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nyxs2 · 1 month ago

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Ma Meilleure Ennemie (pt 3/?)

The fire consumes everything it touches, turning what was into ashes. Curiously, Silco also leaves a trail of destruction in his wake.

Silco x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Word Count: 6K

Warnings: smut, resolved sexual tension, dirty talk, degradation, public sex, rough sex, angry sex, unprotected sex, creampie, blood and violence, biting, threat of death, choking, canon-typical Silco violence, death of secondary characters being referenced, possessive behavior, you work in the brothel, Silco POV (when to start smut). Set before the events of Act 2 of the first season of Arcane.

Part 1 Part 2

Pay attention to the tags. If you're uncomfortable with violent situations or explicitly intense acts, PLEASE DO NOT READ. Once again: this is NOT a fluffy romance. Our protagonist has her own issues, and to be clear, while there are violent themes, Silco would never harm his dove. You have been warned—proceed at your own risk.

"I heard that Silco seems to be sponsoring a prostitute."

The bottle on its way to your lips stopped midway. Kate's words echoed like thunder, even though they had been spoken in an almost murmured tone. Nothing—absolutely nothing—could have prepared you for a sentence like that, not even the most horrible, bitter drink Zaun had to offer.

Beside you, Kate seemed almost uncomfortable. There was no accusation in her voice, but something about her tone overflowed with sadness, perhaps even anguish. The kind of look that made it clear she already knew the answer even before making the statement. She still insisted on visiting you, despite the apparent control Silco had over the brothel.

The brothel, which until two months ago had been your refuge—a place where the outside world and all its horrors were muffled by artificial lights and drunken laughter—now felt more like a prison. A suffocating space filled with glances you didn't want to interpret. That's why, on the night Kate showed up, you suggested going somewhere else. Somewhere Silco's shadow didn't hang over you.

Vander's statue was a landmark. For many, it symbolized the resistance and hope that had long since vanished. A kind of silent guardian of Zaun, a reminder of better days. Some people even wished the metal structure would come to life, that Vander would return to protect his people. But to you, that monument meant something deeper. Vander had saved you once. You'd made a promise to him—a promise you had yet to fulfill.

"Yeah... I heard about it."

"It's you, isn't it?" Kate shot back immediately. Her voice was soft, almost delicate, like a confirmation rather than an accusation.

You couldn't look at her. The thought of being called Silco's prostitute made something inside you churn, heavy as lead. Dealing with him in the privacy of a room was one thing, but carrying that title... it made you feel dirty in a way no amount of long baths could wash away.

"How did you find out?"

Kate sighed, fiddling with the ballerina pendant on her necklace. She always did that as a way to calm herself, an almost involuntary motion. "I did my research."

"You should've been a cop, not a designer." you tried to joke, but the humor fell flat, hanging in the air with no response, no laughter. Kate didn't take the bait. She simply said your name, with a sweetness that hurt, like she was trying to soothe a wounded animal. Reluctantly, you finally looked at her. That's when you noticed the worry etched into her green eyes, a worry you didn't feel you deserved.

"Don't worry," you said, your voice hoarse, almost harsh. "It could be worse. Silco could've just kidnapped me."

"That doesn't change the fact that you're still in danger."

You let out a low grumble, almost childish, like a petulant kid trying to dodge a scolding. She was right, but you preferred to live in ignorance.

"If I figured out who the 'prostitute' was, others can too. And if the chemical barons realize Silco has any interest in you, they'll try to use you to get to him."

"I know how to protect myself, Kate."

"From pickpockets and creeps, maybe. Not from assassins."

"Alright, what do you want me to do?"

The words escaped your mouth with force, your voice laced with irritation, hitting a sharper tone than you'd usually use with her. You stood from where you'd been sitting at the foot of Vander's statue, desperately trying to maintain some semblance of control. But, if you were honest with yourself, the idea that you still had control was a cruel joke. Overnight, your life had taken a turn you hadn't planned for—or asked for. To say you were angry would've been a massive understatement. And now Kate was pressing all the wrong buttons.

"Come with me to Piltover."

Her voice was firm, serious, but there was something more. A kind of unshakable hope glimmered in her green eyes as they locked onto yours, as if she could see something you couldn't. And there was something else... something that made your stomach twist. Affection. "Alright, so the place I'm staying in is the size of a shoebox," Kate continued, a small, awkward smile appearing on her lips, "But we can make it work together. Silco has no power in Piltover."

Those words. That tone. That damn hope. They doused your anger like a bucket of ice water. What remained was pure, raw shock as you stared into her emerald eyes. You saw it. The resolve. The conviction. And damn it, she was willing to risk everything... for you. Suddenly, it all made sense: why she kept coming back, even knowing the risk. Even indirectly challenging Silco. Because, in her mind, you were worth it.

Kate spoke your name again when she noticed your mind wandering for too long, her tone sweet as honey. "Please, come with me."

At some point, the lines had blurred for Kate, and considering Silco's actions, this practically put her neck on a silver platter. Bile rose in your throat, and you wanted to vomit.

"It's better if we don't see each other anymore." your voice came out dry, cutting. The tone was rehearsed, even if you hadn't prepared these words. You took a step back, putting space between the two of you. "Whatever you think we have, it's nothing more than professional."

Kate's eyes widened, shock written across her face as if you'd slapped her. The pain that followed nearly made you falter, but you pressed on. You had to, for her sake.

"I can't believe you're naive enough to think I feel something for you, let alone want to run away."

"What?" Kate whispered, her voice barely audible, but you saw it. You saw her eyes start to glisten with tears.

"I pity you." your voice was a venomous whisper. "Falling for a prostitute? Seriously? Kate, I expected better from you."

"Why are you acting like this?" her voice trembled, heavy with pain. "This isn't you."

"What do you know about me?" you shot back, your voice as sharp as shattered glass. "Oh, come on, sweetheart... it was all an act. Did you really think I cared? It was in my best interest to keep some naive girl paying my way. All I had to do was say a few sweet words."

She called your name again, her voice breaking, a final, desperate attempt to pull you back from the edge. A futile attempt.

"But now I don't need you anymore."

You saw it. The exact moment the first tear slipped from her eyes, just before Kate turned and ran. Without another word. Without looking back.

You stood there, motionless, like an extension of Vander's statue. Frozen. Empty. Guilt weighed on your shoulders like lead, but you didn't allow yourself to feel anything beyond the void. If Silco was horrible, you were a monster. Maybe that's what you deserved. Maybe, in the end, you and he were cut from the same cloth.

But your self-deprecating thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps.

"Breaking hearts, are we?" Silco's voice resonated in your ears, low and dripping with acidic humor. "And here I thought you were the merciful one."

The surprise lasted only a second when you heard his voice—low, laden with that familiar arrogance that made the air around you feel heavier. For a moment, you almost believed it was just in your head, a ghost of guilt or confusion tormenting you. But a single glance was enough to confirm it wasn't your imagination. Of course not. It was obvious Silco would know where to find you.

Especially since you'd abandoned the brothel in the middle of your shift. Someone had likely informed him that his latest acquisition had walked out unexpectedly.

The scent of burnt tobacco hit you before you fully saw him, and you closed your eyes briefly, trying to control the surge of emotions bubbling up inside you. Anger, frustration, maybe even a touch of resignation. You inhaled deeply, as if the tobacco in the air could numb whatever was consuming you. But it was futile.

The bottle was still in your hand—a bitter consolation. You lifted it to your lips, letting the liquid burn its way down your throat. The mediocre alcohol was doing its job but was nowhere near enough to drown out the chaos in your head.

"How long have you been spying on us?" your voice came out calmer than you'd expected, a stark contrast to how you felt inside.

It was impressive, even to yourself. You should've been furious; after all, everything in your life had started crumbling because of him. Because of his manipulations, the insidious control he wielded over everyone and everything around him. The last month had been hell, and Silco had been the chief architect of your downfall.

And yet, here you were. Talking to him. Not smashing the bottle over his head.

"Long enough to understand what you're trying to do." he finally said. His voice was calm, but it carried an undertone of subtle disdain, as if the situation were almost amusing to him.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Silco move slowly, leaning against the base of Vander's statue. He crossed one ankle over the other, assuming a relaxed posture that seemed devoid of any threat. But you knew better. Beneath the casual façade, there was an almost palpable tension, like that of a snake ready to strike at any moment.

"Driving her away, keeping her safe... all so I have no reason to go after her." he continued, his eyes boring into your back, savoring each syllable in a way that sent a chill down your spine. "Such nobility on your part. A shame it's all for nothing."

The words hung in the air between you, as dense as the cigar smoke swirling around him. You wanted to retort, but your throat went dry, the words catching somewhere between pride and fear. He knew. He knew exactly what you were doing. And worse, he seemed to find it amusing.

Without warning, he pushed off the statue and took a step toward you, closing the already narrow gap between you. Your heart leapt in your chest, but you stayed rooted to the spot, your hands gripping the neck of the bottle, channeling your fury into the inanimate object.

He noticed. Of course, he noticed.

"Drinking won't make it go away." he said, his voice now almost gentle. Almost. The soft tone only made the harshness of his words cut deeper.

You barely had time to process the emotions boiling within you when Silco reached out and took the bottle from your grasp. Your body reacted before your mind could catch up, your fingers stretching out in a nearly desperate attempt to reclaim it. But he held it out of your reach with an ease that made your blood boil.

Your gaze locked onto his, and like a thread on the verge of snapping, you finally broke. It was as if everything you'd been holding back had been unleashed all at once, a storm of emotions sweeping away any control you had left. Before you could even think about the consequences, your body had already made the decision.

The sound of breaking glass echoed through the space, the liquid spilling onto the floor in a dense pool alongside the faint clatter of the cigar falling. A small fire ignited mere inches from your feet. It was that sound, along with the smell of smoke, that finally pulled you back to reality.

Your arm was raised, caught firmly in Silco's grasp. His fingers wrapped around your wrist with enough force to stop you but not to hurt. You realized just how close you were to his face—mere centimeters away from striking him.

And that's when you saw it: his face. For the first time, Silco looked genuinely surprised, frozen in place. His good eye was wide, as though he couldn't believe what had just happened. It was almost impossible to imagine a man like him with such an expression. But the moment didn't last. Like a mask falling and quickly being replaced, his expression shifted in an instant. The shock gave way to his familiar façade of coldness and absolute control.

You, however, didn't back down. There was no regret in your eyes, no hesitation in your movements. Your emotions were a haze, but you kept them locked behind a hardened, defiant expression.

"Leave her out of this, Silco!" you said, your voice low but carrying a weight that cut through the silence like a blade. The words were laden with something you couldn't quite name—anger, sorrow, perhaps something deeper. "I'm the one you want? Well, here I am, right in front of you."

The words hung in the air, echoing in the space between you. Silco didn't respond immediately, but his eyes didn't leave yours, as if he were analyzing every nuance of your expression. Searching for something—maybe doubt, maybe fear.

In a swift, precise movement, he pulled you forward, erasing the distance between you until your body was pressed against his. The heat radiating from you was palpable, even through the layers of clothing, and the subtle scent of alcohol mixed with your perfume filled his senses, igniting something you couldn't quite interpret.

His other hand moved just as firmly, gripping your chin with enough force that you had no choice but to meet his gaze. The touch was almost rough, a blend of control and anger that reverberated through you down to your bones. Silco's mismatched eyes burned with a fierce intensity, so piercing it seemed impossible to look away.

"Don't test me." he growled, his voice low and laced with latent danger. "My patience has its limits."

And then, with calculated abruptness, he let you go. The movement was so sudden that you almost stumbled backward. He stepped away, creating space between you as if he needed to regain composure, though his arrogant demeanor remained intact.

"What are you going to do?" your head tilted slightly to the side, your tone laden with challenge. "Kill me?"

You weren't naive. His threats weren't empty words. You knew Silco was holding himself back—why exactly, you weren't sure. Perhaps it was the mounting tension between you, an invisible thread that seemed to pull you closer to something as destructive as it was inevitable. Anyone else who dared to attack him would have already lost an arm, or worse.

And yet, you didn't back down.

"Or maybe with me, it's different." your voice dropped to a sharp whisper as you took another step forward, so close you could feel the heat of his breath. "Because you know, Silco, that no matter how much you threaten me, I doubt you have the guts to actually do anything to me."

Silco's eyes narrowed at your words.

"You think you know me, don't you?" he shot back, his voice laced with disdain. "You think you understand what I want, what I'm capable of."

"Then tell me if I'm wrong."

It was you who closed the distance between the two of you, ignoring the crunch of glass shards beneath your feet with each step or even the crackling fire nearby. The phantom of his grip still burned on your wrist, but you didn't rub it. You wouldn't show weakness—not now.

Every muscle in his body seemed tense, ready to strike, but he didn't move. He didn't raise a hand to push you away, nor did he take a step back. Instead, he let you approach, let you bridge the gap until you were so close you could feel his warm breath against your skin.

"You're right. With you, things are... different." he admitted, his voice now almost regretful, as though confessing something he hated to admit even to himself. "But don't be mistaken. I'm still the man who built an empire on blood and fear, and I wouldn't hesitate to remind you of that if necessary."

The shadows cast by the light made Silco's silhouette even more intimidating. His orange eye seemed to pierce into your very soul, devouring you, like staring into the abyss and having it stare back.

"Go home." his face was mere inches from yours, close enough for you to see every line, every scar etched into his marked skin. He was trying to maintain composure; that much was clear. "Before I do something we'll both regret."

You raised your chin, your body radiating a fierce pride that defied any implicit threat in Silco's words. Any sense of self-preservation had already been smothered by the chaotic mix of emotions boiling inside you: burning anger over Kate's situation, frustration with Silco's manipulations, and, above all, the overwhelming attraction clouding your judgment.

You knew you were tempting fate at this point, provoking the beast, pushing Silco to a dangerous edge. But honestly? You didn't care. Maybe, deep down, a part of you wanted to see how far he would go, how much he could tolerate your words before finally losing control.

"I didn't think a simple fuck would destabilize the great Eye of Zaun this much." your voice dripped with sweet venom, every word as sharp as a blade. You saw the muscle in Silco's jaw tighten, and it only fueled your audacity, like pouring gasoline on a fire. "A whore was enough to make you lose your grip... how pathetic."

The words came out drenched in scorn, and you savored every syllable as though you were exposing an open wound, pouring salt on it with relish.

You barely had time to react before you were slammed against the wall, the cold surface digging into your back with force. The impact knocked the air from your lungs, and before you could even try to recover, Silco's hand was at your throat, squeezing just enough to send a wave of panic coursing through your entire body. Your mouth opened instinctively, searching for the little air you could manage to pull in, your chest rising and falling in short, desperate movements.

Your hands shot upward, but not to fight him—you knew that would be useless. Instead, you grasped his wrist, your fingers digging into his skin with force, your nails leaving small marks. The touch was deliberate, as if trying to remind him that you would still fight back, even if the odds weren't in your favor.

"You want to know what's pathetic?" he growled, his voice low and dripping with menace. "You." his thumb pressed firmly against the pulse point on your neck, feeling the frantic rhythm of your heartbeat beneath your skin. "I could snap your pretty neck and leave your body here for the rats to feast on."

The words were cold, cutting like steel against your skin, but there was something else beneath them. A suffocating heat seemed to hang between you, an almost palpable field of tension. It was dark, twisted—a desire that seemed to want to consume you both. Your breaths mingled in the closeness, a suffocating dance of anger and something more, something neither of you was willing to admit.

"Keep talking." he murmured, his voice dripping with dangerous, lascivious undertones. "I want to hear what insults that pretty mouth of yours will throw at me."

Your body betrayed you in the worst possible way. The initial fear that had tensed your muscles began to shift, the adrenaline coursing through you dulling the pain and heightening every sensation. Your heart pounded in your ears, each beat echoing like a warning of how precariously your life hung in his grip. But it wasn't just fear making your heart race—it was him.

Silco was close. Too close. His body practically covered yours in that position. His scent filled your senses, erasing any remnants of rational thought. His eyes burned into yours, that hypnotizing contrast—one eye filled with the intensity of anger, the other an empty abyss, equally devastating.

And then you saw it in those piercing mismatched irises. Hidden beneath the anger. An unmistakable flicker of desire. It was raw, overwhelming, and dangerously familiar. You recognized it because you felt the same. Your body seemed to plead against your will, the proximity igniting something dark and unspoken between you.

