#and! i cut one of my gloves open! on broken glass!

[ghostedbunnie]

nightmare in the daylight

knight!ghost x fem!reader

based on my prompt that you can find here.

warnings: non-con/dub-con, size kink, spanking, oral (f.receiving), fingering (f.receiving), thigh riding, biting, creampie, breeding kink

a/n: i feel so rusty so please be gentle i rewrote this way too many times, it was a lot longer and had more plot but i might just end up writing pt.2 if there is interest, I added a tag list for those who wanted to see this! 🫶

Ghost hadn't anticipated encountering a robbery on the forest trail while en route to collect his king's future wife. It was unexpected but not unwelcome; he was yearning for a skirmish, for blood and broken bones. The recent tranquility had left him restless. These bandits wouldn't pose much of a challenge, but they would at least satisfy his craving.

The skies began to pour as soon as he dismounted from his horse, startling the highwaymen. They were engaged in a one-sided fight with a few knights who had undoubtedly been sent to protect the carriage on its way to his kingdom. Before any of them could react to his arrival, heads started rolling. Chaos erupted once more, with screams of terror cutting through the forest and startling the remaining fauna.

After the final enemy fell to a sword through his abdomen, Ghost approached the carriage with slow, deliberate steps. As he opened the door, he was taken by surprise as a curtain was thrown into his face and a shard of glass was aimed for his neck by a scrawny, wild-looking maid. Despite your trembling, there was a fierce determination in your eyes, a vow that you would not give up without a struggle. Beneath his face plate, the corner of his mouth curled up, and with a wry snort, he deflected the shard from your bleeding hand. Seizing you by the back of your neck like a feisty kitten showing its claws, he pulled you out of the carriage and dropped you onto the chilly, muddy ground. As he turned back to the carriage to retrieve the princess, he realized she was no warrior; she had fainted at the sight of his imposing figure silhouetted against the moonlight.

As he carries your mistress to his horse, you launch at his back, kicking and screaming, trying to make him let her go. He unceremoniously deposits her on the horse like a sack of potatoes. Finally, he turns back to catch your hands, which have been beating at his back, with one of his much bigger hands. Your eyes go wide with terror as the reality of your position with this beast sinks in. He can't help but relish in the look of you now, wet hair sticking to your face, wild eyes, and scratches on your cheek from the broken glass. You look like a tasty meal for his beastly appetite and he's been starving for far too long. You are unaware of it but attracting his attention will be the worst mistake of your life. As he draws you closer with your bound wrists, he whispers into your ear so that you can hear him over the pouring rain, “Yer brave but stupid, girl.” After that, he hits the back of your neck and everything goes black.

The next thing you know, you are standing in front of the king who explains the entire situation. However, somehow that doesn't help the sinking feeling in your stomach, especially when the king mentions a reward for the behemoth of a man towering over you. He is still covered in blood, and daylight doesn't make him any less terrifying. He stalks around like a nightmare in black leathers that hug his form tight and emphasize his width. As if sensing your thoughts, he takes a step closer, taking up more of your space, and before you can move away, you catch the last words uttered by the king: “You brought me, my bride, Ghost, it's only fair you get a reward. Take your pick - anything you wish for will be yours.”

A weighty, gloved paw settles on the nape of your neck, causing you to startle. "I'll take 'er." Your mistress immediately starts to protest but despite her objections, the king simply nods and smiles, disregarding you entirely. You have no option but to allow the beast, that he called Ghost, to guide you away with a firm hand on your nape.

After navigating through several twists and turns, you find yourself in an unremarkable room. It contains only the absolute necessities—a bed and very little else. The one thing that draws your attention in the room is the sizeable tub that is still emitting steam, indicating it was just filled a few minutes ago.

Silently, Ghost pushes you towards the tub, and you promptly begin to retreat away from it. You refuse to bathe in his presence. Even though you are just a servant, you are still a virtuous lady.

“Either you go voluntarily or I'll throw you in kickin' and screamin'.” He growls and then says, "I'll relish it either way." You can sense the predatory undertone in his voice. You're fighting a losing battle, as going willingly gives him complete control, yet resisting might provoke an even more... primal response.

You break free from his hold, realizing that he let you go willingly. 

"Can you... turn around?" he scoffs, moving to a chair that creaks under his weight. Leaning forward, elbows on his knees, he gestures for you to proceed. Though you want to scream or lash out, you hold back, sensing that he's waiting for you to lose control. Instead, you turn around and slowly peel off your muddied and torn dress. As you reach the chemise underneath, you sneak a peek and notice he has removed his helmet and face plate, revealing short dirty blond hair, black coal marks around his eyes, and prominent scars cutting through his lips and brow. Despite his broken nose, he remains strangely alluring, which frightens you. Hastily, you turn back, slide the chemise down, and attempt to hide under the steaming water.

"Good girl," he growls, satisfied with your obedience. Just as the relief that maybe this is all he wanted starts to sink into your bones, it's replaced with dread when you notice he starts shedding his clothes too. He loosens up his dark, blood-stained leathers with ease and deftness you wouldn't expect from a man his size.

"What are you doing?" Panic is evident in your question, but it doesn't seem to bother him at all.

"Can't bathe with my clothes on," he answers matter-of-factly. Once again, a wave of indignation courses through you, but it's quickly overshadowed by a pang of heat that forces you to rub your thighs together underwater. Your eyes can't help but stay glued to him, just as he did to you when you were taking your dress off. He is now down to his breeches, and when he pulls them down his thick thighs, you audibly gasp when you notice he is not wearing anything underneath. This earns you an amused chuckle, especially when he catches you looking again through your fingers.

Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him, but before your thoughts can drift to what lies between his powerful thighs, he steps into the tub with you. Water spills over the edges, though he doesn't seem to mind. He pulls you close, turning you so your back presses against him, your body nestled between his legs, leaning on his firm chest. The light tickle of his hair brushes against your skin, and his strong arm rests across your stomach, fingers splayed making you feel even smaller. The contact makes you squirm, but as you try to pull away, you only stir the hardening length behind you, making you flush with heat.

“Relax,” he grunts into your ear, more command than a suggestion.

“How can I possibly –ah.” Your reply gets cut off by a moan as his other hand falls from the edge of the tub and wanders between your legs. Your attempts at closing your legs seem futile even with one hand he is strong enough to force his way in and drag his fingers through your folds nearing the opening. Your spine arches instinctively and he answers with a nip to your neck and jaw, while forcing a finger up to the first knuckle in. 

“Gotta loosen you up a bit, pet.” You have no choice but to surrender to his touch as he sinks his finger in and curls it, drawing a moan out of you before you clap a hand over your mouth to keep the sounds in. But all that decorum is forgotten when he adds a second one and scissors them before slowly prodding you with the third making you see stars. The tension building in your body suddenly snaps, sending you reeling, legs going numb and your fingers digging into his arm still wrapped around your stomach. 

With your mind hazy from your first-ever orgasm, you don't even register that he pulls you out of the bath, drying you, and carrying you to the bed in the center of the spacious room. Your body already half asleep.

His gravelly voice pulls you out of your post-orgasmic haze. “Naive, little thing.” Suddenly he is trailing hungry, open-mouthed, and nippy kisses down the length of your body. Marking your neck and collarbones with angry red marks, biting down harder than necessary on the underside of your breast leaving behind imprints of his teeth, and making you hiss when the pain mixes with the pleasure, he licks a trail down your stomach and in a moment of clear-headedness you try to fist his hair and tug him up and away from your center but his hair is cut too short for any leverage. When you lock eyes with him, between your legs forcing them open with hunger and lust written all over his face you try to get away just for him to deliver a loud smack to your outer thigh before dragging you closer and licking a stripe through your folds with a loud guttural groan that you feel more than you hear it.

His thumb circles your clit while he alternates kissing, sucking, and fucking you with his tongue. When your squirming in an attempt to get away turns into grinding your hips against his face, his other hand rests on your stomach adding slight pressure and making you cry out which only spurs him on. The sounds that reverberated through his chest were nothing short of animalistic and when your second orgasm shot through your core, you fell limp against the sheets with a moan that would make you blush if at least half of your brain was still functioning properly. A new wave of panic sets in when you realize that he isn't stopping. On the contrary, he probes you with his fingers in addition to his tongue. You can feel the coil in your lower belly tightening again, heating up with his ministrations.

You plead with him, saying you can't take anymore just for him to disregard it with a growl, “You've got plenty more in ya.” 

You've lost count of how many times you came when he manhandled you around onto your hands and knees propping your hips up with a pillow. You turn to look at him with heavy-lidded eyes and your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him standing behind you with his massive hand tugging at his thick, angry-looking, and leaking cock with his eyes glued to your core, still pulsing and wet from all your previous orgasms. Without warning he grabs your hips, aligns the blunt head of his cock with your entrance, and pushes in. Your fingers dig into the sheets from the sheer stretch as you mewl and whimper when he drags himself all the way to slam back in. Everything is too much and not enough at the same time, with every thrust his fingers dig into your hips and you are sure there will be fingerprints left with how hard he is gripping you and the idea makes you wetter. Prompted by the delicious drag of his cock your walls keep tightening around him, as he pushes you closer and closer to your release. One of his muscular arms circles your waist, his chest flush to your back, as his other arm comes to rest next to your head with one of his legs still firmly planted on the floor and the other resting next to you on the bed for better purchase. This new angle combined with the gravelly grunts so close to your ear become your undoing and you hurtle full-force into another mind-numbing orgasm with Ghost following close behind.

“Come f'r me, pet.” Again, not a suggestion but a command and who are you to refuse him? So you do as he says, pussy fluttering from the aftershocks as he fucks you through it, thumb circling your clit before he fills you up, not allowing you to move an inch, keeping your hips propped up and when he pulls out which drags another set of whimpers from you he meticulously pushes his spend back with thick, calloused fingers. “Gotta make sure it takes.” 

If your consciousness weren't slipping away, you'd likely be alarmed, but instead, your eyes begin to close again, and this time, sleep claims you.

You wake to a heavy weight pressing down on your back, and it takes a moment for your mind to catch up with the events of yesterday. When it does, your entire body flushes and you attempt to move out of bed, only to find it futile. You're pinned beneath strong arms marked with scars—some from arrows, large and small, and others older, circular, and still appearing raw.

Your thoughts are abruptly interrupted as a thick, muscular thigh presses deeper between your legs, forcing them apart. Without much thought, you begin to grind against it, a primal urge stirring within you. Despite the lingering soreness from yesterday, a fresh wave of need starts to build, and any trace of resistance fades in the face of overwhelming pleasure. It feels shameful, but you can't stop the tentative movements, slowly finding a rhythm—until the sudden flex of his thigh makes you gasp, your eyes rolling back.

“So needy,” he growls close to your ear but there's no trace of anger in his voice, if anything he sounds pleased. “Come on, ride it harder.” He punctuates the sentence with yet another flex of his thigh and a nip to your neck, making you shudder but follow through with his command. As you grind back against his thigh you take a note of his cock stirring, resting heavy and hard between your bare ass. You push against it absentmindedly and find yourself pinned under him, your legs still held apart with his thigh that's now embarrassingly slick with your arousal. The visual of it makes you turn your head away, eyes closed and whimpering. Ghost doesn't like that. His massive paw of a hand grabs at your cheeks, your lips puckering involuntarily while he grunts at you to keep those eyes open for him. As he licks into your mouth, it suddenly dawns on you—this is your first kiss. You had already let this beast inside you before even sharing a kiss, and everything felt so out of order, that it made you want to scream and cry. Instead, you settle on throwing your hands around him and clawing at his back as he aligns himself with your needy, sore pussy and thrusts to the hilt without so much as a warning.

Even after yesterday, the burn of the stretch to accommodate his length makes fresh tears spring up into your eyes and roll down the apples of your cheeks. You swear you see his scarred lips twitch up into a savage smile at the sight of them before he licks them clean off your cheeks with a satisfied groan. In retaliation you dig your nails deeper into his sturdy back, hoping to break the skin and leave a mark that only ends up urging him to fuck you harder, faster. The sounds reverberating in the room drive you crazy; over them, you don't even notice a soft knock at the door but whoever it was scurries away registering the sound of the moans he wrings out of you with one particularly hard thrust that pushes so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat. Effortlessly he manhandles your legs on his shoulders to hit a different angle. As you struggle with the overwhelming feeling of fullness he leaves a deceptively soft kiss on your ankle before he folds you in half again and wrestles another mind-shattering orgasm out of you and succumbing to one himself, painting your insides with his spent. Pulling out, he doesn't bother moving, he simply rests his head on your chest between your breasts, squeezing the air out of your lungs with the sheer size of him. “Rest now, pet. Plenty of time for more o' that later.”

At that moment, you know there is no turning back; you've been taken, branded from the inside out. You wonder if this is truly so horrible, perhaps this nightmare of a man will drive away all the other nightmares plaguing your mind.

Or perhaps he is even more dreadful than your imagination could have ever conjured.

taglist: @a66-1 , @ghostlythots , @rttxcmt , @september-22-1998 , @fluffysmiko , @gyusbrownie , @bumblebeesfromvenus , @magicalforestcat , @nommingonfood , @tami-doodles , @fateisnotafactor , @m-a-l-a-c-z-a-r-n-a , @nicolebarnes , @msdevil333 , @lilpothoscuttings , @tealeaftallulah , @not-reptilian , @moonfloweronmars , @aliceinwonderland-5678 , @marshmelloe , @i-love-you-just-the-same, @lazyperfectioniste , @tragedyinwaves , @thisisforthebest97 , @talkingcorn , @hxnneydew , @resplendantrosewood , @telvannitea , @the-casual-act , @hello-lemons, @kiwicopia , @just-a-sewer-goblin

[cheollollipop]

green sector. | k. mingyu

genre: fluff. angst. smut (18+ MDNI)

wc: 4.7k

content warning(s): fast driving, smutty smut smut. pet names, reader shoves mingyu (out of love), breast play, oral (f! receiving), please lmk if i forgot anything!

🏁 author’s note!

loved f1 mingyu so much i decided to continue. this story takes places two years after pole position . this’ll probably be the end of this story so i wanted to give yall an even more happier ending for mingyu and reader. i hope you enjoy this as much as you all enjoyed the first one! and if you haven’t read it, please check it out <3 happy reading.

The Proposal wasn't subtle.

Not with Mingyu. Never with Mingyu.

He rented out the entire rooftop of the Park Hyatt Tokyo.

I thought we were there for a sponsor dinner. I'd slipped into a navy silk dress, hair swept into a low bun, heels echoing against polished floors as he led me through the hotel like he didn't already have a diamond ring burning a hole in his pocket.

When the elevator doors opened on the 52nd floor, I knew something was off.

No guests. No tables. Just a private pathway of soft lanterns and white roses, a string quartet tucked into the corner playing the instrumental version of my favorite song, and Mingyu grinning, nervous, stunning in a black velvet tux, reaching for my hand like he'd waited his whole life for this moment.

"Is this...?" I asked, voice already trembling.

He nodded. "Yeah."

I stepped onto the rooftop with him, the Tokyo skyline glittering behind us like a million stars had fallen just for us. There were candles everywhere. Soft light. A breeze that caught the hem of my dress.

"I thought about doing this where we first met," he said, slipping his hands into mine. "But we've been through too much. And you deserve the best."

He knelt then.

Right there, on imported Italian tile, with the city holding its breath around us.

"I want every version of you. The brave one. The scared one. The one who holds the world together even when she's breaking," he said, voice shaking. "And if you'll have me, I'll spend the rest of my life proving that forever doesn't have to be terrifying."

The ring was custom. Pear cut. Set in platinum with two tiny stones on either side, one for him, one for me.

I didn't cry. I sobbed.

And when I said yes, the sky lit up behind us, yes, actual fireworks and he kissed me like a man who had something to lose and wasn't willing to risk it.

⸻

The Wedding was in Florence.

Because nothing else would do.

We flew in two weeks early. Took over an entire vineyard estate. Thirty five rooms. Custom menus. A wedding planner who had previously done work for literal royalty. White glove everything.

My dress had a twenty foot train. A cathedral veil. Hand sewn crystals. I walked down the aisle to a string version of Debussy's Clair de Lune, escorted by my mother and the memory of my father.

Mingyu looked like sin in a cream tuxedo with black satin lapels. Hair slicked back. Jaw set.

He cried the second he saw me.

Hell, everyone did. Dokyeom handed Mingyu a tissue. Minghao lost it entirely. Jihoon pretended not to.

Our vows? We had to pause halfway through because I couldn't breathe.

"I've seen every version of you," he said. "The broken one. The furious one. The one too afraid to say she loved me. And I still chose you. I will always choose you."

We kissed under a rain of ivory petals. Doves were released. Champagne poured like waterfalls.

Our reception was candlelit under a grand tent in the olive groves. Seven courses. A live jazz band. Late night espresso martinis served with hand painted macarons that had our initials on them in gold.

And when we had our first dance, it wasn't practiced. It was messy. Clingy. He kept kissing me between spins, and I kept laughing into his shoulder, thinking

This. This is everything.

⸻

The Honeymoon we went straight from Italy to the Maldives.

