought she had found her family. When in reality it became more people for you to disappoint.” 

You launched at him, but the chains held you back. “Shut up.” 

“I will break you Y/N. And then I will kill your precious inner circle. Starting with the babe.” 

“I swear to the mother if you hurt him.” You seethed, attempting to launch at him again but Madok moved away, each of his men following his steps out of the cell. 

“You’re stuck here dear Y/N. There is nothing you can do to stop me.” Madok smiled before he disappeared from your sight. 

And you screamed in anger, all the air leaving your lungs, desperate to be free from these chains.

A few more days had passed, each day filled with your daily injection of faebane. His goons had beaten you to a pulp each time, attempting to pull information from you. But you took each beating and each new wound without uttering a single word. You figured most of your bones were broken, the new wounds on your sides were exposed to the dirt and grime of the cell. You couldn’t tell if your fingers were broken, but you faintly remember two men laughing as they cracked each one. But you did not break, no matter the torture he had put you through, you remained silent about your family. 

You were shocked your body had held on this long, and when you heard the cell open, you prayed this would be the last one. After this, you would simply cease to exist. You had never truly wanted death, but your body did not feel like your own. You were floating in your own mind just to escape the pain, and you were prepared to embrace the reaper with open arms. If dying meant your family was safe, then it would be a death you would gladly accept. You were growing weaker, the will to heal and live fading each day.

Madok stepped through the cell door, dragging in someone with him. It took a minute for your eyes to adjust to see who it was but the blonde curls were all too familiar. 

“You know, I amend this male for trying to protect you, but he is just another fool that trusted the wrong fae.” Madok threw Surin at your feet. His face was bloodied and beaten, his green eyes were swollen and bruised.

“He didn’t do anything wrong, let him go.” You begged, your throat felt dry as you spoke. 

Madok leaned over Surin, lifting his head off the ground. “Our dear Y/N here only fucked you to make the shadowsinger jealous. You truly think she cared for you? Is she really worth saving?” 

“Leave him alone! Please!” You couldn’t stop the tears from falling, even as one of his men slapped you across the face. “You are feeding him lies.” You choked out. Surin didn’t deserve this. “It is me you want, not him. So please just let him go.” 

Surin looked towards you, showing you a smile that broke your heart. “It’s okay Y/N,” He spoke as if he already accepted his fate. “I’ll be okay,” A tear slipped down his cheek. “Thank you for indulging me, even if it wasn't real.” You yanked at the chains that held you back, if you could just get to him, guard him, save him. But you knew there was nothing you could do. His green eyes stared at you, as if to assure you it wasn’t your fault, you wished that was all it took.

“It was real Surin, all of it. I promise you.” You cried, your eyes never leaving him. 

“I’m glad. Thank you Y/N. For giving me a taste of life outside of the camps.” He smiled wider, blood staining his teeth. “Do me a favor. Make this bastard pay for it.” 

“Pity.” Madok scoffed, slicing Surin’s throat, letting his lifeless body hit the ground. Leaving him to bleed at your feet. 

“No!” You screamed, you pulled harder at the chains, your tears blurring your eyes, you hated how weak you felt. The sobs shook you to your core. And your heart ached as you looked at Surin below you. It was your fault. All of it. 

Someone had to know you were gone. Someone had to care enough to notice. But you were all alone, only the sound of your own cries to drown out the silence. 

It had been a little over a week since Azriel had discovered you missing, and each minute he found no lead, no way of finding you, a piece of his heart felt as though it was being ripped out, consumed by the dark thoughts of losing you. Each person he had interrogated knew nothing, and he became so frustrated he killed each one, with no remorse as their blood spilled onto the ground. 

He found himself a couple days later, sitting back at the house of wind, listening to his brothers converse about mother knows what, they had not mentioned you or your situation and yet they haven’t done a single thing to look for you, it felt as though he was the only one worried. 

He had left his shadows at Windhaven, ordering not to come back unless they had found you. But every part of him wanted to be out there, searching those woods for you, yet Rhys had called him back here, and had not said a single word since he had arrived. 

Azriel tapped his forefinger against the wood table in front of him. Watching. Waiting. Their voices were infuriating and Azriel had enough. 

“Is there anything important that you need me for? Or can I go back to looking for Y/N?” He knew he had an attitude with his question, but if there was no reason for him to be here then he shouldn’t be. “Do you even care that she is in danger?” 

“Brother.” Cassian warned, placing himself between the two of them.

“My mate is out there somewhere Rhys. Probably cold, hurt.. She could be dying and you have me sitting here, while you two bicker like old hags.” Azriel stood from his seat, his wings tense behind him. “I cannot feel her, that part of me that I only had the pleasure to know for a short moment is gone and I am dying without her, it feels like the breath is being sucked out of my lungs. Please tell me you have been doing something other than talking.” 

“I know you are worried Azriel, but-” 

“There is no but Rhysand! I am more than worried, I am terrified. I cannot even comprehend the thought of what she is going through, she would go to the end of this world to protect this family, to protect you. Who knows what Madok has done, if she is even still alive..” Azriel choked on those last few words, the tears threatening to fall if he held onto that thought any longer. Cassian placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder as Azriel took a steadying breath. 

“I know the lengths she would go for us, that is why I have Mor and Amren and a few Illyrians I can trust out there right now looking for her, they picked up where you left off.” Rhys stood with a stoic expression, the way the High lord of the night court should behave but his violet eyes were filled with concern, for him and you. There was no hiding that. 

“Then why am I not out there with them?” 

“You have not slept since she has gone missing, and before you say it- I know you won’t rest until she is found but I need you to take a breath, you will drive yourself mad if you continue this path.” Azriel stared at his brother, he knew Rhys was right, he knew he had been draining himself, but he could not sleep, because each time he closed his eyes, he saw your lifeless body, your eyes that he adored, glossed over and empty. 

He would not know a peaceful rest until he had you back in his arms. “I appreciate your concern, but I promise I will be fine.” 

“Azriel-” Cassian started, but Azriel’s shadows rushed around him, whispering the one thing that he had been waiting to hear. 

“They found her.” Azriel’s voice was barely louder than a whisper, before disappearing into his shadows.

Azriel followed his shadows to the bottom of Ramiel, a cave entrance that was hidden by trees. One that Azriel had sworn he had passed a thousand times. He found Mor and Amren standing at the entrance, two Illyrian guards dead at their feet. “She was in there the entire time?” 

“Don’t blame yourself boy, they had warded the entrance to be hidden from anyone passing by, I even had a difficult time discovering it. Whoever set the wards was good, but still not good enough.” Amren moved aside, so Azriel could take the lead into the cave. 

Cassian, Rhys and Nesta appeared behind them, ready for whatever would greet them. “Azriel you focus on finding Y/N. We will take care of everyone else.” Rhysand stated and Azriel nodded in agreement. 

They all rushed in at once, the gloomy tunnel was barely lit, but he saw clear enough to take down two males that approached him. He followed the corridors, killing whoever crossed his path, the stone walls covered in their blood. Azriel reached a collection of cells but found them all to be empty, except for the bloodstains across the walls.

Azriel kept moving forward, you had to be in this hell somewhere. He ran through the halls and the agony that surrounded them. And when he turned that final corner he saw you.

Azriel’s stomach dropped as he took in the scene of you hanging from the chains, your wrists purple and swollen, blood covering almost every inch of your body, slashes across your arms and abdomen. He stepped closer, noticing the male dead at your feet, his hand shook as he reached to feel your pulse, silently praying there would be the slightest movement underneath his finger tips. 

He lifted your chin, taking in the dried blood and bruises across your face. His anger for Madok grew. He felt a light pulse as he tried to hold his emotions back, he needed to get you out of here first, then he could unleash his anger on the male who did this to you. 

You groaned in pain as Azriel rushed to free your arms from the chains, your body collapsing into his arms. He held you carefully, pulling you tight against him, hoping he wasn’t causing you any pain. 

You withered in his arms, and when he looked down at you, your swollen eyes were barely open, but you were awake, yet barely alive. In that moment he felt that bond reopen, but it was faint, quiet. Like a whisper in a storm. You were dying and he was running out of time. 

He stood quickly, following his path back out of the cave. His family is waiting for the two of you outside between the trees. Madok was tied in chains in front of them. And when they saw you, Azriel heard the collective gasp of horror. 

“Your little mate is hard to crack, so sad you won’t be able to save her.” Madok teased, Azriel was prepared to kill him, but when you moved once more in his arms he refrained himself. Instead, Cassian slammed the hilt of his sword to the back of his head, knocking him unconscious. 

“Inform Madja I am on my way back.” Azriel’s voice cracked as he spoke, but he took off into the sky, flying as fast as his wings would take him.

You barely could open your eyes to see his face but you felt his arms wrap around you, the cool breeze of the mountain air brushing across your skin. He felt so warm, even as he launched the two of you into the snowy weather. You never thought you would have made it out, but he came for you. He was truly with you. Yet you didn’t exactly feel as if you were going to make it out of these mountains. 

“I’m scared. Azriel, why am I so scared?” Your voice was nothing but a whimper, your body was shaking, nothing felt in your control. You forced your eyes to open, memorizing his features. 