Your lips parted, and the words slipped out in a rough whisper before you could stop them.

"I hate you."

Your voice broke, but not from weakness. There was weight in it, a hatred so dense it seemed to poison the air around you—a hatred for everything he was and for everything he made you feel. A hatred for him, but perhaps an even deeper hatred for yourself, for wanting him despite knowing how wrong it was. You hated him. You wanted him. And in that moment, it was impossible to tell where one feeling ended and the other began.

Silco's fingers tightened around your throat just enough to send another wave of alarm through your body. His eyes—those mismatched irises that burned with something dark and ravenous—studied you intently. A slow, predatory smile spread across his lips, revealing the jagged edges of his teeth, a threat and a twisted invitation all at once.

"I know you do, dove."

He leaned in closer, the distance between you shrinking until his nose brushed against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the scarce space separating your lips. Silco's free hand moved upward, gripping your jaw firmly, though his thumb traced the delicate line of your cheekbone with an almost cruel gentleness. It was a stark contrast to the strength of his grip around your throat, and that duality sent heat coursing through your veins.

He pressed his body even closer against yours, pinning you completely against the cold wall, as if he wanted to crush you there, as if he wanted to make sure you had nowhere to escape—as if you belonged to him. Every inch of his presence was overwhelming, suffocating. You felt the weight of his thigh shift, sliding between your legs and applying an unrelenting pressure that stole any breath you had left in your lungs.

And then he claimed your lips.

It was a shock—a collision as overwhelming as the shove against the wall. His lips crashed into yours with a force that shattered any remnants of resistance you might have had. There was nothing gentle about the kiss. It was raw, primal, a clash of teeth, tongue, and desire that had been restrained for far too long. He kissed you as if he wanted to devour you, as if every part of you needed to be consumed until there was nothing left but him.

You tried to regain control, but there was no space for it. He allowed no room for anything but his all-encompassing presence, the way he took everything you were, claiming the right to possess every piece of you. His fingers around your throat tightened—not enough to truly hurt, but enough to make you aware of his power, enough to make you feel it.

His touch was possessive, almost as if he were branding you, inscribing his presence onto you in a way that no one else could erase. And as he deepened the kiss, you realized, with a mix of anger and fascination, that he was getting exactly what he wanted.

Your hands, which had been gripping his wrists in a desperate gesture, slid downward to clutch at the rough fabric of his vest. You pulled him closer, ignoring the pain that radiated through your body. There was something strangely comforting in the brutality of his touch.

The kiss wasn't a gesture of affection; it was a collision of wills, a clash of searing fury and uncontrollable desire. It was a war with no victors, only the promise of mutual destruction. You matched his every advance with equal intensity, every bite and scratch an attempt to wound him, to leave your mark on him just as he was leaving his on you.

It was twisted, and you knew it. The hatred you felt for him was intoxicating, burning inside you like a wildfire consuming everything in its path. But what was worse—and you hated to admit it—was the fact that a part of you wanted this. You found a strange solace in the shared violence, as though, in some perverse way, it was the only truth between you. This contained violence was a language you both understood perfectly.

Your teeth sank into his lip with force, and the metallic taste of blood spread between you before he finally pulled back. "You don't own me." you whispered breathlessly, resting your forehead against his.

His hand slid down, gripping your thigh with bruising strength as he hitched it up to his waist. You gasped, feeling the hardness of him against you, a visceral reminder of how much he wanted you. Silco pressed his body even closer to yours, the cold wall at your back seeming to vanish against the searing heat of him in front of you.

"Not yet, dove. Not yet."

Silco's Pov ━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━

Silco chuckled darkly at her feeble attempt to slap him again, his eyes glinting with humor as he once again grabbed her wrist. However, he released her grip without much resistance, watching curiously as her hands slid downward once they were free. He reveled in the way her hands shook as she fumbled with the clasps on his pants, anger and desperation rolling off her in waves and clouding her ability to complete a simple action that she could do even with her eyes closed.

He grabbed her hands, stilling their movements. With deliberate slowness, he guided them to the fastenings of his trousers, showing her how to undo the clasps and zippers. His hands covered hers, helping her slide the fabric down enough to free him, revealing the hard length of him, already straining towards her.

A low groan rumbled in his chest as he felt her fingers brush against him, the slightest touch sending sparks of pleasure racing up his spine. He was so hard it almost hurt, his cock throbbing with need. He wanted to bury himself inside her, to claim her in the most primal way possible.

But first, he had other plans. With a sudden movement, he grabbed her thighs, lifting her effortlessly until she was wrapped around his waist. He pinned her against the wall, the rough brick scraping against her back. His hands slid up her thighs, pushing her skirt out of the way, revealing the lacy edge of her stockings.

"Look at you," his mocking tone, as if he were not equally thirsty. "So desperate for it, so needy. You want me to fuck you right here, where anyone could see?"

He rocked his hips forward, grinding his hardness against her core dress. The friction made them both gasp, pleasure sparking through their veins. Silco's hands slid higher, cupping her ass, kneading the firm flesh.

"I should make you beg for it." the whisper left his lips, his breath hot against her ear. But even as he said it, he knew he wouldn't. He was too far gone, too consumed by the need to have her. Right there, at that exact second.

"Don't you dare." her voice tried to be threatening, Silco realized, but at that moment her threat sounded more like a plea than anything else. "Otherwise I..."

"Otherwise, what? You are not in a position to make demands."

Despite his words, she did what she always did. She ignored him. Her eyes rolled back with a boldness only she could muster as she brought her fingers to her lips, her tongue darting out to wet each one before returning them back down. She fingered him, spitting, with some difficulty due to the awkward angle. Silco's head fell forward, falling onto her shoulder as she continued to pump him. His hands returned to her thighs, adjusting his grip to keep them steady. Then when she adjusted him against her entrance, Silco couldn't help but hold his breath.

The sensation was almost too much to bear, the tight grip of her walls around him sending shockwaves of pleasure through his body. He gritted his teeth, fighting back a groan as she sank down onto him, inch by torturous inch. For God's sake, how he missed that.

But even as his body reveled in the feel of her, his mind was racing with dark thoughts. This wasn't lovemaking, not by a long shot. This was a fuck, plain and simple, a coming together of two people driven by anger and lust and a desperate need to hurt each other. It was twisted and wrong and so fucking good that it terrified him.

His hands gripped her thighs hard enough to bruise, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulled her down onto him, burying himself as deep as he could go. The angle was brutal, almost painful, but it only served to fuel the fire raging inside him.

He set a punishing pace, his hips snapping against hers with a force that made her cry out. Each thrust was a declaration of ownership, a physical manifestation of the dark hunger that consumed them both. He angled his hips, hitting that spot inside her that made her writhe, that had her clawing at his clothes and screaming his name.

"Mine." his voice murmured, more to himself than to her. It wasn't a statement of possession meant to irritate her, since she seemed so absorbed in her own pleasure that she didn't even notice the words leaving his lips.

His hands slid up her thighs, gripping her tightly as he thrust into her, his movements hard and fast. Silco could feel her body tensing above him, could hear the way her breath hitched in her throat as she neared her peak. The knowledge that he was the one pushing her to this point, that he was the one making her lose control, filled him with a sense of satisfaction. He wanted to break her, to shatter her in a way that only he could, so, remake her in his image.

But even as he thought it, he knew it would be an almost impossible task. She would never give in to him. Not easily. She was too wild, too defiant, too stubborn to be tamed. And God help him, but that was what attracted him. That fire, that passion, that refusal to submit even in the face of his worst brutality. It called to something deep within him, something he'd thought long dead.

That's why he wanted to try. Someone who had been a revolutionary was anything but someone who gave up easily.

He forced himself to meet her gaze, his mismatched eyes boring into hers with an intensity that bordered on frightening. Her eyes were wide, pupils blown with lust and something else, something darker that he couldn't quite name. It unsettled him, the way she looked at him, like he was her salvation and her damnation all rolled into one.

He leaned in closer, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of her neck. He bit down hard, leaving a bruise in the shape of his teeth. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth, mixing with the salt of her sweat. It was a heady combination, one that made his head spin and his cock throb with need.

And then she was coming, her walls clamping down around him like a vice. The sensation was almost too much to bear, the rhythmic squeezing of her muscles pushing him over the edge. He let out a guttural groan, his hips losing their rhythm as he spilled himself inside her, filling her with his seed.

For a moment, they were frozen in place, their bodies locked together in the aftermath of their release. Silco could feel the warmth of her skin beneath his hands, could hear the ragged sound of her breathing as she tried to catch her breath. And for a fleeting second, he wondered what it would be like to hold her like this, to wake up next to her and see her sleep-tousled hair spread out on the pillow.

Well, if everything went the way he planned he would see this scene.

━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━

The post-climax sensation that always followed those moments left you vulnerable, as if every layer of yourself had been stripped away, leaving you exposed and defenseless. This time was no different, though the intensity was greater. It had been quick, physical—an explosion of mutual rage converted into something far more primal.

Your body ached, especially your back. The constant friction against the rough wall during the act had taken its toll. And yet, there was no regret. You had wanted it—the brutality, the intensity, the force. Silco's body also bore the signs of weariness; you could feel it in the way he leaned against the wall, seeking support for both himself and for you. His arms still held you, firm but no longer tense—just enough to keep you close.

His arms tightened around your waist for a moment, holding you firmly against him as if trying to prolong the contact, before slowly lowering you back to the ground. Even then, he kept one arm around your waist, his open hand pressed against the curve of your lower back, steadying you until the trembling in your legs subsided. No words were spoken.

After what felt like an eternity, you began adjusting your clothes. Each movement was mechanical, automatic, as though your mind had shut off, unable to process what had just happened. Across from you, Silco did the same.

Without the sexual intensity or the anger that had dominated the air minutes ago, the silence now felt even heavier. A kind of emptiness that made room for dangerous thoughts to take shape in your mind. But you didn't want to think. Not now. Thinking meant facing the consequences, and you simply didn't have the strength to deal with that yet.

You turned to face him. Silco, as always, seemed ready to say something. But before he could open his mouth, before he could release a single word or give you that smug smile that always made your blood boil, you struck him.

Your slap wasn't as strong as you wanted—it was all your exhausted body could muster—but it was enough. Silco froze for a moment, his eyes widening more from surprise than pain, but he said nothing. He didn't react. And somehow, that infuriated you even more.

Without waiting for a response or reaction, you turned and walked away.

[...]

The following days passed. The path to the brothel, the routine, the people you crossed paths with—it all seemed normal, yet strangely distant. Neither Kate nor Silco appeared, and you were grateful for that. Still, the peace was an illusion. Your mind offered no respite, replaying the memories of that night every time you closed your eyes. The touch, the anger, the desire, and, finally, the emptiness—it all returned like a silent torment.

Lost in thought, you barely noticed the movement around you. It was a physical jolt—a body colliding hard against yours—that finally pulled you from your trance. The impact was so abrupt that you nearly fell.

"Hey!" you snapped, irritated, but the person was already gone, running into the growing crowd around you. It was only then that you realized something was wrong. Urgent, desperate voices overlapped around you.

"A house is on fire!" someone shouted, the phrase ringing out like an alarm. "Hurry!"

Your body moved before your mind could catch up. Your legs began running, following the crowd heading in the same direction. As you turned the corner, the chaos came into full view.

The flames danced wildly, consuming the modest building like ravenous predators. Thick smoke filled the air, burning your nose and throat, making it difficult to breathe. People ran back and forth, some coughing, others carrying buckets of water in a frantic attempt to contain the fire. Children cried as adults tried to organize some form of aid. It was pure chaos—stifling and inescapable.

You stood there, frozen, your eyes locked on the fire that seemed to grow with every passing second. But then, another jolt brought you back—this time, more deliberate.

When you turned, you found a figure that seemed out of place amidst the surrounding chaos. She was tall and muscular, with an imposing presence. The red cloak she wore draped over her shoulders, concealing her left arm in an almost calculated way. She wasn't looking at the fire—she was looking at you.

"Silco sends his regards." before you could react, she dropped something to the ground.

Your breath hitched. The world spun. Pain bloomed in your chest, spreading like poison as realization set in. A necklace with a ballerina pendant. You knew that necklace.

And it was covered in blood. Part 4

┊ TAG LIST ┊

@fandomsinthegalaxies

@defmxl

@aise-30

@cold-blooded-girls

@queenofspades6

@heidiland05 If you want to be added to the list, let me know in the comments.

#silco x reader #silco x you #reader insert #minors dni #smut #arcane fanfic #arcane silco #arcane #no beta we die like silco

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lenkist · 17 days ago

Text

Good job, detective

Detective!Agatha x fem!reader (3.2k words)

summary: you’re a newly minted detective who just cracked your first murder case, and the entire police department decided to celebrate with a small party—naturally, Agatha Harkness was there.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, g!p agatha harkness, smut, dirty talk, penetration, blowjob, mommy issue, explicit language, age gap, praising kink, outdoor, unprotected sex, slight footjob

a/n: I was a little high on edibles and listening to Crush by Ethel Cain while writing this. Let me know if you guys want part 2!

Case closed. The bad guy got caught. You did it.

The air in the bar is filled with the smell of spilled beer and the stale scent of whiskey that lingered from the bar’s low-lit corners.

Tonight, the place felt even smaller than usual, the laughter of the police officers in the corner fading into the background as you kept your eyes on the one person who hadn't yet congratulated you on your first solved murder case: Detective Agatha Harkness.

She was sitting by herself like she always did. A worn cigarette dangled from her lips, ash falling off in slow, lazy bits. Her beer, the cheapest they had, was halfway gone, and her navy cargo pants and dark flannel looked as though they’d seen too many long nights like this.

She looked at ease, but the slight tension in her posture told you she wasn’t entirely relaxed. Maybe she hadn’t been for years.

“Good job, newbie,” Herb said, clinking his beer against your shoulder, snapping you back to the present.

You offered him a polite smile. Herb was one of the few people in the department you found easy to talk to. “Thanks, but it wasn’t just me. Agatha helped a lot with the case.”

“She did,” Herb said, his gaze drifting over your shoulder. You didn’t need to look to know he was watching Agatha. “She can be tough, sure, but she’s one hell of a mentor—and an even better detective. The best we’ve got.”

Your heartbeat quickened, and you felt your cheeks flush as you nodded. “Yeah,” you agreed, your voice quieter. “She’s really good at that.”

You’d been watching her all night, trying to figure out if she was as untouchable as she seemed. Now, drunk and buzzed from the alcohol, you figured you might as well try.

You waited until the last of the other cops had filtered out and the bar had quieted before finally making your move toward her.

You wobbled slightly as you approached her booth, the floor beneath your boots feeling unsteady. Agatha didn’t even look up. She didn’t need to. She already knew you were coming.

“Detective,” you said, your voice slurring just a bit. “Thought I’d join you.”

Agatha looked up slowly, her blue eyes narrowing just the slightest as she took in your unsteady stance. She didn’t smile. Didn’t say a word for a long moment. The only sound was the faint clink of her beer hitting the table.

“You’re drunk.” She muttered, voice rough like she hadn’t spoken all night. Her cigarette dangled from her lips, the ember glowing brightly in the dim light.

You didn’t care. You were tired of playing it safe, tired of pretending you didn’t notice her, that you didn’t feel that pull when you were around her. “So what?” you said, voice a little more defiant than you intended. “Doesn’t mean I can’t talk to you.”

She took a long drag from her cigarette, eyes still locked on you, sizing you up. “It means you can’t think straight,” she said, voice flat. “And you’re about to make a fool of yourself.”

“Maybe I do want to make a fool of myself.”

Agatha snorted softly, shaking her head as a sly smirk curved her lips. “I know exactly what you’re doing,”

“Oh?” you replied, tilting your head. “And what’s that?”

She leaned back slightly, crossing her arms as if she were interrogating a suspect. “Trying to sleep with your senior detective to fast-track your career. It’s cute, really.”

“It’s not about climbing the ladder,” you said, your voice steady despite the weight of her scrutiny. “I just wanna have a drink with you, that’s all. Celebrating our success on the case. We worked so hard together, didn’t we?”

“Isn’t it, though?” Agatha countered, her eyes narrowing like she was analyzing every detail of your reaction. “Because from where I’m standing, it sure looks that way.”

“I’m not interested in hiding my desires, detective,” you said softly, looking down and seeing a noticeable bulge on Agatha’s pants. You wet your lips. “Can’t say the same to you, though.”