Private villa. Overwater. Glass floors. Champagne on ice when we landed and a butler who knew not to disturb us unless it was an emergency, or breakfast.

He booked fourteen days. Two were spent outside the villa. The rest?

Let's just say the Do Not Disturb sign didn't come off the door.

The moment we stepped inside, he let go of my hand, only to wrap both arms around my waist from behind.

"Look," he whispered against my neck, chin resting on my shoulder. His voice was low. "The floor."

Glass beneath our feet. Blue water beneath the glass. And beyond that, miles and miles of nothing but ocean and sky, fading into molten gold as the sun began to set.

"It's like we're floating," I murmured.

He kissed the back of my shoulder. "We are."

I stepped forward slowly, hand brushing over the smooth edge of the four poster bed, across the ice bucket on the table with the already sweating champagne, past the sliding doors that opened to our private deck and infinity pool.

God. This was ours.

For two weeks, this little slice of paradise was ours.

Behind me, Mingyu didn't speak. Didn't move.

I turned slowly and found him watching me with that look again. The one he'd worn the moment I stepped out during the ceremony in Florence. The one that made me feel like the center of the universe.

"What?" I asked, soft and a little shy.

His eyes drank me in. He didn't smile. Didn't blink.

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he said, voice low. "I don't even know what to do with myself."

I walked toward him, my hands resting on his chest as he took me in his arms.

"You already married me," I teased, leaning into him. "You don't have to keep seducing me."

He tilted his head down until his mouth brushed mine. "I'm not trying to seduce you."

"No?"

"No." His hand slid down to the curve of my waist, fingers flexing gently. "I just want you."

The kiss that followed was slow. Warm. Familiar in a way that still felt like falling. His lips parted mine with ease, his tongue brushing softly against mine as he deepened it, hands tightening on my hips like he couldn't get close enough.

I sighed into him, fingers moving up to unbutton his shirt, one by one.

He let me.

"You know what I've been thinking about all day?" he murmured against my mouth, the last button slipping free.

"What?"

"This dress." He kissed down the line of my jaw. "How it clung to you in all the right places."

"Mingyu..."

"How I knew the second you put it on... that I was going to be the one to take it off."

Heat shot straight through me.

"Do it, then," I whispered.

His mouth curved into a smirk. "Say it again."

I swallowed. "Take it off."

He groaned, voice thick and reverent. "Fuck, baby. You don't know what that does to me."

He tugged the dress up slowly, exposing inches of skin with every pass. I helped him, lifting my arms as he slipped it over my head, then gasped when his hands found my bare waist and pulled me into him, skin to skin.

"No underwear?" he asked, eyebrows raised, voice wrecked.

I shook my head, already breathless.

"I'm obsessed with you," he whispered, dipping to press a kiss between my breasts. "I don't even care if we eat tonight. I just want you. Like this. All night."

"Then have me," I breathed, reaching for his belt.

His mouth met mine again, hungrier this time. Desperate.

I made quick work of his pants, and when we finally collapsed onto the bed, bare and flushed, the air was thick with salt and tension.

He hovered above me, dark eyes roaming, like he couldn't decide where to start.

"You okay?" he asked, brushing his knuckles over my cheek.

"Yeah." I nodded. "Just nervous."

"Why?"

"Because it's you. Because this is real now. And because you're looking at me like you're about to ruin me."

He grinned, wicked and beautiful. "Oh, baby."

His voice dipped lower, heat curling around each word.

"I'm not gonna ruin you. I'm gonna worship you."

He kissed down my neck, over the swell of my breasts, pausing to take one in his mouth. I gasped, arching into him, hand tangled in his hair. He took his time, alternating between soft sucks and gentle flicks of his tongue until I was moaning beneath him.

"You always make those sounds for me," he murmured, lips trailing down my stomach. "No one else ever will."

"No one else gets to," I whispered.

His eyes met mine just as he settled between my thighs.

"Good girl," he said.

I gasped when his mouth met me. Hot. Wet. Tender. His tongue moved with slow precision, circling, teasing, licking until I was writhing, my legs thrown over his shoulders and my fingers clutching the sheets.

"You taste so good," he growled, voice muffled against me.

"Mingyu-" I moaned, hips rising, "Please. I need you."

He came back up, kissing my inner thighs, my stomach, my chest, leaving a trail of heat in his wake.

"Say it again."

"I need you."

"Say you're mine."

"I'm yours."

He kissed me hard, aligning himself at my entrance.

And then he was inside me.

All the way. Deep. Slow. Stretching me with a fullness that had me gasping and clinging to his shoulders.

"Shit," he hissed, forehead pressed to mine. "You feel so good. You always feel so fucking good."

He started to move with long, deep thrusts that had me gasping, whining, saying his name like a mantra.

Every time he hit that spot, I shook.

Every time he kissed me, I melted.

"Open your eyes," he said. "Look at me."

I did.

"I want to see your face when I make you fall apart."

I moaned, tightening around him. "You're going to make me come."

"Good," he whispered. "I want to feel it. Let go for me, baby."

And I did.

It hit hard, shattering and full and bright, like every nerve in my body had lit up at once. I cried out his name, trembling beneath him, and he held me through it, hips stuttering until he followed, spilling into me with a loud, broken moan.

"Fuck, I love you," he breathed, kissing my shoulder. "You're everything."

I was still panting when he collapsed beside me, dragging me into his arms.

"Can I say something?" I asked, half dazed, body still tingling.

"Always."

"I want round two after a shower and a snack."

He laughed, loud and shameless. "God, I married the perfect woman."

"You really did."

The next few days, we swam in nothing but skin and salt. I wore silk robes and no makeup. He couldn't keep his hands off me and didn't try to.

Dinners were on the beach. Lobster tails and caviar and fresh coconut water from golden rimmed glasses. Mingyu surprised me with a spa day that included a gold leaf facial and diamond oil scalp massage.

One night, he ordered a stargazing cruise.

Just us. A velvet sky. And the sound of the waves against the hull while he held me in his lap and told me he'd never stop chasing the life we had, no matter what the next season looked like.

We didn't check our phones once.

We didn't need to.

We had everything we needed right there.

Then, we came home.

To racing.

To Monaco.

⸻

I always wake up first on race day.

It's a weird kind of calm. The curtains are drawn back just enough to let in the early light, casting golden streaks across our hotel room walls. The bed's warm, our legs tangled, the weight of his arm heavy around my waist.

Mingyu's breathing is steady, face soft in the quiet. He always looks younger when he sleeps. Less like the man who commands a Formula 1 car at 300 kilometers an hour and more like the boy who held my hand the day my father died.

I brush his hair back gently, thumb grazing his temple.

"Gyu," I whisper. "It's time."

He groans softly and burrows into my side.

"I just got comfortable."

"You've had eight hours to be comfortable."

"Was more like six. You wouldn't stop stealing the blanket."

I roll my eyes and lean in to kiss his forehead. "Get up, Mr. Monaco."

"Don't call me that unless I win it."

"Well then I guess I'll keep calling you fourth place."

That gets him. He huffs and stretches, eyes still closed, but grinning.

"Savage," he mutters. "Didn't think marriage made you meaner."

"It made me honest."

He finally opens one eye. "...Still love me?"

"Stupidly."

"Good," he says, already reaching for me again. "That'll come in handy when I forget to pit and nearly wreck into turn 13."

"You're not funny."

He smirks. "Not yet."

⸻

Monaco is not Monza.

Monza is loud. Brutal. Fast. Pure speed.

Monaco is precise. Surgical. There's no room for mistakes here. One missed apex and you're in the wall. No runoff. No forgiveness. Just concrete and consequences.

I feel it in my chest as we get closer to the paddock, the way the streets narrow, how the yachts rise like silver monoliths in the harbor, how every inch of this place feels tighter than it should.

I hate it. But I respect it.

Mingyu grips my hand as we step out of the car. He always knows when my thoughts are louder than I'm letting on.

"Same track," he says softly. "Different story."

"You always say that."

"And I always come back to you after, don't I?"

I nod.

That's the truth I hold onto.

⸻

He suits up while I meet with Jinho and a couple of the engineers. We go over tire strategy, timing windows, what the simulations are saying. The car's been temperamental this weekend. He qualified fifth yesterday, frustrated, but not shaken.

"He wants to push on the first stint," Jinho says, tapping his tablet. "But if it's a safety car lap ten, we'll box early. Undercut could work here."

"And if it rains?"

Jinho just sighs. "Then God's got a dark sense of humor."

I glance out at the sky. Clear for now.

Back in the garage, Mingyu's climbing into the cockpit. I wait until his helmet's on, until his gloves are secured, until everyone else has backed off.

Then I lean in, one hand on his halo.

"You drive smart," I say through the radio mic. "No hero moves."

"Yes, wife," he mutters.

"I mean it."

He lifts his visor slightly so I can see his eyes. "I'm coming back to you. No matter where I finish."

I nod once. "Good. Because I married you for your ass, not your trophies."

He laughs, shaking his head. "You're such a menace."

"Go win something."

Race Start.

It's clean. Mostly.

Leclerc takes the lead. Norris in second. Mingyu holds fifth through the first corner, staying tucked behind Sainz. The team radio crackles with updates, Jinho murmuring times in my ear.

By lap 10, the gap to the car ahead is shrinking.

"Box now?" Jinho asks me.

"No. One more lap. Tires are hanging in."

"Are you sure?"

"I know him," I say. "He needs one more lap."

And I'm right. He overtakes Sainz coming out of the tunnel, textbook. Clean.

Now he's fourth.

I watch him through the camera feed, every sector. Every turn.

My hand doesn't shake anymore. But I still hold the chain around my neck tighter than I probably should. It's my father's. It's always with me when he races.

Lap 27. A yellow flag. Someone clips the wall at Sainte Devote, but no safety car.

Mingyu keeps pushing.

Lap 30. He pits. Perfect stop. In and out in 2.4 seconds.

Lap 34.

Mingyu is still in fourth.

The entire garage is wired tight, mechanics frozen mid breath, eyes flicking between monitors. Monaco doesn't forgive mistakes. It eats hesitation for breakfast. And right now, we're one bold move away from the podium.

He's faster than Norris ahead. He knows it. We all do. But he hasn't made the move yet.

"Gap is four-tenths," Jinho says in my earpiece. "He's faster in Sector 2. Could take him out of the tunnel."

I swallow hard. "Or end up in the wall."

Jinho glances over. "You want to call it?"

I nod once. Slide the mic closer.

My voice is calm. Clear. Because it has to be.

"Mingyu."

A second of silence. Then his voice crackles in.

"Yeah."

"You're faster."

"I know."

"So what's stopping you?"

I hear him exhale, hard through the comms.

"If I dive... there's no margin. He turns in a half second late and I'm in the barrier."

"Do you trust yourself?"

Beat.

"I trust you more."

My chest tightens.

"Then listen to me."

The tunnel looms on the feed. Lights strobing across the carbon fiber of his front wing.

"Win it."

A pause.

"You sure?"

"No," I whisper. "But I married you anyway."

Another second.

Then his voice comes in low. Focused. Full of everything we've ever been through.

"I'll come back to you."

And then he goes.

Straight into the tunnel. Tires locking. The car dipping left hard, reckless, perfect. Norris doesn't even have time to cover the line. He's through.

He's third.

The garage erupts.

Jinho yells. Hands fly. Someone throws a headset.

I just sit there. Frozen. Breathing.

Lap 45. Hamilton's up next. Mingyu's front wing is practically kissing his rear tire.

"He's holding you up," I say into the mic.

"He knows it," Mingyu replies, voice raspier now. "Can I take him?"

"Only if you want a heart attack waiting in bed tonight."

He chuckles once.

"Yeah. I want the win."

"Then go get it."

And he does.

Lap 49. Mingyu fakes left in the hairpin, then flicks right, inside. It's insane. Monaco doesn't allow that kind of pass.

But he makes it.

He's second.

Leclerc's up front, crowd screaming in red and white.

I press the mic again.

"Do you want Monaco or do you want to come home?"

"I want both."

Lap 66. The move comes at Tabac. Tabac. No one overtakes there. It's suicide.

But he doesn't lift.

I can't speak. Can barely breathe.

No.

No, no, no.

"He's not gonna-" I lean forward, my breath catching. "Gyu-"

"Tabac's too narrow," Jinho mutters, alarmed now. "Tell him not to-"

But I'm already pressing the mic.

"Mingyu, don't you dare-"

"I've got it," he cuts in, voice strained but steady.

"Don't do it!" I yell, louder this time. "It's not worth-"

But he's already committed.

And I see it. I see it.

He brakes late, dances the tires across the edge of traction, and takes the lead in a cloud of disbelief.

"Jesus Christ, Gyu-"

"Still here," he pants. "Still yours."

My knees buckle. I brace a hand on the pit wall.

Jinho exhales behind me like he forgot how.

"He made it," someone says.

I don't move. I can't. My hands are shaking, my eyes wide, locked on the feed like I'm waiting for it to rewind and prove me wrong.

"YN?" His voice crackles in my headset, ragged with effort. "You still there?"

My throat burns. "You weren't supposed to do that."

"I told you I'd come back."

"I thought-" My voice breaks. "I thought you were going t-"

"I didn't."

Silence.

"I'm still here," he says quietly. "For you."

⸻

Lap 70.

He's holding the lead now. My breathing hasn't evened out. I keep my mic off. If I speak, I'll lose it.

Jinho's giving him standard updates, sector times, pressure from behind. But I know Mingyu can still feel me on the line.

Because he keeps saying things like:

"This is for her."

"Tell her I'm okay."

"She's why I brake late and stay alive."

⸻

Final Lap. Lap 78.

He's golden.

Every apex kisses his tires. Every turn flows like a man dancing with death and calling it a partner. He doesn't touch the wall. Not again.

Not once.

⸻

Lap 78. Checkered flag.

Mingyu wins Monaco.

The roar is deafening. Mingyu's name lights up the leaderboard in gold.

P1 – K. Mingyu

The garage explodes in cheers, hugs, and chaos.

I don't move.

I'm still clutching the wall like it's the only thing keeping me upright. My chest is burning, my vision blurry. He won. He won.

And he scared the hell out of me.

The car rolls into parc fermé, still steaming. He rips off his gloves, tears the helmet from his head, and before the mechanics can even swarm him, he's already moving.

Straight for me.

No interviews. No fist pumps. Just tunnel vision.

Me.

"YN!" he shouts over the noise, voice raw. "YN!"

And when he reaches me, I barely have a second to breathe before he's in front of me, sweaty, flushed, shaking with adrenaline and smiling like a man who just rewrote the universe.

"I told you," he pants, grabbing my waist like he's anchoring himself. "I told you I'd come back to you-"

I shove him.

Hard.

Right in the chest.

Not enough to hurt but enough to make him stumble.

"What the hell was that?" I choke, voice trembling. "Are you out of your goddamn mind?!"

He blinks. "What?"

"TABAC, Mingyu? Really? You dive bombed a Ferrari at TABAC?!"

"I-" he grins, sheepish. "You told me to go for the win!"

"I didn't say almost die while trying!"

He laughs, wrapping his arms around me before I can protest, holding me tight even as I half punch his back in a fit of nerves.

"You scared me," I whisper into his shoulder. "So bad."

"I know," he says, voice quieter now. "But I had to. I felt it."

I look up at him, eyes stinging. "You're not allowed to feel anything until I give you CPR first."

He laughs again, this time, softer. "I'm okay. I'm really okay."

"I know," I murmur, resting my forehead against his. "I just needed to say it. Out loud. Because watching you risk it like that... I thought I was gonna lose you."

"You won't," he says instantly. "Not today. Not ever. I came back."

"And next time?"

"Next time," he promises, "I'll scare everyone else first."

I snort, then press a kiss to his jaw. "You better. I'm not going through that again."

"Deal," he whispers, grinning as he leans in. "But admit it. I looked hot doing it."

"You looked like a dumbass in a death trap," I shoot back, already kissing him before he can laugh again.

And when the crowd around us cheers louder, when the champagne starts popping and the reporters call his name, we stay right there.

Wrapped up in each other.

Alive.

I toss my earrings onto the marble counter, watching them spin to a stop. The bathroom light is warm, soft, and everything feels a little surreal in its stillness.

The race ended hours ago. The champagne's dried. The cameras are gone. The whole of Monaco has settled into its golden hum of post party haze.

And Mingyu?

He's in the other room, humming to himself as he unzips his race suit, trailing it off his shoulders and hanging it on the back of a chair. He's shirtless underneath, hair still damp from the podium spray, and smiling like he's got secrets tucked in his dimples.

We're in our comedown phase now.

The real life part.

The part that matters.

I pull the tie from my hair and glance at him through the mirror. He catches my eye and grins.

"What?" I ask.

He walks in behind me, hands slipping around my waist, bare chest pressing into my back. His chin rests on my shoulder.

"You looked good in the garage today," he murmurs. "All bossed up and biting your nails."

"You looked like a lunatic diving at Tabac," I deadpan, reaching for the cleanser.

He chuckles, kissing the curve of my neck. "Still got the win."

"Still shaved a year off my life."

"You married me knowing the risk."