Was this death? Had Azriel come just in time to see you perish? There was so much more you wanted to do with him, you knew things were rocky, but you didn’t want to die leaving that wedge between you two, you wanted to fix it, to see what it would be like to be loved by him. But then again you always had been, the two of you were just too foolish to admit it. It was a mistake that you wouldn’t make again. Maybe in the next life you could be together. Maybe then you could have more time.

“Hey sweetheart, hold on for me. Please.” His voice was like a heavenly whisper in your mind. If you were to die in his arms, you would gladly accept it, the last sight would be of him and you would be okay with that. “Y/N, please we’re almost there, just don’t give up.” 

You smiled up at him, finding the strength to run a trembling hand across his cheek. Catching sight of the mangled state your hand was in. But it didn’t matter, you needed to make sure this was real, just in case. “Azriel if for some reason I don’t make it-”

“You will make it, darling please save your breath.” Azriel’s voice shook, and you could tell he was scared too. But if this was your last moment together, you wouldn’t spend it in silence.

“I am sorry for how things have been between us, you’re my best friend Az, and I was scared that I lost you when you got with Elain. I am sorry we didn’t have more time for us, but I promise I will look for you in my next life, and even the one after that. I will fight harder next time. I promise not to run. I won’t be afraid.” 

You looked into his hazel eyes, and the tears that fell down his face. You wanted to reach up but you found there was no strength left in you to move. “Y/N, we will have all the time in this life, we will have the life we deserve, please just-” His voice cracked and he took a trembling breath. “Stay with me. I’m sorry for it all. I hate that I didn’t tell you I loved you sooner. But please give me the chance to tell you for the rest of our lives.”

You smiled up at him, and you wished it could be true. But you could feel your body failing, you just wanted to close your eyes, rest for a little while. Gods you were so tired, your brain didn’t know what to do, but you knew what you wanted to say. 

“I don’t hate that I love you.” Your words wobbled, feeling an unknown warmth, you stopped fighting and Azriel’s screams were just a faint echo in the back of your mind as your eyes fell closed to the darkness.

Taglist(The ones crossed out I couldn’t tag): @honestlywtfisgoingon @fanfictioniseverything @marina468 @positivewitch @maviee @blurredlamplight @bookslut420 @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @elle10 @dragonstoneprincess @holywolfsstuff @reiincarnatiion @valeridarkness @feiwelinchen @sv0430 @kennedy-brooke @emturtles @nightcourtwritings @zephyg-06 @chantalleke91 @katherinereid @loulou0101 @shadowsingersmate24 @tcris2020 @shadowsinger-654 @nobody00sthings @lucyysthings @turkishgirlslife @rachelnicolee @mich0731 @tobifeemo @kristeristerin @sinnful-darling @hannzoaks @zoe2 @strangersunghoon @bangtanbecks @juneangel21​ @hanatsuki-hime​ @acourtofmarvels @cmay25 @its-sam-allgood @a-frog-with-a-laptop @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @kazbrkker @sstanbarnes @j-pendragonx @naturakaashi @yakoxshadow @whorefortim @goradgirl @azriels-mate123 @cuethedepession 

[gravitytrips]

Cocky Bastard Part 2

The RED team woke up bright and early the day after Medic, Heavy, and Engineer had received the call from Scout’s captors. Medic had convinced them to get them up this early to set up their ambush without much hassle. After all, they were all practically seeing red when Engineer described what they had been told on the phone.

Sniper watched through his scope in the bell tower, barely keeping his seething anger from surfacing. Through his thumping hatred, Sniper could just make out the forms of all his teammates, save Medic, and obviously Scout, taking their positions. The Aussie saw Soldier tense up in his spot behind a stack of crates, and drew his scope back to the center of the park.

Medic stepped forward on the grass, the greenish-brown blades crumpling beneath his feet. The doctor’s composure nearly broke when he finally saw the face of the man that had imprisoned his teammate. The man smirked, making Medic want to strangle him on the spot. The two stepped forward.

Engineer watched the exchange from the balcony he was crouched on. Medic seemed to negotiate with Scout’s captor for a few moments before the man turned, waved his hand, and walked away. Engineer was so confused that he didn’t even hear the gangster swinging a bat at his head.

Sniper’s head snapped over to the balcony after he heard a very Texan yelp, trying to get a shot on whoever was attacking Engineer. Sniper focused in on his target, shouldered his weapon for a better grips, then…..his scope exploded. Sniper stumbled back, startled by the pain in his face from the shards of his scope, and also swinging his head around to look for his assailant. His eyes just barely caught a glint from a rooftop on his left. Bingo. Even without his scope, Sniper was still an excellent shot, the gangster fell from the rooftop, now sporting a new hole in his head. Sniper reloaded and took aim at the ground once more.

Heavy growled to himself as he watched a van blast down a street and out into the open field. Blood dripped from his knuckles and from the three dead gangsters behind him. The large Russian strode out into the field. The back doors of the van flew open, and Heavy raised his fist to lay out the first person who stepped out of the van. Those fists dropped with the large man’s jaw when what instead tumbled out of the still-moving van was the beaten and bloody body of Scout. Heavy dropped to the ground next the heap of barely breathing blood and flesh.

Scout could feel his face being pressed into the warm ground. He decided to take the opportunity to soak up every bit of warmth as he could before he would inevitably be thrust back into his cold cell. He breathed deeply, only to find himself inhaling dirt. The boy coughed violently, before becoming aware of other unpleasant sensations, like the prickly, itchy grass on his face, or something large compressing his chest, or a deep voice vibrating his entire body and setting fire to every cut, bruise, and laceration. Scout’s eyes closed.

Medic’s gaze was being ripped all over the battlefield as always, checking for injured teammates and hacking up attackers. Medic’s erratic path of vision came to a screeching halt when his eyes landed on Heavy, who was carrying an unconscious Scout in his arms. The boy looked like hell. His face was bruised and stained with drying blood, some of which seemed to be sealing his swollen eye shut. Medic grimaced and made his way to Heavy to assess the rest of the damage done to their youngest teammate.

Scout’s eyes slid open when he felt soft fingers running through his blood-matted hair. Those same soft hands gently examined the rest of him, moving over the leg he knew was badly broken. A finger poked the swollen limb, earning a soft cry from Scout. Suddenly, the hands were gone, then, hands of every size and texture were cradling his head, caressing his bruised chest, brushing through his hair, and wiping his tears. Jeremy weakly lifted his own hand to feel for whoever could possible have that many different hands, when soft, leather hands gripped his. Scout’s fingers twitched, trying to grasp the hands holding his. As the darkness started to drag Scout again, he became strangely aware that he was really hot. The heat throbbed through his system, drawing his eyes closed again. Before Jeremy knew it, the soothing touches and the heat dragged him under.

The very next thing Scout became aware of was the chill in the air. Scout’s heart sank as he realized this, knowing it meant he was back in his cell. This thought rolled around in Scout’s mind for a few moments before he realized that he wasn’t lying on concrete. He was just on a very, very hard mattress. When had he received a mattress? With this question in mind, Scout decided to brave it and open his eyes.

The room was dim, but not due to a lack of lights. Most of the lights were simply off. It was quiet, save for the ticking of a clock and an annoying beeping.

Beeping?

Scout’s eyes drifted to the source of the sound, seeing a heart monitor.

Scout slammed his eyes shut again. No. This wasn’t real. He was hallucinating. Dreaming. Maybe even dead. He clenched his fists, trying to hold onto the moment for as long as possible. The soft sheets of the infirmary bed scrunched under his fingers, causing tears to jump to his eyes. Jeremy scolded himself for thinking this was real. It wasn’t possible. Don’t give yourself hope, Jeremy. But still, a part of his mind desperately begged him to dare to hope. Questions scratched at the back of his mind. Was he really back? Could this possibly be real? Was he really home? 

Medic looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. God, he was a mess. His hair was all out of whack, and he hadn’t changed shirts in nearly three days.

Medic splashed water on his face, and silently prayed to any god that would listen that Scout’s fever would break, and that he’d be ok.

The doctor then sighed, resigning himself to more work after an hour or so of rest. Had it been an hour? Or more? Medic thought to himself as he exited the infirmary restroom and glanced up at the clock. He froze. that ticking of the clock of joined by something else. Sniffing. Crying. Medic drew his gaze to the sounds and saw it through a crack in the curtains: movement.

Scout coughed through his tears, wheezing out a frightened yelp when the curtains were torn open. He braced himself for strict words, or even physical reprimanding for being dumb enough to get captured, but all the boy was met with was pure relief. Tears shone in Medic’s eyes as the man knelt beside Jeremy’s a bed.

“Doc….?” Came the cranky and rough voice of the boy Medic had been fighting death away for for weeks.

“Hallo, hase……are you with me….?” The doctor said as he placed a bare hand on Jeremy’s forehead. The German nearly sagged with relief when he didn’t feel a fever.

“Yeah….?” Jeremy was confused. Confused in what happened, how he got back, how long he was out, and most importantly, why Medic’s bare hand was painfully familiar. Jeremy closed his eyes, to gather his bearings, and a flash of a memory came to him. Lying in the itchy grass. Hands all over him, soothing, assuring, protecting.

“Scout? Is everything alright? Are you in any pain?” The sound of the doctor’s voice snapped Scout out of his memory. It took him a moment to process the words, then realized that no, for the first time in God knows how long, he wasn’t in any pain.

A whooshing sound came from his left, and Scout’s body automatically tensed.