For the first time, Agatha didn’t look away. But she didn’t smile either. Instead, her gaze darkened, and she put the cigarette out in the ashtray between you. “I’m not the one you want, kid,” she said, voice a little more serious now, almost a warning. “I’m trouble. And you’re better off without it.”

You scoffed, your head swimming a little more with every word she said, but you pushed through. “You think I’m some little rookie who’s scared of a little trouble?”

“Yeah,” she replied, voice thick with that Southern drawl. “I think that’s exactly what you are. And you think you’re the first one who’s tried to make a move on me after a few drinks?”

Her words hit harder than you expected, but you didn’t back off. You weren’t going to let her get away with pushing you away like she had with everyone else.

“No,” you said, shaking your head, the alcohol making your thoughts fuzzier. “But I’m more fun. You’ll see.”

Agatha tilted her head, studying you carefully. You could see the wheels turning behind her eyes, and for a split second, there was something soft there— curiosity, maybe. But then it was gone, replaced by that cold, distant look that made her so damn good at shutting people out.

“I’ve been down that road, sweetheart,” she said, her voice low, cocky. “I don’t need another mess in my life. Especially not one that can’t even hold their liquor.”

“I can hold my liquor just fine,” you said, your voice firm now, the alcohol starting to fuel your stubbornness. “I just think maybe you’re a little scared of me.”

Agatha raised an eyebrow, the faintest flicker of amusement dancing in her eyes. “Scared of you?” she repeated, her lips curling into a smirk. “I’ve been around, kid. Don’t flatter yourself.”

You leaned in closer, your chest almost brushing against the edge of the table. “Maybe I’m not the one who’s scared,” you said softly, words coming out before you could think. “Maybe you’re just too afraid to let someone in.”

She didn’t confirm, or deny. She didn’t need to.

Instead, Agatha stood up suddenly, her movements slow, deliberate. “You’re drunk, rookie, get rest. Go home,” she muttered, her voice almost tired now. “See you tomorrow.”

And with that, she walked out of the booth, her figure disappearing into the dim light of the small bar.

You watched the smoke from her last cigarette curl in the air, and it seemed to mock you, reminding you of the way Agatha had pulled away from you without a second thought. But you weren’t going to let it end like that. Not tonight.

You weren’t a fool. You could tell by the way she looked at you—half dismissive, half something else—that she wasn’t immune to whatever this was. That flicker of vulnerability that she quickly buried every time you came close, the little moments where she didn’t pull away fast enough. She might have tried to shut you down, but you could see it, just beneath the surface.

And you weren’t backing down.

You pushed yourself away from the booth and stumbled a little as you made your way to the door, your boots clicking a little too loudly against the worn wooden floors. You had no idea where she went, but you had a feeling you didn’t need to look far.

Agatha was at the far end of the empty parking lot, leaning against her car, a cigarette in her hand. The glow of the streetlamp cast a shadow over her, making her look even more like she belonged to the night than she had inside.

You walked toward her slowly, your thoughts still clouded by the alcohol, but your steps steady.

She didn’t look up when you stopped a few feet away from her. “Thought I told you to go home,” Agatha’s voice was low and rough, and she didn’t turn to face you. Her thumb flickers a cigarette’s butt.

You didn’t take a step back. “I don’t think you told me that,” you replied, your voice more confident than you felt. “You just tried to get rid of me.”

“Same thing.” She took another drag. “You’ve already had your fun for the night. Go back inside, have another drink with the others. Let them keep telling you how great you are.”

“They’re all already gone home.”

Agatha shrugged. “And you should too, kid.”

Then, without warning,

You stepped forward, close enough now that you could feel the heat radiating from her, the tension so thick between you two that it almost made the air crackle. Agatha’s breath hitched as you grabbed her crotch.

Fuck it.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“You said you didn’t want me, liar,” you said softly, your voice low, your chest tight. “You’re hard, detective.”

Agatha didn’t say anything right away. But when she did, it wasn’t with words. Instead, she reached out, her fingers brushing the back of your neck before pulling you in. The kiss was slow, deliberate, testing, like she was still deciding if she wanted this, if you were worth it.

You moan into her greedy mouth. Your hand squeezes her bulge, earning a sweet moan and a soft hip buck from Agatha. You’re practically throwing yourself into her arms. That pulled-up sleeve of her flannel is making your head dizzy. She’s such a handsome woman, and you want nothing more than for her to ruin you, to have your fingernails clawing onto her veiny arms as she choked you in bed.

When she pulled back, her blue eyes were darker than they had been before. Her breath was shallow, but she still didn’t say anything.

“Agatha?” you call for her, unsure if you have pushed it too far. “I—”

“Get in the car,” she demands, pulling your hair with force. “Now.”

Swallowing hard, you took a step back and reluctantly broke away from her embrace. As you walked towards the car, you felt a mixture of excitement and fear coursing through your veins. This was unlike anything you had ever experienced before, but the idea of being with Agatha, having her in every way possible, was intoxicating.

As you reached the car, Agatha slid into the driver's seat, her eyes never leaving yours. You could see the hunger and desire mirrored in her gaze. It made your heart race even faster and sent a surge of adrenaline through your body.

"You’ve been bad," she whispered, breathing hard. She didn’t even bother to take off her clothes. Agatha just unzipped her cargo pants and freed her hardened, big, thick cock, and sighed in relief.

“God, Agatha—”

"Look at the mess you made me, hon."

You couldn't help but lick your lips in anticipation. The sight of it was overwhelming, and you felt a surge of arousal that you had never experienced before. You knew this was wrong to fuck your peer, but all you could think about was feeling that perfect cock inside you, being impaled on it and taken by the woman you had been so drawn to for months.

Your cunt clenched around nothing with the thought of Agatha’s hands on your hips, fucking your pussy. “Please.”

"Begging me to fuck you already, huh?" she said, her voice low and sexy. "I bet you'd be great at anything I asked you to do."

You couldn't help but blush at the compliment, feeling a warm sensation spread through your body. "What do you want me to do next?" You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Agatha's eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned forward to press her lips against yours in a gentle, possessive kiss. "I think it's time for you to show me just how good you are," she said, her voice low and husky. She reached down, grasping your hair gently and pulling you toward her cock. "Suck me off, baby," she commanded, her voice firm and authoritative.

You didn't need to be told twice. You eagerly took Agatha's cock into your mouth, savoring the taste of her leaks like a sweet honey.

She groaned in pleasure as you began to suck and stroke her, feeling her cock twitch and grow harder in your mouth. She’s so big that you can’t even fit it down your throat without choking in tears.

“It’s fine, baby, take it slow.”

You nodded and ran your tongue over the head of her cock. You could feel her thighs trembling as you worked your way down her length, teasing the sensitive areas with your tongue and lips. Agatha moaned loudly, her hands gripping your hair tightly as she enjoyed the sensations.

You moved faster, knowing that you had to bring her to climax soon. You could feel a powerful energy building within you just from pleasuring her, and you knew that this was something you wanted to do for her again and again. Her hips bucked against you, both her hands now gripping your hair as she began to lose in the sensation, each movement pushing her cock deeper and deeper.

"Oh, fuck," she breathed, her voice a low growl. Her head was throwing against the seat, her eyes were closed and her lips parted in messy moans as she held your head still and fucked into your mouth. She looked high and drunk in absolute pleasure, and that made you feel proud of yourself. "Yes, just like that."

You could feel the tension building within her, and you knew that she was close. Her breathing grew ragged, and her grip on your hair tightened as she neared the edge.

"I'm going to cum," she hissed through gritted teeth. "Yes, right there."

And then it happened – Agatha's body stiffened, and her cock throbbed in your mouth as she came. You felt the warm rush of her climax as she flooded your mouth with hot fluids. Your eyes rolled in pleasure and your nose pressed against her pubic hair. She cried out, her voice a mix of pleasure and relief, as she rode out her orgasm.

Eventually, she softened and pulled out of your mouth, collapsing back onto her seat. You pushed yourself up, catching your breath. You’re dripping wet and Agatha noticed the needs in your eyes.

Then, Agatha commands. “On your knees.”

You quickly obeyed, moving to the backseat, getting down on all fours with your ass in the air. The anticipation was almost too much to bear, and you pushed yourself back against Agatha's legs, yearning for her touch.

You’re so ready to get fucked out of your sanity. You‘re a mess, drunk in alcohol and Agatha’s touch.

"That's it, baby," Agatha crooned, her hand running up and down your spine, sending shivers through your entire body. "Just like that."

With a grunt of effort, Agatha positioned herself behind you. You could feel the head of her cock probing against your entrance, testing your readiness. You whimpered softly, a mix of fear and excitement washing over you.

With a fierce grip on your hips, Agatha thrust forward. You felt the head of her cock push past your tight entrance, stretching you in a way you never thought possible. A gasp escaped from you as she continued to push deeper, and you felt every inch of her cock slide into you. It was both painful and exhilarating, the sensation overwhelming.

"Oh god, yes," you cried out, your voice shaking with emotion. "Fuck me, Agatha. Fuck me hard."

Agatha didn't need to be told twice. She began thrusting into you with a fierce intensity, each stroke sending waves of pleasure through your body. The slapping sounds of her hips hitting against your ass filled the car, punctuated by the occasional moan or gasp from either one of you.

Your hands reached back, gripping onto the seat belt clasps for support as Agatha pounded into you relentlessly. Her breaths came in short pants, her muscles tense with exertion. You could feel her heart pounding against your back, in sync with your own rapid heartbeat.

"This is what you want, huh?" you nodded, chanting her name like a sacred prayer. She growled, her grip tightening on your hips. "This is it, right? Getting fucked by an older woman’s cock, is that your kink?”

“Yes! Mommy,” you cried out, “yes, yesyesyes.”

Your body responded to her words, your pussy clenching around Agatha's cock with each thrust. The feeling was indescribable, and you knew that this was something you would never forget.

"Fuck, Agatha," you moaned, lifting your hips to meet each of her strokes. "I'm going to come so hard."

"Good," Agatha murmured, her voice thick with desire. "I want to feel it, baby. I want to feel you come apart.”

Her words sent you over the edge. The pleasure built up inside of you, rushing through your body like wildfire until finally, it exploded out of you in waves of bliss. You screamed out her name, your pussy clenching down on her cock as your orgasm washed over you.

Agatha groaned as she felt your pussy contract around her cock, the sensation pushing her closer to her own release. "Fuck, hon," she hissed, "I'm right there with you."

Her hips bucked harder, each thrust more messy than the last. You could feel the tension in her tight grip on your hips, her veins popping up on her neck and her arms as she neared her climax. The feeling was intoxicating, knowing that you were driving her to such heights of pleasure.

"Cum for me, Agatha," you begged, your voice barely above a whisper. "Cum inside me."

This was all it took. With a final, powerful thrust, Agatha cried out, her orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave. Her cock jerked inside you, shooting pulse after pulse of hot cum deep into your pussy. It was intense, almost painful in its intensity, but so incredibly pleasurable. You wondered how many women have had Agatha cumming inside them like this, the thought made you feel a wave of jealousy right through your chest.

As Agatha's orgasm subsided, her breathing slowly returning to normal, she pulled out of you with a soft pop. You felt a warm, wet sensation between your legs as her cock slipped from you, leaving you feeling empty and wanting more.

Her eyes flicked down to her slick, cum-covered cock before returning to you with a wicked smirk playing on her lips. She scoffed, flipping your body effortlessly onto your back. Your eyes followed her movements, now lying on your back as you watched Agatha try to catch her breath.

"Tired already, detective?" you challenged playfully. Your feet shifted towards her thigh, feeling her up through the rough fabrics of her cargo pants before pressing your feet on her sensitive cock, teasingly giving her a foot job that caused Agatha to buck her hips and whimper in sudden pleasure. You were certain that you could make her cum again, or even drive her to overstimulation if she’d let you.

She stopped your movements with one firm grasp.

"Not enough, huh?" she asked, gazing at her own cum running down between your legs and looking back at you like she couldn’t believe you still wanted more. “Are you trying to get yourself knocked up or something?”

“Maybe,” you teased, giggling softly before grabbing her collar and pulling her into a kiss. “You’re incredible,” you whispered, your fingers slipping into her hair. “I’ve never felt anything like this before.”

Agatha’s smirk widened as she cocked her head, her southern charm slipping effortlessly into her tone. “Well, sugar, ’course you haven’t,” she drawled, her voice dripping with a honeyed confidence that made your cheeks burn. “I’m exceptional.”

#agatha harkness x reader #g!p agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader fanfics #agatha harkness fanfic #agatha harkness x reader smut #top!agatha harkness #agatha all along #wlw smut #smut #fem reader #agatha harkness

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leona-hawthorne · 1 month ago

Note

AHH VAN I REQUEST FOR YOUR 1K? BOOK BROWSING, Soulmates with mattheo riddle?

you got it bb!!! 🤍✨ — also here’s a reminder that my requests are now closed <3

1k celebration navigation

NO MORE RUNNING… book browsing

ミ★ MATTHEO RIDDLE

The words on your wrist were a curse.

At least, that’s how you’d come to think of them after waiting years for someone to say them. They weren’t elegant or poetic like the ones others had. Instead, they were blunt and vaguely infuriating, a question that had hung over you since you were old enough to understand its significance:

"What the hell are you doing here?"

You’d imagined the scene countless times—standing in some shadowy corridor or a bustling hallway, accidentally bumping into someone who’d scowl and spit the words at you. But when they were finally spoken, you weren’t prepared for them to belong to Mattheo Riddle.

It had happened in the Slytherin common room of all places, a quiet moment interrupted by the sound of his voice cutting through the still air like a blade. You’d been searching for a friend, still wearing your red and gold tie, when he appeared out of nowhere, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

The words weren’t angry—just exasperated, as if he’d caught you trespassing in some unspoken territory.

The shock hit you instantly, your heart pounding as you froze in place. Your wrist burned with the ghost of his voice, and your breath caught in your throat.

He’d said the words. Your words.

And you’d said his, though you hadn’t known it at the time.

"Why do you care?"

The phrase was etched into his wrist, bold and sharp against his skin, as if fate had known he’d spend years keeping people at arm’s length. The irony wasn’t lost on him—he’d spent his entire life avoiding attachment, only to be bound to someone by a single sentence.

The next week was torture. Mattheo had always been difficult to pin down, but now, he seemed to evaporate whenever you entered the room. You’d catch glimpses of him in the library, his dark curls bent over a parchment, or in the corridors, his back stiff as he walked away faster than usual. Each time you tried to get close, he slipped away, leaving you with an ache in your chest and a thousand unanswered questions swirling in your mind.

Why would he avoid you? Did he not want this? Did he not want you?

It didn’t make sense. The bond between soulmates was supposed to be undeniable. Everyone said so. But Mattheo was resisting it—resisting you—and it hurt more than you wanted to admit.

By the time you cornered him, you were tired of the silence. You found him by the Black Lake, leaning against a tree, a cigarette dangling from his fingers. He didn’t hear you approach, or maybe he just didn’t care.

“Are you going to avoid me forever?” you asked, your voice steady despite the storm in your chest.

He stiffened, the cigarette pausing midair. Slowly, he turned to face you. His dark eyes scanned your face, and for the first time, you saw something other than annoyance or indifference in them. He looked almost... guilty.

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” he lied.

You crossed your arms, arching a brow. “Really? Then what do you call running away every time I’m in the same room?”

Mattheo sighed, flicking ash into the grass. “I call it self-preservation.”

“Self-preservation?” you repeated, incredulous. “From me?”

“From this,” he snapped, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “From whatever this is supposed to be.”

Your heart sank, but you held your ground. “It’s not something we can change, Mattheo. You know that.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

The words stung, but you refused to flinch. “What’s there not to like? Is it me? Or is it the idea of soulmates in general?”

He hesitated, his jaw working as if he were trying to chew through his frustration. Finally, he muttered, “Both.”

“Wow,” you said flatly, the sarcasm barely masking your hurt. “Thanks for clearing that up.”

“I didn’t mean—” He groaned, raking a hand through his curls. “It’s not you, alright? It’s just...this whole soulmate thing. I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t ask for someone else to decide my life for me.”

You stared at him, your throat tightening. “You think I asked for this? You think I wanted to be tied to someone who doesn’t even have the decency to talk to me?”

Mattheo winced, but you weren’t done.