"And yet," I mutter, squeezing product into my palm.

We brush our teeth together. Shoulder to shoulder. Married people things.

I rinse and pat my face dry while he spits and glances sideways at me.

"Back hurting?"

"A little."

He disappears into the room and comes back with the massage oil from his kit. "Turn around."

I do. He starts working into my shoulders with those warm, calloused hands slow, practiced, gentle. I melt instantly.

We don't talk.

Just soft jazz in the background from the TV we left on and the occasional Monaco breeze sneaking through the cracked balcony door.

After, I crawl onto the bed in my robe and he joins me, still in his boxers, hair tousled and eyes sleepy.

We don't need much to feel like home.

He spoons me from behind, pulling the blanket over us with a quiet yawn.

"Did I scare you that bad today?" he asks into my shoulder.

"Yeah," I admit.

"You hit me harder than the G-force."

"You deserved it."

A beat of silence.

"Would it help if I promised never to try that move again?"

"No," I say. "But it would help if you let me pick your overtakes next time, Mr. Monaco."

He snorts. "Deal."

I trace the scar near his rib, the one from last season's crash.

"You're all I have, you know," I whisper.

"I know," he says, voice low. "Same goes for me."

He kisses the back of my shoulder, his hand is in my hair, gently combing through the knots with his fingers. No words. Just the rhythm of his breathing beneath me, chest rising and falling like it has all the time in the world.

We've been quiet for a while.

It's quiet in the way that makes you feel like you're the last two people on earth. No cameras. No headlines. Just us.

Mingyu's legs are tangled with mine under the blanket. My cheek is pressed to his collarbone. His other hand is tracing the top of my spine, fingertips lazy, deliberate.

"Let's disappear," he says suddenly, voice low and scratchy against the hush.

I shift to look up at him. "Disappear?"

He nods, eyes still halflidded. "Just you and me. Somewhere warm. Somewhere no one knows my name and I don't have to put on a suit unless you ask nicely."

I smile, dragging my fingers across his chest. "Are you asking me to run away with you, Mr. Kim?"

He hums. "No. I'm telling you I already booked the flights."

My eyes widen. "You did not."

He smirks. "Villa in Crete. Secluded. Private pool. Outdoor shower. No agenda. Just us, white sheets, and whatever you want for breakfast every morning."

"You're serious."

"Dead serious."

I sit up a little, stunned. "When?"

"Day after tomorrow."

"Mingyu, we just got back from-"

"I cleared it with your calendar, too," he says casually, pulling me back down against him. "Your assistant's a gem. She said you've been needing a break."

"You're ridiculous."

"And you're overworked," he murmurs into my hair. "You always take care of me. Let me take care of you this time."

I'm quiet.

Because how do you even respond to that?

He turns on his side, propping his head up with his hand. "Come on. Picture it. You in a linen dress. Me in too short swim trunks. Sunsets. No emails. No calls. Just you laughing barefoot in the kitchen while I burn eggs."

I bite my lip to hide the smile. "You don't even like eggs."

"I like you. That's enough."

I groan into the pillow. "Stop saying stuff like that unless you want me to cry."

He leans in and kisses the tip of my nose. "We could take a boat out. Swim until sunset. Make love on a patio no one else can see. You can read. I'll sleep. And when you're bored, I'll cook for you."

"You'll cook for me?"

"I'll attempt. You'll laugh. We'll survive."

I shake my head, heart feeling too full. "You really booked Crete?"

"Surprise," he whispers. "I want to be selfish with you for a little while longer.”

I curl into him, kiss the corner of his mouth, and rest my forehead to his.

"Okay," I whisper. "Let's disappear."

His grin is soft. Slow. Married.

"God, I love you," he says, like it's easy.

Like it always has been.

And that night, before the world can knock on our door again, we dream in linen and lemon trees, tangled in each other and the life we're quietly building. A life that's not always loud. But full.

Exactly how we want it.

⤷ network tags: @svthub @k-films @blossomnet

･ ⟢ ⋮ svt masterlist

[clarkeysbedchem]

crashing out

will lenney x fem reader

summary: you’re a driver in formula one and get into a serious crash whilst will is filming

masterlist | main masterlist

The sun burned down onto the tarmac of Imola, heat shimmering off the asphalt, tension vibrating through the paddock. You were locked in, your helmet on, gloves fastened, strapped into the cockpit of your Alpine with intense focus. It was race day, a stormy mix of nerves and adrenaline flowing through your veins, just the way you liked it.

Back in London, the usual chaos of Will’s filming schedule was unfolding. He and James were halfway through a new second channel video, that obviously including the famous good bin bad bin, and a bunch of nonsensical products and a very confused production team. But Will wasn’t really in it today, not fully.

His mind focusing on the race happening just two hours away and the fact that you were on track.

His eyes constantly flickering to the small screen of Orla’s laptop that was propped up behind the camera setup, streaming the race live. The crew knew what to do, the same ordeal happening every race weekend for the past two years. Ieuan had helped rig the stream to keep it discreet but visible, Orla had her phone open with live race telemetry, and Aby occasionally piped up with lap times between takes.

“She’s in P6 now,” Orla called out, pretending to adjust a mic on James’s hoodie.

Will exhaled through his nose, half-relieved, “Come on, baby,” he muttered under his breath.

James threw a playful glance his way, “You’re more invested in that screen than this whole video.”

“Mate, my girlfriend is doing 300kph in a tin can. Excuse me if my brain’s not on what products are shit,” Will snapped, though there wasn’t any real heat behind it.

They filmed for a while longer, bits of James making crude comments, quick brand deals, an argument about cheese that Will couldn’t even fake interest in. The screen blinked with lap 42. You were holding P5 now, DRS on the car ahead. The team radio crackled faintly in the background, and Will couldn’t stop smiling.

Until everything stopped.

The camera was rolling; James was mid-sentence.

And then: the sound.

A collective, visceral gasp echoed from Orla’s side of the room.

The screen showed your car, well what was left of your car, no, hurtling into the barrier at Tamburello. Carbon fibre exploding on the impact, debris skittering like fireflies across the track. You had lost the rear. Hard.

First was smoke and then the silence followed.

Will froze.

“No, no, no, no, no.” He stood so fast his chair skidded back with a screech.

His face drained of any colour as he stepped toward the screen like it could give him answers, “Where is she? Where is she? why haven’t they cut to her?”

The camera angle changed and there was med staff sprinted toward the wreckage with the safety car being deployed but there was still no sign of movement.

“Fucking hell,” Will whispered, his hand shaking as he reached for his phone. He hadn’t even realized James had crossed the room until he was pulled into a tight, grounding hug.

“She’s tough, mate,” James said, trying to keep his own voice steady, “She’s the toughest person I’ve ever met. Just breathe.”

Will didn’t respond. He couldn’t. He was spiraling.

Aby handed him a glass of water, as Orla was trying to call contacts at Alpine. Ieuan was frantically pulling up Twitter, live F1 feeds, anything. The screen now showed the red flag.

Will sat on one of the chair, his shoulders shaking as his breaths came out in broken gasps with his knuckles digging into his eyes.

“I should’ve gone with her,” he muttered over and over, “Why didn’t I go with her?”

The flight to Bologna felt like years.

Will hadn’t slept, not even a minute. His eyes were bloodshot, red-rimmed and puffy by the time the cab dropped him outside the hospital. He could barely comprehend the ride over or entering the hospital. All he remembered was the receptionist saying your name, confirming you were okay and stable and in surgery.

The rest of the team had been texting him nonstop. Alpine had released a brief statement: minor concussion, fractured wrist, bruised ribs and out for a few weeks. But you were alert and talking.

Still, nothing would calm Will until he saw you, until he saw with his own eyes that you were okay.

Hours had passed and Will paced and he waited.

Until finally, a nurse gave him the nod, “She’s waking up.”

He slipped into the dimly lit recovery room, nerves shredding him from the inside out. You were just lying there, pale, bruised but alive. Wires and monitors tethered to you, bandages wrapped around your arm and forehead.

And then you blinked, “Will?” Your voice was rasped and throat dry.

He rushed to your side instantly, gripping your good hand like it was the only thing tethering him to reality. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, “Hi, love.”

You squinted at him, studying his tired, tearstained face, “Bloody hell. You look like you hit the barrier.”

Despite everything, a soft, hoarse chuckle escaped you.

Will let out a laugh that was a half-sob, dropping his forehead to the bed beside your arm, “Don’t ever do that again,” he whispered.

You squeezed his hand, “Didn’t plan on it.”

He looked up, brushing your hair back carefully, “I was watching with everyone. I thought, I thought I lost you.”

“I’m okay,” you whispered, “You ain’t getting rid of me that easy, Lenney.”

Will blinked at you, voice low and cracking, “You scared the absolute shit out of me.”

“Guess I had to make sure you’d fly to Italy.”

You both laughed, broken and breathless, but the sound was full of love and relief. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you,” he murmured, “I love you so much.”

“Good,” you said, smiling sleepily. “Because I plan on being very dramatic and milking this crash for at least a month. You’re on tea duty.”

“Deal.”

taglist: @jamiekluivert @reidyourpalms @roc-haze @whisperturnedecho @graceln4 @dopeysunflowers @super-gay-for-u @bethorwhateverr @livvymd @lilyyxoii @4ngelrealm @kiyoomology @canyouseethesainz @happyclifford @golden-hoax @tatumrileyslover @madforgeorge @wherethezoes-at @themdera @xlovergirlx @smzyyx @bowielovesyou @pretendyoucantseeme @elhotchner @duolingofanaccount @pookietv @ooostarwarsfandom501st

[hotluncheddie]

‘No.’ eddie says, standing from the table and puffing his chest out. Clenching one fist and holding the other up like a freaky Halloween version of a traffic warden. He brings the outstretched hand to his chest, closing his eyes for a moment. ‘Allow me.’

Steve stares at him. Stack of plates in hand, half up from the table and confused. ‘Uh’ he manages before Eddie steps over and takes the plates from Steve, their fingers brushing as eddie squishes his thumb into a leftover dollop of sauce and grips them tightly. He then hip checks Steve back into his chair and waltzes over to the sink.

‘Munson’s on dish duty I guess.’ Robin says, smirking at Steve and finishing her soda.

Steve schools his slack jaw expression, closing his mouth and going to stand again. ‘Eddie, it’s fine, really.’ But Eddie’s sudden outstretched palm stops him, has him sinking back down onto the dining room chair.

‘Stevie, please.’ Eddie says from the sink, eyes closed and head bowed. ‘You cooked, therefore, as your humble knight, I will conquer the dishes.’ And he brings his hand back to his heart again, looking up at the ceiling with reverence and verve. Side on from the table and Steve thinks he looks like a painting he saw at a Chicago art gallery Robin dragged him to. Heavenly in his light and shadows, cut from glass, shrouded in sun rays and glowing with a quiet, broken sort of intensity.

Steve clears his throat. Feels a blush run up his neck and he readjusts the legs of his jeans. Scooting his chair so he’s sitting back flush against the dining room table; he avoids Robin’s eye. ‘If you like.’ He rasps, fiddling with his used napkin, tearing off a corner and letting it flutter onto the tabletop.

Eddie does like. He turns the tap on, pouring dish soap into the filling basin before pulling Steve’s Marigolds on slowly, one at a time, as if he really is a knight - gearing up for battle.

‘Love the new look.’ Robin heckles and Eddie flashed her a grin before going back to serious; pulling at the gloves one last time and tuning the tap off with a flourish. Then he stalks back over to the table, Legs long and striding, arms bowed slightly from his body with adrenaline filled tension.

He steps up to the side of Steve’s chair, looming over him, tilting Steve’s head up slowly with one bright yellow, slightly damp finger under his chin. ‘Rest now, my leige.’ He murmurs lowly, reverently, gazing down at him before dipping to place a slow, soft kiss on Steve’s lips.

A embarrassing, needy, wounded sort of sound, whine, extracts its self from Steve’s throat. Chest heaving and throat bobbing as Eddie smiles at him softly, stepping away again to scoop up the remaining glasses and utensils in his capable, rubbery, hands.

‘…Your boyfriend is weird dude.’ Robin says from across him, eyeshrows raised and the corners of her mouth dropped in pinched distaste. Her eyes dancing with glee.

‘Yeah.’ Steve breaths, voice reedy and he blinks a few times, his fingers feeling tingly and numb, all of him syrupy and slow moving. His boyfriend is a freak.

And Steve has never once felt so loved.

(Tag list (open): @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @pearynice @scoops-aboy86 @tangerinesteve @marvel-ous-m

@cheesedoctor @chickensinrainboots )

[lieslab]

Enjoy the ride and let loose

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Vampire Chan X gn reader

Summary: A lonely vampire has been searching high and low for a new pet.

Genre: Alternate reality

Word Count: 2.1K

Trigger warning: Graphic details of blood, broken bones, brief mentions of a bar, drugs, alcohol, urine, vomit, blood, more blood, mainly blood.

A/N: Someone asked for a Chan request based off the Railway music video. So um... you know what? I have nothing to say for this. This was a written sin. My heart is fluttering and I don't even swing that way. I need to go to bed. Tomorrow, we can all touch grass together

_ _ _

Empty promises and eternal salvation from a man cannot save you. The last moments of your life speckled few and far between. Grimy memories faded between who you were and who you’ve become. The dim alleyway sparse with orange light, it wasn’t the best way to get home. 

Another night working your ass off at the bar. Overtime meant more money. Customers blended together. Drinks poured. Shot glasses chimed. Rims lined with lime and salt. Beers overflowing with foam. Spirits that quite literally possessed and inebriated everyone that consumed them. 

Not the best life, but the pay was too great to give up. So you went home when the blanket of night covered the sky. You poured, sloshed, wiped, scooped, and slipped your nights away as the keeper of spirits. Keeping tabs, shutting them, and opening another. You didn’t know what downtime was, but you knew about exhaustion. 

Four twelve hour days were kicking your ass. Days blended together. You barely remembered anything. Taking the alleyway home, collapsing on the worn floral couch, waking up soaked in the scent of someone else’s alcohol. 

The dingy bar, tough crowd, scent of tobacco and skunk. When white lines appeared, when the needles came out, you kept your head low. Just as your boss instructed you to. The less you saw, the better. 

Morally, your skin soaked with sin, but what else could you do? Life didn’t throw you the greatest hand of cards. You did what you could to get by. If that meant working your ass off, nearly collapsing in the middle of that alley on the way home, so be it. 

You picked yourself up by the bootstraps because nobody else was beside you. One more day. One more conversation from intoxicated customers. One more day of dodging empty beer bottles, dealing with screams from angry customers you cut off, and the pesky reminder from your boss. Keep your head down, stay quiet, if the cops show up, you’re just the bartender. Nothing ever happens there. 

The needles poking out the women’s bathroom trash said different. Puddles of half-digested fried greasy food littered the floor, only twice, on a good day. The men’s bathroom? You begged your boss to close it. No matter how good the drunken aim, urine missed the urinal and soaked the speckled underbelly of the flushable device. 

No matter how strong the disinfectant cleaner, the gloves provided little relief from the disgusting feeling of urine soaking your hands. It dripped off the gloves. Murky ammonia scented puddles haunted your dreams. If you weren’t consumed by the scent of booze, it was the ammonia and sweat. It never got old. 

Day five happened to be the day you met the devil. Half-asleep and stumbling in the alleyway, you narrowly dodged the dumpster behind a factory. Late at night, all the workers left hours ago. In a sleepy haze, the world spiraled out of control. 

You tipped left and over-corrected right. Your legs stumbled, your head jerked back, and a soft groan of annoyance filled the air. “Why does my goddamn house have to be so far away?” 

“It doesn’t have to be.” 

There was no time to spin around. Your eyes opened wider, just in time to find the silhouette of a hand shooting out to grab the bottom of your chin. Your eyes widened, your hand jerked upright to stop them, they grabbed your shoulder and then- 

Blinding pain. 

A sickening crunch. 

The morbid realization that your own neck could snap so easily. 

Your legs collapsed. 

An unknown laughter echoed in your ears. 

The night swallowed you whole and sucked you into its vortex. 

You didn’t make it to the sixth night of your shift alive. 

_ _ _ 

When you woke up, you were sure you were dead. An icy numbness harnessed your bones. It curdled your marrow, tucked away everything, and it stole your breath. The usual comforting stum of your heartbeat against your own chest disappeared. 

You scrambled to your feet, pushing out your hands to investigate your surroundings. Way up above, high window panels let in pale lighting, but other than that, darkness settled. It barely illuminated what you could make out to be some sort of cell. Iron bars, a heavy duty padlock wrapped around the door, and more darkness. 

Beneath your feet, a soft squishy material. Perhaps, a rubber mat? You brushed your shoe against it, trying to understand. Your sneaker scraped and then fell silent. You grabbed the bars and shook them, to no avail. 

“Easy there. You can’t get out of there if you try. Iron bars reinforced with iron, iron, and more iron.” A snicker laced an unknown’s voice. “Besides, you’re starving, aren’t you?” 

Step. Step. Step. Step. 