“Ah, so he finally awakens.” Spy’s voice was soft. Soft like the leather-clad hands that held his so tightly, assuring him that he was not alone m, that he was going to be alright, that everything would turn out ok….

That same hand now draped over his forehead, mirroring Medic’s earlier motion.

“Are you up for visitors, mon lapin?” Spy asked gently.

“Yeah….yeah. I really wanna see the guys.” Scout answered, his voice slightly shaking.

It wasn’t two seconds after Medic opened the infirmary door that there were six more men upon him, asking questions, looking worried, and hugging him.

After Engineer pried Pyro off of Scout, the boy finally got a word in.

“You guys were seriously that worried?” The boy asked, subconsciously clasping Engineer’s hand.

The flurry of speaking returned, exasperated shouts of ‘yes’ and ‘of course’ and ‘why wouldn’t we?’. Spy stood to the side, holding an unlit cigarette and just watching. Satisfied that his smoking would no longer be an issue for Scout’s breathing, he lit the cigarette and took a drag.

As the smoke filled the man’s lungs, he watched the other mercenaries fuss over his son. He watched the way Scout smiled.

He was lucky. Lucky that he had been able to protect his son when it mattered. Lucky that his son had survived. He was lucky that he was on a team that weren’t only coworkers, but friends, not that he’d ever admit it. Most of all, he was lucky that those friends were able to fill the gaping, aching while he had left in his son’s life.

Spy took another drag on his cigarette and smiled. For now. For now, he was happy.

[spacewombatty]

Shower Prompt

Anakin came back late.

It had been a month since his Knighting ceremony, but this was not his first time leading a battalion. He'd been Knighted because it wasn't his first time, but because he was one of the youngest in the order to. Many years before him, and, the war proceeded at planned years after him, the Jedi would be peacekeepers. A Padawan would rise in their ranks thanks to their emotional maturity, connection to the Force, their steady and unyielding compassion in the face of darkness.

During war, the Order needed warriors. If there was something Anakin excelled at, then it was his speed with which he cut down his enemies. The 501st third independent battle hadn't been that.

Anakin came back to the ship with his hair matted to his skull with blood. There was a gash that he'd failed to notice bleeding sluggishly down his cheek, along his neck, to pool and crust at his clavicle. His boots drag against the metal plating of the ship, and as if the staff on board knew what had happened, they didn't say. They parted.

Until today, General Skywalker boasted the fact his numbers hadn't been shaken since he'd taken command. Until today, the 501st were 580 strong.

Today, they'd lost twenty, in one fatal swoop of a Separatist tank bombing ambush. Half of the men who'd been killed were asleep.

The doors of the Jedi's bunk room opened with a hiss, Anakin's shadow darkening the doorway until they close behind him. The Knight paused long enough to make sure the doors were closed, and then kicked his boots off, and flung his saber from his belt in a fit of rage across the room. It stopped in midair--seconds from colliding with the ships metal walls.

And then it lowered, gentle, to rest horizontally on his pillow. "Those are quite expensive to fix, Padawan mine."

"I'm not your Padawan anymore, Obi-Wan," Anakin spoke to the dark. In the dim light from Nithe's largest moon, his former Master reclined easy against the nightstand beside Anakin's cot, his arms crossed. The moon lit up his face, but the Jedi didn't look for long. He didn't think he could stand the pity he'd find there.

If it had been any other person, the Knight might have had the decency to be embarrassed at being caught like this--bloody and angry at the galaxy with all it's inhabitants.

"What do you want?" he asked, tired. "Not today. I don't want to hear it. I don't want to talk battle, or strategies, and I don't want to meditate."

Obi-Wan laughed, and pushed himself up and off of the wall.

"Then I suppose we'll do none of that. I didn't come here to antagonize you, Anakin." He approached, slow and measured, until the Knight could feel the warmth radiating from his body. Obi-Wan had dressed down, clad in night clothes like he'd woken up for this.

"I came to make sure that you were alright, and found you still bloody," the Jedi murmured, tilting his head, guiding Anakin's gaze until their eyes met.

There was a pause, before the Knight sagged against him. It was all the excuse he'd needed.

Obi-Wan undressed him methodically, as methodical as if he were undressing with the intent to bandage. His hands were rough with callouses, and there was a faint scar running along his palm that when the ridge caught Anakin's skin made him shiver. Anakin sat on the bed, let the Jedi shrug him from his robes, hissed when his hands scraped a fresh wound. The older man caught his chin and tilted it to the side, assessing his face. Anakin let himself be guided. Obi-Wan didn't chide him staring.

They didn't speak, and that was it for Anakin, who's words left his lips in a clumsy tumble. As a kid, he'd envied his Master for his silver tongue. He'd hated his lessons, hated the mockery that came with the struggle, until Obi-Wan gathered Anakin's messy and fumbled words in his palm of his hands. The Jedi completed him in a way that made Anakin realize he hadn't been whole.

"Gently," the man said. The fresher was running, the Knight bare, goosebumps raising on his skin from the chill. "Slow down. For once in your life, Anakin, go slowly."

They lowered him into the bath carefully, the brunette wincing as the heat seared his skin and then made itself at home in his bones. Obi-Wan looked ridiculous and uncomfortable, still clothed and dry, kneeling next to the bath with his sleeves rolled. This was testament to everything in their relationship--Obi-Wan's composure a stark contrast to Anakin's rougher edges. The Knight felt small and pitiful, and the sentiment rose the air on his neck, made him bear his teeth and hiss as the water splash at his skin.

Obi-Wan's palm came down, smoothing over his nape, and Anakin felt his the tension drain from his bones.

"Close your eyes, dear," his voice was steady. The Knight obeyed, eyes slipping closed.

And he didn't deserve this. His eyelids were stained with the images of the lost, the scenarios of what he could've done, what he didn't do, and what he'd failed to do replaying in his mind's eye like a broken record. It was marred, it was ugly, it was entirely preventable--and Anakin let death write their names across the surface of his heart like it could prevent them from being forgotten. One day, he'd hoped, it would be a worthy death to suffocate under their weight. One day, he'd put an end to it all.

If Obi-Wan had noticed--and Anakin's shields were abhorrent--he didn't say anything. The Master's hands slipped through Anakin's curls, nails dragging across his scalp, fingers tugging the mats loose carefully until he could massage the soap into a steady sud. The room heated, the Jedi's movements as methodical as the working of a clock, and all the anger Anakin had stored in his chest throughout the day melted away as easy as the soap in his hair.

Obi-Wan's presence was warm. It was all encompassing. It was the closest thing to home Anakin had left. The Knight let his shields fall until their signatures could touch and meld, his former Master's Force curling around his own like a cat demanding a scratch. It settled against the barrel of Anakin's chest, and he savored the way Obi-Wan always made it so difficult for him to breathe.

The Jedi's hands hadn't stopped moving. A groan slipped from Anakin's mouth, and a flick of water splashed against Obi-Wan's nose when he laughed.

Water spilled over his head--crept through his curls, heat spreading across his scalp. Obi-Wan repeated the motion until he was clean, until the water bled pink with tendrils of blood.

"They missed a spot on your chest," Obi-Wan commented. His fingers moved through Anakin's hair, shamelessly petting, winding a wet curl around his finger until it bounced free. The Jedi turned to look up at him.

Obi-Wan's features were soft, in the yellow light. The curve of his cheek was inviting, the hard edges of General being replaced with the man Anakin called home, and when the light hit his hair right it seemed to turn gold.

"Don't wanna get your clothes wet," The Knight mumbled, eyes wandering. "You might get cold."

"It may be hard to believe, but the cruiser had a functioning washer and heater."

As if that was permission enough, Anakin hooked his fingers in the front of Obi-Wan's clothes, and drug him down far enough to kiss him. He got lost in the feeling of the man's mouth on his, in the way his beard rubbed his scar raw, in favor of cupping the back of Obi-Wan's neck and drinking him in deeper.

They kissed, slow, and easy. The water around him bled, and when his Master finally pulled away breathless, it matched the rosy tint of his lips.

"Anakin."

"Don't," he pleaded. "Please."

Obi-Wan sat, and thought, reaching into the Force and picking through all of the reasons why they shouldn't. There was danger written in the air. They were on the losing end of a war where biases could mean death to an entire galaxy. There was inevitable loss written in the stars that the Knight must learn to cope with--and not all of it would be due to death.

But denying Anakin was never something he cared to be good at. Obi-Wan washed his hand, callouses dragging against his scalp, until his Padawan fell asleep curled into the curve of his hand.

[racheloleo]

Pit of Despair

Zevlor x (f)Tav, NSFW

3.7K words

Beautiful visions swam behind his eyes, the promise of once again becoming a paladin, serving a higher power, being able to walk with his head held high as he marshaled his people to Baldur’s Gate, victorious. A solitary tear slid from his glowing eye, down the infernal ridge that was his cheek, before dropping to the chest of his scale mail. So enchanted was he by Her voice and the lure of becoming oathbound once again, he could not hear the screams around him. Behind him they fell, bloodied, as the cultists of the Absolute ambushed their group as their leader was enthralled, enchanted, by the idea of regaining something that was once lost to him. Something he could have without the Absolute, if only he would allow himself forgiveness. 