“Do you have any idea how terrifying this is? To know that the person you’re meant to spend your life with can’t even stand to be around you?”

His gaze softened, and for a moment, you thought he might actually apologize. But instead, he said, “I never said I couldn’t stand you.”

“Oh, really? Could’ve fooled me.”

He sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. “I don’t… hate you. Far from it.”

“Then what is it?” you demanded. “Why are you doing this?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took another drag from his cigarette, his eyes fixed on the horizon. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost raw.

“Because I’m scared, alright?”

Your breath hitched. That wasn’t what you’d expected.

“I don’t like the idea of fate tying me to someone,” he admitted. “But what scares me more is that it’s you.”

You frowned. “Why would that scare you?”

“Because...” He looked at you then, really looked at you, and you could see the fear and vulnerability lurking beneath his usual bravado. “Because if this doesn’t work, if I mess this up...I don’t think I could take it.”

The honesty in his words left you speechless. For all his defiance and bravado, Mattheo Riddle was just as terrified of this bond as you were. But for entirely different reasons.

“You won’t mess this up,” you said softly.

“You don’t know that.”

“No, I don’t,” you admitted. “But I know you, Mattheo. And I know that if you just...stop running, we might actually have a chance.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he nodded.

“Alright,” he said. “No more running.”

It wasn’t a promise. Not yet. But it was a start. And for now, that was enough.

#mattheo riddle #slytherin boys #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle angst #mattheo riddle x y/n #mattheo riddle fluff #harry potter #slytherin #benjamin wadsworth #book browsing #leona-hawthorne’s 1k celebration

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matchaelette · 2 months ago

Text

gif by @yoongi-bts

when jungkook is a vessel of love, and love is as beautiful as the poets said it was

summary: idol!jk and oc!ash, established relationship, the first time 'I love you' was spoken out aloud. the more earlier stages of their relationship. yearning, tenderness, fluff, it's all sickeningly full of love.

genre: fluff

warnings: none.

word count: 3.4k

notes: life updates. one: i'm back. obviously. two: jung hoseok is back and ksj 1 is coming (!!!) three: I am officially a uni student and majoring in civil engineering. classes start from the first week of december. four: I have decided to officially name this drabble series *drumrolls* the hopeless romantic series. so, without further ado, welcome back, our hopeless romantic couple!

you’re in love with jungkook.

no, you’re not allowed to say that.

fuck what you’re allowed and not allowed.

you’re desperately, helplessly, hopelessly in love with jeon jungkook. your gorgeous, gorgeous boy.

yours.

then why are you not allowed to be in love with him?

because you’ve been dating him for three months. three months.

only three months, since you decided to stop pining after him, decided it was enough, after god knows how long. three months since that decision led you to be extremely nonchalant around him, calm and collected to a point where it almost looked fake (you’re a terrible actor), and the next thing you knew, you were heavily making out with him in the chilly air of a fall night. calm and collected, indeed. three months since you learned that jungkook was pining for you in the same manner, if not more, and three freaking months since both of you decided to date, being head over heels for one other ever since.

it's too soon to say ‘I love you’. even if you know deep down that you were in love with him even before dating him– but there’s no way you’re treading that water. the realization of being in love with him right now is enough to freak you out. no, it’s definitely too soon to declare ‘I love you’.

because you don’t know whether jungkook feels the same way. although it’s not like you need or expect him to feel the same way you do. just because you’re in love with him doesn’t mean he has to be. you can happily wait until he’s ready and feels the same way.

you’re just scared that he doesn’t want to feel that way. that you’ll scare him away.

look at him. does he look like he feels the same as you?

jeon jungkook looks like a slow-motion daydream, standing in front of you. tight-fitting jeans, snug around the well-defined muscles of his thighs, and a black checkered shirt, sleeves rolled up, displaying the protruding veins of his arm. his curly hair covers the vein in his forehead, almost reaching down to his lips which were pouting in distress.

yeah, you don’t care how he feels. you’re in love with him.

but you are a graveyard of all the people you ever loved.

you can’t have jungkook join those ghosts of the past.

“this thing–”, the boy of your dream grumbles out loud in real life, breaking your thought train, “–hates me!”

oh, that.

“three hours now. we’ve been trying to fix it for three hours.”, you shake your head, frustrated. you’ve been out all day today and the last thing you wanted to do when you got back home was your laundry. but the lack of fresh clothes compelled you to do it anyway. and everything would’ve been fine had you not entered your laundry room to discover the whole floor flooded with water. panicked and disoriented, your first instinct was to call jungkook, despite it being past midnight. when your boyfriend heard what had happened, he immediately demanded you step aside and that he was already on his way over to your house.

now, it’s four in the morning and you’re both dripping wet, absolutely drained, standing in a puddle of water and soap. all you could do is to stare dejectedly at the washing machine. it was a losing battle.

“oh my god!”, jungkook cries out in indignation, “a minute ago it was sprinkling water in my face, now it’s sprinkling soapy water!”

“jungkook, move away”, you hurriedly pull your boyfriend away from your washing machine. he rebels under your grip, the patience he displayed half an hour ago was now transformed into rage.

how can someone be so cute when they’re mad?

“let me go, ash”, he points a threatening finger at the washing machine, “you wanted a fight, buddy? I’ll give you!”

“jungkook!”, you laugh and wrap your arms around his waist, “it already won! look at us!”

jungkook stares down at your attached bodies, soaked from top to bottom, while the washing machine looks like it is having a field trip.

“okay, I give up”, he sighs and rests his chin on the top of your head, “unless–”

“no unless.”

“hear me out first”, he smooches your hair, “you smell amazing by the way. anyways, unless– wait, what was I going to say? I was supposed to say something amazing.”

“I’m sure it was amazing, babe”, you chuckle with fondness, “but that thing is a lost cause. I’ll call maintenance in the morning. let’s take a shower and go to sleep, okay?”

“mhm. yeah”, he replies in affirmation but only tightens his arms around you.

“I’m sorry for calling you so late. I should’ve just– I don’t know. I mean, it was just a minor inconvenience. not a big deal. I don’t know why I freaked out–”

“princess, ssh”, jungkook coos, “you have a problem, you call me. doesn’t matter how small or big it is.”

“kook, I literally called you at one in the morning.”

“and I am very glad that I am the first person that crossed your mind. even though I couldn’t help you. I swear to god, this washing machine has a personal grudge against us.”

“thank you anyways”, you mumble against his chest.

“hey, this is what boyfriends are for.”

how is it possible not to love him?

you wake up to the humming of a honey-caramel voice in the distance.

you yawn and grab the crisply folded silk robe from the foot of your bed. the clothes haphazardly tossed on the ground last night were nowhere in sight, and neither was the person who did so. yet you could hear his hums, feel his warmth.

you smile.

the clock on the wall reflects a bright 11:10, and it’s safe to say that you’ve just woken up. after staying up with your rogue washing machine till four in the morning, you can’t really blame yourself. you feel very well-rested though, for the first time in a while.

jeon jungkook’s presence has that kind of power.

you make an effort to stay silent in your own house. your bare feet tiptoe against the icy floors, carrying you to the sweet melody you’re fairly certain is your boyfriend in the kitchen. and undoubtedly it is. jeon jungkook has his back turned towards you– white tee clinging to his physique, his hair damp and disheveled, singing softly to himself while doing the dishes.

you hold your breath and hug him from the back, resting your cheek against his spine.

jungkook, momentarily confused, laughs when he realizes it’s you.

“good morning princess.”

“good morning jungkook”, you inhale him in. he smells like peaches and baby soap. and fresh laundry. “you smell heavenly.”

“I just came out of the shower–”

“–hey!”, you cut him short when he gently peels you off him, unexpectedly devoid of warmth, but jungkook hugs you back in an instant; your ear against his ribcage, his chin on the top of yours.

“mmm, that’s better”, you mumble, “did you do the laundry? you smell like detergent.”

you can almost reach out and touch the outlines of his smile. “you couldn’t do it last night so I thought I’d take some work off your shoulders. I folded your clothes as well!”

“aww, you didn’t have to do– wait, the washing machine is fixed?”

“yeah, I called the repairmen in the morning and they said they were coming over. I was pretty surprised at how quickly they arrived.”

“what happened?”

“one of the pipes got leaked somehow. I think I also did some damage when I tried to fix it. but don’t worry, it’s as good as new.”

“not worrying”, you let go of jungkook and let muscle memory guide you to the coffee machine, “why did you wake up so early?”

“it’s one p.m. in the afternoon. what’re you talking about?”, jungkook laughs.

“it’s one p.m.?!”, you choke on your coffee, “the clock– but it was eleven–”

“it’s out of battery. I got new ones though”, jungkook points at the bags sitting on your counter.

“you went grocery shopping? you spent an entire lifetime while I slept!”, jungkook chuckles at your awe, “tell me from the beginning. what did you do?”

“well, I called the repairmen as soon as I woke up and then I went to take a shower. they were here by the time I was done. I made us breakfast while they fixed your machine, went grocery shopping afterward, came back and did laundry, here I am now”, jungkook kisses your forehead, “all while someone slept like a baby.”

“oh my god. thank you so much.”

I love you.

“you’re welcome, babe”, he smiles, “I gotta leave now. but listen, I got you ice cream, popcorn and those salty chips you seem to love so much. call me if you need anything else.”

“huh? why though?”, you peer in confusion. you’re usually not very big on snacking. and jungkook knows that. unless it’s your–

“your period is supposed to start tomorrow, genius”, he rolls his eyes, “you don’t remember, do you?”

you clearly didn’t.

apparently, he did.

you tiptoe forward to hug jungkook, too stunned to form any coherent word. you hope jungkook doesn’t notice the tears filling your eyes but when he lifts your face to gently kiss your eyelids, you realize that he knew you were gonna cry.

yeah, I definitely love you.

“hello, jungkookie’s girlfriend!”

kim taehyungs’s visibly enthusiastic face beams at you through the screen of your phone. your initial reaction is to wave brightly at him, despite the slight confusion of whether you accidentally called him when you picked up the phone to facetime your boyfriend.

“hi, tae!”, you say heartily, “gosh, it’s been a while since I saw you.”

“and whose fault is that, huh?”, taehyung’s voice is a warm breeze on a spring evening, “jungkookie tells me you’ve been like… hella busy”

“I was. I mean, I am. it feels like I am always busy these days”, you sigh, “but never busy enough for you guys! how are you?”

“good. busy as well, but good.”

“kook told me last night. you guys work way too hard.”

“wait”, taehyung exploded into laughter, “jungkookie was at your place last night?”

“...yeah?”

“our manager was looking for him and jungkookie was going on and on about how he was in his room all night and manager hyung didn’t knock loudly enough!”

“oh my god, he wasn’t supposed to be at mine yesterday?”

“no, I mean, he was done working but he didn’t tell anyone before leaving the dorm!”

“that might be my fault”, guilt fills your eyes, “I was doing laundry last night and my washing machine started leaking water everywhere. I panicked and called kook. I’m sorry”

“hey, it’s okay, no harm was done”, taehyung looks amused, “so you were doing laundry at midnight? no wonder jungkookie is obsessed with you.”

“obsessed with me, huh?”, you smile playfully, concealing the tiny somersault your heart does.

“he literally never stops talking about you”, taehyung grins widely, “bro is whipped”

“hmm, I did call bro’s phone, right? or did I accidentally call you?”

“how do accidentally call taehyung instead of jungkook? one starts with t and one starts with j”, taehyung suddenly looks disgusted, “unless you saved him as something weird, in that case, I don’t wanna know–”

“kim taehyung.”

“or you can just tell me that you missed me, you know”, taehyung flips his phone camera and you spot a dancing jeon jungkook in the middle of a huge practice room, “but since the only person you care about is jungkookie–”

“kim taehyung–”

“–you called him, okay?”, you hear taehyung’s laughter, “I was playing games on his phone. he’s practicing extra today.

“practicing extra?”

“he said you guys made plans to hang out tomorrow.”

“we– we did”, you’re puzzled. jungkook continues to dance furiously, his quick and precise movements almost defying gravity, completely unaware of his surroundings, “wait, we planned to meet tomorrow because both of us had a clear schedule. why is he practicing extra today?”

“hobi hyung was asking him the same thing”, taehyung nods his head in mock disappointment, “we don’t really have a free schedule tomorrow. but he said that if you couldn’t meet tomorrow it’d be a while before you did. right?”

“y-yeah”, you blink.

“soooo, yeah. as I said, bro’s so whipped.”

oh god. be still my wild heart.

“this boy”, you finally exhale after a pause; feeling bad that he’s overworking himself to meet your needs, feeling grateful that it’s worth it to him.

“this boy, indeed. no, actually, we’re kinda proud of how amazingly we raised him.”

“you really, really did. ya’ll should give out parenting lessons.”

taehyung chuckles, “okay, I’ll give the phone to him.”

“tae, don’t”, you smile, quickly stopping him from calling jungkook, “just tell him to call me whenever he’s free, okay? I’ll be up.”

“okay, then. take rest, okay? don’t overwork yourself.”

“look who’s preaching”, you shoot him a stern look, “the kings of overworking themselves. take care, okay?”

taehyung laughs, “yeah. come over to the dorm whenever you’re free. we all miss you.”

“I will. bye!”

“kook– stop it–”, you say in between a few puffs of breath, “you’re– god– tickling me!”

“am I?”, jungkook wiggles his eyebrows, and smothers his face on the exposed skin of your tummy once again, causing you to almost choke with another round of laughter. the sensation of his lips against your tummy has the butterflies inside going frenzy, but a part of you is scared shitless that it has nothing to do with him and everything to do with yourself.

you want to laugh; you want to cry. you wanna twirl into a knot and fly up in the sky. jungkook has no idea of the power he has over you– his body molds into yours, one his hands have shaped, a design he has drawn, kissed it into a sculpture.

you love him, you love this human being staring at you from between your legs with all the love in this whole fucking universe, kind and whole and happy and real, jeon jungkook, you love him so fucking say it.

I love you. I love you so much that I can’t deny it any longer, the promise stays silent on your tongue.

you wanna cry.

at least, you think you do.

“your heartbeat is going crazy”, jungkook calms down once he’s done tickling you out of your wits. he moves between your thighs and presses his ear against your heart space while gently laying his head on your chest.

yeah, do you know that is because I love you and not because you tickled the living lights outta me?

“princess?”, he asks quietly.

say it.

“princess?”, jungkook raises his head and looks at you, mildly concerned “are you okay?”

say something.

instead, you stare at him. you stare at his eyes. if eyes are actually a mirror of people’s souls, jungkook’s eyes perfectly represent his– filled to the brim with tenderness, tranquility, and mirth. a few years ago, you had read somewhere that humans were created from the burned-out embers of stars. you never believed it. the same folks who start wars, spill blood, stealing lying deceiving and doing everything evil, cannot be created from something so divine.

however, jungkook, over and over again, contradicts that belief. you have no doubt he’s born out of stardust. and fiery comets, northern lights, solar eclipses, everything magic.

“why are you crying?!”, jungkook’s anxious voice snaps you out of your reverie. without realizing you find yourself getting pulled up to sit on his lap, straddling his thighs. “is it me? did I do something?”

“itsh nn-not”, you utter weakly but the words come out as a stifled sob. when jungkook doesn’t understand what you’re saying, he completely loses his composure. he lets go of you and attempts to pry himself away, fairly convinced that he must’ve done something stupid. but you dig your fingers in his arms, trying to communicate with your firm grip that he did nothing wrong. it’s you, you’re the stupid one.

it takes him a few more seconds to realize that you’re crying for something else altogether, and only then does he relax. he wraps his arms around you, letting you break down in his little protective bubble.

what is wrong with me? why does every feeling of mine come out as tears?

“it’s okay, it’s okay”, jungkook coos, “breathe. breathe with me.”

“inhale with me”, he holds eye contact and carefully guides your breath, “good. now exhale. in. and out. it’s okay. I love you. you’re okay, princess.”

and

everything

just

freezes

for a moment.

for a moment?

seems like a lifetime.

you never realize how many types of ‘I love you’s there are until they’re spoken out aloud. most ‘I love you’s are expressed as a confession, while there are some which are born out of panic. I love you. do you love me back? these ‘I love you’s are full of anxiety, and a desperate longing for reassurance, for arms that’ll keep them safe. some are born out of anger and frustration. I’m doing this for you, because I love you, why don’t you understand? then there are those which are born out of pure terror because I love you but I’m afraid that all I’ll ever do is hurt you.

jungkook’s ‘I love you’ sounded like it was nurtured, a flower that bloomed inside a long time ago. like a blanket woven from your favorite human on the entire planet and falling asleep with someone inside your heart no matter how alone you feel outside; a promise.

not that any of you were in the right state of mind to realize that.

you and jungkook realize at the same time. the words that have been spoken out to existence.

he stares at you; you stare at him. devastated, mouth hanging, eyes bulging. none of you breathing.

jungkook closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and opens them again.