Chains rattled against one another. You searched around the area, not daring to push yourself too far against the bars, for fear of the unknown outside. A large white metal frame rusted away, coated with a thin layer of dust, it stretched in two different directions. Heavy footsteps wandered closer and closer until- 

Thunk. 

You didn’t recognize the man standing before you. You tried to comprehend everything about him all at once. The way his dark hair parted and framed his face. The single white eye and the other nearly dark as the night you fell victim to.

A large black leather bag dressed in small silver chains and a pair of handcuffs. He scrunched his shoulders up, relaxed, sucked in a deep breath, and smiled. “You must be starving, hm?” 

“Who are you?” 

“Who am I?” His lips tugged into a smirk. “Who am I? Who am I?” He chuckled, glanced over his shoulder, and grinned. “They want to know who I am. Should I tell them?” 

You took another step to the weathered bars. Across the way, similar cells sat, but they were a little different. The iron bars across your cell tucked you inside. On the opposite side of the hall, half-wooden stall bottoms were lined with thinner bars. 

Something shrieked and a pale hand jutted out. First one, then another, and then another. More and more lunged from the depths of darkness. Corpse-like fingers wiggled and grabbed air. Detailed veins coated the outside of their hands. Something groaned. Another soft shriek caused the man’s mood to sour. “Shut it! I didn’t ask if you were hungry!” 

“How many people are you keeping here?” 

He paused at your question and began to crane his head back towards you. “People?” You nodded, which led to another amused grin on his end. “Tell me, do you think your heart still beats with life?” 

“It has to be.” 

“And if it wasn’t?” 

Your head shook. Confused by the question and annoyed that you couldn’t get a proper response, you changed the question. “What’s your name?” 

“You can call me Christopher. As for you, my new little pet, I bet you’re starving. The new ones are always starving. Not many make it to this point. You’ve already beaten roughly ninety percent of those who have come before you.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

He didn’t respond. Instead, he squatted, ripped open the zipper, and pulled out a dark pouch. With ease, he pushed it between two bars and tossed it towards you. It landed with a soft plot at your feet. 

Nausea filled your body at the sight. You could only describe it as a pouch full of blood. His eyes didn’t leave your body. Like a predator watching a prey, he observed your every move. “Better drink up while it’s still warm.” 

“Is this a sick joke?” You whispered. Confusion filled your eyes. You glanced at him, but from the look he carried, something in you knew this was something much darker than the anger of a drunk customer. 

“Drink up.” 

Behind him, another screech. He scowled, spun around, and grabbed the closest outstretched arm. Olive skin smeared with purple bruises in the faint sunlight. He snagged their wrist and began to squeeze it. 

“How many times do I have to mend your behavior? A new pet means being on your best behavior. You know what happens to those who don’t listen to me?” 

The hands began to retreat back into the darkness. When the only hand left was the one he held, his eyebrow furrowed. “Do not. Test me. Again.” He jerked the arm up and swung the wrist in a circle. 

Another sickening crunch caused you to gag. A faceless entity shrieked and jerked its hand free. The man glared for a few moments until he sighed and spun around. Another smirk appeared on his face as he sauntered back to your cell. 

“Where were we? Ah, yes. The blood. Drink up, you’re dehydrated.” 

“What’s wrong with you? Where am I? Please,” you uttered desperately, “I just want to go home.” 

“Home? In this state?” He laughed and shook his head. “This is your home for now. Monsters get lonely, you know? Every monster deserves a pet.” 

“Please,” you whispered desperately. You stepped closer and grabbed the bars. Not caring about the filth, you pressed your face against them. “I have a job and a life. That’s all I want. I won’t tell anyone.” 

“You won’t tell anyone I kidnapped you?” He whispered, thoughtfully. 

“Never.” 

Heterochromia eyes stared at yours. His face softened for a moment and he leaned closer. The scent of metallic blood hit your nose, but it didn’t stop you from trying to sway the stranger. 

“Promise?” He asked. 

He stopped your nod by grabbing your chin. “Interesting.” You stayed still, allowing him to run a thumb across your bottom lip. Nerves bombed your stomach and then dived back up like military helicopters. 

You didn’t pull away and you didn’t breathe. The soft pad of his thumb traced your lips again. “You know, I’ve always dreamed of someone like this. To have something, a pet, to share companionship.” 

You kept quiet, hoping it’d work out in your favor. Too busy studying his eyes and focusing on his face, you didn’t catch his second hand drifting towards the leather pouch. His sharp nail punctured another warm pouch. 

“Even monsters can get lonely.” 

For whatever reason, you clung to every word; a pastor preaching a convicting sermon, a sinner and a saint, a monster and a pet. Something pulled you to him, but you couldn’t explain it. Otherworldly and unnatural, it oddly felt comforting. 

“Open.” His thumb tapped your bottom lip. Your lips parted and his eyes lit up. “So obedient, just the way I like them. Stay like that for me.” His thumb went up and began to brush along the side of your cheek. “There you go. I won’t hurt you.” 

Before you could understand it, plastic filled your mouth. His other hand wrapped around your chin. You tried to jerk away, but you couldn’t. In an iron grip, he squeezed the bag of blood. The metallic taste filled your mouth and your face scrunched. 

“Shh. Just swallow. Don’t worry, it won’t hurt you. I know it’s weird at first, but trust me. This is for your own good. Come on, swallow for me. Come on, sweetheart.” An index finger slipped down your throat, trying to coax you into submission. 

You hesitated, but followed his instructions. “Ah, there you go. Not too bad, hmm?” 

When your eyes pulled away to look over his shoulder, he gently squeezed your chin again. Your eyes met his and your legs felt weak. “Don’t look at them. Look at me.” 

He squeezed the plastic bag more. Sticky liquid pulsed into your parted lips. Too much, some dripped down the corner of your mouth. It fell down your cheek, slid beneath your chin, and drifted towards your shirt. 

“Such a messy little pet. How cute.” His thumb stretched out before you could stop him. He caught the end of the trail, hooked his thumb between his lips, and sucked.

You should have stepped back. He let go of your chin. You should have pulled away, but instead, you didn’t move. You watched in awe. Those feelings of fear drifted away. You swallowed without being instructed. 

The fresh blood rushed through your brain and awakened something in your soul. Something ignited and that sleepy haze disappeared. The man’s dimpled smile stretched once more.  “I think we’re going to do great things together, little pet.” 

Staring back at him, you couldn’t respond. Caught in his trance, the moans of pain and shrieks of horror from the unknown bodies behind him, none of it mattered. It didn’t matter that you were sipping someone’s blood. 

You died in that alleyway, but in the middle of this abandoned prison, something deadly; and far more intoxicating than alcohol, bloomed in your bones.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @danihwang882 @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght

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[salvieslovenotes]

vi who's just a total hot mess...

Don't get me wrong, I love confident Vi who knows exactly what she's doing, a little smug and self-assured that she knows exactly what you like and how to give it to you. Who always has a shadow of a smirk tugging at her lips. But I feel we're sleeping on canon Vi—like that girl was a mess. Did you not see the way she looked at Cait?! My girl is the definition of "sure babe whatever you say".

So here's some little hot mess Vi headcanons I love

She's always bumping into stuff. She's got bruises all over her hips and legs from the amount of times she's caught herself on the table corner or counter top. It's gotten to the point where if there's a cupboard door open on a high shelf, you automatically cover the corner with your hand when Vi's around because she'd pretty much guaranteed to bang her head.

On that note, she's always dropping things. She's not allowed to touch the fancy dinner plates or empty the dishwasher because of it. Every few months you have to buy new glasses because yup, the others are all somehow broken. Again. ("I don't understand where they all go!" Vi complains, genuinely confused "I can't have broken them all.... did I?" Spoiler alert she did, in fact, break them all.)

Still on that note, she trips over everything. Everything, her path could be completely clear and she'd still stumble. It's sort of endearing, like you're leaving your flat and she's tripping over the front mat—"Who the fuck put that there?" She's so indignant it makes you smile. "We did, it's a mat. You know, the thing that goes before a door?"

When undressing you or tugging off her own clothes, she'll inevitably get an arm tangled, or struggle with buttons or a belt buckle. It always makes you both laugh a bit, because she's always so impatient and gets stuck on the smallest things. "Who the fuck invented these?" she laughs, amused at herself, her shaky fingers. But when you try to help she'll whine, "No, no, almost got it." (Half of your clothes end up ripped when she inevitably loses patience.)

She's super clever and can pick up things pretty quickly, but she's always trying to cut corners and experiment to make it "easier." Baking? Who needs all that measuring crap, she can just eyeball it. And sure, the cake tastes amazing, but it also swelled up like a balloon because she accidentally tipped in half the container of baking soda. The fire alarm gets set off at least once a week; now if you smell smoke you just... leave her to it.

She's super into tech and fixing stuff, which means lots of taking things apart, and the odd yelp here and there as she gives herself small electric shocks. One time you come home to smoke wafting through the kitchen, the distinct smell of burning rubber and a very sheepish Vi, who accidentally melted some kitchen utensils. How?! You don't even ask. (After that she has to work in the garage.)

She's always covered in grease from "improving" things on her motorbike. You're terrified every time she takes it for a spin, thinking for sure one of those "improvements" is going to get her in some sort of trouble.

Climbing onto the roof without shoes to fix something, sticking her hand through a dubious hole in the wall without gloves, leaning close to a faulty socket without glasses. "Hey, don't panic Cupcake, what's the worst that could happen, huh?" and you wave a wild hand around "Ugh, you could die?!"

Like sure, she's confident and daring and smirks her way through everything, but also laughs until she chokes, and pulls every "push" door, and basically will fall over her own feet if she's not gripping your hand. She thinks dad jokes are hilarious and doesn't know her way around your neighbourhood even though she literally grew up there. Whenever she's out you'll inevitably get a "hey I'm lost" call. "Where are you?" "Uhhh, like... opposite a post office?" You think for a second, orientating yourself. "Okay, turn so the post office is on your left, and keep walking." There's dubious silence from Vi's end and you sigh, biting back a smile. "Your left, like the hand you write with." "Ohh! Got it, got it..."

In a new city it's even worse, because she refuses to use maps. "Who needs directions when you can have adventure and discovery!!" "Vi, I'd hardly call the red-light district of Paris adventure, I just wanna see the bloody Eiffel Tower!"

Walking out in the sexist outfit ever, tattoos on full display, chains around her waist and looking unholy in steel capped boots, and your mouth has never been so dry in your whole life and "Hey Cupcake, can you help me? The stupid zip is tangled..."

anyway disaster Vi everyone, she has my whole heart

[sweetflanfiction]

Asymetrical Symphony - Part 14

Universe: Arcane (LOL)

Pairing: Viktor x reader

Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written as GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know.

A.N: I've made some cute headers for the thing!!! What do you guys think??

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6 • Part 7 • Part 8 • Part 9 • Part 10 • Part 11 • Part 12 • Part 13

• ··········· • ············ •

The respite that was felt after the council decision was welcome, but at the same time it felt very tenuous. Because of your knowledge, it always felt like things were always about to go downhill. It didn’t make you paranoid per se, but it consistently felt like there was a hitch that needed to be scratched somewhere.

The sun was already high when you made your way to the Academy. You had scheduled an appointment to supposedly check on your mother's commission. According to Jayce, everyone who entered that lab after the council decided to supervise it had to be accounted for. 

You asked for the visitor pass at the reception, adjusting your shoulder bag and smiling at the man sitting there.

The morning had been good; your audition for the orchestra had gone amazing, and you were now headed to butt heads with your two favorite brainiacs after leaving your mother on a date with her loving partner.

Today was going to be good.

The door to the lab was ajar, but you knocked, the reflex to open it speaking a rune thwarted as you heard more than the two familiar voices inside. 

“Come in.” Jayce’s voice boomed, and you walked inside.

You tried to keep the good spirits when you noticed not just Salo but Ambessa and Rictus inside the room. 'Trying' being the key word.

You felt your face contort into turmoil as your eyes landed on the general’s bodyguard. His eyes turned back to you in a blank, nonchalant expression. In your head, the words ‘I know how you die’ kept replaying, like a broken lullaby.

The sound of glass shattering made your head snap to the windows of the lab. The skies had turned a deep, dark, grayish purple, the room darkening as well, and the window of the lab kept cracking. The sound of the glass grinding going up in volume. In the middle of the crack, a purple glowing rune appeared. Ragged and jagged and angry.

You tilted your head and kept staring at it. It was almost hypnotic, a weird tingling in your gloved hand. You wanted to use it, and you wanted to use it now.

It was a feeling unlike any other rune appearance. It was a pull to do it; you needed to do it.

You heard someone call your name in the distance, but the pull was too strong. Golden fingertips came into view as they grabbed your arm.

Without thinking, you twisted your arm around the hand and quickly moved it down to escape its grasp. Following the movement, you shoved a hand out to push it out, only to be snapped out of your headspace by the sound of a slap on a cold metal surface and another hand on your wrist.

Blinking, the space around you got back to normal. Rictus stared at you, one of his eyebrows raised, and you did the same, the mask of civility gone and a scowl now etched on your face.

“Rictus…let the heir to the Rainemoure house go…” Ambessa’s voice cut through the silence. Rictus' grip on your wrist slackened, and your arm fell to your side. 

Your gaze shifted to the other people in the room, everyone staring at you in confusion. 

“I…” you started, trying to move your face to a more neutral expression. “I apologize; I don’t like being touched.”

“Then maybe you should acknowledge when someone calls your name.” Salo said, and you nodded, slowly coming to your senses, putting the mask back on.

“I apologize. It’s been a long...morning. You looked at both scientists.

They were both wearing the same worried look. Jayce’s eyes kept shifting from Rictus to you and back, and you noticed he was slowly releasing the handle of a hammer. Viktor was staring at you, trying to decipher what it was that had happened, his cane standing mid-way through a step.

“I completely forgot that you had an appointment.” Jayce said, sneakily moving the hammer away from his hand, trying to divert attention.

“It’s alright. I’ll be at the cafeteria; I haven’t had lunch.” You quickly put your hands up, trying to get away from the lab.

“I’ll accompany you.”. Viktor blurted out.

“I’m sure they can make their way there by themselves. This takes priority.” Salo scoffed, looking you up and down.

“Councillor Salo is correct.” You smiled, mask fully back on. “I do apologize, General. I didn’t mean to surprise or harm your bodyguard.”

She fully turned to you and gave you a wolfish grin, tilting her head to the side.

“No need for apologies. He can take it.” Her eyes twitched as she tried to peek back behind the curtain.

Forcefully, but gracefully, you turned to Rictus.

“I am sorry.” You told him, trying with all your might to not grit your teeth, and he nodded. “Well, I’ll see you two in a bit.”

You waved as you walked out the door before making a dash to the elevator and just standing against a corner of the well-lit box, taking several deep breaths.

Aside from the sudden encounter, the feeling of that rune still lingered. It was like a hunger that would only be satisfied when you devoured it, and at the same time, it felt like a caress, stroking your soul, telling you everything would be fine when you spoke it. It was seared into your mind, and yet you didn’t want to speak it.

The elevator pinged, and you walked out directly to the cafeteria, where your objective lay. Or stood. 

The Academy’s Grand Piano was donated by the PSO. In your universe, it was a shiny black beast with ivory keys. In this universe, it was a matte grey delicate piece that was perfectly tucked into a corner of the cafeteria.

You walked to the small counter that separated the tables from the service area. A young man was behind it, leaning into the counter reading a book and scribbling something in a notebook. A student. Knocking gently on the counter with your knuckles, so as not to frighten him, you watched as even so he jumped a little. He looked up at you, sighing deeply in annoyance.

“Good day, what can I get you??” He marked the book and looked at you, trying to be courteous and failing.

Ordering something quick to snack on, you looked at the piano as the man started to prepare the food.

“Is the piano tuned?” You nodded towards the instrument.

“Yes.”

“Can anyone play it?” 

“Depends.” He placed the latte mug in front of you. “If a person were to just slam on the keys and call that ‘playing it,’ then no…”

“What if a person might just know a bit about it?”

“It’s all yours…”

Little did he know that in your timeline, that piano had been, in fact, yours. Your father donated it to the orchestra, and the orchestra donated it to the Academy. 

You grabbed the mug and the small dish with your sandwich and walked to the piano.

“Do you have any requests?” You asked the kid behind the counter, and he shrugged.

“Something that doesn’t sound like a cat screeching.”

“I can do that.”

You sat at the piano, placing your food on a small table nearby. The audition this morning made you remember how much you enjoyed playing.

It reignited something in you. Playing at home, with your mother and Wyllah listening, was nice, but sitting on a stage, with the spotlight on you and people who had never heard you play sitting there, was another experience.

It soothed you, removing any trace of anger or worry the last few minutes had caused you.

Vivaldi - Winter (The Four Seasons)

Placing your fingers on the keys, they moved on their own. Touching the ivory keys in sync with the music in your head. Much like the runes, this was something that, after learning to do, you did without thinking about it. Your brain played the song, and your fingers moved on the piano or any other instrument you had learned to play. 

And much like the runes, as you added a note to the melody, it became enriched and more intricate. Your hands flew over the black and white keys like muscle memory.