He would never forget the sounds of their bodies hitting the dirt as he came to, manhandled and manacled and pushed towards Moonrise Towers. Lifeless eyes stared back at him from the burgeoning shadows, brows raised high in surprise and mouths agape in screams. He whipped his head around, frantic, searching for any signs of life. If any of the tieflings had made it out, he could not see them now. Hot tears burned his eyes as he called out, begging for this to be a dream, a nightmare. But the only dream to be found was his disillusionment at once again becoming a good man.

Tav stared in horror at the rows of illithid pods. She and her not-quite-so-rag-tag group had ventured into the mindflayer colony deep underneath Moonrise, chasing Ketheric Thorm and and the Heart of the Absolute. The party had already encountered zombies, death shepherds, infernal beings, and sentient brains, along with hook horrors and a lake of blood and spare body parts. 

Glancing into the pods, she saw members of the Flaming Fist. They looked as if they were comatose; there was no movement from their bodies, save for the flutters of their eyes as they moved behind their lids. Glancing around, Tavalia saw a console near the far end of the room, beside a hallway that led farther into the depths of the colony: another nursery. Wiping sweat and blood from her brow, she approached. As she did so, she saw that more of the pods were occupied, and not just by soldiers; at least three had fully formed illithids inside, waiting for the moment they would be released.

Directly to her right, she saw him. 

Zevlor was still in his pod, eyes darting behind his heavily lashed eyelids as his lips moved almost imperceptibly. Tav’s eyes grew round as she ran towards the pod and began slamming her fists against the lid. The tactic hadn’t worked when attempting to free Shadowheart from the same predicament all those weeks ago, but Tav was frantic. 

“Zevlor!” she screamed, pounding on the pod. “ZEVLOR!”

He did not stir.

Karlach stepped up behind Tav, moving her hand to her leader’s shoulder and gently pulling her back. “It’s no use, mate,” she said, sadly. “The console is the only way, and unless you can figure out how to open only a few and not all of them, we’re going to have another fight on our hands. Not that I’m complaining,” the barbarian added, shouldering her greataxe and snarling at the nearest unresponsive mindflayer.

Tavalia blinked back her tears and looked at Karlach. “You’re right,” she muttered, sniffling her nose and clearing her throat. She touched her hand to Zevlor’s pod and whispered “I’m here, and I will have you out soon.”

Stepping away, she walked up to the console and laid her hands across it. With a thought, she knew she would be able to unlock the pods and free the prisoners from their confinement, but it would also mean activating the sleeping illithids.

“Astarion, Gale, move towards that hallway and prepare for ranged attacks. Karlach, move to the left, we’ll need to take these monsters down as they emerge. And there’s no way of knowing if the Fists or Zevlor will be able to fight,” her voice caught in her throat, “so protect and shield them from harm.” Her friends nodded in assent and positioned themselves around various points of the room. With a firm line across her lips and furrowed brows, Tav once again placed her hands on the alien technology and willed it to release the inhabitants of the pods.

With a hiss, the transparent casings cracked and raised, allowing the occupants their freedom. Immediately, the mindflayers within became aggressive and a battle ensued. Luckily for the adventuring group, the Fists and the Hellrider took only a moment to gauge their surroundings before unsheathing their weapons and leaping into the fray.

The young illithids were unencumbered and frail, all things considered. They had yet to feed, which made them less fearsome than their fully-fledged brethren. Handily, the young ones were dispatched with minimal damage taken by their adversaries. As the carnage lay around them, the group of seven took a moment to breathe before the Flaming Fists excused themselves, desperate to retreat from the mucus and organic matter that made up the hidden underground colony.

Zevlor fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around Tavalia’s waist. A sob of relief and despair escaped his throat, choked by his tongue. She dropped to the ground and flung her arms around the Hellrider’s neck, pulling him in close and whispering calmly and gently into his ear. His body shuddered as he clung to her, desperate to know that she was here and that she was real.

“Shhh,” she murmured quietly, stroking his hair, now damp with blood, and smoothing it away from his face. “Zevlor, look at me. Are you hurt?” Tav swung her pack around and began digging, searching for the health potions she knew were stashed inside. His taloned hand reached hers to stay it, pulling it from the depths.

“The others, the ambush - tell me they survived.” He pulled his face away from her shoulder to look her in the eyes.

“They found refuge. Tell me what happened, Zevlor.” Tav began to once more rummage within her bag.

“You have heard some of it, I am sure. That I froze, or broke, or some other lie that is kinder than the truth. I do not deserve this kindness,” he rasped, staring deeply into her eyes. “I… I abandoned them. They needed me, and I was not there, too caught up in delusions of grandeur. And all the while, the cult tortured them. They fought, and ran and died around me, while I imagined myself their savior.” His voice caught in his throat, suddenly feeling very heavy and round. “By the time I regained my senses, it was too late. I did not just surrender to the Absolute. For a moment, I welcomed it.” “No, no, Zevlor. It wasn’t your fault, not at all. It sounds like you were enthralled. That’s what this Absolute does. It’s not your fault.”

“It would be nice to think so. But whatever these monsters twist us into… I believe it begins in us. I won’t make excuses. I can’t make amends. But I want to help, if you’ll let me.”

Tavalia held him tightly to her body. “Of course, of course.” He pulled away from her and stood, offering his hand to help her up.

“If there are more survivors to be found,” he began, “I will find them and lead them out of this place.” 

“I could use another blade in the fight to come,” she responded, watching him closely.

“Only if you can trust it won’t be buried in your back,” he quipped. “The Absolute swayed me once before, I won’t risk it happening again. Not to you.” More tears formed in his haunted, demonic eyes. “Go. Please, let me do this much.”

Tavalia held his gaze, contemplating. She stepped up to him, moving her hand to his cheek. Forehead to forehead, she released a steady breath before gently kissing his browline. “Find them, Zevlor. Get them out of here. Take them to the Last Light Inn. The rest of the survivors are there, and our camp. If you cannot face them, do not, but please, please, wait for me there. Promise me this.” 

Zevlor hesitated, a sharp intake of his breath belying his hesitation. “I… I will wait for you. I promise.” He tilted his head slightly, taking in Tavalia’s features: her jaw was taut and worried, her forehead creased with concern, and her mouth set in a firm line. Her eyes shone in the light, magnified by the tears they held. He squeezed her hands in his for just a moment, before bobbing his head quickly and concisely and turning on his heel. As she blinked away her tears, he was gone, off to assist those still trapped within this hellscape and get them to safer ground.

“Please wait for me,” she whispered under her breath, a quiet sob escaping with the words as her tears hit the bloody, viscera-soaked ground.

****

Tav and her crew were welcomed warmly when they returned to the Last Light Inn. Ketheric Thorm had been defeated, as had the Shadow Curse, and the way to Baldur’s Gate was clear. Those looking to make the journey could expect to do so now with relative safety. 

Immediately, Tav began to scan the area for his familiar shape. Her brow furrowed as she realized he was not inside the inn, and she had not seen him upon her arrival. Panic started to set in - he had promised, he had promised!

Tav caught movement out of the corner of her eye. At the bar, Alfira made a motion and, while taking a swig of ale, pointed one taloned finger up, indicating that Tav’s quarry could be found on the second story. Tav nodded and headed for the stairs as Alfira sent a small wink her way.

Taking stock of her surroundings, Tavalia noticed that only one of the rooms left upstairs was still habitable after Marcus’ attack against Isobel. The door was mostly closed, but not latched. A faint light glowed from within.

As she strode towards the door, Tav began to unfasten her armor, readying it to doff completely. She nudged the door open with the toe of her boot. Inside, she found Zevlor, unarmored, sitting silently on the edge of the bed and staring intently at a lit candle. He did not notice her come in until she cleared her throat.

“Zevlor,” she whispered, his reverie broken. He shot off the mattress, eyes wide. 

“Tavalia!” He shouted, moving around the bed to embrace her. She held still as his powerful arms wrapped around her middle, his face burrowed snuggly into her neck. His breath was warm and moist against the delicate skin near her collar bone. She inhaled sharply and returned the hug with gusto, burying her hand into the hair at the nape of his neck.

“You’re here, you’re here,” she murmured, scarcely allowing herself to believe that he was, in fact, here at the Last Light and within her arms.

“I promised you I would be. I could not break that. I have done many things I will need to atone for, and many things left undone, but not this, never this. Not you.” His hand snaked into her hair and loosened her braid, the tendrils flowing down like silk.

“Here,” he said, as he carefully began to remove her armor. Her muscles and joints ached as the metal was pulled away, glad to be rid of such a burden. Zevlor set the pieces to the side of the room, gently removing one after another after another. “I will send for hot water and oils, you should bathe. It has been a long, tiring day, and no doubt you need to nourish your soul. I will leave you now, and I will see to it that you have all that you need before morning.”

Tav caught his wrist in her hand and held tightly. “You are all I need to nourish my soul. A bath can wait, unless you truly cannot stand to see me as I am.” 

He hesitated. “We will… compromise. I will send for hot water, but I will stay and keep you company, if you will allow. There is a privacy curtain around the tub for such occasions.”

She sighed, knowing this was the best she was likely to get, and it was a great concession on his part. She nodded, acquiescing to his request. He smiled and turned to leave, promising to return soon with fresh water and clean towels.