“that was not a mistake”, his voice is deep and low. you hold your breath, afraid to miss a single sound that comes out of his mouth, “I do. I will if you allow me to. not that I can help it– I mean, even if you don’t allow it I can’t help myself. I love you. it’s not like I can just un-love you! wait, why do I need your permission anyway? it’s my feelings we’re talking about! okay, but it does concern you”, jungkook looks mortified, ��but still, you don’t have to say it back. it’s great if you do but like, there’s no pressure. just don’t tell me to un-love you because that one is none of your business, oka–”

you kiss him. you kiss the living lights out of him. jungkook doesn’t even register what’s happening, he just accepts everything– the way your lips smashes against his, the way your tongue envelops his, finding you in every corner of his mouth, feeling you in every inch of his skin; a drunkard clinging onto every last drop of alcohol yet never having enough.

jungkook is literally panting when you let go of him.

“I was crying because I am in love with you. I have been in love with you for a while now and I didn’t know how to say so”, you confess. only a few words are enough to make realization flash in his eyes. after all, he knows you. he knows you well enough to know everything, even the things he doesn’t.

“I must’ve been a saint in my past life to deserve this”, jungkook closes his eyes and rests his forehead against yours.

“I think this is your first life. you’re like the sugar in a cookie.”

“what? I thought I was the cookie!”, jungkook furrows his eyebrows, offended, “also, sugar isn’t good for you. what are you talking about?!”

you giggle in response.

“hey! take it back”, he overpowers you in a swift motion. he reels your bodies backward to hover over you, pinning your hands down on the mattress, smirking. “otherwise you’re gonna regret it.”

“regret? nah, I think I will enjoy it”, your smirk wipes off the one on his face.

“oh boy”, he sighs.

“jungkook?”

“yeah?”

“say it again”, you whisper.

“I love you.”

“again.”

“I love you.”

390 notes · View notes

diejager · 1 year ago

Note

BEGGING I WAS LEFT ON A CLIFFHANGER FOT THE MONSTER AU 141 😭😭😭😭😭

pretty pretty please 🙏🙏

Only Human pt.2

Pairing: Monster Task Force 141 + König & Horangi x reader

Cw: canon-typical violence, hate, xenophobia, mention of racism, blood and violence, injury, fighting, protective 141, trauma?, anxiety, tell me if I missed any. wc: 6.3k

Only Human Masterlist

You still wonder, to this day, why you were needed on the Task Force. It worked like a well-oiled machine when put to the task, nearly unstoppable in the face of enemies. Although you were prideful to call it your home, you felt lacking compared to them, all much stronger, fiercer, and nimbler than you in every aspect, separated by miles of distance. One thing, however, that you could wield with an iron fist was your human nature and people’s fear of newly implemented hybrids. The public expression from governments about welcoming them into their ranks and their society without staying hidden under the pretence of being sick or behind a veil of secrecy.

You, after seeing how many Joint Task Forces and other Teams treated the 141, decided to deal with the introductions, the medium, the pacifier, between every team. Humans tended to react differently to another human than to a hybrid, they were nicer, less brutal and honest (a kind that held little spite). Laswell seemed more agreeable to your idea when you first came up to her with it, having seen the hate sent to hybrids she worked with. She encouraged you to be the first to interact or stand beside Price when he greeted human soldiers. Price, unlike Laswell, was reluctant at first. His instinct of protection and possession of his hoard made him less open to such ideas, especially if it brought you some, if any, backlash from other humans (humans are cruel, they shun what they don’t understand, they fear it and push to control it, if not, they destroy it. The need to control every aspect of their life made humans ruthlessly unremorseful and unsympathetic to other causes.).

As a tight-knit TF, some decisions are taken in votes, by hearing what the others thought of the idea or plan and his one was harsh. Ghost was hard-pressed on keeping you between them, the little, fleshy human of their Task Force (the youngest) and to let them deal with xenophobic glares while keeping you protected. Alejandro was similarly worried, but he knew the outcome of letting you speak first or accompany Price. He was torn. The others, Soap, Gaz and Rudy, seemed onboard, with the kind of why the fuck not? kind of look on their faces. Soap especially, he’d be able to stick close to you without having to hover over you like a protective guard dog.

Seeing the votes in your favour, he let it pass, and no sooner had they needed to meet a second team - human soldiers - for the next deployment. You stood beside Price when he strutted down the walkway, shoulders broad and back straight, an image of a strong and fearless leader with his draconic tail flailing lowly. He, as intended, greeted them first, rank and name before he presented you, his little human helper with humans. They’d taken better to speaking to you, being spoken by one of their own rather than a hybrid. He saluted you more amicably and more sincerely:

“Pleasure meeting you, Hunter.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Captain.”

Although it wasn't without its setbacks, the operation went well, you had been able to come out mostly unscathed, leaving a few enemies on the brink of death for Ghost to savour. He was most thankful, a part of his body dissolving into the finest mist as they washed over the living bodies sprawled on the ground. You watched on, mesmerised by the uncanny way Ghost’s body absorbed the bodies of others, flooding the area with his shadow while you stayed unbothered, in the same condition as he first started. His darkness reached your neck, covering you in a soft cover of warmth as he ground the bodies to ash and dust. His skin was cold, but his powers were darkly hot, burning with the embers of hell, of a dead soul coming back for revenge and evilness.

Beyond the fact that your idea worked, you liked feeling useful to them, having a semblance of usefulness in a team of extremely competent beings. You felt with first greetings from then on, smiling and saluting to the leading figures of the groups you’d work alongside. It lessened the weight on Price to appease and pacify the new additions, he’d be able to fare better with the operators now that they had a different welcome, a different kind of greeting. It played into the minds of wary men that a human was the one to greet them, that one of theirs was leading the hybrids for them. You played the perfect example of a soldier for any xenophobic bastard.

Ghost, while still feared, received fewer glares than he usually would, occasional ones from daring or bold soldiers holding a lower rank than him, but he appreciated your attempts at making them more comfortable. He’s used to the negative reactions, had been since his childhood, but you seemed to make him feel like he deserved better, like he shouldn’t be glared, spat and scoffed at.

Soap, Rudy and Alejandro looked like human men in peak condition, if only for Soap and Alejandro’s glowing eyes and heightened strength and agility. Rudy was somewhat human, he looked and acted like one, down to the DNA, but with the title of cadejos vessel came powers. Perhaps not as strongly affecting as the rest of the hybrids, but he had subtle changes in his molecular making.

Gaz had stares coming left and right, daggers sent his way for having wings and talons he couldn’t will them to disappear, to recess under his skin and wear the appearance of a human man. He felt the heaviest blow by both not being able to cover his gifts and the colour of his skin. Although you wanted to proclaim that your new age came with more open-minded people, you knew that it simply couldn’t fix hundreds of years of standards in a few decades. People would still judge others by the tone and colour of your skin, they’d still hate the different and the strange; just like they hated hybrids. So you kept to his side most often after your introductions, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him close, letting him embrace you with a protective wing and a grateful smile.

You mostly worked hand in hand with human-filled teams and spear-headed human-led operations. So you were shocked, frozen to your core, when you saw a tiger haetae hybrid beside a tall, veiled operator walking down the cargo ramp. The hybrid, a tiger variant from the black-striped, orange tail that flickered slowly in a warning to any approaching beings. Dark glasses and a mask covered his face, his jacket and vest riding to the edge of his jaw, covering any skin from showing, though his lower back was left uncovered for the comfort of his swaying tail. He was neither short nor tall, he was tall enough to be slightly over the average height, but his teammate dwarfed him.

Perhaps his enormous height was an aspect of his monster half, or maybe he had the perfect genes to hold such a frame. He too, like his haetae operator, hid his face under a veil with maroon tears painted under his eyes. Like Ghost, he was covered head to toe in equipment and clothes, a jacket, a vest, gloves and black paint around his eyes. Whoever this was had both height and mass, burly arms and broad shoulders eclipsed by a slim waist and equally, disastrously thick thighs. On their left arm were flags, one from South Korea and the other from Austria.

They were the only ones to walk out, the only ones to approach you. Then your TF only had two new faces to work with rather than a whole team. You were tempted to say it would be easier, you waited until they stopped for Price - Price only - to greet them since they wouldn’t need a human to negate any aggressiveness between human and hybrid - or so you thought. They moved in synchrony, Price stepping forward to cover you with his body, his back facing you as he crossed his arms. Ghost and Alejandro had moved next to the captain, covering your sides. Alejandro had crossed his arm in a similarly menacing way, and Ghost stood still, body rigid but ready to strike at a moment’s notice; both were glaring ahead. Soap and Rudy took their places behind the colonel and the lieutenant, arms glued on their sides, weapons within reach with menacing stares towards the Korean and the Austrian. Gaz’s wings grazed you, soft feathers wrapping themselves around you and pulling you into his chest, acting as a protective cocoon for you.

“What-?”

They moved so quickly and efficiently that they seemed to suddenly appear in place, back straight and protective. Protective of you. Hybrids, from what you’d heard from couples and families, were possessive of their own, caring and extremely wary of other hybrids they hadn’t formed a bond with. Your TF was your pack, they were all tethered to each other through the familial bond they formed over the years. Then you came in, small and weak with your human self into a den of lions, thrown to be subjugated to their loving mercy and sinfully strong personalities.

The team of six hybrids encased you, barring the KorTac specialists from seeing you. Monsters and hybrids could sense one another - from what you heard - and they reacted instinctively. You saw their bodies tense as the two approached your team, muscles strained under the compacting anxiety and possessiveness. You could neither see over their shoulders nor feel what was happening, they stopped farther from you than you’d expected and you couldn’t see their feet.

The only sign you had was your captain’s gravelly voice welcoming them, his tail swaying like a cat’s tail, a slow, cautious motion. It - knowingly or unknowingly, seeing as Price acted on a mix of instincts and worry - wrapped around your ankle, clinging tightly to your boot-clad leg while a rumble rattled his chest. Steam rolled from his lips, billowing over the top of his hat in a show of power and warning. You hoped they wouldn’t take this negatively. They worked hard to curb the harmful rumours of 141 being beasts in human skin, acting like blood-thirsty and ravaging monsters that cared for nothing but themselves.

Although you couldn’t see them, the Austrian could, his towering height assured that he could see over almost any human, monster and hybrid alike. He was curious about the way they protected one of theirs as if you were weak. He cocked his head, green eyes gleaming red as he stared silently at the small mop of hair between them. What made you so important? What made you such a protected soldier? He couldn’t sense you like he could the others, their scent and magic masking yours in a violent torrent.

Unlike him, his friend couldn’t be bothered with the show of protection, he’d enrolled for the money and wouldn’t be deterred by much. He was a tiger haetae, honourable to a certain extent and proud. He might be shorter than the hybrids around him, but he was as vicious and talented as the next. He, however, was slightly curious, but he wasn’t paid enough to inquire or worry about the doings of 141’s pack.

It went as well as anyone would expect for the 141 with the added help of two military, hybrid operators from an elite PMC. As the combat medic of the TF, you followed them from behind and moved to the middle when you entered the building. You’d usually be at the back, being a medic, but you were a combat medic, having seen and participated in complete ops dealing with infiltrations and hostage rescue. You were an integral part of every mission. Now that they had a medic on hand, the wounds the men suffered could be treated in place rather than wait for the long ride home with the possibility of letting infection take root in the gash and watching it fester during hours in the carrier.

They had a habit of getting shot and slashed, a tad bit reckless in their ways but still effective. The stress of risking infection or the impossibility of reaching a medic after a mission was lessened, Price would still be able to live a few more centuries before his hair turned grey with nerves and his face wrinkled with frowns. You were a treasure beyond the fact that you were extremely helpful and insightful on your own. Your hands were steady and your demeanour calm and collected (albeit fidgety when put under too much pressure and fiery when someone looked at them differently.), you were a beauty, someone they needed to nurse and protect.

“I warned you about standing so close to the explosion!” They watched you berate Soap, cheeks puffed and lips pulled in an adorable pout. You went on a list of things he could’ve done better and safer than the decision he made, hands pulling the bandage around his arm, your bag set beside you.

“How was I supposed ta know?” The werewolf grumbled, giving you his best version of his “puppy dog eyes'' while he slouched back, trying to sit as comfortably as possible on the hard seats of the aircraft carrier.

“You’re a demolition expert, you’re supposed to know, Soap.” You hissed, tightening the wrap and smoothing it over so that it would hold. Your hand dipped into your bag, pulling out a few alcohol wipes for his face. With a jerky motion of your hands, you broke the seal and started patting his bleeding cuts from shrapnel and grazes from bullets. He winces with every dab, fidgeting in his seat while you disinfected his wounds, wiping away the dirt and blood before deeming it clean enough to move to the next one. “You also have a habit of setting things on fire.”

Although you mumbled it so quietly, the others heard you clearly, laughter rumbling out of the others while they watched Soap being scolded by the youngest. You never feared reprimanding them for an idiotic act that would result in having you tending to them, it was something they appreciated, the familiarity and comfort you had with them. They weren’t monsters, hybrids or anything with you, they were your family.

Seeing you so at ease with them had König and Horangi curious, most would cower or segregate themselves from other hybrids. You especially, seeing as you were the only human with them, they thought it’d be normal to see you shrink onto yourself and ignore the world around you while you waited to return home. Yet here you were, berating a werewolf for cuts and bruises that would heal in the following days, his metabolism prevented infection and permanent scarring unless it was too deep or deadly. They’d simply add to his rugged handsomeness.

König wondered if you’d show him the same amount of compassion and ease when you tended to his wounds - if he ended up having any at all. Would your hands be soft like his mother’s when cradling his arm? Would you whisper soft nothings to him while you cleaned his gashes with antiseptics? Would you also scold him for being reckless? He doubted that. Granted, he was extremely reckless and lost himself to the adrenaline pumping through his system when he entered the field, but he always came out unscathed. As a percht hybrid, his extreme enhancements made him practically numb to pain and sensations, with the small exceptions of a few primarily driven emotions or natural reactions to certain stimuli.

Perhaps, if your efforts were thwarted by his immense height, you’d hold and tend to him as softly as you did with the others, running your fingers through his hair and cradling him against your chest. He thirsted for something mundane, something so human-like that he would be reminded that he wasn’t completely a monster. He missed the softness in people’s gazes or the carefree way they spoke to and with him. He missed being reminded that he - too - was a living being with their rights. You could be the start of a regular life - as regular as a mercenary could have.

Even Horangi, who had vehemently stated to König that he could care less about the small, weak human in the operation, gave you the merit of being strong-willed and confident enough to stand beside them. He, the ever prideful and strong hybrid he was, deemed you competent for a human. Your usefulness started with your quick reactions and impeccable skills in your field and stopped when you couldn’t save someone, which had yet to happen. He was intrigued by the workings of your TF, how they managed to score a single human and an amicable one at that, strong and fierce, yet gentle and compassionate. If he’d grown up with someone like you, would he have turned out the way he did?

He simply watched from his corner beside König, through tinted glasses his eyes followed your movement, memorising everything you did for your brothers. They felt like imposters in your small, seven-men group, seemingly standing awkwardly in their little corner. 141 had shown a bit of aggression towards them in warning words and deadly glares when they assumed you didn’t see them, hissing out threats to ensure your safety among them. Not only were they confused by the dynamic, but they weren’t told anything besides “Back off” and growls.

After patting Gaz’s knee, giving him an oscar winning smile with gleaming eyes that were received with enthusiasm, you packed your things in your bag and moved to the next patient. You skipped Price, Ghost and Rudy, crouching in front of Alejandro. Rummaging through your bag and handing him a clean wipe for his dust-covered face, the soot clinging to his cheeks. He expected you to sit by your locked rifle after checking them, but you continued walking. You were heading towards them.

He knew König left the ground unscathed, clean of anything but dirt and blood, which meant he was the one you were heading towards. Hand on your pouch and a steady step backed up by a determined expression, you stopped before him. He tilted his head, a silent question. You blinked dumbly, holding out your hand to him, your small fingers backing him to give you something.