As you kept playing, you looked at the kid behind the bar who had fully stopped what he was doing and looked at you. In a second his impressed expression changed to a blank one, but you saw his little grin as he shrugged.

There was a small crowd of students that had followed the sound and sat on the tables looking at you. Some were eating while others were trying to study.

“Sorry…” You looked at a girl who was looking at you, a book opened in front of her. She smiled and shook her head.

“It’s nice.” She answered. “Please keep going.”

You straightened your back and kept playing. Sometimes you’d play something more upbeat and then go back to something calmer. You’d banter with the young bartender while you played. 

Debussy - Clair de lune

After a few songs, you looked up to see both scientists standing under the arch of the cafeteria entrance looking impressed. Viktor walked towards the piano, followed closely by Jayce.

“I just might start coming to the cafeteria more often…” Viktor announced, leaning into his cane when he got near you.

“You should; the service is quite exceptional…” You said it loud enough that the student behind the bar could hear it.

“Flattery will get you everywhere!” He said, not taking his eyes off his notes.

Jayce grabbed two chairs on his way over and mentioned one to Viktor while sitting on the other. His face had a little concern painted on it.

“What happened up there?” He immediately zeroed in on you, and you sighed.

“Talking about beating around the bush.” You gave Viktor a look, and he shrugged.

“The rage you had in your face when you looked between Rictus and Ambessa…it was murderous.” Jayce whispered. “And then you punched him in the chest.”

“It was a slap at best.” Viktor corrected, placing the cane between his knees, Jayce shooting him a dirty look.

“Listen…” He took a deep breath. “I understand things are... weird for you. Different places, different customs. But that can’t happen, not while Hextech is hanging on the line.”

“It’s not just that…” You sighed and got closer to the edge of the bench. “There was a rune in your lab…”

They exchanged a look, and both got closer, leaning into their knees. The sight of the three of you huddled together must have been something.

“It was different…Like…” You played a few high notes on the piano and then slammed a hand on the low notes. “This…”

Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing to look at you, the sudden sound catching their attention.

“I don’t know what it was, but..." You tried to explain, "Normally they appear when I need them, and I wouldn’t feel the pressure of using them… but this... this one demanded to be used, like it needed it. Like I needed it.”

“Did it hurt you?” Viktor asked, his eyes roaming your arms and face.

“No. If anything, I hurt it by not speaking it into reality.” 

“It was time that we found a bad word in the language…” Viktor’s jaw clenched, and after a second he got up. “I’m going to need sugar to study this fully…”

You snorted, and Jayce rolled his eyes as Viktor walked towards the cafeteria counter. You followed his rhythmic strolling, smiling as he looked at all the pastries on display, making an unimpressed face at it.

“Rictus did something in your timeline, didn’t he?” Jayce’s voice snapped you out of watching Viktor’s judgment of the pastry.

“It wasn’t Rictus himself. It was Ambessa.” 

“The General?”

“She wants the hextech to be weaponized so she can fight her own enemies…”

“I know…” You looked at Jayce, and he was looking at his feet. “I’ve gathered as much by what Mel tells me about her. Not that she tries to hide it. General Medarda makes some interesting questions.”

You sighed and turned back to the piano, playing some old melody that you knew by heart.

“In my universe…” you started, your tone unsure. “she gets it…She uses it… It doesn’t behave like she wants it, but…in the end…she gets it…”

You steal a glance in Vik’s way as he waits for his order to be prepared. He was chewing on the cheek, deep in thought.

“How?” Jayce frowned in confusion, and after a second, his eyes widened. “Which one of us died?”

• ··········· • ············ •

@marshy-moo @victormydarling @blueesmiski @th3stup1dcat @22carolina08 @httpstes @that-one-shitty-blog @disa-pointment @sseleniaa @moons-lighttrail @aysluxe @fae-doodle @kitewa @local-mr-frog @bakusquadobsessed @cherry-cola-100 @optimistic-but-very-realistic @seeksrsnn @thecordelialetters @notsaelty @lansy-4 @ayupfrogg @sammypotato @wnbrw @lucycarlisleswife @noxturnalmoth @ren-ren23 @furblrwurblr @kapitankarate @mynicknameisgasoline @octo-octopie @birbwithhat @kneelarmhstrung @dedicated2viktor @elvishstudies

[veebeeboo109]

Cleaning up the Timeline

{You spend some time with Ever...}

Read on ao3. Part One.

Tags: Reader/L&DS Men, Romance, Violence, Angst, k!dnapping, bl0od, t0rture, g0re,

Chapter 19: Ever

There’s a distinct feeling. Losing something. A sort of unfathomable confusion as your brain tries to convince you that what you’re seeing isn’t true. It was just here, your mind reasons, this is where it’s supposed to be!

Only it’s not there. It’s gone.

You’re gone. 

Xavier had seen, with distinct, horrific clarity when the wyrmlord had hit you with its tail and sent you flying. The sound of the glass and the hole in the shop window is something he’s not likely to forget for a long, long time. Imprinted in the way traumatic things are. Both hazy like smoke but engraved with a heated blade into one’s psyche. 

Reinforcements arrived, and Xavier left his battle with the oversized lizard to go to you. The other Hunters and the one other Unicorn member that arrived could handle it, Xavier was running the instant he saw them. Leaping across rubble and the remnants of the fountain you adored.

He lunged over the ledge and through the open window of the flower shop. An overflowing amount of fresh spring flowers coverings the walls and now, the floor. Pieces of stems and leaves scattered among the shards of glass. Blood coated some of the pieces and there was a splatter pattern along the bottom part of the check out counter. 

The pale yellow of the kickboard dotted with speckles of your blood, a sign of where you’d landed. Only…you weren’t there. 

Xavier called out your name. And when nothing answered, he called out again. Again and again, rising in volume and desperation the longer you refused to answer him. There wasn’t enough blood to be deadly, but you were hurt at the very least. This was not what this patrol was supposed to be!

Xavier’s breaths are short and tight, fighting out of him like little gasps as he tries to come to some conclusion as to what happened. He grits his teeth, forces himself to take a deep breath through his nose, and focuses. 

There’s glass everywhere, and blood dotting the place among the petals from the dozens of destroyed flowers. But when he takes the second to really look at it, he sees the trail. A little line of dotted blood and a shift in the glass. A struggle?

It leads behind the counter. There’s a smudged handprint that’s missing the palm– your fingerless gloves. He hovers his own hand over the print and finds it matches the size of your hand. The ghosting feeling of your palm in his makes his stomach turn. 

He follows the dragged glass through the back of the store. The line of blood is distant and barely followable, but he finds each droplet like a breadcrumb you’ve left behind. 

When he meets the backdoor, he shoves it open. Back into the shadowy, damp alleyway. A dumpster on one side, and wide enough to fit a truck, but there’s nothing. 

Xavier pulls out his phone from inside his coat, thanking the gods that it’s not broken from the skirmish and dials the first number he can.

Xavier looks down at the ground of the alleyway and sees the tire tracks of something recent. With the phone still to his ear, he runs down the alley towards the street.

“Yello’?” Rafayel answers, “Aren’t you supposed to be working right now? What a slacker.”

“Rafayel.” Xavier bites out, and the edge in his tone cuts through Rafayel’s nonchalance. 

“What’s wrong? What happened?” Rafayel’s asking quickly, and Xavier hears the clatter of what can only be paintbrushes scattering to the ground. 

“She’s gone.” Xavier breathes, unable to believe the words are leaving his lips. “Get Sylus. Check the CCTV of every camera around my position.”

“What do you mean she’s gone!?” Rafayel’s voice is a roar, and there’s a pant in it that tells Xavier that he’s running. 

“There was a Wanderer. I lost sight of her for a second. A second!”

Xavier makes himself dizzy from looking every which way, searching for a vehicle he doesn’t know the make, model or color of. Like some divine intervention might tell him which one has you. He’s running down the street anyway, as fast as his feet can take him. 

The Lightblade hunter runs twenty blocks one way before doubling back, and he can’t breathe by the time Sylus pulls up on his oversized motorbike. Xavier’s hands are shaking, and it feels like his ribs are caving into his chest. 

Sylus tosses Xavier a helmet without a word, muttering about showing him where to go. Xavier robotically hops on the back of the bike and they take off.

“Caleb warned us!” It’s extremely rare to hear Zayne raise his voice, and so even the slightest raise in volume strikes all the harder, “He warned her to not leave the house! We should have never–”

“You’re the one who promised her nonsense!’ Rafayel snarls, pointing an accusing finger in Zayne’s direction, “You told her we wouldn’t just sit by. That she could look for him! Now look!”

“Fighting amongst ourselves will do little,” Xavier says and while his words are diplomatic, his voice is a wreck of malice. Tensions are running higher than they ever have. Thick enough in the air to cut with a knife. Layers of fear, disappointment, and rage making up the layers of this shit cake they’ve found themselves in. 

Sylus is the only one sitting. Head in his hands on the couch of their home, Mephisto sat on the coffee table in front of him. He hadn’t said a word since they’d gotten back. 

They’d spent three hours scouring the crime scene. Scanning for prints, footsteps, DNA. The tire tracks were analyzed. Sylus knew the make, the model, the year. The type of tire and when they’d last been replaced. He knew the VIN number and he knew the time to the very last second that you were thrown into the van. 

He knew too much. The grainy footage from the flower shop revealed too much agonizing detail of what happened. They were quick. Professionals. They’d been lingering at the edges of the square an hour before the Wanderer attack, and poised to take you the moment an opportunity arose. 

Snatched away as easily as a ripe fruit from the branch. Sylus was replaying the images in his mind even without Mephisto’s screen. Over and over again. The way you’d fought them. The callous way they’d shoved that gag into your mouth. 

“She was supposed to be at a safehouse,” Sylus lifts his head. He doesn’t raise his voice. There is no fire. No anger. Only the cold vacuum of a void inside him. “A million miles away from here.”

“Do we have any leads?” Zayne asks, turning to Sylus– a man who usually has answers.

“Beyond knowing what time and where she was taken from, not much.” Sylus admits, feeling nauseous. 

“She has my scale,” Rafayel says sternly, “I can’t track her with it, but it should keep her safe. As long as she’s wearing it.”

“A scale?” Zayne looks properly aghast, “A good luck charm will not protect her from these people!”

Rafayel has to bite his tongue from lashing back at Zayne. It is not just a good luck charm but a powerful talisman. You owning that scale was owning Rafayel. To wield that scale is to hold the leash on of the most powerful deities in existence. The power residing in a singular scale enough to ward off malice– those who would seek to do you harm will suddenly find themselves deciding against it. The allure of the scale lulling them in docility. 

“What do they want with her?” Xavier barks, “Why take her?”

“She seemed to believe it was Ever. They’re a biotechnical company. Josephine, her Gran, had connections there. We learned this after the explosion. It’s…I only have conjecture. Nothing concrete!” Zayne runs a hand through his hair, pushing back charcoal strands.  

“If we have nothing else, then we run with conjecture.” Sylus says as he stands. He goes over to Zayne and places an anchoring hand on the back of his neck, the skin there ice cold. “Tell us what you’re thinking.”

Zayne takes in a breath, and Sylus watches as the ice crawling across his skin spreads just a little further. 

“She has an aether core in her heart. Josephine used to work with– or for – Ever. I think…I think Josephine took her in because she was one of the experiments. And it’s not that big of a leap to think Caleb was too. Experiments on Evol and the protocores. If– and this is if– If Josephine defected and took those two with her, then Ever would likely want their investments back.”

“Investments…” Rafayel murmurs, “Why didn’t you mention any of this?!”

“Because it’s speculation!” Zayne uncharacteristically bites right back. “Her history is not mine to share. It’s none of any of our business.”

“It is our business when her life is in danger!” Flames lick at the tips of Rafayel’s fingers as he swipes his hand across himself. 

“She hasn’t exactly been hiding.” Xavier places his hand to his lips contemplatively, “Why come for her now? What’s changed?”

“Nothing will get solved if we hang around here!” Rafayel rushes over to the entryway, grabbing a light jacket and throwing it over his shoulders, “I’m going out to look for her.”

“Wait!” Sylus snaps, “Go, do what you can, but we agree to meet back here– six am. If you find her, send a text, but if you haven’t we meet back here, no matter what.”

Rafayel takes a second to pause, and then nods. Disappearing out of the house and slamming the door behind him. 

Zayne places a hand to Sylus’ back, “I’m going to head to the hospital, put a lookout at emergency rooms for her. If– when she escapes, she might end up there. I also have some colleagues I can contact for help.”

Sylus nods and kisses Zayne’s temple before he goes. Which leaves the two fair haired men standing uncomfortably in the too-cold living room.

An ominous feeling falls over the room. If any one else were there, they’d break out in inexplicable goosebumps. The hair-raising feeling of death that a prey detects before the predator's jaw clamps down on their neck. 

“How much–” Xavier clears his throat and speaks very quietly, like you somehow might hear him, wherever you are, “How many lives is too many?”

Sylus snorts. The question lingers in the air for a moment, the two of them silently debating the answer. How many lives is yours worth? How much destruction is worth getting you back? How far can they go and be forgiven?

Sylus adjusts the bracelet at his wrist, the weight of it feeling a little more heavy today, “Do what you must, my prince. And I’ll do the same. What the others don’t know won't hurt them.”

A sharp sting in your arm, and then you’re awake. The zing of some synthetic drug that drags you, kicking and screaming from unconscious into sharp alertness. 

The room is blinding and silver. The fluorescent lights above you sting your eyes and when you try to lift your arm, you find it strapped at your side. Flat on your back on a hard exam table– not even the half-inch cushion you usually get in a doctors office between you and cold steel. Straps keep you secured to the surface across your chest, your stomach, and your thighs. 

“Take some deep breaths,” A cool voice says from beside you, and when you try to move your head you find another strap across your forehead. You strain your eyes to find a nurse in silver scrubs, dark blue stitching along the sleeves and her face covered in a white surgical mask. “That’s it. You’re safe now. Just relax…”

Her voice is soothing, but you’re not soothed. You’re strapped down in a brightly lit room on a cold table with an IV in your wrist and probes attached to your chest. You’ve been stripped down and changed into a buttoned up tank top and loose pants. Sterile and white. 

“Where–” You’re shocked they haven’t gagged you, “Where am I?”

The nurse holds a tablet in her hands, and focuses on tapping away at your chart, “You’re safe. I’m sure they’ll explain everything, now– how do you feel? Any lightheadedness? Nausea?”

You lick at your bone dry lips and struggle a little against the harsh bindings, “I’m…These hurt. Can you take them out? Can I sit up?”

The nurse’s eyes crinkle in amusement, “They’re for your own safety, miss. Don’t try and fight them. You’ve have a very busy day. Now, again, how are you feeling?”

You grit your teeth, “I feel like I was kidnapped and now I’ve got some nurse asking me if I’m okay while I’m strapped down like a frog for dissection!”

The nurse’s expression is hard to determine under the mask, but she seems contemplative, “Aggression. I’ll note that down here…”

She taps away nonchalantly on tablet and the sound of her fingertips grates on your sanity, “Hey! Where the hell am I? Is this Ever? Do you work for Ever?”

The nurse looks up, “The doctor will be in shortly. You can ask him your questions...”

You thrash against the straps, wiggling your shoulders with enough force the table underneath you jumps an inch. With a satisfying squeal, the nurse scuttles back and shuffles out of the room. 

You spend the next immeasurable amount of time trying to wiggle out of these straps. It could’ve been ten minutes, or it could have been hours– the unchanging lights and the lack of any clocks make it torturous, and maybe that’s the point. 

When someone else enters, it’s a sharply dressed woman with a charcoal grey skirt suit and glossy black heels. Her golden blond hair is swept up into an elegant chignon and the Ever emblem on her chest shines with neon blue and chrome. 

“Good morning!” She greets like the two of you have just run into each other getting coffee. She comes up to the side of your bed and you see the sparkle of her silver earrings from where they dangle on her ears. She’s so put together you’re sure there has to be glue involved somewhere. She smiles tightly at you, red lipstick stretching over pearly white teeth, “It is so good to finally meet you. The previous head of the department never shut up about you, and to finally get to meet you– in the flesh! It’s just– Wow! Such an honor!”

“Wish I could say the same.” You hiss sardonically, “But I find it hard to be cheerful while I’m strapped down.”

“Oh that, you'll have to forgive me for that. We weren’t sure how you’d react to coming out of it, we have the reports from when you were younger, but you know how it is! Times change, and all that.”

She’s annoyingly chipper. A saccharine sort of friendly that makes you want to trip her in the hallway just to make her stop smiling for half a second. 

“Wouldn’t have to worry about any of that if you hadn’t have snatched me off the street.” You bite and the woman doesn’t even blink.

“An unfortunate circumstance. We sought more civil avenues, but found them all blocked for one reason or another. Josephine was a pioneer, but also so horribly stubborn! Anywho! I should introduce myself. I’m Carlee Antham, Head of Bioengineering and Biotechnology here. I run the place, so to speak. So, you’ll be seeing a lot of me. Oh! And my colleague, Dr. Riston Clark. He’s the head scientist. We’ll be taking care of you.”