****

Tav allowed herself to sink into the tub, the hot water steaming around her face. She cleaned off most of the blood and sweat, idly chatting with Zevlor from behind the curtain as she had done so. He told her of the remaining stragglers at Moonrise and of getting them to Last Light. He also seemed surprised that while his homecoming was not a raucous affair, he was not turned away, and indeed, many seemed glad to know that he was ultimately alright.

While in the midst of rinsing suds from her hair, Tav’s stomach uttered an ungodly grumble. She laughed. “Zevlor, do we have anything in the way of vittles up here? My guts seem to be lodging a complaint as to their state of emptiness.”

The tiefling chuckled. “Ah, no, I do not believe there is much, but I shall fetch you something. Fruit and cheese? Sausage? Wine?”

“Yes, please,” she responded, carefully massaging a lavender oil into her legs and forearms. “I will be out when you get back, and we shall feast!” She felt him hesitate; they had both realized simultaneously that she had no clean garments in the room.

“I shall stop by your camp for some apparel, hmm?” And he shuffled to the door and gently closed it behind him. She could feel the heat of his embarrassment radiate in his wake.

Tavalia stepped out of the tub, wrapping her body in a clean towel. It was neither plush nor threadbare, but it was comfortable and up to the task of removing water from a wet body. She moved to the bed and sat on the edge, in the same space the tiefling had been when she had entered the room. The candle still glowed, and she found herself lost in its flame.

Visions of the tiefling party danced in her mind. Zevlor’s hungry eyes in the low light, his bare chest above hers, his horns between her thighs. Her teeth caught her lower lip and she sighed wantonly, remembering the pleasure that she had experienced at his hands.

Pleasure she would surely love to experience again.

Lost in thought, she did not hear the door creak open. One red, taloned hand entered, clutching a fistful of garments, shaking them gently. Tav got up and moved towards the door.

“Tavalia,” the older man’s voice reached her ears, “I have some clothing for you, and a plate of food. Please, get yourself dressed and then we shall enjoy a companionable supper.”

She grabbed his wrist, a snake shooting out from the dark at lightning speed. “I can get dressed later,” she whispered, “I would sit with you now, as I am. My forwardness worked once, I can only hope it will work again. Enter, soldier.”

A pregnant pause, before the door slowly opened and Zevlor squeezed into the room. In the hand she hadn’t seen, he grasped a bottle of wine and two glasses, while he balanced a plate with assorted cheeses, fruits, rolls, and meats on a crooked elbow. Tav shut the door as soon as he entered the rest of the way, and turned the key in the lock with a satisfying click.

She came up behind him and took the plate and her garments. The plate she set down deftly on a nightstand, and the clothing bits were tossed to the other side of the room. They landed on the floor with a quiet shuffle.

Tav dropped her towel.

By this time, Zevlor had lowered the wine and glasses to the floor, careful not to break the glass. As he turned to face her, his eyes widened and he visibly shifted from foot to foot. She approached him slowly, her long damp hair trailing down her back and swinging gently with the movement.

She came to rest in front of him and as she did so, he brought his hands to her hips. Her own hands moved to his shoulders, gently caressing the infernal ridges that were present just beneath the linen of his shirt. Her breath caught as she felt his low thrum of pleasure radiating from his chest.

“Please, I cannot.” His breath was hot and soft on her face as he spoke. “I have done nothing to be worthy of your attentions. I have betrayed those whom I had pledged to protect and save. I am not a good man, and I would not see you debase yourself with me, much as I may like to participate in such escapades.” 

She tutted her tongue softly, moving her lips to his ear. “Everyone deserves love, Zevlor. You are no exception. All of this self-pity you have for yourself, banish it. You have done nothing wrong, and nothing for which to be ashamed.” She rotated her hips in a slow motion until she was able to gently grind against his hip. “Please. I care for you. I know you must care for me, else you would not have partnered with me all those weeks ago. Let me show you how much I care, let me show you that you are a good man.”

She took his mouth in hers and kissed him deeply, raising herself to tip-toes for a better vantage. He kissed back, hard, stern; she could feel his teeth through his lips. She gasped as he gently bit her lower lip and dug his talons into her back.

Tav placed her palms against Zevlor’s chest and pushed him towards the bed, sending him backwards onto the mattress. As he laid supine, she deftly climbed up and over him until she was straddling his hips. She could feel his own arousal as surely as she could feel her own.

She bent to his neck and trailed soft kisses down the muscles and across his clavicle. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, panting. His hands roamed her back and cupped her bottom, pushing her down harder onto his lap.

Dipping her hands, she began to free the laces of his trousers. His arousal sprang free, steady and hard and ready for her. A drop of translucent dew at the tip winked at her invitingly. She drew up her hips before repositioning and lowering her sex down onto his, a fitting juncture made all the more pleasant by the sounds of their gasps and sighs.

Carefully, Tav began to rock back and forth, slowly taking all of him within her. As she sank farther onto his member, Zevlor let out a faint whine. He grabbed at her hips to steady both her and himself. She continued to rock, and he began to thrust gently into her, keeping time with her movements.

Remembering their last encounter, he pushed his thumb into her mouth and she dutifully suckled it before he moved it down to the bud of pleasure within her sex. He slowly rubbed her in time with his thrusts, and could feel her movement becoming more and more erratic. He himself was also experiencing a culmination of pleasures.

As they were reaching the brink, Tavalia bent her head to Zevlor’s ear and muttered a small incantation. Instantly, he felt his body enveloped in divine light, blessed by the gods. No; blessed by her.

This heightened his pleasure considerably, and sent him to a tipping point. He spilled himself into her, crying out in equal parts anguish and supplication. She too found her climax and shuddered, mouth agape but not breathing, not making any noises. Silent.

Finally taking in a shuddering breath, she fell to the bed beside him as they basked in a divine afterglow that lasted a few moments more. He took her hand in his and brought it to his mouth, gently kissing her fingers and snuggling his nose against them.

As their heart rates and breathing returned to normal, Tav turned towards Zevlor and crawled into his arms. He wrapped his arms around her, his tail weaving around her leg in an almost possessive fashion. She stroked his chest with her fingertips, and once again a deep rumble began in his chest, softly vibrating her head as she laid upon him.

“You are everything to me, Zevlor. I do not know where I would be without you. Having known you, I never wish to part from you. Please stay with me. Please do not be so hard on yourself, on any perceived shortcomings or failings. I know you have flaws, I can see them, but you are perfect to me. Please, let me love you.”

Zevlor’s purring hiccupped briefly, then settled again into a steady rhythm. His talons stroked her hair and pushed it behind her ears. His lips danced playfully along her jaw, planting a multitude of small kisses. He was silent for a moment.

“Would that I could see myself through your eyes, my darling. I wish I could be half the man you think I am, but I will settle for being enough for you, should you allow it.”

Tav snuggled closer and adjusted herself to pull some blankets over both of their bodies. “You are the only one for me. There is no other,” she said definitively, and with such tone that it provoked no retort from him. They laid together quietly, gently caressing and kissing one another, basking in the warmth and satisfaction of holding each other once again.

[jumpywhumpywriter]

A Life in the Hands of the Enemy -- Villain reluctantly saves Hero's Life part 1

Warnings: violence, bleeding, near-death experience, captivity whump, cruel Villain whumper

(Villain saves Hero's Life and uses her as a weapon against Bigger Villain)

PROMPT:

"Get up!" Villain roars mockingly, looming over Hero where they're sprawled on the ground. "Get up and fight for your precious city!" They wait a moment. "Well? Giving up already?!"

Nothing.

"I never knew you were so weak," Villain sneers. "What would your adoring citizens think?"

They wait. After another minute of silence, Villain creeps warily closer, their weapon/ powers at the ready in case it's a ruse. Hero still hasn't moved. Now that they're close enough to see, Villain realizes that they're pale as a ghost under their mask and barely breathing. There's a dark patch of blood soaking through their suit, from a wound that Villain didn't cause.

Context:: Villain (Zack) happened to come across Hero (Amber) in a dark alleyway at night, who was unaware of Zack's presence, and Zack pounced on the opportunity to ambush her. She was a bloody thorn in his side, and always frustratingly able to stop him and his evil plans. Now was the perfect time to get rid of her forever.

STORY:

Zack's breath caught in his throat as he spotted the back of Amber's characteristic red-and-black hero suit. She was turned away from him, leaning on one of the big blue dumpsters in the alleyway.

There's no way on earth I'm that lucky, Zack thought in disbelief. He instinctively pressed himself against one of the alley walls, using the darkness to hide his figure as he crept forward for a closer look.

Yup, it was DEFINITELY Amber. He was surprised she hadn't sensed his presence yet. She'd always seemed to have an uncanny way of knowing when she was in danger.

Zack felt his heart start to speed up in anticipation as he drew his favorite dagger from a sheath on his hip, slinking closer to the unsuspecting superhero. Then, he lunged--only to have Amber whip around and block his blade with her own, showering sparks to the ground.

Well, there goes my advantage of surprise, Zack thought with a groan. There's no backing out now. He stepped back a step and rushed forward again, putting all his weight behind his dagger as Amber blocked him a second time. But his momentum pushed her back and her feet slid across the wet ground, her face twisted with pain as she struggled to match his strength.

Surprising, Zack noted, considering that she was one of the strongest heroes alive. But no matter. He struck in a series of quick blows and slashes of his blade, battering Amber's defenses, until finally... she missed a single step. It was all the opening Zack needed.