“Can I see your hand?”

His hand? He hadn’t thought much of it as he rested it on yours, palm upwards and gloveless. He saw it then, the small cut that bled red, small enough to be neglectable, but long enough to still be bleeding. He hadn’t felt anything from it before or after boarding the aircraft, he must’ve still been riding the adrenaline rush from the fight. He wondered how you knew he hurt himself.

Your fingers curled around his palm, holding it firmly as you lightly dabbed the inflamed skin with a sterilised tissue, being careful of the flared sides of his torn flesh. Under the blood and dirt, his skin was pale and swollen, the area having demanded his body to react to the potential bacteria that would worm its way into his system. You threw the bloody tissue aside and got an antiseptic wipe, being careful to not irritate his wound. Your care was gentle and patient. To a being like him, a hybrid and KorTac op, gentle and patient were foreign words to him. None were gentle to hybrids and none were patient with mercenaries.

Even as you wrapped the gauze and bandage around his hand, you gave him all your attention, sweetly cradling his hand between yours and nursing his gash with utmost care. It felt alien, the soothingly soft care of a medic. Other medics would’ve stared at him with disgust or hate if he walked near the infirmary, or they were rough and uncaring towards his needs.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, the sudden realisation of his silence in the face of a benevolent angel and the rush of embarrassment that flushed his neck hotly. He stared dumbly at his hand when you left, placed on his thigh with the white bandage staring right at him. The warmth of your hand had sunk into his skin, the feather-light tenderness of your fingers painted in his memory and your smile and determined expression stuck to him.

Even as he let his mind wander and body thirst for another taste of your gentleness, he could feel the burning stares of the other men. König with his curious and envious gaze, wanting to feel the snippet you offered Horangi, wanting your hands and stare at his giant figure. The 141 with their protective and warning glare, resenting him for taking a few minutes of your attention from them. You’d moved on your own, making your decision to help him with his small wounds as you did with them, he hadn’t forced you or compelled you to treat him.

Perhaps there was more than money and experience that was worth in this joint operation.

When the success of their first mission reached the prying ears of the General, he’d given them a few more joint ops - paid by the United States pockets, of course. Horangi and König were given temporary rooms in the barracks, in the same corner as the other hybrids and you, but far enough to show that they were excluded from them. Fortunately, they wouldn’t share the room, tigers were protective of one’s territory, and a percht hybrid - as rare as it may be - was documented to be hyper-possessive of their things, especially so for someone like König.

Horangi didn’t ignore you anymore, wanting to start a conversation when he passed you or staring at you from the other side of the room until you waved at him, letting him know he could approach you. He worked relentlessly to close the gap he had made between you, wanting to attach himself to the one good thing he had. Yet he had to be cautious, any indication of him being a threat to you would make your team act out in unison, pushing him back and covering you like they did the second he descended the ramp.

Ghost would hover over you, his body moving the darkness around him to seem more menacing. Ghost always glared at him when you turned your back to the Brit, his brown eyes swirling with the promise of death and devastation. Ghost wasn’t a physical hybrid, as Horangi had learned, but he had no qualms about keeping a hand on your hip or over your shoulder, acting as an imposing being that showcased his claim on you so publicly. It filled the Korean with envy and anger, he wanted to touch you as easily as the wraith did, he wanted a claim on you like the Lieutenant did, and he wanted to hold you close.

If not Ghost, it’d be Rudy or Gaz crowding you. If you were in the rec room, Gaz would usually be there with you. His arm thrown over your shoulders, pulling you into his side while his wings curled around you two, dark brown feathers ruffled to look menacing but comfortable to your touch. With the way he sat, slouching and legs spread across the sofa, he took all the available seats on the cheap, brown couch. When Gaz caught sight of him, he’d purposefully moved to take up more space, showing just how much one of the nicest of the 141 ostracised him. Although when someone from his TF, he’d move aside, giving space to the man to join them.

If you were walking around the base, Rudy - or Rudolfo as Horangi was forced to call him - would be by your side. Rudy had an arm wrapped around yours, seemingly like a military couple out on a casual walk, or he had his hand on your back, acting as the protective lover. Rudolfo’s smile was always wide and adoring when Horangi saw him walk you, exchanging words and making you laugh. It stung Horangi in an inexplicable way as if someone was knowingly sentencing him to death without any proof of his accountability. Rudy, the second nicest guy, also made glaring passes his way, pulling you closer to his side, directing you away and staring coldly at Horangi.

It rubbed him wrong, all the silent glares and insults at him to push him farther from you, but he was Horangi the Tiger haetae. He made his calculations, he was as smart and as resourceful as he was patient. Give it a few more missions together and they would loosen enough to let him swoop you off your feet. You were his source of comfort, of love and gentleness, he had to protect it.

Unlike Horangi, König actively sought you out on the base, following the trail of your scent and the soft noises of your voice and heartbeat. He was like a dog on your trail, nose sniffing every bit of air for you and ears strained for any noise you’d make. His senses were stretched thin to find a moment with you. He was as animalistic as a hybrid could get, leaning towards his monster to help him with his ops and trials.

You piqued König’s curiosity, making him wander the halls like a lumbering monster in a dark veil and glaring, red eyes. He saw how you treated big and dangerous monsters like the dragon hybrid you had as a captain, a respectable man, as soft as you treated the rowdy and rough werewolf and gracefully dangerous nagual. König wanted to feel your softness on him, your small hand grasping the tight muscles of his shoulders and back, kneading the tension away with grounding massages and stretches. You were their doctor, you cared enough to join them in the field, so you’d naturally be willing to mass the pain out of his body, no?

He wanted moments alone, where he could speak his mind without fear of being interrupted or pushed away for his imposing stature and aura. He wanted to place a hand on your waist, to feel the plush roundness of your stomach and the firm contour of muscle on your thighs. He wanted his voice to carry easily in the void of silence, where his voice could be heard by you from a small whisper. He wanted your eyes to focus on him, solely, as if he was your world.

He found it rather irritatingly difficult to find such moments. When he followed your scent through the halls and down to the medic's office, he’d find Captain Price crowding the room with his powerful musk of Ashe and fire - of metal and iron. Although Price was much shorter and lesser ranked than König was, he held the power of age and wisdom, an unfathomable strength that lay solely in draconic beings. This eternal power that none could rival apart from Eldritch beings, most cower, whimper and hide from dragons. He wore his power and wisdom on his sleeves, a warning for everyone, him and his KorTac operators included. König might’ve been reckless, but he wasn’t a fool, fighting headfirst with dragon seamed chaos and devastation. So, as any hybrid did, he backed away, an old dragon was dangerous, but a crippled one made it even more perilous.

When König tried to find you in the rec room, you were held in the tight embrace of a possessive wolf. Soap had you straddling his lap, facing him as he nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck. He purred and kissed your skin, making you squirm and giggle, but then Soap’s eyes gazed upwards and grew cold and unruly at König’s appearance. A proud - dare he say, cruel - smirk curled the corners of his lips. That was when he realised what the sergeant was doing. Soap, in the open, was scenting you, rubbing his musk over your neck, where - if you were another sifting hybrid like him and Alejandro - would’ve been your scent gland. It was a blatant show of possession. He nipped at your throat, drinking in your yelp and hiss, your back arching and moving to push him from biting too much. It filled him with rage.

If you weren’t with either dragon or werewolf, you were with Alejandro, the Hispanic scenting you as much as Soap did, but he did it with more finesse and subtlety. He would draw your hair back, the gland on his wrist grazing your neck and ears, imprinting you with him. Alejandro would hold your hand, fingers neatly intertwined with yours, his face laying on your shoulder as he spooned you in his lap. He purred and whispered sweet promises that had you nodding and smiling like a child on Christmas. He oosed of pheromones, filling the area with his scent and in turn, covering you completely in him. König watched with envy as Alejandro read to you, cradled between his thighs and falling asleep, his, Soap and everyone else’s musk laying a possession over you.

König’s a determined person when he put his mind to it, willing his beaten and bloodied self back to camp, or his sleep-deprived and insomniac-ridden mind to concentrate on the enemy. He was a battering ram, he pushed forward forcefully, however hard he had to, all to reach the end goal. This time, it wouldn’t be the head of his target, or the capture of an asset, this time, it would be you.

They both wondered, with how close your TF was, what was the dynamic. Was it a pack that shared the same lover? Was it a pack that had formed such a close connection to a human that you were deemed an integral part of the pack? Or were you the child they watched over and protected?

The next few missions 141 and the two from KorTac went on were as successful as the first, the cooperation of two ruthless mercenaries and a hybrid, specialist group made these tasks easy, near child’s play for them. Along with the aspect of having a medic on hand, it let them run wild, play along the edge and act more recklessly than they normally would. Having Horangi and König for so long, made them become a standard in the base, seeing them walk among the shorter and weaker humans. That also meant they had seen their fair share of xenophobic soldiers with balls bigger than a dragon’s and an ego the size of an Eldritch creature.

Every hybrid and monster was used to their hateful glares and sneering venom-dripping words. Ignoring them had become easier after the first year of enrolment. Horangi and König were, however, not used to someone defending them with their most honest heart of gold with earth-shattering words.

The first time they’d seen you defend your team was right after a mission, haunches, lumbering bodies descending the carrier’s ramp with their bags slung over their shoulders and addled with fatigue after a week of deployment. Young, power-hungry sergeants who’d let their ranks get to their heads had slid before them, head held high and shoulders held wide. Every single one of them knew that the moment the sergeant’s mouth opened, nothing good would come out of it. Perhaps degrading insults or back-handed sneers.

When the first sentence slipped from the man’s tongue, you pushed your way between them, barrelling into the man who’d insulted them. A deep frown was etched into your lips, brows creased so darkly into you that it cast a dark shroud of anger over your face. If König hadn’t known that you were a human, he would’ve thought that you were a being of darkness.

“You dim-witted bastards-!” Was the first word you let out, your usually soft-spoken self with gentle hands spewed acid at them, threatening to burn their skin.

Dim-witted, indeed. Old, conservative assholes who thought they were better than the rest with their pro-human propaganda and xenophobic acts against hybrids. Horangi had expected you to continue your scolding, wringing the sergeant dry with your words, not your hands. You used your hands, fingers curled inward, thumb over the curves of your bones and decked the man. It shocked them both, you were smaller, shorter, human and seemed weaker than the men, yet here you were, sending him toppling on the floor, his friend gaping and pouncing on you. Only to be met with your foot to his crotch.

“You bet your ass you won’t get any medical attention after this,” you hissed.

Although your words sounded improbable since you weren’t the only medic on base, you had built a connection through the system, every medic knew you and heeded your words. If one didn’t want a man healed, you and the rest wouldn’t help him. If you wanted a man to suffer, the rest would watch on with you. Medics were themselves, a tight-knit couple that helped one another. So your words were more than a threat, it was a promise.

“Until I see your sorry asses on your deathbed or grovelling, none of us will lift a finger for you. Bleed and beg all you want, but you aren’t getting help.”

You acted with an iron hand, sending the rest to the ground, moaning and groaning, cradling whatever part of their body you’d hit. They wondered why Ghost hadn’t moved, and neither did Gaz or Rudy, the most protective ones. When König glanced down at Ghost, he saw pride in his eyes, dark curled on sadistic pleasure swirling in his brown eyes. When Horangi gazed at Gaz and Rudy, he saw simple amusement, their mouths threatening to curl in a smirk.

All of them had known you’d act this way, erratic and violent rather than calmly scold them and stomp over their ego. You were strong-headed and blunt to them, making them bow to you, like lesser men to a lady, a queen, a goddess.

Horangi had experienced his own protection from you. After the men had loosened enough to trust him and König, he could walk beside you and hold a simple banter, albeit awkward at the start. You were much more violent this time, reaching for the downed man while hissing and screeching after you sent him to the floor with well-aimed kicks. You were like a gremlin, small and lively. He understood your anger, they’d called him racist things, calling out his Asian roots and hybrid characteristics.

Horangi had to hold you from going off on him following your promise of neglecting his medical needs. It worked, though. The first group had searched to plead, to apologise and beg for medical attention. You’d sent them away with a small note lifting the ban for medical help. You were as ruthless with people as they were to enemies.

Any other encounters with hot-headed men and women that glanced at them weirdly were met with a varying amount of anger and disgust from you. Horangi understood why 141 held you so carefully, so tightly in their hold. Why they worshipped you like a priest would do with his goddess. It was a sense of camaraderie that had evolved into love, affection dripping from their pores.

König received a bit more attention for his size, the threatening nature of his ouster coupled with his brute figure, made him a subject of fear and rejection. That hadn’t stopped you from wanting to approach him, had it? Going as far as calling him cute when he stuttered while broaching the subject of him liking certain things. For a burly man with the height of a giant, he was nice to sit next to, his quiet but anxious stature when he wasn’t deployed made it easy to talk to. He might sometimes let his instincts drive him, but they were all well-meaning, wanting nothing but goodness for you.

His turn came in quick succession, he was shunned and ridiculed left and right. It never helped that he would shy from others, preferring his little corner that made the room look stranger and claustrophobic (not that he let them walk all over him, he growled and glared, standing tall with the promise of lashing out or eating them. Even when humans feared König, they still attempted to rile his anger.). But with you, he wasn’t by his lonesome, he had someone to rattle on about the things he liked to do, or the things he wanted to do. His shoulders were relaxed and mind calm, free to speak his mind about the goriest and the sweetest dreams he had, his speech unperturbed by his anxiety.

Unlike the others, König stood before you as an impenetrable wall of muscle and fat when you raised your hand at an insignificant pig. Why would he let someone so disgusting touch you (even though it was to hit and kick the man, he would do it for you instead)? He guarded you as if they were insulting you rather than him - though it was the reverse - and glared down at anyone with dreadfully scary eyes. Like the devil that had risen, he sent them running with their tails tucked between their legs. Although he was the one that had gotten rid of them, he was always so proud of you, holding you close to him and gushing about your brave and inspiring actions.

He saw how the men in 141 looked at you, he wanted to be a part of it, to be able to freely nuzzle your face and hold you like Soap would, to cradle you in his arms and carry you around the base. König wanted a piece of your heart, to be able to show the world he held it in his hands, caring for it between his big, calloused fingers and soft affection. He might be dangerous, he might be deadly, he might be reckless, but if you let him, you would be his world like you were to the others (Horangi would agree, they spoke about it on their own.).

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autumnsvixen · 2 months ago

Text

Damaged - part 2

previous || next (coming soon)

Azriel x f! reader

After a long and arduous recovery, you are finally able to feel safe in the House of Wind. You can't help but feeling as if something, or someone, is missing.

Word Count: 2777

Warnings: Reader healing from wounds, some mentions of past trauma (including blood, violence, and abuse), Rhys being nice (?)

A/N: Holy shit, thank you all for the love on part 1. I was not expecting that AT ALL, but I’m really glad you’re all enjoying it! This is, sadly, another part without much Az, but he’s coming (he's WHAT), I promise 😊

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The past week was a blur of darkness and pain. Your only real memories consisted of hazy visions of winged males, swirling shadows, and an elderly female fae with kind brown eyes.

As your eyes drifted open, you were blinded by the brightness flowing into the room from the opened curtains. The elder fae you had seen throughout your recovery hissed at someone else in the room, “Morrigan, close that curtain. You’ll give the poor girl a headache.”

Your blurry vision began to clear as the panging in your head became apparent. The pain seemingly spread throughout your body as you fully woke. A groan escaped you as you tried to shift yourself up to better observe the unfamiliar room you found yourself in, only to be gently pushed down by the same female that had just spoken.

“Don’t try to sit up. You’ve recovered a lot, but you still need rest.” Her voice was kind but strict, leaving no room for debate.

When you spoke, your voice came out rough, throat feeling like ash, “where am I?”

Another voice filled your ears as a beautiful female with golden hair moved into your vision, “you’re safe. Cassian and Rhys got you to the House of Wind just in time.” She sounded like honey; soft and sweet.

Her words registered with you, “Rhys, as in high lord Rhysand?” You again tried to sit up in the bed, shocked that Cassian had brought you to the home of the high lord.

The younger fae, who you had figured out was the Morrigan, laughed as the other huffed at you, but she didn’t push you back down. You leaned your back against the headboard, the wood cold against your wings.