“Yeah? And who do I talk to about getting out of here?” You resist the urge to spit at this woman, greeting you like a hotel hostess. “You can’t keep me imprisoned here.”

Carlee smiles sheepishly and folds her hands together, “Technically, dear, you’re the property of the Ever corporation? You’re proprietary! Your DNA and your aether core and all that belong to the company and therefore, laws pertaining to unlawful imprisonment don’t apply.” She places a hand to the side of her mouth like she’s telling you a secret, “Took our legal team two years to check all the loopholes. What a headache!”

She laughs and reaches out to pat you on the shoulder, “So, nope. You’re here to stay, which is such fun! I’ve been dying to meet you– did I say that already? Well, anywho! I’ll be off. Dr. Clark will be in shortly and then we’ll get you all set up in your room!”

You growl low in your throat, “You can’t keep me here! I have people! People who will find me! They’ll kill you!”

Carlee, who had been in the middle of turning towards the turn, turns back to you on her little kitten heel, “Pardon? Kill me? That’s…well that’s quite harsh don’t you think? No, no, no. Don’t worry about any of that. This facility is impenetrable, and our security team is unmatched. So, let me assure you,” The woman’s voice drops into a near whisper and she leans over you to make sure you hear every syllable, “Should anyone attempt to infiltrate this place, it will be their own doom.”

She smiles, and this time? You do spit at her. Hawing back as much saliva as you can to lob it smack against her cheek. Carlee screeches in disgust and wipes it away, stumbling back and utterly aghast at what you’ve done.

“We’ll see, bitch.” You bark, “Do your worst!”

Her worst comes in the form of a Dr. Riston Clark. An tall, skeletal man. Ironically, he’s exactly what you would have pictured when thinking of a mad scientist. And later, if you survive this, you’ll laugh about it. 

Dr. Clark doesn’t bother with long winded, friendly introductions. He has work to do, it seems. Such busy, important work that he’s so engrossed in he doesn’t even look at you. At least, not at your face. He examines the vitals the probes pick up and takes a dozen vials of blood from your restrained arm. 

Then, a pair of large men in charcoal coveralls come in. The Ever emblem is on their back, a slightly darker gray than the rest of their outfit. They unstrap you slowly, and you can tell through their build alone that they’re the muscle here to restrain you the minute you act up. And act up you do. 

The instant you’ve got movement, you’re clocking the closest guy in the nose, shoving his nasal bridge up into his skull and grinning at the satisfactory crunch that sounds. 

The other guy holds you down, and try as you might, they’re a little stronger than you. A little. 

It has to be days right? Days that you’ve been here. Or maybe weeks? 

All you know is they’ve taken samples of you. Blood. Urine. Saliva. Flesh. You’re missing little one inch squares long your left arm and your back. Dr.Clark assures it’s only to get a baseline– they need to start from scratch since the last time you were here. 

You were here before? That doesn’t sound right. But something about these rooms. The sights, the smells, they ring like the memory of dreams you don’t recall. 

You’re allowed to rest, and you sleep so soundly on the hard mattress like its feather down with utter exhaustion. That’s one day, you think.

On the second day, you’re able to get a bite into one of the assistants when they strap you up to more machines. A good piece of flesh that you spit out at their feet and nearly make it to the door before the goons are on you again. This time, they pull your shoulder out of its socket, and you’re left to stew with that pain for the duration of the test. A lesson learned, Dr. Clark coos. 

That day sucks. They pump you full of something that makes your Evol explode. Like an untamed supernova inside of you it lashes out in bands of searing energy like solar flares. It hurts. God, you’re Evol is going to tear you apart. Each burst of energy makes your skin burn, bubbling with burns from something like radiation. 

Dr. Clark just watches. Watches and takes notes and hum in satisfaction when you finally collapse.

You get to sleep again after that. Another day. That’s two? 

You’re in a medical wing the next day, and the folks there are a little nicer. The nurses are gentle when they insert an IV, and they even warn you it’ll sting when they inject you with some cloudy liquid into you. Though, of course, no one answers any of your questions. 

Though that day, you finally get to meet Dr. Clark properly. He comes into your cramped little room that reeks of sterility with his white coat and badge with a picture of him that looks a decade younger. 

“How are you feeling?” He asks without looking at you. His gray eyes examining the tablet with your medical chart on it. You’re not a person to this man. Not even a patient. You’re a number.

”Like shit.” You answer honestly. Your head is swimming a little and it takes effort to even lift your head. You’ve been sedated— mildly, but you recognize the sensation. “Are you here to monologue, Dr. Evil?”

The tight lips of Dr. Clark twitch upwards, “Unfortunately not, miss. I’ve come to check in on your mental state. I’ve found— in my practice— that if the subject loses the will to go on, then the results of our excersizes will be affected.”

”So, you’re making sure I still want to live?” You huff dryly, “How kind of you.”

”I can be kind.” Clark hums, finally lifting his head to look at you. His downturned eyes level you with a lazy kind of attention. “You bonded well with the last head scientist. I’ve read through her notes. You loved her dearly.”

You go to sit up, but only manage a few inches before you fall back limply onto the hospital bed. The beeping of your heart monitor picks up for a moment, and then a sharp sting in your arm sends your eyes rolling back.

”Oh, I apologize. Any increase in cortisol detected will result in an increase in sedation.” Clark walks over to examine the glass vials attached to your IV drip, “You’ve been exhibiting signs of increased distress for the past two days. Higher than desired. Try not to stress so much.”

”You…Yo—‘ve be-en…” Your lips can barely form the words, forming around cotton and the resinous sleepiness of whatever drug they’ve got you hopped up on, “You— cu..ut…me…”

”You mean the tissue samples?” Clark says with a birdlike tilt to his head. It makes you think of Mephisto. That brainless cyborg bird that never lets you get away with anything. You’d give anything to see that stupid crow.

Clark inspects the IV port in your hand, and it stings when he does. “Be grateful for such small samples. We needed to see how your flesh reacts to different stimuli. I could have used the main source.”

You laugh, but it comes out in tiny, ineffectual wheezes. ”F-Fu~uc-k…y-you~u…”

Clark scowls and steps away, “Behave, and this won’t have to be so difficult. You’re a part of something bigger than you. Bigger than all of us. Get some rest. We’ll be back to it tomorrow.”

You wake up back in your room. The little grey space with a single can light in the ceiling, a bed, and a toilet. A utilitarian solitary confinement. 

Without any mirrors, it’s hard to check for any scars. You’re not sure what all they did to you yesterday but you want to make sure they didn’t steal any organs while they were at it. 

You spend that day in your room. Stuck. Maybe it was a day. But it could have been more. The seamless grey walls of your cell are like the untouched slate of chalkboard. You can scratch little marks with your nails if you try, and so you spend the next uncountable number of hours making shapes. Drawing little cats and crows and fish. 

The next day, they have to drag you from the bed, and you kick and bite at them the whole time. By the time you reach some new room, your handlers are just as bruised as you are. 

This room is small. Lined dark metal walls with a single chair in the center. You’re shoved into it and strapped into it on your wrists and ankles. There’s a table in front of you, a tiny surface that lies empty. 

Once you’re secure, one of the handlers, who you’ve named Knuckles in your head, gives you one good strike across your jaw for making their jobs harder. Kicking a puppy while it’s down. You spit the blood that rises in your mouth at him, and the other one– Stinky, you’ve called him– drags Knuckles away. 

There’s a two-way mirror on the wall facing you. You can see the slight distortion at the edges. It’s a mirror to you, but you know Dr. Clark and his imps are behind it. His voice comes through a speaker in the ceiling. 

“We’re trying a new series of tests today.” Dr. Clark explains most magnanimously. How kind of him to actually explain what he plans to do before he cuts you open. “You will be shown a series of protocores. Resonate with them, and we will measure the results.”

“And if I don’t?” You ask around the blood pooling in your mouth. You spit it down onto the ground at your feet and feel for the wound on the inside of your cheek. “What’ll you do if I refuse?”

A beat passes, “Your cooperation is greatly appreciated.”

One of the research assistants walks in. A glass cylinder with a floating pink protocore inside it. With a gentle touch, the short assistant with coke-bottle glasses sits it down on the pedestal in front of you. They give you an almost empathetic glance before they scurry out. 

The protocore floats in its chamber lazily. It’s a weak one, and you can barely feel the shift in its energy at all. 

“Now, Resonate with it.” Clark commands. 

For a moment, you debate disobeying. Maybe struggling against the straps at your wrists and ankles again. Maybe spitting again. Maybe screaming and crying and begging. But now…it’s only been two days and you’re so tired. 

Faith is a funny thing. The entire premise of it is believing in something you can’t see, touch or hear. Can’t prove beyond a longing in your heart. You have faith in your boys. They’ll find you. You know they will. But it’s faith. Faith and hope and fucking pixie dust and all that. 

So, you do it. Obey and stay alive. Give them enough time to find you. What a waste it would be if you’re dead when they get here.

You reach out with your Evol to resonate with the protocore. Its energy touches yours and it's a disgruntled feeling from the crystalline substance. It fights against you for a moment, but then the connection is made. A tether between you and this piece of the cosmos. A chip from a star that fell out of the Deepspace tunnel.

It’s unremarkable. And so are the others. A dozen or so protocores you resonate with. Each one is a little bit spicier than the last. Your body aches in protest from being stuck in this chair for hours and from the overuse of your Evol. What an uncomfortable day, but at least they aren’t cutting into you anymore. Silver linings, you guess. 

A red one is brought in, and you feel it before you see it. The assistant carrying it is wearing thick gloves, like oven mitts. And when you resonate with it, you feel like your skin is on fire, burning from the inside and by the time it's over you’re drenched with sweat. Blistering burns wind up your arms, bubbled flesh like someone has poured something corrosive over them.

What’s the point? You’re aching mind weeps. Why? What could they be measuring if not how long you’ll last before you’re torn apart? If death is the outcome it’s not happening soon enough because each one is some new, fresh, horror.

Somehow, when the last one is brought in, you know it's the last one. The  molecules in the air bend and twist to conform around this palm-sized crystal the color of the night sky. As the assistant sits it down, the dim lighting refracts around it. It shimmers in multi colors like an oil slick, but hits your eyes wrong. Like it’s being lit from a different source that you can’t see. 

You can’t tear your eyes away from it. The pressurized energy expands around the core and into the room around you. Your ears pop and it takes a little more effort to breathe than it had before. 

If Clark gives you the command to resonate, you don’t hear it. Because you’re already doing it. Drawn in by this inexplicable pull that laces around your marrow. Every nerve in your body tuned into the protocore like it was some missing part of you, and at long last, you’ve found it again. 

The connection between your Evol and the protocore is violent. The smacking of two magnets sliding across space and directly into each other with such force they disintegrate. A scream, tears through your throat, but your ears don’t register it. They’ve long since gone deaf with the static of what can only be the cosmos. 

The stars are speaking to you. Whispering to you in hushed lovely tones like life-long friends. Your body wittles down to its very atoms– no longer locked in their quantum space but free to float in the void between universes.  And you…remember.

<- Previous Next ->

[scrollsofdesire]

Tough (Pt.1)

Hazard X (Medic)Reader

Summary: Hazard is a bit cocky and gets into a little brawl with Maugua which ends him in the infirmary with you for a week.

It had been a relatively slow week for the med bay. Why it was so overwhelmingly so that both you and Angela had plenty of time to catch up. The laughter and playful recollection of fond memories filled the room. “ Ah, I can’t believe we’ve never spent time together like this my friend.” She sighs.

“Well, when you have to take care of all heroes, not just a few. Things like catchibg up become difficult.” You politely remind her taking the liberty to enjoy another cup of coffee. Walking over to the pot the healer’s voice follows.

“Indeed.” She agrees. “Though I would rather say it is that rowdy bunch of men we have got here.” You cannot help but giggle and she joins you with a snort. “Between Reinhardt and Zarya, it is difficult.”

You shrug your shoulders, “Eh, my quarrel lies more with Mauga and Hazard. Those two cause enough problems as it is.” Mercy nodded, taking the time to process the thought as you sip on your coffee.

“I see.” She notes and goes to add another comment when there was an undeniably large noise that traveled through the halls of the medical wing. “So it begins.” She murmurs reaching for her coat and glasses.

You found it odd that such a commotion could be going on at this hour. However, it has been quiet for far too long. At least there was time to enjoy it. Before the two of you could breach the doors two large figures stumbled in.

Both Mauga and Hazard were stumbling over each other, surprisingly still going at each other. You reached for Angela’s arm and pulled her from the warpath as Hazard tumbled down taking the large Samoan with him. “You best be taking that back, yah big pile ‘ah shite!”

Hazard’s words were laced with venom, but that didn’t surprise you much. The Samoan and the Scott didn’t exactly see eye to eye. Their egos didn’t soften the blow either.

“I know what I said! You are always in my way!” Magua fires back. He reached for Hazard’s arm and trues to force it back into an uncomfortable position.

“This won’t end well.” She decides and you nod, still in awe as you both watch the two men fight. You then recalled that there was a way to get them separated.

“Angela? Do we still have those sleep darts Ana left us?” You were quick to think. Angela hurried off to the supply cabinet and pulled out a small case. “Only two!” She calls out. You were relieved and needed to leave Ana a huge thank you note after this whole debacle. Only two. So one shot for each. Angela loaded the weapon with a grace you had never seen in here.

In a split second the two were shot and out cold. With a twirl of the gun she let out a quick one liner, “Now that’s what I’d like to call a quick discharge.” You let out a snicker and went to grab one of the gurneys.

“Let’s get these guys separated before they wake up.” You encourage and she nods going to help with the mess of the two men.

Golden eyes fluttered open and Hazard winced at the bright lights above him. Then everything cane back to him as the pain racked through him.

“I am glad you’re awake. I didn’t know how long Ana’s sleep tranqs would work for.” You informed him as you approached the bed he was laying on.

“Ya tranqed me las?”

His question pulled a smirk on your face, “I didn’t. Dr. Ziegler did, makes the combat medic stories a bit more real to me, but yeah.” Hazard groans and shifts on the bed, seemingly uncomfortable.

“Well ���ae guess yer wonderin’ what went on then lass?” His gaze softened as he looked to you, as you worked to prep to examine his injuries gained through his little charade. You pulled on a pair of gloves as you shoot the tank a look making him groan. “Fine, ‘ae got into a bit of ‘ah small fight.”

You snort reaching for the disinfectant, “Small is not how I would describe it. You’ve got bruises, cuts, and I am sure your arm is broken.” You list the many injuries and he huffs.

“Well if that other bastard had just listens to me, lass. Ae wouldn’t be stuck on yer table.” He huffs. You move to his left side and sighed.

“It couldn’t have been that serious knowing you, Findley.” Now he knew you were being serious. It was rare anyone used his first name. Especially you, considering how often he ended up under your care.

“Nae, yer not understanding me, bonny. He was putin’ shame on some poor lass’ name yae hear.” Hazard argued going do as far to raise his voice, “Especially not ah friend. Tis not right!”

“Right because you believe so much in honor when it comes to Mauga?” You huffed as you felt his arm to test the break. Hazard grunted in discomfort as you did so. “Sorry.” You apologized. “It’s definitely broken.” That much you knew.

“He.. He shouldn’t of said what he said.” It was then you could see the pain, the look of dread. Whatever the other tank said must’ve set him off. “Na’er mind tis not important. Just fix me up doc.”

You decide to let it go and hand over the news. “Well since you have gone and broken your arm, Fin the way you have you’re stuck with me for a week.” The tank sighs in frustration and you giggle.

“It should be fun. We can both get on each other’s nerves.”

[npuppet]

LaDs rambles #6

Songs/mini playlists I think fit each LI + YouTube links (I don’t have Spotify)

‼️A lot of songs are explicit so listen at your own digression‼️

⭐️ are personal favorites (recommended)

(It starts out with overused Insta songs lol) (I branch into more niche songs out I promise)

Zayne:

Disease by Lady Gaga (obv) (“I could play the doctor, I can cure your disease, If you were a sinner I could make you believe”) (die Astra)

⭐️Digital Silence by Peter McPoland (what if Foreseer was in modern time and was a desperate to warn MC of her future?) (“They’re gonna blind date everyone until you love them too”)

Arcade by Duncan Laurence (“Loving you is a losing game” huh? Man)

Wash. by Bon Iver (“Where ice snaps and the hold clast are known”) (It just fits the calmness he has I dunno)

Changing of the Seasons by Two Door Cinema Club (not because he fell out of love with MC but he doesn’t seem to remember as much as the other LI’s) (“The door is open, you whispered to me, As you stood frozen in deep uncertainty”)

Christmas Kids by Roar (“The Christmas kids were nothing but a gift, And love is a tower where all of us can live”) (just thinking if Zayne did remember)

⭐️Cursed Romantics by Maude Latour (bc who said Zayne can’t be girlypop?) (“‘Cause I’m obsessive when you call me “baby”, Your love is poison and no don’t can save me”)

Heavy Eyes by Zach Bryan (I just know Zayne would have tired eyes if he didn’t deal with his myth trauma right) (“Remember all the days we had, I say it ain’t so bad, Keep those heavy eyes soft and kind”)

⭐️Am I Dreaming by Metro Boomin, A$AP Rocky and Roisee (Dawnbreaker and Zayne) (“One of a kind, one of one, the only one, Got one shot and one chance to take it once”)

Rest of the LI’s under the cut

Caleb:

Fourth of July by Sufjan Stevens (based on Caleb and MC being experimented on and MC dying over and over, tragic and existential) (“What could I have said to raise you from the dead?…And I’m sorry I left, but it was for the best, though it never felt right”) 🙂

⭐️i am not who i was by Chance Peña (“so if I fly to far, Will I still have a place inside your heart?…Will you love me for who I am not who I was”) (it’s him, it’s Caleb)

SPIT IN MY FACE! by ThxSoMch (man will do and tolerate anything to be with MC I mean) (“I don’t know what to say except you’re mine mine mine mine mine”)

⭐️Nobody’s Solider by Hozier (this song fits him like a glove, like his whole deal is that he’s trying to wrestle control back in his life) (“Holding my world together with a bootstring, Living the dream”)

Freaks by Surf Course (after he left MC in the explosion) (“My head is filled with parasites, Black holes cover up my eyes”)

Broken by lovelytheband (“I like that your lonely, Lonely like me, I could be lonely with you”) (our obsessive king)

⭐️Tangerine by Glass Animals (he would get on his knees anyways-) (“You only look at me properly now, When you’re drunk watching movies, Where are you? What happened?”)