He darted forward and smashed a fist square into her jaw with a concussive amount of force, making her head snap to the side as she staggered back, reeling. He took full advantage of her momentary weakness, landing blow after blow relentlessly, until he finally finished by sweeping her legs out from under her, making her land on her side with a heavy thud. Amber twitched with a pained groan on the hard ground, but didn't rise.

Zack couldn't help the feeling that something was terribly off. They'd barely been fighting for a few minutes, and yet Amber had already fallen? It didn't make any sense. And why hadn't she used her powers to beat him like she always did in their previous fights? He knew she had fire powers. So why wasn't she using them to defend herself?

"Get up!" Zack roared mockingly, looming over Amber where she was sprawled. "Get up and fight for your precious city!" He waited a moment. "Well? Giving up already?!" Nothing.

"I never knew you were so weak," he sneered. "What would your adoring citizens think?" He waited again. After another minute of silence, he crept warily closer, his weapon at the ready in case it was a ruse. Amber still hadn't moved. Now that he was close enough to see, Zack realized that she was pale as a ghost under her mask and barely breathing. There was a dark patch of blood soaking through her suit, from a wound that he didn't cause. Several wounds, now that he was paying attention.

How...? Zack's brow furrowed with confusion. Before he could dwell on it, Amber stirred, groaning in pain and rolling over to her stomach, before pushing herself up with shaky arms as she dragged herself to her feet, swaying unsteadily. Despite her injuries, she did her best to take up a defensive stance, even as her eyes kept going out of focus.

"Nhhh... not... done... yet..." Amber slurred determinedly, clearly fighting to stay conscious. She suddenly lurched forward with a growl, swinging a clumsily fist that Zack easily sidestepped, staring at her baffled as she staggered past him a few steps before finding her balance again and turning back to face him, breathing hard and ragged.

Amber stumbled towards him to attack again, when her eyes suddenly rolled back, and she went limp, pitching forward... and Zack instinctively caught her, becoming the only thing holding her up.

Zack stood perfectly still, staring down in complete shock and disbelief at the hero in his hands, trying to wrap his head around the surrealness of it all. He was holding the most dangerous creature in the city in his arms, his greatest enemy and rival... at his mercy. Her life in his hands. Literally.

What on earth...? His first instinct was to quickly slit her throat while he could, knowing how dangerous she was... But he was highly aware of the warm blood sliding down his arms and dripping to the ground as he held her up. She wasn't an immediate threat. But still.

I should kill her now, while I can, he thought, and shifted her weight to free one hand, going for his second dagger. But he paused.

...Who could do this kind of damage, though? He wondered. Someone very powerful, to be able to overtake Amber. Hmm... I need some answers...

After a few seconds of waffling, he made up his mind. He looked both ways down the alley to see if anyone was watching, before dragging Amber a full block to his hidden hideout, pulling her through a secret camouflaged door in one building and shutting it behind them.

Next ⏩️

Masterlist

[elliesdin0saur]

Ellie hcs; you get hurt on patrol

first of all to be fair ellie would never want you to go out on patrol without her as your duo, she wouldn't want anything happening to you and her not being there. matter of fact ellie would do anything to stop you from getting hurt, she would throw herself in front of a clicker if she had to.

though on a few occasions there where times when maria needed an extra pair of hands with some other job, leaving you with another duo, though ellie would only leave you to either jesse or joel.

no way she was trusting you with some newer jackson recruits who had just barely figured out the routes on patrol and would flee at the smallest sight of clickers.

so you where on patrol with jesse, scanning this abandoned supermarket. you had encountered a small group of infected in the area that seemed quiet. as you navigated through the abandoned buildings, joking a bit with jesse, a sudden ambush by a group of hostile survivors caught you both off guard.

outnumbered and overwhelmed, a stray bullet grazed your head, leaving a bloody wound that made you lose consciousness. jesse somehow took out the raiders and managed to get you on his horse.

quickly riding you back to Jackson seen your condition, as you get there, maria would probably be the first to figure out. followed by ellie who knew the patrol schedule, figuring nobody could've gotten back so fast, knowing something is wrong. god forbid something had happened to you and she didn't know.

she would first definitely bark at Jesse, seeing the condition your in, "[your name]- Jesse what the fuck happened!? You were supposed to watch each other's backs out there!"

it was a bit rude but ellie honestly couldn't give a fuck, she was only focusing on you, she would without a doubt take you over from jesse. She would immediately take charge, barking orders to others nearby to clear a path to the infirmary.

"hey baby, c'mon, wake up," ellie would murmur softly, her voice a gentle reassurance as she cradles you. she would definitely be extremely scared and worried seeing all the blood on you, knowing if she where there she maybe could've prevented it. feeling somewhat guilty.

as the medical team works to assess and treat your injuries, ellie wouldn't lose her sight on you, her jaw clenched in silent determination. the occasional muttered curse under her breath slipping out.

after you got treated, they hooked you up to a monitor, giving you heavy pain medications that made you sleep.

once the initial chaos subsided, ellie would pull up a chair beside your bed, maintaining a vigilant watch. her fingers would absentmindedly trace over yours, a quiet gesture of reassurance, as she waits for any signs of your recovery.

ellie would sit beside the chair for hours, not leaving your side once. checking the monitor for you heartbeats, counting if it lined up alright.

joel would come by to see how you where doing and to check on ellie, "you should eat some dinner kiddo, heard they've got some good burrito's in mess ha-", but the poor man wouldn't even be able to finish the sentence before ellie interrupted, "no thanks, 'm fine". joel even offered to watch you while she'd get dinner but nope, she wasn't leaving your side whatsoever.

"you gotta wake up, okay baby? can't have you slacking off on me now," she'd say with a faint smile, attempting to inject a bit of her trademark humor into the heavy atmosphere.

her fingers would gently intertwine with yours, seeking some connection in the stillness. "you're tougher than anyone I know. we've been through worse, right?" she'd continue, a mix of tenderness and determination in her voice.

i feel like in this situation ellie would definitely start to question religion, feeling like if she believed in something it would somehow be easier. as if one prayer could somehow magically make you better again in a split second. though she knew she wouldn't believe in anything (yeah fuck face david ruined that for her), the thought of dina saying small prayers sometimes to stay calm and have hope seemed nice enough.

as you'd start to wake up, feeling the haze of unconsciousness lifting, ellie's eyes would widen with a hint of relief and surprise. she'd be right there, by your side, closely watching for any signs of movement.

the moment she notices signs of consciousness, a mixture of relief and tenderness would wash over her face. she'd lean in slightly, her voice a soft murmur.

"hey babe," she would say, a small, genuine smile playing on her lips. "took you long enough. thought I'd have to start telling bad jokes to wake you up."

even in the discomfort you'd managed to crack a small smile, ellie pressing a kiss to your head, slowly helping you into a more comfortable position sitting upright. she had already made sure to have 2 soft pillows for when you'd wake up, it being nicer for your back.

she'd reach for a nearby cup of water, offering it to you with a gentle touch. "Here, take it slow. You've been out for a bit," ellie would advise, concern evident in her eyes as she watches for any signs of discomfort.

your head was still hurting you a bit, despite the medicine. ellie wouldn't talk too much, just gently tracing patterns up you arm with her fingers.

as you become more alert, ellie would subtly check for any signs of pain or disorientation, her movements careful and deliberate. "how you feeling?" she'd ask, her tone a mix of curiosity and genuine worry. after telling her you're somewhat alright, seen you quite literally had a hole in your head, she'd calm down a bit.

during your mandatory 2 days in the infirmary ellie would do anything, literally anything to keep you entertained and cared for.

she'd share some stories, whether they're tales from your adventures or some embarrassing moments of her own. "so, once i mistook a clicker for a vending machine shadow...", making you both cackle from laughter.

you missed having ellie next to you, like physically being close to you instead of her sitting in that chair. you'd plead for her to lay next to you, scooting to make place. she didn't want to at first, afraid she'd might move and hurt you "babe, I don't want to hurt you".

though after some more pleading and you pulling the "i'm sick, i can get whatever i want and i want my girlfriend" card, she gave in.

ellie wouldn't really leave your side, still, only if she was doing something for you, like picking these flowers she knew you loved, just outside the gate, "just sprucing up the place. hospitals need some flair."

ellie would keep you updated about what's happening outside the infirmary, sharing updates about the community, plans, and anything else to make you feel more connected to the world beyond the walls of the room, she knew you hated staying in a room all day.

finally after 2 days you get discharged, meaning ellie can take you home. she'd completely bundle you up in warm clothing, she didn't want you catching a cold, even though the walk to your cabin was just 4 minutes.

back at your shared cabin, ellie would fuss over you, preparing a makeshift bed with extra blankets to keep you warm and comfortable. "you're on mandatory rest duty, alright? no arguments," she'd declare, a mix of determination and tenderness in her voice.

she would totally position herself near the front door, keeping a watchful eye on anyone approaching. "i'm not letting anyone disturb your sleep," she'd joke, a subtle way of expressing her determination to protect you and let you rest.

ellie would take on a makeshift nurse role, carefully tending to your wounds, changing the bandages for you. "alright, brace yourself for my top-notch first aid skills," she'd say with a grin, trying to lighten the mood as she tended to the injuries.

ellie, with surprisingly skilled hands (see what I did there) would offer to braid your hair, seeing how you hated it being all greasy but not being able to wash yet because of your injury.

your favorite fuzzy pajamas that you love to wear? washed and neatly folded on your bed, ready for you to wear. your favorite movie and snack? already waiting on the kitchen counter.

you'd watch the movie, though ellie could only look at you, cradling you in her arms as she holds you gently. incredibly happy her girlfriend is home again. hugs? kisses? anything you wanted, ellie's right there.