“Don’t say it like he’s some god, he’ll get even more of an ego. But yes, the high lord. He winnowed you from just outside of Ironcrest.”

The older female spoke next, “and you’re lucky he did. If you had gotten here any later…” She shook her head, dismissing the thought.

Your heart clenched at the thought that you had almost died.

The two females in the room seemed to notice your thoughts as your eyes glazed over, your last conscious memories replaying in your mind. Morrigan gently grasped your hand, “you’re safe now. I promise those males won’t ever lay a hand on you again.”

A tear fell from your eye as you turned your head to look at her, “I just wanted to be able to defend myself.”

“Those cowards cornered you. It was three against one. Even if you had been training with Cas for years, they would still have had an advantage.” Anger and disgust laced her voice, and the glint in your eyes told you that these were not the first cowardly males she had encountered.

You nodded at her words, but no response escaped you. You couldn’t shake the thought that if you had just been stronger, you could have protected yourself. Or if you had just obeyed your brother’s wishes, you wouldn’t even be in this situation.

Morrigan seemed to sense your reluctance to accept her words as truth, so she turned to the other female in the room. “Madja, do you think it would be alright for her to eat something?”

The elderly fae nodded, swiftly leaving the room. Morrigan sat on the bed next to you, careful not to move your injured body, “Cassian told me your name is Y/N, right?”

You nodded, and she continued, “You can call me Mor. Cassian didn’t tell me much about what happened before the attack, but I promise you that the people here will never treat you the way you were treated back in the camp.”

You didn’t have the words to respond. Part of you hoped what she was saying was true, but another part of you knew that your brother, despite his faults, had always looked out for you. Until now, that is.

“If you want to train once you’re all healed, Cassian and I can help you. If you want to go back to Ironcrest, that is your choice, though one I would hate for you to make.”

You furrowed your brows at her, “You would let me stay? You don’t even know me.”

She smiled softly at you, “let’s just say our high lord has a soft spot for those who have experienced the worst this world has to offer. And Cas has told us enough about you for all of us to trust you.”

Gently, you squeezed her hand, “did he tell you I was the most difficult fae he’s ever had to train?”

Mor laughed, the sound falling gracefully onto your ears and drawing a small smile to your lips. “He told us you had the balance of a newborn fawn, but that you were determined in your training.”

“Do you really think he’d want to train me even after seeing how utterly defenseless I was against those males?” You asked softly, the smile falling from your face.

She looked at you with a kindness you rarely saw, “I’ll say it until your ears bleed, those males are cowards, and it took three of them to face you. You weren’t defenseless and you are not hopeless, you just need training and some more confidence. Cassian would be lucky to have you as a trainee.”

You nodded, “okay then. I’d like to stay here and train.”

Suddenly, Madja entered the room, “not until you are fully healed. You will stay here and rest until I say.” She placed a tray holding bowl of soup and a glass of water on the table next to your bed. “I swear, all you Illyrians are the same, never wanting to heal, always wanting to train,” she mumbled.

Madja didn’t clear you to leave the bed for another three days. In that time, Cassian, Rhysand, and Mor all took turns keeping you company. The first time you had met the high lord, you had clumsily tried to bow from your place in the bed, which more so looked like you trying to fold yourself in half. Of course, with the aching pain in your chest and stomach, this was accompanied by a grimace, which was not the face you had wanted to greet your high lord with. He had chuckled, waving you off with a “please, you’re a guest in my home, I don’t need the theatrics.”

You had quickly developed friendship with each of them, but none as close as Cassian. Perhaps because he was the fae you were most familiar with, or you just associated him with the feeling of safety.

You had thought of asking Cassian about the shadow-made man, but something in your gut stopped you from doing so. Perhaps you had just imagined him, and they would think you were mad if you brought him up.

By the time you were finally allowed to train, almost 2 weeks after waking up, you had begun to feel at home in the House of Wind. You’d had meals with Rhys, Cassian, Mor, and Amren, a member of the household who seemed much older than a high fae should be. Mor had promised once you were at full health, she and Cassian would show you the city and take you shopping, to which Cassian huffed at.

You started to feel at peace.

That was until Cassian woke you up before dawn one day, demanding you change into training clothes that Mor had provided you and meet him in the training arena on top of the house. Though tired, you eagerly complied, excited to start back the training you had gotten so little of back at camp.

When you got to the arena, you marveled at the extensive sand pit and the weapons that hung on racks around it. Cassian laughed at your amusement, “normally Az and I spar with just our hands, but sometimes we practice with the weapons, either on our own or with each other.”

“Az?” You questioned.

Cas’s eyes went wide with realization, “that’s right, you weren’t exactly… conscious when he was here. Azriel is my brother,” he grinned, thinking of the male. “He’s also our court’s spymaster, so he comes and goes pretty frequently. He’s off on a mission to who knows where right now, but he should be back by the end of the week. He keeps to himself, so you probably won’t see much of him when he is here, but once you get to know him, he’s a good guy.”

You nod, wondering if this was the shadow man you had believed your mind made up. But Cassian seemed so bright, you doubted his brother would be covered in such darkness. “Well, I look forward to meeting him.”

Your return to training was slow, but every morning you went up to the arena, Cas pushed you a little harder. By the end of your first week of training, you felt back to the way you were before you’d been attacked at camp.

Everyone was impressed by your progress, including yourself. You had expected to be haunted by the memories of those males, but you instead let it push you to train harder, wanting to ensure you were never in that situation again.

“Would you accompany out to the city today? I have a few things I’d like to pick up and I want to show you around.” Rhys asked you while you were clearing the table from breakfast. “And, no offense, I think it’s time you pick out your own clothes instead of whatever Mor decides to gift you.”

You chuckled, looking down at the dress the female had given you that day. It was tighter than you were used to a dress being, and much more revealing than anything you’d worn in the camps. Mor had called it modest by her standards.

With a bright smile at the high fae, you said, “I would love to.”

The city of Velaris, Rhys informed you, was his closest kept secret, and you could immediately tell why. The bright colors of the Rainbow and the display of culture throughout the city instantly had your heart pounding with excitement. This was a safe haven in the night court, and you felt incredibly lucky that Rhysand had trusted you enough to bring you here.

He had stopped by a few shops, buying himself a new jacket that seemed to absorb darkness and a set of earrings that he intended to gift to Amren as a Solstice present. As you walked, he told you about the different shops in the city and stories of its inhabitants.

Your eyes went wide as he opened the door to a bakery, the smell of sugary bread filling your nostrils. Pastries you had never heard of lined the shelves of a glass case. He bought you a sweet bun filled with lemon-flavored icing, and you swore it was the best thing you’d ever tasted.

“I forgot how bland the food is at the markets back in the camps. Now that you’re in Velaris, I’ll make sure you get to experience the best food we have to offer.” He spoke as you gobbled up the sugary goodness.

You swallowed before speaking, “I really don’t know how I can ever repay your kindness, Rhysand. Seriously.”

He waved you off, “keep training and gathering your strength, and I’m sure I can find you a place in my circle. But even if you never work for me, I will continue to spoil you with the goodness of this city. You deserve it.”

Happy tears filled your eyes as he spoke. You had never experienced such care before arriving to the House of Wind, and now it all felt overwhelming. “I don’t have words to explain how honored I am to be here. One day, I will find a way to repay your kindness.”

He smirked playfully, “well, until you do, I’m going to continue to spoil you. I was thinking we could visit the clothes shops in the palace of thread and jewels.”

By the time you had finished shopping, you and Rhys were surrounded by bags filled with clothes and shoes. You insisted you would pay him back, but he simply waved off the expense as a “welcome present.”

The sky was dark as you exited the last shop, and your eyes widened as you spotted the lights lining the river that ran through the city. The high lord seemed to take notice of your amazement, as if he had expected it. “It’s even better from above,” he said quietly. With a wave of his hands, the bags in your arms disappeared.

You were shocked at the easy display of magic, until you realized what he had implied. You looked at him sadly, “I can’t- my wings-“

“I’ll carry you,” he cut you off. You nodded, thankful he understood. He picked you up, strong arms beneath your back and knees, before shooting off into the sky. You wrapped your own arms tightly around his neck as you screeched, the sudden weightlessness of flying catching you off guard.

There was something about being in the air that felt so natural. You knew it was due to your heritage, as Illyrians belonged in the sky, but you had never had the opportunity to actually experience it until now.

And Rhys was right, the city was somehow more beautiful from up here. The lights reflected off the Sidra, the waves making them appear to dance. The city squares seemed alive with lights and people. It was all breathtaking.

Rhys carried you through the air, dipping low before shooting high, as if playing a game of tag with the wind. You laughed as it blew your hair in all different directions. You stayed in the air for almost an hour, though you felt as if you could’ve stayed for years, before you landed on a balcony back in the House of Wind.

“Thank you for that, truly.” You spoke to him, removing your arms from his neck as your feet touched the ground.

He smiled at you, “any time.”

As you both walked into the seating room you had landed outside of, your breath is halted in your throat at the site of a male that had haunted your dreams since you arrived at the house.

Hazel eyes studied you for a moment before moving over to the male standing next to you. “Rhys, we need to talk.”

Rhys smirked, prancing to a nearby bar cart and pouring himself a glass of fae wine, “nice to see you too, brother. Glad you’re home safe.”

The stunning male’s expression remained neutral as he stared at Rhysand, unamused at his antics. You studied the angled bones of his cheeks and jaw, the shadows that swirled around his shoulders and neck. This was the man you had thought you imagined. And now that you had seen him, you were even more interested in learning more about him.

“Rhys.” His tone was stern. His voice pulled goosebumps to your skin, the deepness fitting his dark and shadowy appearance.

The high lord gave you a pitiful smile, “your bags are in your room, y/n, if you’d like to go admire your new belongings. Azriel and I need to discuss some things.”

You nodded, understanding his words for the dismissal they were. In that moment you also realized that this was the Azriel that Cassian had spoken to you so highly about. You remembered his words, “he keeps to himself… but once you get to know him, he’s a good guy.”

You hoped you could find out for yourself.

As you made your way up the stairs, you couldn’t stop thinking about the beautiful stranger’s face, the toned body underneath his Illyrian leathers, and the shadows that seemed to keep him constant company.

You would definitely try to find out for yourself.

#acotar #azriel acotar #acotar imagine #acotar fanfiction #acotar fluff #azriel series #azriel angst #azriel imagine #azriel x reader #azriel fluff #platonic! Cassian #platonic! rhysand

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jumbojazzcats93 · 9 months ago

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IT'S WHAT YOU GET FOR EAVESDROPPING - GHOST

Summary - Ghost overhears Y/N talking about him on the phone through her open office window while he smokes outside.

Tags/Warnings - GN reader, Mentions of sex, strong language, I fucking love Trixie sm, (green to gold is basically when you're enlisted in the military and then switch to a commissioned officer), banner by @/saradika, @glossysoap @violet-phantoms @lordlydragon @quietlyignoringyou @grizzersmamma @ivymarquis

Chain smoking was arguably one of the unhealthier things he could be doing, but then again, so was eavesdropping on his fellow LT. Not even a green to gold, LT L/N was just 26 and only a few years out of the academy. He knew he didn't really understand half of the phrases floating out of the opened window, but it was great white noise for his tired mind.

"Yeah, no, I'm so not even fucking kidding when I say he's-"

Over the last 45 minutes, Ghost had been tuning in and out as he sat at the smoke pit. His place of duty this week was at the Aid Station teaching combat life savers course. His brain was rotting with the mundanity of the info he was putting out because, aside from some brand new additions to the course, it was all decade old information to him. He tilted his head down as he put his butt out in the ash tray. Maybe he could have the newbies practice nasal intubations on each other... that would certainly be entertaining for everyone, even if it wasn't exactly necessary.

"His name? Uhhh.... well, he's called Ghost by everyone here." His hand froze in the ashtray. "He's a pretty big guy.... strong as fuck, too. Like 6'4, 250lbs type of big." People normally add in a bit about him being scary. He was waiting on it as he lit up another cigarette. "I have to be honest."

Here it comes...

"He's a little intimidating." The sheepish laughter mixed with the words was almost endearing. At least... it was put in a way he didn't normally hear. "But you know what, I have to be honest with you. The way I would fuck him-" He covered his mouth trying to silence his coughing as he began spluttering on smoke. "-it's not even funny."

"What the-"

"I'm a ride he wouldn't survive; the wheels would come right off."

Was his face hot from what he was hearing or from choking? Laughter could be heard through the window, "Bitch, I need him so bad, im not even kidding." No one had ever spoken about him like this. Not that he'd heard. God it was hot all of a sudden. Is he sweating? He wiped his hand over his face and then rubbed both hands on his pants before standing up. Cigarette out on the ground, he crushed it before walking out of the smoke pit and trying not to listen to anymore of the conversation coming through the window.

#141 x reader #call of duty #call of duty mwii #cod 141 #cod mw2 #cod x reader #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost x reader #trixie mattel #idris elba #hot ones #gender neutral reader

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decagondice · 2 months ago

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༓ Foul & Fair ༓

༓ 'The love that follows us sometime is our trouble, which still we thank as love.' [Macbeth, William Shakespeare]

༓ Pairing. Trueform!Sukuna x Wife!Reader

༓ Synopsis. In a kingdom ruled by the feared and ruthless King, his reserved queen harbours a deadly secret. Devoted to her husband and his reign, she begins to punish those who defy him in the shadows, her hands stained with blood he never commanded her to spill. As guilt consumes her, she spirals deeper into madness, terrified of what Sukuna will do if he discovers the truth. But Sukuna, the King of Curses, knows far more than she realises. In a chilling confrontation, she must face the dark question: Does Sukuna's love run as deep as her sins, or is there something far more dangerous waiting in the shadows?

༓ Content. Inspired by Shakespeare's 'Macbeth' (Very loosely), sfw, Dark romance, Medieval Era, F!Reader, King/Trueform!Sukuna, Angst w/ comfort, Anxious & spiralling reader, Reader could be classed as a yandere (?), Protective Sukuna (?), Possessive Sukuna (?), Yandere (?) Sukuna, Emotional distress, Slight fear of abandonment, Spiralling, Mentions of death, Talks of violence, Hurt, Conflict of feelings, Mentions of Blood, Not proofread.

༓ Word Count. 3.5k

༓ A.N. I thought I should contribute to the spooky season, though exclude spooky and scary and replace them with anguish and spiralling madness. I had another random thought, drawing inspiration from Shakespeare's Lady Macbeth scene at the sink where here reader is secretly taking down those who reject Sukuna (and his rule) whilst spiralling into chaos but he finds out. [As, you already tell I am horrendous at tagging and disclosing content, let me know if I have missed anything out :)]

[Artwork by Gustave Moreau - 'Study for Lady Macbeth', 1851]

The night was thick with the weight of silence, suffocating and tense, pressing against the castle walls as if burdened by secrets of its own. The grand, cold castle loomed over the kingdom like an ever-watchful beast, its towering spires stretching into the night sky as shadows pooled beneath its battlements. Pale moonlight cast silver streaks across the stone floors, spilling through the halls and filling them with a ghostly light that seemed to intensify the gloom. The oppressive darkness was alive, seething in the corners of vast chambers and dreary corridors, pressing into every crevice like a silent judgement.

At the heart of this silence reigned the feared King of Curses, a sovereign whose iron and stone throne stood as a testament to his ruthless rule. His dominion was absolute—unyielding in cruelty, yet disturbingly effective. The people despised him, their whispers venomous, though none could deny that under his iron fist, the kingdom flourished. The harvests were plentiful, the borders secure, and enemies scattered like ash in the wind. But for all its prosperity, the kingdom lived under a cloak of shadows, a foreboding silence settling over its people and their ruler.

In the dim chambers of your own quarters, the same darkness felt suffocating, wrapping itself around you like a shroud. The air was heavy with the sharp, resinous scent of burning pine, mingling with the faint, metallic tang that clung to your skin as if it knew what lay on your conscience. You move through the pale light, haunted by the shadows of your deeds, the stone floors beneath your feet feeling cold and implacable, much like the guilt gnawing at your insides.

Enveloped in an otherworldly pallor, the room stretched vast and hollow, its walls draped in tapestries that told of battles long past, of victories soaked in blood. The heavy curtains, embroidered with dark emblems of power, hung motionless, like sentinels guarding the space. Their once grand opulence seemed stripped bare, eclipsed by the sins you carried, like spirits bound to your very soul. Every step you took echoed with the voices of those who had spoken against Sukuna—voices you had silenced and condemned in his name, though he had never commanded it. The room spun, your vision blurring as fragmented memories of punishment and blood swirled in your mind, sharp and piercing like shards of broken glass.