Sweet Talk by Saint Motel (at this point I think I’m just giving him a degradation kink…) (“Yeah, well, I’m not scared, I’m not going nowhere, Yeah, you might want me to drop dead, but I dont even care”)

She Said No by BoyWithUke (mmm angsty) (“I don’t blame you, I hate me too, but I can’t, Do a lot to change it or the thoughts in my head”)

Sylus:

Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High by Arctic Monkeys (just based off of reckless MC) (“Incapable of making alright decisions, and having bad ideas”)

⭐️Like Him by Tyler the Creator (but very Dawnbreaker coded too so) (based on when MC got flashbacks in the story with Sylus but still doesn’t remember fully) (“How could I miss something that I’ve never had?”)

MILLION DOLLAR BABY by Tommy Richman (bc why not) (“I could clean up good for you, Oh, I know right from wrong”)

The World We Knew by Frank Sinatra (when MC went on a rampage after Sylus left, she’s real for that) (“Each road we took turned into gold, But the dream was too much for you to hold”)

Used to the Darkness by Des Rocs (just feels like Sylus)

Adventure of a Lifetime by Coldplay (ok but hear me out) (“I’m a dream that died by light of day, Gonna hold up half the sky and say, Only I own me”)

Bury Me Face Down by grandson (vengeful dragon) (“Wanted with a bounty on my head, But somehow someway, I’ma keep moving along”)

⭐️City on a Hill by Mon Rovîa (Sylus trying to comfort MC abt their past) (“Who was by your side, When the fire subsides, And it rains in your head?”)

⭐️Gold by Spandau Ballet (what was going through Sylus’ head when MC started to like him back lol) (“Nothing left to make me feel small, Luck has left me standing so tall”)

Rafayel:

Sex, Drugs, Etc. by Beach Weather (something I think he and MC should listen to on an open hood convertible kind of night by the sea) (“Dressing up for polaroids and cigarettes, Socilaize, romanticize the life”)

Softcore by The Neighborhood (kinda based off of the theory that Rafayel wears safety pins) (“You’ve been my muse for a long time, You get me through every dark night”)

⭐️All I Want by Kodaline (“When you said your last goodbye, I died a little bit inside”) (ow)

Here With Me by d4vd (another slow heartbreak song what’s new) (“I wish I could live through every memory again, Just one more time before we float off in the wind”)

Applause by Lady Gaga (bc I’m on a Lady Gaga binge lol) (“Pop culture was in art, now art’s in pop culture in me!”)

⭐️Blood // Water by grandson (I think alternative fits Rafayel) (“The price of your greed, your son, and your daughter”)

Drama by Spencer Sutherland (Raf is just feeling himself)

Love Me Less by MAX (I think it’s fitting since he’s not as forthright with his underground activities as Sylus is)

Xavier:

I Love You So by The Walters (I think it fits his 5* Outcast’s Voyage and just his story in general) (“I’m going to pack my things and leave you behind, This feelings old, and I know that I’ve made up my mind”)

Army Dreamers by Kate Bush (based on that the people who came with Xavier all had dreams but turned into Wanderers instead) (“We’ve a bunch of purple flowers to decorate a mammy’s hero”)

Towards the Sun by Rihanna (“Shadows chase me far from home, I remember when my heart was filled with gold”) (also funny that the movie this song is from is based on aliens lol)

⭐️When Will I See You Again by Shakka (song is literally made for my poor boy) (“Shooting stars never fly for me, My hearts on Mars, kinda hard to see”)

Alien Boy by Oliver Tree (just bc) (“I still make it work, But it’s overrated and somehow, played out”)

⭐️Are We Ready? (Wreck) by Two Door Cinema Club (I dunno sometimes the lyrics aligned with his story to me) (“I saw the world today, It comes in green and gray”)

Jealous by Eyedress (our jealous possessive king lol)

All LI’s:

Mind Over Matter (Reprise) by Young the Giant

Harpy Hare by Yarlokre (yup)

⭐️Chamber of Reflection by Mac DeMarco

her by JVKE

Again and Again by The Bird and the Bee (need I explain?)

ALL GIRLS ARE THE SAME by RØNIN (lmao)

⭐️Mr. Feel by John Michael Howell

can’t slow down by almost monday (kinda a song I imagine MC, Caleb, and Zayne playing on a roadtrip when they were younger)

Aphrodite by Ethan Gander (yearning my favorite (: )

We’ll Meet again by Very Lynn (obv)

MC lol:

Daydream by Gunter Kallmann Choir (MC and Sylus)

GONE, GONE / THANK YOU by Tyler the Creator (give girl a break yknow??)

Wasted Summers by juju<3 (after Caleb left her in the explosion)

I wanna be your lover by €CHO€D 4W4Y (yessir)

⭐️Apple by Charli xcx (once delulu, always delulu)

Sunshine by OneRepublic

Sick of Being Young by Krooked Kings

Feel free to leave ur songs u attribute to the LI’s ((:

[yuriosakawa]

Gray Sons - Debbie 

The sterile corridor is filled with tense voices, flickering monitors, and the muffled chaos of battle-hardened surgeons fighting to keep gods alive.

The metal doors SLAM OPEN.

Debbie Grayson storms through, tears already welling in her eyes. Her breathing is frantic, shallow, borderline panicked.

“Where is he?! Where’s my—where are they?!”

Cecil and Donald follow behind, trying—and failing—to stop her.

“Debbie, you shouldn’t be here. We said we’d update you—” Cecil started. 

“No. No more updates. I want to see my son. I don’t care which one. I just—” Debbie said, furious, as she rounds the corner—and freezes.

Behind a thick glass observation window, surgeons are clustered around the surgical table where Maskless Mark lies, chest cracked, abdomen torn, face exposed to the world—her son’s face, staring lifeless up at the ceiling, even if the resemblance is just one of many.

Suddenly, his body seizes violently.

“He’s seizing! Epileptic episode—we’re losing control of the airway!” A nurse voice’s said, muffled behind the glass. 

“Get the stabilizer! He’s gonna throw himself off the table—hold him down!” A surgeon barked. 

The room explodes into a frenzy of movement, arms trying to pin Maskless Mark as his body thrashes uncontrollably, muscles locking in violent, involuntary convulsions. His head slams back against the table, blood smearing across the pillow.

Debbie stares. Then collapses to the floor like a string has been cut. Her knees hit the tile, arms bracing her fall, but her eyes never leave that window. The tears fall freely now, soaking into her sleeves as a quiet, broken sob escapes her lips.

“That’s my son… that’s my boy…” Debbie said, shaken. 

“Debbie… that’s not your Mark.” Donald said softly. 

But it doesn’t matter. Not anymore. Because in a way… it is.

Every scream, every gasp, every bloody incision—

It is Mark.

Just in eight different bodies. Eight variations. Eight tragedies.

She presses her palm against the glass as the doctors manage to stabilize Maskless Mark’s seizure. But the beeping continues—erratic, fragile, teetering.

“Why… why did they come back if this was what waited for them?” Debbie’s voice was barely a whisper. 

Cecil can’t answer. Donald won’t.

And Debbie, on the ground, can only watch—helpless—as the battle her son never stopped fighting continues behind glass and steel and blood-soaked gloves.

[supertrxshwrites]

Bruises Part II

Pairing: Deadpool x Reader

TW//mentions and descriptions of blood, exposed entrails, knife through body parts, a bullet through the body part. open cavity. body gore.

He’s dug bullets out of his body before sometimes they’re healed over and other times they reject falling to the ground with a hollow chime. Not as cool as Wolverine, But this was just uncomfortable. He could feel the steel of the knife weigh in his gut.

After leaving Y/N’s place he peeled his suit off in the bathroom and went in with a much larger knife and some kitchen tongs.

he sat on the toilet, one leg propped up on the tub and the other stretched across the tile. He was sticky covered in blood that started to dry from seeping through his suit, old fluorescents lit up the bathroom with a green hue.

He took a few deep breaths before plunging the hunting knife into his stomach breaking the flesh revealing his entrails, blood painted the tile, pouring out of him like a faucet as he shoves the tongs in. There’s a loud squelch as he fishes for the knife, the pulsing of his heart louder a squish with each pump. For a minute he struggles its slippery it’s hard to look directly into your open body as it starts to heal so he’s really just digging around the cavity when he finally grasps it. He almost has it but it slips.

“Fuck!” He fumed as he kept healing he repeatedly had to gut himself like a fish after being caught.

he pulls his bloody glove off with his teeth the crimson smearing the side of his cheek and reaches in and rips it out throwing it into the sink with a loud clatter.

“Shit!” He huffs out of breath as he stands up and looks into the sink, his stomach healing closed.

The things we do for love.

He rinses off her knife and everything else he used and then he takes sometime to clean his blood from the floor,sink and counter. After a while he showers and collapses into his bed.

***

He finds himself at your door again.

He can’t stay away from you, all roads lead him there even when he’s on a job he’s thinking of you. His stupid idiot brain is being eaten by a parasite and it’s you. Every corner of his mind is being flooded and ravaged, torn apart and pieced together and destroyed again, and even when he’s had bullets go through his skull, or knives plunged through his heart and for a split second fear scurries through him and he thinks maybe this will kill me. He’s still thinking of you, your hair, your scent, the details of your face-

He takes a brief break from these rushing thoughts to knock on your door. Shortly after there you are in a T-shirt and baggy shorts with a trash bag in hand.

“Wade.” You say as you turn around waving him in as you go back to picking up broken glass from the floor.

He walks in and takes in the state of your living room. The fight from the previous night did a lot of damage. We did a lot of damage.

“Y/n-“ you cut him off before he can truly get a word in.

“Wade, what’s going on here? With us? Okay because we have one night stands, we have bloody fights, I go on dates with other people and we fight again and then…then you kiss me.” You drop the trash bag, the glass in its contents clinking together.

“You really kiss me and it’s confusing and I’m lost and angry and I can’t keep up and I can’t keep doing this” You speak a mile a minute as if the words were flying out of you. Wade stares at you from behind the mask and for once he’s silent.

The low hum of your AC breaking up the silence between you, he shifts a bit and you can hear glass crunch under his boots. 

“Y/N.” He strides over to you and you can hear his breath rattle and shake in his chest. He grabs your hand putting your knife in it. 

“I’m so serious right now that I don’t know what we have and I don’t know what this is, but all I know is that when I’m at the bottom of rock bottom and I think there’s nothing left you’re there and when I’m really at the end of my rope I mean really free fallin’ you’re there and when I see you on dates and making your way back home only for me to be waiting for you to fight because I’m an idiot who can’t express how he feels. You’re still my favorite mouse to chase and you’re there.”

(Stay tuned for part 3 I didn’t wanna make a super long post so yeah ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

Tags: @marsyay78

[rustyram035]

@dirty-bosmer thank you for tagging

I decided to post a short story about Banor and Lucien (dont hate me pls🥲, it is a specific story)

The sun was at its zenith. For a long time now, the air had been filled with that unidentifiable scent of freshness that only the spring grass shoots in the meadows near the Imperial City could emit. The sun was scorching, but not as much as during the sowing of crops, there were no sultry evenings, only the rustling of the grass and the whisper of the leaves cut the ears with their melodic howl. So quiet. So calm. A suspicious calm excites the soul, especially when you are accustomed to the dead silence of the old dungeons. The clanking of bones, drops falling from the damp ceiling.

  Through the crown of the old oak, the sun lets in rays and a frozen wind that picks up the ribs, which already burned with a ring of pain at the slightest breath.

  The young elf reluctantly opens his eyes. More precisely, an eye, the second one floated a couple of hours ago and he could hardly see anything with it. There was that steel taste in his mouth that made him want to breathe deeply, but he couldn't. Do his ribs hurt from running, training, and the blows that that damn bandit had dealt?!

   He sighed quietly and leaned back against the hard flesh of the tree. The view was truly romantic. If he were a maiden, he would squeal with delight at the sight of such a lovely place.

   The fields of the Imperial City surrounded the mountains with their ring. Therefore, if you look into the distance, you can see the majestic massifs of giants through the tender rye and green grass. He wasn't particularly eager to cross the mountains. It's cold in Skyrim, in Morrowind... he'll have to think about that later.

   He tried to get up, but the pain darkened his vision and he groaned pitifully and fell back on the shoulder of his mentor, who had gotten no less in that damn lair.

 -“Don’t move,” a hoarse voice was heard.Apparently the man was sleeping too. Of course!? He got practically nothing - just be patient a little longer..

  Hands in gloves grabbed his head so that the elf got the impression that he was completely weak, it will pass.

- Lucien.. - the guy tried to object - I..

   Something suddenly pierced his lips. It was a glass bottle with something disgusting in appearance. He began to break free with all his might, as if protesting. But the man held him very tightly. Of course! The speaker is at your service. Lucien had killed more than one victim in this way, pouring some strange liquid into her mouth, and then watched her suffer with rapture.

- Swallow!? Come on, Banor - the worst thing was that there was no anger in his voice; no fear, only cold prudence - come on - he shook him, not allowing his head to even twitch in protest.

  His chest was immediately squeezed by a sharp pain. Such that tears genuinely gushed from his eyes, and his heart seemed to have stopped. He didn’t have the strength to scream, and he couldn’t have. It burns. It burns. It hurts.

   It seemed like this pain would last forever. Many thoughts flashed through the elf’s head during this time, but very soon he realized that this pain... began to subside. So this...

   He looked up at Lucien, who had been holding his hands the whole time. The man only nodded to him in agreement.

- Just breathe, my boy- he said calmly, lowering his hand to his back, gently stroking it.

- You... this is... yours?! The potion... why did you give it to me?- Banor begged, realizing that the picture of what was happening was simply ridiculous! He was like a small child, clinging to his boss

- You are the Silencer- the words sounded reasonable- you are the Silencer, and you don’t know the rules? How is it that Banor...why didn't you tell me you were that bad? Were you scared of my broken nose?

   The ashamed elf pulled away from the Imperial and hugged himself around those ribs. And really, he didn't like being weak, especially in front of him. If he was going to be displeasing to Lachance, then what was the point of being an elf?

- I still don't understand you - he began to reason - sometimes you contradict me without stopping, sometimes you fawn. Is this somehow connected... with your past?

  Banor shook his head absentmindedly.

- Okay... okay, I get it.

   He pinned him even closer to himself, continuing to run his fingers along his vertebrae, gently lowering his hand to his tailbone and raising it to the curve of his neck

@darcxaosit also i taggeg you

[m-jelly]

I had this in mind for a while now, a levi x mermaidfem!reader I have no context I just need fluff rn in my life 😭

Sorry this took a while to make, I was coming up with the plot for it and I wanted it to be different and new for you all <3

@ladycheesington <3

The Club

Pairing: Mafia Levi x Mermaid Reader

Tags and warnings: Future AU, fluff, falling in love, scars, past physical abuse, healing, blood, mentions of violence.

Concept: Levi and his gang raid a club and find many of those working there were abused by the gang that had run it. While investigating the club that was now his, he sees a tall big tank in the middle that goes up many floors, inside was you. Levi takes care of you and keeps you employed at the club. Now with a better life and hope, you get to know your new boss and you both fall in love.

@ladycheesington @levisbrat25 @nyxiieluna @li-anne @galactict3a @youre-ackermine @thebobaprincess @2moth-anon2 @cypidity @notgoodforlife @demonsimp6 @nbinairyn @bisexual-bucky-fan

A tooth flew through the air with blood closely following. A body slammed into the table causing it to smash and glass to cover the floor. Irritated, the creator of the pain in the broken body on the floor clicked his tongue. Smart shoes stepped on the glass around the broken man.

Pleads and begs came out of the mouth of a man with teeth missing, blood and spit flying out. With arms raised he hoped his life would be spared, but the man above him was angry. He saw no mercy in the cold steel blue eyes that looked down at him.