"love you babe", she'd gently whisper, a smile tugging at her lips, "love you more els".

honestly, you didn't mind being injured or sick, knowing ellie williams was there to pamper you x

===

[kassandras-one-braincell]

Oathsworn brainrot: Soma

This doesn't even scratch the surface, and there's 2000 odd words under the cut. This entire AU was built around Soma. I am unwell. As a big supporter of women's wrongs, the fact that in the game's canon, she allegedly managed to piss off the entirety of Mercia within a couple of years of being in England appeals to me greatly. That's a nefarious feat. Her hands are bloody.

The whole Oathsworn premise post is linked here.

The King isn’t a tactful man, and managed to piss off a very powerful nation overseas just a year after his coronation. They’re cunning merchants, and equally as cunning on the battlefield. The Danes are governed by a war council, led by Guthrum Jarl, with formidable politicians and warriors seated beside him.

Guthrum does not like the acting King. But neither side would profit from an all-out war. Your kingdom has money and connections from trade that the Danes (creatively named) didn’t want to compromise. And in terms of prowess in battle, your army didn’t stand a chance. Tensions were high, with neither side willing to escalate things past sanctions, a few shot messengers, minor sieges of neutral territory, and a lot of threats.

Three years ago, the King – bored of current circumstances – acted against the advice of the court and ordered a disproportionately sized infantry unit to attack a very small encampment flying a Dane banner on neutral ground, breaching the peace. He smiled while the council were left to develop one hell of a contingency plan. Thirty men sent to kill three or four Danes, according to the scout.

One soldier returned, his right leg dragging limply behind him, utterly harrowed. He trembled, wide-eyed and halfway retching as he recounted how the one Dane who survived the ambush sprinted into the swamp with thirty men on her tail. With a single axe, murky water and the darkness of the night, she cut down the infantry. She sliced the sole survivor’s heel and forced him to watch her butchery of the twenty-ninth soldier. Then she escorted him back to her camp. Cleaned and dressed his wound, purely so he’d live to tell the tale.

The court froze with dread as he gave a description of the woman. Specifically at the scar, ragged and deep, cutting through her face from her ear to her nose. That woman was Soma: one of Guthrum’s most trusted councillors, and something of a nightmare to your kingdom’s soldiers.

Your court anticipated full retaliation. However, they were met with diplomacy. Despite the breach of unspoken contract, Guthrum had no intention of returning the gesture, still believing that the price of a war wouldn’t be worth its rewards. He arranged to visit the kingdom with his war council after sending a draft of a new peace treaty, full of mutually beneficial trade outlines, but pending one unfinalised condition.

Soma, looking like Soma does, caught your immediate attention upon the Danes’ arrival. She immediately recognised you as the crown princess without introduction, despite the King’s children also being present. She knew something, and that was unsettling, but she was courteous nonetheless. Her smile was warm, her eyes betraying her calculation. You weren’t completely in the dark yourself, though – the scar was unmistakable. This woman could likely take on all the Kingsguard in the room without the help of her colleagues. Whatever their game was, she was an integral player.

Guthrum said he was content to forgive the King for his misdeeds, and while the phrasing angered his Majesty, the animosity was silenced by the treaty’s very generous terms. The Danes saw profit in an alliance, but needed a reason to believe the King would honour it. After this, Guthrum nodded to you and bowed politely; word of your stride towards free public education had reached their shores, and he found it an admirable goal indeed. No wonder your kingdom spoke fondly of their heir, he remarked.

His caveat to the treaty was simple. Your court, by now, was familiar with the capabilities of Soma. Guthrum had heard of the Oathsworn tradition. Soma was prepared to abandon her port and her seat at his council in favour of swearing the Oath. This way, if the King was to lash out again, she would be within striking distance to take the life of the kingdom’s crown jewel – and your death wouldn’t be painless. The oath would be sworn with him and a noble of your choice present as witnesses, and it would be sworn.

Very few people in the court were aware of the King’s intention to eventually dethrone you, and he was in no position to refuse the treaty. The Danes did not come without reinforcements. He agreed to the terms, signed the papers, and you asked your queen mother to bear witness. She was sickened by the thought of the Oath being sworn under these circumstances, suspecting her husband’s intentions regarding his succession, knowing your life was doubly at risk here. But she agreed, because it wasn't up for negotiation.

That same evening, yourself, Soma, a priest and the two agreed-upon witnesses took to the chapel. She recited the sacred vow, never breaking your gaze. Her tone was steeled, but there was no mistaking her contentment to abandon the tenet, should it be asked of her.

The first attempt on your life occurred a mere month after the Oath ceremony. The assassin concealed the family crest of one of your kingdom’s nobles on a cufflink. He struck when you were checking in with the headmaster of a school you recently built, dealt with swiftly by Soma, who shadowed your public appearances. She was professional – positioning herself between you and the attacker in a suit of armour she had yet to adjust to, incapacitating him. The visit was cut short as she wrapped you in her cloak to mask your identity, leaving the other guards to formally arrest the assassin.

She had an authoritative, no-bullshit attitude about her as she used her newfound influence over the royal guard – a perk of the position given the politics – to organise an inquiry, presenting to the King the engraved cufflink found on the assassin. No doubt, she took pleasure in getting information out of him, but how she handled the inquiry made it clear that your life was paramount, and you took peculiar solace in this. The conspiring noblewoman who sent him was soon tried and punished accordingly. Soma insisted upon standing in as her executioner.

You cursed yourself as your defensive, wary demeanour around her cracked over time. There were other attempts on your life, and she took her role as your Oathsworn seriously, seemingly more so with every new perpetrator. Beyond duty, though, she showed you kindness. And as you learned about one another in your close proximity, you grew fond of each other. A profound respect was building, and it was mutual.

At one point, you both had problematic revelations. You had never felt safer around the woman tasked with taking your life, should the causal circumstance arise. And Soma realised she had no desire to act on that kill order. You made a promise to her: when you were queen, you would grant her deeds to the kingdom’s port, because she had once confessed to you how she mourned that part of her old life, and the gods knew she could bloody run it. She pondered the promise being empty, but dismissed the thought. You listened to her in a moment of vulnerability. This changed things.

A dalliance was inevitable, but this was neither fleeting nor inconsequential. Your affection for one another, your devotion in all its intensity, was a secret well-kept from all eyes, ears and quills.

And it was intense. Fast. Hasty, even. The threat of a sudden awful change loomed over you both, leaving no time for courtship. Butterflies were reserved for the newfound gesture in Soma’s hand on your back as she escorted you through crowds. Her solitary company was filled with dizzying kisses, passionate rendezvous under the moonlight and unbridled laughter.

At first, your mutual desire for physical intimacy was overwhelmed by a sudden anxiety in your closeness. There was the persistent fear that the kill order had been given, and that Soma was waiting for you to be at your most vulnerable before she ended your life. It choked you, frustrated you, but you were honest with her. The first time it happened, Soma assured you that she would sooner cut off her hand than lay a harmful finger on you. She thanked you for your candour, bidding you goodnight with a comforting smile and a chaste kiss to your knuckles. She would not lay with you until you felt safe enough to trust her with your body, and she wanted you to realise this safety on your own. With time, that safety came about. You made love, and confessed that love shortly after.

Your relationship introduced a new variable to the political equation. Until the present, you tried your best not to question any loyalties. Foolish as it were, you were content in the illusion of security.

With his reign coming to an end, though, the King is under pressure to secure the line of succession for himself and his children before he’ll be forced to abdicate. Never having had a penchant for patience, this urgency is beginning to seep into his actions in court. None of the assassination attempts were successful. His co-conspirators are dwindling in their numbers; those who haven’t been convicted of treason are succumbing to fear.

Truthfully, he never anticipated Soma would honour her vow, nevermind with such ferocity. He had hoped one of his carefully organised, bloody fates would befall upon you, and her subsequent execution would bury the evidence of his crime. But she complicated things terribly, and in his frustration, he begins to suggest processions that would put the treaty at risk. Gambling merchandise due to be exported form your kingdom to Guthrum. Proposing a mandatory armistice for all Danes in the kingdom. Inquisitions, the likes. All fortunately talked down by the court, but not without rapidly building concern.

You and Soma begin to see through the cracks. The King isn’t intelligent, but he also isn’t naive enough to accidentally compromise the kingdom’s safety. As your step-siblings begin to look at you through a different gaze, you're forced to navigate court with a pit in your stomach. Conversations with Soma following the string of conspiracies only reinforced the idea that foul play is at work.

Soma caught word some weeks ago that Guthrum’s war council had undergone a few changes of seats, and not all of the new councillors share his ambitions. They seek conquest. She suspects they’re in contact with your King, most likely manipulating him into pushing for political moves that would spiral the kingdom into a war you would certainly lose.

Her fears reside in whether Guthrum could have a change of heart, or if he would be willing to isolate you from the actions of the King with your coronation inbound. There is every possibility that the King could overrule the democracy of the court regarding one of his rash decisions, and the kill order would be given. There would be war, and if she refused to take your life, she’d be an enemy of her people – her family – as well as your own.