With a calm mind and a choice made, a gloved finger squeezed the trigger causing a bullet to rip through the man's hands and finally through his head. The room went silent as the pleas for mercy stopped. Peace filled the club.

Levi sighed as he felt his head throb. He pinched the bridge of his nose before putting his gun away and investigating the club. As his men checked the bottom floor, Levi was more interested in the grand tank in the middle. He climbed the stairs to the top floor for VIPs only and saw the top of the tank was open.

The top of the tank had a resting area on a fake beach. Around the tank was seating, as if something was to entertain them. Levi was aware that supernatural beings were used as entertainment, he was also aware that this club had a mermaid.

Levi took a seat before leaning on the edge and looking into the water. "I'm not here to hurt you. I want to help." He reached down and put his hand in the water. "You can drag me in if you want." He dragged his gaze over to a little cave used for hiding. He smiled softly when he saw movement. "You can bite me too."

Levi's eyes widened when you slipped out of hiding. His heart raced in his chest as you moved through the water towards him. He felt nervous and flustered all in one. You were so beautiful in his eyes, like a goddess. He held his breath when you rose out of the water and leaned on the side right in front of him.

You tilted your head and hummed. "You going to hurt me like the old boss?"

"No."

You grabbed his hand with your webbed one and started reading him. "There's a lot of goodness inside you." You sighed a moment. "So, what's your plan with me?"

He held your hand and smiled. "I would like to keep you."

You hummed a laugh. "I'd like that."

He pulled you closer. "You're really pretty."

You blushed at his words. "Thank you."

He moved your arm out of the water and inspected you. "What are these scars?"

"He would beat me, taze me, burn me and cut me."

"I'm sorry."

You sighed. "You didn't do it or make him. You don't need to be sorry."

"Do you have a home?"

You whined. "You're looking at it."

Levi reached over and grabbed you before lifting you out of the water. "This won't do. You'll have a new place. For now, you'll live with me."

You gasped and felt flustered. "Hey, I need a towel!"

Levi saw your tail slowly turn to legs. "Oh, shit." He sat you down and grabbed the guest towels and gave it to you just in time. "Sorry."

You hummed a laugh and wrapped it tightly. "Thanks."

Levi looked over your scars all over your body. "Tch, fuck. I'm glad I killed that fucker."

"Thank you for killing him. He was trash."

He scooped you up and smiled. "Let's get you to my place to relax."

"Thank you again. What do I call you?"

"Levi, you?"

You smiled and said your name. "Nice to meet you."

You danced in your tank for those watching. You laughed as joy filled your heart. You were actually enjoying your job now and Levi was being so sweet and kind to you. You spent as much time as possible with Levi and it was wonderful that you lived with him. You were supposed to have your own place, but two months on and you were still with Levi.

You smiled when you saw the VIP light come on, which meant Levi wanted to see you. Levi wouldn't let anyone go into the VIP room anymore, it was just for you and him. You felt something for Levi, so whenever he wanted to see you, you swam to him fast.

You shot up to the top and smiled brightly. "Levi!"

Levi leaned on the side and smiled back at you. "How are you?"

"Better now you're here."

Levi blushed. "Tch, flirt."

You leaned up and smirked. "That's right." You sighed as your lips almost touched Levi's. "I like you."

"I like you too."

You tilted your head. "No, I really like you."

He gulped hard. "Me too. Can I kiss you?"

You purred. "Please do."

Levi crashed his lips against yours and moaned against your lips. He tangled his fingers in your wet hair and pulled you against his body. He didn't care that your wet breasts soaked his shirt. Levi just wanted you as his own. He bit your bottom and tugged a little.

Levi pulled back and sighed. "Fuck, I've been dying to do that for so long."

You moaned a little. "Me too. I want to pull you into my tank and show you so loving, but there are people here." You giggled at Levi's blush. "We can have fun at home, right?"

"Of course. I'll spoil you at home."

"You spoil me too much there."

He hummed in thought. "No, not enough."

You lifted up and sat on the edge of the pool with the end of your tail in the water. "Can we keep kissing, or will you go into boss mode and make me work?"

Levi dragged you close. "We'll kiss all day."

"Good."

Levi ran his hand over your scales. "So smooth. I love how it looks and feels."

Your fin ears wiggled in delight. "I'm so glad!"

He leaned over and nipped the top of your fin ear making you squeak in delight. "Fuck, I could eat you up."

"Le-Levi."

He nuzzled his nose against yours. "I don't want to scare you, but I have a confession, it's more than like."

You mewled. "Mate and love?"

"Yes."

You gave him a pleading cute look. "Promise?"

"Promise." He pressed his lips against yours. "Sweet mate and love."

[the-kr8tor]

Hallo Katy!! Today I bring you a little something from one of my aus :D

Content warning for corpses, slight body horror, knives, blood and one mention of a self inflicted injury

I'll leave my Pinterest albums for this au here for anyone who wants to check the vibes before reading

https://pin.it/3s5WZhfQY

---

An abomination, it was the only word that could could describe the monstrosity currently in front of them. The creature's bones looked wrong bending in unnatural ways, it's flesh decayed and grey falling off it's body in clumps but yet it still bleed a viscous black ichor that created a trail behind it.

The circle had been investigating it for a long time following it's trail of horror until they had found it's nest, piles upon piles of mangled corpses littered the old conservatory's floor.

It screeched, a loud ringing noise that penetrated even the spirit, countless bright red orbs frantically moved around looking for the intruders in their nest. On it's "face" a broken maw ready to gooble everything that stood on its way.

"What in Hells..." a woman spoke, voice quiet and baffled at the nightmare in front of her, one would expect to have gotten accustomed with such horrors but whoever did surely would no longer be human.

"Miss Scrivel... your specialties would be appreciated" another spoke, voice much more controlled and calm, if such thing was even possible. "What do you mean?! How is she even supposed to face this monstrosity." Mr. Brown spoke, the newest requit to the Circle of Vessel and Blood.

However before another could utter one more word she stood from their hiding, stepping out from behind the ruined vertical gardens, blood and ichor covering the floor she walked on. The creature truned sharply it's maw snapping shut before opening once more, it's eyes all focusing on the lone person walking up to it.

She stopped once the creature screeched once more, a mind shattering sound that made the remainings of the glass walls and ceiling break. Slowly she looked up at the abomination her eye observing it's nightmarish form. With practiced calm her hand reaches towards her eyepatch, gently removing it revealing a black ichor filled eye.

When she once again looked towards the creature instead of a gnarly monster she saw an amalgamation of souls, forged together by force, it seemed to sense her, ghastly eyes locking onto her sensing the feeling of acknowledgement.

"You see us....." it spoke in a haunting tone, multiple voices echoing and overlapping each other, "free us...." it demands, "help us...." it pleads.

"I'll help you" Miss Scrivel speaks to herself, voice calm and gentle in the freezing of the conservatory, she lifts a hand towards the creature offering it. "what is she doing?" from behind the garden Mr. Brown speaks eyebrows worried and eyes darting between the rest of the circle members "just stay quiet" speaks a man in a brown coat and monocle.

The creature slowly lowers itself what is meant to be it's head now resting on a pile of decaying corpses "....help us...." it pleaded once more it's bright eyes all focused on what could be salvation. She slowly gets closer, the ichor on the floor getting more and more vicious the closer to the creature.

Her lace gloved hand hesitantly touches the creature's grey fresh, lumpy and gelatinous, her free hand reaching behind herself for her ritual knife slowly bringing it out in front of her. Gently removing the glove from her hand and storing it on the pockets of her velvet vest, she brings the knife to her hand making a cut deep enough to draw enough blood to coat the knife.

Then in a single move she plunges the kinfe into the creatures head, it screeches, thousands of souls wailing and shrieking in her mind as her ichor filled eye begins overflowing with the vicious liquid making it drip down her face.

The others hiding all cover their ears from the deafening sound until it suddenly stops and the creatures body begins rapidly decaying and vanishing, a last ghastly voice echoing a soft "...thank you...." in her mind.

Miss Scrivel falls to her knees, knife and eyepatch fallen at her sides as she clutches her bleeding ichor eye, the normal one slowly beginning to drip with the same black liquid - a consequence for a heighten sense. - Mr. Brown rushes to her, calloused hands gently touching her body, "Pierce..." he calls for her but it's as if she doesn't listen.

Her blood and the black ichor mixing together down her arms, "eyepatch...my eyepatch...." she mumbles to herself blindly looking for the object in question. Mr. Brown grabs it for her, gently handing her the comfort object, once her hand finds it she quickly grabs it placing it over her eye while she feels a cloth cleaning her face.

Opening her eye once again to see Hobie tenderly cleaning any of the excess ichor from her face, "Hobie..." she called weakly "it's ok...." "but your hankerchief...." "doesn't matter...you do." she accepted his kindness, leaning into his hand.

---

Back on the Circle's safe house, an old library whose bookshelves held more than just simple books, the remaining of the circle members had already left leaving only Miss Scrivel and Mr. Brown in the company of the books and the kind elderly woman who owned the place.

Miss Scrivel sat on a lone desk on the library's first floor, a window beside it allowing her to watch as the rain poured down onto the street of Newfaire. Too distracted she didn't notice Mr. Brown approaching, he was careful not to startle her gently placing a cup of tea in front of her before grabbing a chair for himself, crossing his arms over the back of the chair.

"your ears still ringin'...?" he asked quietly, deep voice melodic and gentle. She turned to him her eye wide for a few moments before blinking and looking at the steaming cup of tea in front of her. "...a little..." she answered softly, gently bring the cup to her lips.

He hummed quietly looking out the window at the vast city. "you have to be more careful...." he murmured, the feeling of dread still in the pit of his stomach. She nodded simply, placing the cup back down on the small plate. She clasped her hands, her thumb tracing over the bandaged cut.

Mr. Brown watched as she once again drifted away, staring out at nothing specific, he reached for her hand covering it with his and warming her ice cold fingers. "do you want a blanket?" he asked to which she nodded, he stood up letting go of her hand with a gentle kiss to the knuckles.

Once he returned with a blanket she was in the same position he'd left her, it wasn't worth commenting anymore so he simply placed the blanket over her shoulders before sitting back down and gently grabbing her hands - hopping to warm them.

"Hobie..." she called for him after a few minutes her eye still fixated on the streets outside, "yeah Luv..." he acknowledged, gently caressing the back of her hands with his thumbs "you know we can never have a happy ending don't you..." the question took him a little off guard but he knew she was right.

"I do... But I'm content by just being with you for as long as I can" those words finally made her gaze drift towards him, a soft smile on her lips "I wish I had more time..." "we'll make it last..." he assured her, feeling her hand slip away from his in favor of hold his face.

"promise?"

"promise."

---

Sorry for any mistake wrote this at 3am :P

-🃏anon, 🧡🧡

Hi, angel!!! I haven't seen you in a while! I hope you're doing well ❤️❤️

Yoooo this is so intriguing!! There's so much world building here that I would love to know!! I love love creepy stuff like this especially if it's some sort of supernatural esq type that has the protagonists slay or help creatures of the night! Very cool!! Also the return of pierce! I miss the badass pookie ❤️

"doesn't matter...you do." MARRY THAT MAN RN!

The promise 😭😭😭😭😭😭 oh boy i hope nothing bad happens to them!

[jpat82]

So You Want To Start A War

     I opened the metal door, thick fog covered everything in an opaque white, the sun's bright rays dulled down by the heavy clouds that always hung over head for as long as I knew. The chill from the air nipped at the skin exposed around the googles that I wore, the glass helping my vision to cut through some of the fog before me. Every inch my body covered in warm grey clothes repurposed from old plastic. A process that I had learned from my father before he passed two years ago.

My heavy deer hide bag hung on my back, the straps clipped across my chest as I looked out and listened. It held items I would need for the hunt, everything from bottles, food, extra fabric, first aid supplies and weapons. Some of the these items I would need to trade, some I would use, others I might need to defend myself.

      It was quiet, no birds singing, no bugs buzzing, instinctively my hand went to my side. The fingerless gloves that encased my hands wrapped tightly around the hilt of the sword I had found in my travels. Not that it would of been any use against them, but it would keep me safe from my own kind. Slowly I stepped out, the leather sole of my boot silent as it hit the pavement. My eyes ever scanning the area as I closed the door behind me, I could hear the locks being engaged behind me in a series of clicks.

     I walked straight a head of me, toward the thicket of trees that I knew were on the other side of the broken and crumbling street. The grass beyond the street knee high between the two houses falling to the ground, vines wrapping around them slowly bringing it closer to earth with each passing year. One day, this house will be completely reclaimed by the nature we sought so hard to control.

     Through the yards, behind the house, the sound of metal chain link fence barely audible as I walked over the brush covering the fallen attempt to separate what had been owned from what had been wild. Slowly the world around me darkened as the trees encased me, the canopy above completely blocking the remaining light above me out.

    Even here the fog floated between the massive woods that surrounded me, it hung in wisps, effortlessly gliding around, like some haunted wind. It was always present, never quite giving up its hold on the world, a consistent companion. I slid the goggles up and allowed my eyes to adjust to the darkened setting. I stopped and looked around me, nothing. Good.

     I walked up to one of the nearest trees, unclipping the strap at my chest and slinging the bag forward from my back. I pulled the switch blade from the side pocket and pressed down on the button. The blade flipped out and clicked into place. I rammed the tip of the blade into the hard bark of the trunk. Peeling the chucks of wood away from the tree till I had a smooth surface to work on. I stopped for a moment and looked around, I couldn't be the only one that couldn't live like this. There had to be others, others who wanted to fight them instead of each other.

     If they caught me, it would be a sentence worse then death. Enslavement. I took a deep breath before facing the smooth surface of the tree. The exposed wood a soft tan compared to the rich chocolate color of the bark.

      'For we have risen. Wake now!'

    I stepped back, the message vague, but it was bold as the destruction of the nature in itself that I had done. Pulling a cloth from one of the many pockets that covered my body I wiped the blade before pushing it back into place. I stepped around the tree and continued further into the forest. I couldn't mark every tree, nor did I need to. I knew the trails that were used by our kind, the ones that humans would see and read. I also knew the routes that they took, where to avoid.

     An hour had passed, and I had marked five trees. Taking time to ensure I wouldn't be seen, not by them and not by any people either. Not that I ran into too many people these days, where it was wasn't heavily populated. It was a blessing and a curse all the same. Less people to deal with and less to worry about my own safety, but yet not enough people to barter or trade with, less people to see my message. I wanted them dead, each and every single one of them. But in order for that we needed to make a stand and I couldn't stand alone.

     "You do realize defacing natural property is illegal?" The heavy voice came from behind, the hairs on my neck stood on end. I moved my hand to my hip, fingers curled around the hilt as I slowly turned to face the man.

    He was dressed in heavy thick black attire, all but his eyes covered. He stood a good twenty feet back, his hands hung loose at his sides as he watched me from his distance. I could see his eyes travel down my body and back up, being sure to take his time on the weapon at my hip. His brow raise but he didn't seem alarmed by the sword.

     "What does 'for we have risen' mean, anyway?" He asked, walking to the left, his body poised still facing slightly toward mine as he did. My body tensed, my grip on the hilt tightened. I held my ground, my eyes tracking his casual gate.

    "It's time for us to rise up against them." I remarked, watching as he circled to my side still keeping his distance. Slowly I turned my head keeping him in line of sight.

     "You really think you could stand a chance against them?" He chuckled stopping slightly behind my left side, I could just barely see him by looking over my shoulder. "Some punk kid?"

    "Not just me, and I'm not some punk kid." I shot back, spinning on my heel to face him drawing my sword at the same time. I held it loose to my side, the black metal of the blade sharpened to a silver luster.

     "Oh, so you have an army, alright then," He stated crossing his arms in front of his body. "Where are they?"

     "I don't have one yet, but there has to be others willing to put their lives on the line to get out of the hell we're living in." I shot back, his head cocked to the side, crossing his arms he narrowed his eyes at the sword I held. "Living in fear, hiding, pretending that we are living our lives to fullest while they rule over us."

"Better check yourself, talk like that will put you in the stocks. Or worse, you'll be rounded up like cattle." He chuckled. "So tell me, what's some kid like you got planned, say you get your army, then what? Can you train men to fight? Do you even know how to fight, besides the occasional spat in the forest. Do you have a massive weapons cache?"

"Yes, I can fight." I scoffed back. "And we can find weapons, finds things to use as weapon, people aren't as defenseless as they think."

"So you say, but when they were woken the earth had a whole lot more weapon, things a bit more power the that little fire poker you got there. And it did have highly trained fighters at its disposal, you see what the outcome was." He remarked, he was walking slowly toward me, onyx eyes holding my own. His body still remained loose, casual, his gait was confident, making me uneasy. "So tell me, what makes you so different?"

He stood less then foot in front of me, I hadn't realized how tall he was till he was this close and he towered over me. His shoulders squared up, his posture straight, there was nothing threatening about him but yet his presence sent every alarm bell in my head off.

"Because I actually want something different. And I'm willing to fight for it."

@devilbat @kitkatkl