Yet when she confides in you, distressed, it’s abundantly clear that Soma doesn’t see a dilemma in all of this. She paces about your quarters and thinks aloud, knowing you’ll always lend your ear and comfort to her. If all negotiations failed, she would rather live as a pariah than betray you. The idea of taking your life is unfathomable.

Amidst a sea of uncertainties, you’re unable to avoid doubt. Those panicky feelings from the early days of your relationship are resurfacing, as much as you want them to stop. Your heart yearns to trust Soma. You hear the truth in her words, the humanity in her voice, but you can’t shake the fear that it’s an elaborate act. Your apprehension hurts her. It wounds you both.

A bitter few days pass by. You’re sick with worry, unable to sleep. Questions of if she’d do it bleed into how she’d do it. Your mind lingers on poison, to the extent where you employ somebody to taste your food and before you so much as touch the plate.

Soma knocks on your bedchamber door one night with a goblet in hand. She lets out a pained breath when you flinch away from it. It’s a sleeping aid, she tells you gently. It’s agonising to watch your health deteriorate under paranoia. You are her heart, after all. As difficult as it is to acknowledge your wavering trust in her, her love for you has not lessened.

You’re exhausted. And scared – not just for your life, but for the future of your kingdom. Apologies flood from your lips as you crumble before her. Soma can’t stop herself from holding you. Tears of her own escape as you sob at the sensation of her embrace, trembling in her arms as your sleep-deprived, anxiety-riddled mind tries desperately to refute that immediate feeling of safety.

It dawns that neither of you have the luxury of certainty in anything but each other.

Tenderly, after a small eternity in each other's arms, Soma asks if she can renew her vow, right here. She wants you to hear her Oath anew, her tenet solemn, devoted, and devoid of political motivation. Fuck the chapel, the priest, the gods. Witness be damned. The only blessing that matters is yours.

You give it to her.

[ltash]

Rescued

If loving you means my destruction, then let it be Simon.

"Sometimes the hardest battles are the ones we fight within ourselves."

I don't know for how long I was out. When I woke up again, I was still lying on the same spot on the floor. As I came to, the excruciating pain started again. It was like someone was twisting my insides. The bleeding had grown heavier, soaking almost all of my jeans. I couldn't even get up to use the bathroom to check myself, to understand what was happening with me.

A bottle of water and a sandwich lay next to me.

Desperation welled up inside me as I reached for the water bottle, my hands trembling. I managed to unscrew the cap and took a sip, hoping it would give me some strength. The sandwich remained untouched; my stomach churned at the thought of eating.

Tears streamed down my face as I lay back down, clutching my abdomen. The pain was unbearable, and the fear of losing my baby gnawed at me.

Simon’s face flashed in my mind. I needed to hold on, to survive for both of us, but the darkness threatened to pull me under once more.

Muffled cries of the cartel members and bloodied walls welcomed him as he stepped forward. Shards of glass crunched under his boots as his eyes scanned the dimly lit hallways for any sign of the room where Nora could be. The mansion, now a darkened labyrinth of chaos, echoed with the sounds of distant gunfire and the faint hum of the night vision gear.

Ghost's mind was laser-focused, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring, ready to strike. His heart pounded with a mixture of fear and rage, pushing him forward. He couldn't afford to waste a single second; Nora's life depended on it.

"Gaz, report," Ghost whispered into his comms.

"Perimeter secure," Gaz replied. "No visual on additional hostiles. You're clear to proceed."

"Copy that," Ghost responded, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. He moved swiftly, his senses heightened. Every shadow seemed to hide a threat, every corner a potential ambush.

As he turned a corner, a faint sound caught his attention—a soft, desperate whimper. His heart lurched. "I've got something," he murmured, signaling the Shadows to cover him.

He followed the sound, each step bringing him closer to the source of the faint cries. Pushing open a partially ajar door, he entered a small, dimly lit room. The sight before him made his blood run cold.

Nora lay on the floor, her clothes torn and bloodied, her body battered and bruised. Blood stained her jeans, and her eyes were half-closed, her breaths shallow and labored. She was barely conscious, her strength waning.

"Nora!" Ghost's voice cracked with urgency as he rushed to her side. He dropped to his knees, his hands gently cupping her face.

Nora's eyes fluttered open, and she let out a terrified gasp, recoiling as much as her weakened body would allow. The sight of Ghost in his night vision goggles, his face obscured and menacing in the dark, filled her with fear.

"Shh, it's me, Nora. It's Simon," Ghost said softly, his voice trembling. He quickly lifted the goggles, revealing his eyes to her.

Recognition dawned in her eyes, and she relaxed slightly, though the pain and fear still lingered. "Simon..." she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Yeah, it's me. I've got you," he reassured her, his heart aching at the sight of her so broken and vulnerable.

Seeing the extent of her injuries, Ghost knew they had to move quickly. He glanced around the room and spotted a bed sheet. Gently, he wrapped it around her, covering her torn and bloodied clothes.

"We're getting you out of here," he murmured, lifting her as carefully as he could. Her body was light in his arms, but the burden of her suffering weighed heavily on him.

Ghost pressed his comms. "I've got her. We're heading out."

"Copy that. Extraction point is secure," Gaz's voice crackled back.

With Nora cradled against his chest, Ghost navigated back through the mansion, the shadows providing cover as they made their escape. He kept whispering soothing words to her, trying to keep her conscious and calm. Each step was a reminder of the urgency, but also a promise to never let her go through this again.

As they neared the exit, the night air felt like a welcome embrace. The helicopter's rotors were already spinning, ready to whisk them away to safety. Ghost tightened his hold on Nora, determined to protect her at all costs.

Nora managed a weak smile, her hand gripping his shirt. "Thank you, Simon," she whispered. "I knew you'd come."

"Always," Ghost replied, his voice filled with unwavering determination. "I will always come for you."

"You're safe now, Nora. I won't let anything happen to you," he vowed.

•••••••••

I opened my eyes to the muffled cries and the sounds of gunfire. The room was pitch black, but even in the darkness, I knew he had come to save me.

My heart pounded with a mixture of relief and fear as I lay there in excruciating pain. I strained to see through the darkness, my senses heightened by the chaos around me.

Through the cacophony of noise, I could hear his footsteps drawing closer, each step a promise of salvation. With every fiber of my being, I prayed for his safety, knowing that he would risk everything to rescue me.

As the sounds of battle grew louder, I closed my eyes, clutching onto hope with all my strength.

•••••••••••••

Ghost sat in the helicopter, cradling me in his arms. The thrum of the rotors vibrated through the metal floor, but all he could focus on was keeping me safe.

I opened my eyes briefly, feeling weak and in pain. I looked up at Ghost, my vision blurred but recognizing his presence. "Simon..." I whispered weakly.

"I'm here. I've got you," he replied softly, tightening his hold on me. "You're safe now. We're getting you out of here."

The helicopter lifted off, the night sky stretching out beneath us as we ascended. Gaz glanced over from his position, concern etched on his face. "How is she?"

"She's hurt bad, but she's a fighter," Ghost replied, his voice steady but strained. He looked down at me, brushing a strand of hair away from my face. "Just hang in there a little longer, okay?"

I managed a faint nod, my eyes closing again as I leaned into his chest. Every breath I took seemed to echo in the enclosed space, a reminder of the ordeal I had endured.

Ghost's mind raced with thoughts of vengeance and fury, but for now, all that mattered was getting me to safety. He held me close, his heart aching with a mix of relief and fear.

"Don't worry, love," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the noise of the helicopter. "I won't let anything happen to you ever again."

My eyes opened slowly, the thud of the helicopter landing registering in my ears. Ghost carried me out, his steady arms offering a sense of safety amidst the chaos.

As we stepped onto solid ground, my eyes glanced around at the lights surrounding us. It was probably a base, a haven from the darkness and danger we had just escaped.

But then, a wave of dizziness washed over me, and my vision blurred. My blood pressure plummeted dangerously low, and I felt myself teetering on the edge of consciousness. Clutching onto Ghost's shirt for support, I managed to utter just one word, my voice barely a whisper.

"Si..."

"Nora!" Ghost's voice shook with urgency as he held me in his arms. "Nora!" he called again, but I didn't respond.

With a sense of panic gripping his heart, Ghost wasted no time. He rushed me to the hospital, his strides quick and determined as he carried me through the doors. Every second felt like an eternity as he prayed for me to hold on, for me to be okay.

In the hospital, doctors and nurses sprang into action, their faces a blur as he laid me gently on a stretcher. He stood by my side, his eyes never leaving my face as medical professionals worked tirelessly to stabilize me.

"Fucking do something!" Ghost's voice rang out with desperation, the echoes reverberating through the hospital corridors. He stood there, feeling helpless and powerless as medical staff rushed to take me into the operating room.

As they wheeled me away, Ghost's eyes burned with a fierce intensity, his fists clenched at his sides in frustration. He watched, his heart in his throat, as they disappeared behind the swinging doors of the operating theater.

With every fiber of his being, Ghost prayed for my survival. His mind raced with thoughts of all the moments we had shared, the memories that now felt so precious and fragile.

In that moment, all he could do was wait. Wait and hope that the doctors could save me, that I would emerge from this darkness and come back to him.