Outside, the wind’s mournful wail, weaving through the stone halls like a restless spirit, moaning for the damned as it rattled the iron-framed windows. And beneath that same iron sky, Sukuna—the man both feared and beloved—remained vigilant, a dark watchful presence in a kingdom thriving and suffering under his reign.

Yet, even the most powerful rulers had their shadows.

You were his wife, the queen who moved with silent grace through the corridors of his court, always by his side, always poised, always watching. While others feared his wrath and kept their distance, you remained the only one to whom he showed an unspoken tenderness. It was an odd love, one not built on affection but on something far deeper—an understanding of the cruelty of the world and the weight of power. He never uttered words of devotion, but his eyes lingered on you longer than they did on anyone else. And in that silence, you found a bond that could not be broken.

But bonds can fester, too, like wounds left unattended.

You stood at the ornate sink, water spilling over your trembling hands, though it did nothing to wash away the sins embedded in your skin. The marble basin beneath felt cold, unforgiving—a stark contrast to the marks you bore. The faucet, carved like a serpent’s maw, hissed ferociously, its flow indifferent to how furiously you scrubbed, how raw your hands had become. The blood was gone, dried long ago, but its crimson stain lingered vividly, as though it had seeped into your very soul. Each drop of water that fell seemed as though it should run red—a silent stream of accusation pooling at the bottom of the basin.

The mirror before you reflected a woman you no longer recognised. Your eyes were vacant, dulled by sleepless nights and the weight of your actions. Gaunt, pale, like the ghost of someone you once were. You wanted to scream and tear the image apart, to erase what you had become. Your chest tightened with the growing sense of dread. You could barely meet your own gaze, knowing full well what you had done, fearing that the reflection might whisper your wrongdoings back to you. And the fear—always, always—the gnawing dread of what he might say when he finds out. What would Sukuna, your husband and king, think of you now—his dutiful wife—tainted by the very blood you sought to cleanse? What if he cast you aside, repulsed by your actions, leaving you to languish in the darkness of your own guilt?

The truth was, you weren’t sure if you feared his anger more, or his indifference.

The misdeeds you had carried out—the punishments you had dealt out in the dark corners of the kingdom—had begun to claw at your mind. Those who rejected Sukuna, who cursed his name in the streets, had found themselves at your mercy. You had killed for him, with a coldness that even now frightened you. You did it not for the kingdom, not for the crown, but for the man behind the title. The man who held your heart in his calloused, monstrous hands—hands stained with bloodshed far beyond your own.

The footsteps came as they always did, slow, methodical, echoing through the cold stone halls long before he arrived. You stiffened, your ragged breath catching in your throat. Sukuna’s presence was like the weight of the kingdom itself—a force of nature, dark and indescribable, and you, standing there with blood on your hands—both literal and imagined—felt like a creature awaiting judgement. His judgement.

The door creaked open, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop as his towering frame filled the space. Even without seeing him, you could feel the sheer power he radiated, a terrifying, inescapable darkness that made him the ruler he was. He was feared, hated, worshipped, and he wielded it all with a ruthless hand. You loved him, too, though that love came with its own shadow, twisted and warped in the way only power could corrupt.

He didn’t speak at first, letting his slow and deliberate gaze sweep over you, the tension in the air thickening with each passing moment. You could feel the weight of his scrutiny, taking in every trembling movement, every faltering breath as you bore the burden of your sins, and it was clear that none of it had escaped his notice. His crimson eyes, sharp and unreadable, lingered on your hands, red from the water and from your desperate attempts to rid yourself of the evidence that existed only in your mind. The faintest twitch of his brow was the only sign of his reaction.

“Why do you trouble yourself, wife?” His voice, low and gravelly, cut through the silence like a blade, but not without an unexpected softness that hung in words. He stepped forward now looming over you, and you felt the pull of him, the dark magnetism that had drawn you into his orbit long ago. “What is it you hope to wash away?”

You froze, your heart thundering in your chest. He was too close now, his reflection joining yours in the mirror. His gaze was unflinching, cold yet calculated, as if he already knew the answer. Of course, he knew. Sukuna always knew, far more than he ever let on. He was not a man to be easily deceived, and yet you had tried—foolishly, pathetically—to keep your deeds hidden, believing that the blood on your hands would go unnoticed by a man who had waded through rivers of it. You had not yet answered him, but in the oppressive stillness of this chamber, he would draw the truth from your lips as certainly as the sun would rise.

The question hung between you like a blade suspended in midair. A thousand excuses raced to the tip of your tongue but none seemed sufficient. What could you say to him now? How could you confess the blood you had spilled without admitting the fear that drove you to it? That you thought you could act without his knowledge? That you could shield him, or worse, act in his stead?

“It’s nothing,” you murmured, the lie burning your throat as it left your lips, trying to force the words out as calmly as you could. “I’ve been restless, that’s all.”

He said nothing at first, his eyes—a deep, glowing crimson that burned through the dim light— narrowing with a terrifying patience, as though waiting for you to trip over your own words. His silence felt more damning than accusation, and you couldn’t help but shift under the weight of his gaze. Still, you dared not meet his eyes in the mirror, fearing what you might see there—disappointment, perhaps, or worse, apathy.

“Restless?” He repeated, his voice curling around the word like a snake tightening its coils. There, behind you, his presence was solid and immovable, much like the great stone walls of the castle itself. His hand had moved to your shoulder, heavy and possessive, his fingers cold against your skin. Deceptively gentle, his touch held an unmistakable strength, an authority that demanded answers.“You lie to me.” His voice was dark velvet, smoothing over the jagged edges of your panic, but each word sliced through the air, leaving you feeling bare, exposed.

With a gentle motion, he turned you to face him, his gaze capturing yours with an intensity that stole your breath away. His hand, large and rough from countless battles, brushed against your cheek, pushing aside a strand of your hair dampened with sweat. The gesture was too tender, too human for a man like him—a man who slaughtered thousands without a second thought, whose name was a curse on the lips of his enemies. And yet here he was, gentle with you, the only one in his kingdom to receive such mercy.

You leaned into his touch, a broken sigh escaping your lips as your knees threatened to buckle. Your body, fragile and trembling, was held up only by his presence. His hand, firm yet careful, traced the curve of your jaw, his thumb brushing against your pulse that fluttered like a trapped bird.

“Look at you,” Sukuna’s voice rumbled low, carrying an edge of something you haven’t heard before. Could it be…concern? “You’ve grown so pale.”

Your breath faltered, and you felt the sting of your heartbeat pounding in your ears. The lie had been pitiful, and now the truth hovered on the edge of your lips threatening to unravel everything. He knew already, didn’t he? Sukuna was no fool, and here you were tangled in your own web of fear and love, too afraid to admit what you had done. But now, standing in his shadow there was no escape.

“What have you done?”His voice was quieter now, but there was a dangerous sharpness to it, like a blade glinting in the dark..

His gaze shifted to your hands again, and the faintest frown tugged at the corners of his lips. He took your hands in his, lifting them from the water, the cold droplets running down your wrists like tears. He studied them, turning them over, his fingers tracing the raw skin where you had scrubbed at invisible bloodstains. The touch was almost reverent, as though he understood, in some unspoken way, the burden you carried.

"You've stained them for me." It wasn’t a question, but a statement. His voice was rough but slow, as if he were working through something. He could see the turmoil in your eyes, the haunted look that came from guilt and fear—fear of him.

How could you not fear him? He, who had bathed in the blood of his enemies and found joy in their screams? He had no right to judge you, to be angry or disappointed. He had slaughtered far more than you ever could, his hands forever soaked in the blood of the innocent and the damned alike.

“I…” you started, your voice shaking, “I only wanted to protect you.” The words came out too quickly, too desperate, and the moment you spoke them you regretted them.

His fingers traced a path up your neck, curling under your chin, forcing your face upward with his scarlet eyes boring into yours. “Protect me?” he murmured, his voice a dangerous purr, the barest hint of amusement playing at the corners of his lips. “You think I need protection?”

“No,” you whispered, trembling now, unable to hold his gaze any longer. “Not you…but those who sought to challenge you.” You swallowed hard, the confession falling from your lips before you could stop it. “The ones who spoke against you. They…they cursed your name. I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t let them defy you. Not with their worthless lives and their petty defiance.”

A dark chuckle rumbled from his chest, low and humourless, vibrating through the air between you. His hand slipped from your chin to your shoulder, his grip tightening slightly, enough to make you feel the control he had over you, the power he held. “And so, you thought it was your place to end them?”

The pain came suddenly, like a hot blade piercing through your skull, leaving you gasping for breath. You pressed a trembling hand to your temple, your vision blurring as the world around you wavered. The familiar, nauseating throb of the headache began to claw at your mind, the weight of your guilt manifesting in sharp, crippling waves.

And then the memories came—hazy, fractured, like fragments of glass slicing through your consciousness. You saw flashes of faces twisted in agony, the sound of desperate pleas that had fallen on deaf ears. The crack of the whip as it tore through flesh, the sickening thud of bodies hitting the ground. Their eyes—wide, terrified, as they realised their fate. The words they had uttered against Sukuna, the defiance that had sealed their doom. You had watched, cold and distant, as their lives bled out before you, justifying it all in the name of loyalty.

Blood. So much blood. It stained your hands, dripping from your fingers, soaking into the earth. You tried to wash it away earlier, scrubbing frantically, but it clung to you, thick and accusing. The cries of the condemned echoed in your ears, haunting and relentless, as if they would never leave you. You saw the moment their eyes dimmed, the light of life snuffed out, and the weight of their deaths settled on your soul like an iron chain.

You blinked, the vision dissolving into the present, the pain still pounding behind your eyes. Your breaths came in shallow gasps, your body trembling as the memories faded, leaving you hollow. The room spun around you, and for a moment, you thought you might collapse under the weight of it all—the guilt, the shame, the horror of what you had done. Even now, even with his touch grounding you, the wrongs you had committed refused to let you go.

As you fought to regain your breath, your back pressed firmly against the cold stone, and your fingers dug into the edge of the sink, your knuckles white. “I thought… I thought you would be pleased,” you admitted, the words brittle and frail. “I did it for you.”

His gaze flickered, and for the briefest moment, something passed through his eyes—something that might have been understanding or amusement. Then it was gone, replaced by that familiar coldness. “You think I would have been pleased with your disobedience?” His voice was calm, yet it dripped with dark promise, a reminder of the power he wielded over you and the consequences that could follow.

“I would have thought,” he continued, “that you would come to me. Yet here you were, washing away the evidence of your transgressions as though I wouldn’t have known.”

You flinched at his words, the accusation clear, your heart hammering against your ribs. He was a king of slaughter, a creature born in blood. How could you have thought to deceive him?

Your lips trembled as you whispered, “I thought I was doing what you would have done.”

Sukuna’s lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile. “You misunderstand, wife.” His hand slid to the back of your neck, his fingers weaving through your hair with a possessive grip. “I kill because it is necessary. You kill out of fear.”

Your pulse quickened, panic rising in your chest, but his hand tightened just enough to keep you grounded, his voice softening as he spoke. “Do you think I wouldn’t have known what you have done? That I would let it pass unnoticed?” He leaned in closer, his breath hot against the side of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. “I know everything, even when you think you hide from me.”

Tears stung your eyes, and your lips parted, but no words came. He had known all along. He had watched you unravel, had let you dig yourself deeper into this darkness, even expecting you to come to him on your own. But you hadn’t. Instead, you had fallen deeper, spiralling into this madness, desperate to protect him, to prove your loyalty to a man who needed no protector.

He raised his other hand to your face, his fingers ghosting over your cheek, almost tender in the way they brushed aside the tears that spilled down. “You should not have feared me,” he said quietly, the darkness in his voice replaced by something softer, something that felt almost like affection. “I have bathed in blood far worse than this.”

He understood what you feared, even if you couldn’t say it aloud. You thought he would cast you aside for this—for acting in his name without his consent. But you had no reason to worry. Your actions, though misguided, came from a place he knew all too well—love, twisted and warped by power. And for that, he could not fault you.

His thumb grazed your trembling lips, silencing the sob that threatened to break free. And then, slowly, his hand moved upward, covering your eyes with his fingers pressing lightly against your eyelids, casting you into a sudden, terrifying darkness. You stiffened, but his touch remained gentle, his palm resting delicately against your skin as if to protect you from the weight of your own actions. You felt a moment of peace, of quiet—a reprieve from the torment that had consumed you.

“You worry for nothing,” he whispered against your ear, his voice low and intimate. “It is not judgement you should fear. Not from me.”

His words settled over you like a balm, easing the weight on your chest. He would not leave you. He had never intended to. Even in your spiral, in your darkest moments, he would not cast you aside. He, the king of slaughter, had already known what it meant to live with blood on his hands.

And then, you felt his lips brush against the corner of your mouth, a touch so soft, so delicate. You shuddered under the weight of that moment, the fear that had consumed you slowly dissipating like mist in the light of dawn. It was not a kiss of anger, nor of passion, but a dark promise, a reminder that you were his, bound to him by blood and love, no matter what you had done. You would always be his.

His hand slipped away from your eyes, and when you opened them again, you were left feeling exposed, raw under his gaze. Yet, there was no signs of disgust in him, no fury. He had known all along, had let you descend into this unravelling, but he had not abandoned you. Sukuna, the King of Curses, the tyrant feared by all, had always been waiting, knowing that no matter how far you strayed, you would always return to him.

“Come,” he whispered, his voice a low rumble, commanding but not unkind. “Leave the water behind. It cannot wash away what we are.”

He took your hand in his, pulling you gently away from the sink, the water long silenced behind you. The shadows whispered, but their hold on you had weakened. Sukuna had pulled you from the darkness you had created, and as he led you from the room, his grip firm but reassuring, you knew that whatever sins lay on your hands, you would not bear them alone.

A.N. I don't know how to feel about this piece, whether I hate it or like it. I also felt like I was descending into madness trying to bring this idea into fruition. Anyways, Happy Halloween :)

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madschiavelique · 1 year ago

Note

Okay but picture this, Miguel getting jealous cause of another spiderperson flirting with you

Like he is doing a briefing with a lot of spider people and one of them keeps trying to get your attention and miguel gets jealous, sends everyone away and has a heavily make out on his platform in his office🫣

HIHIHI twirling hair kicking feet at this bestie

summary : miguel gets jealous of a random spiderperson flirting with you (not proofread)

content warnings : posessive!miguel, just jealous miguel, no use of Y/N, fem!reader word count : 1,9k

tag list : @fandom-ash

Miguel had invited a good group of spiderpersons who were still fairly new to the society, to bring them up to speed or simply to remind them of the procedures to follow on a mission.

You were there, just to supervise. Having been part of Miguel's elite group of spiders for some time now, you were perfectly familiar with all the criteria and stages of the anomaly hunt.

Nothing more than a quick briefing. The usual team was there, Hobie, Gwen, Pavitr, Peter B, Jess and you. You stood off to the side, leaning against a wall, arms folded as you watched Miguel give his speech a bit farther away.

"Hey, I've never seen you around before, do we know each other ?

Your eyes went to the person who had just spoken to you. It was an umpteenth Peter, blond-haired, not far from your age, and of course new.

Although you didn't appear everywhere all the time, most of the spiders knew what Miguel's group looked like. So you were a little surprised by his remark, but not enough for it to be too striking.

"You might've seen me on his team," you said, pointing with your chin at your boyfriend, who you hoped wasn't terrorising the newcomers too much.

You tried to refocus on Miguel's speech. Your relationship with him was not public; you had agreed that, for the time being, you would prefer to keep it a secret. There were several reasons for this, such as the fact that you might be seen as a spider with more privileges than the others - which wasn't the case - or the fact that you simply wanted to avoid trouble. This lack of information didn't stop Peter from coming back for a chat.

"So... what's your name ?"

You didn't even look at him, simply giving him your name and alias.

"And you're a new Peter," you sighed.

"You never get enough Peters, am I right?" he smiled, "although I'm obviously unique in my own way.

"Unique?" you smiled with a little chuckle, "how?", because Peters looked and acted the same, they were after all Peters, so you wondered how he would stand out.

"Like this," he approached you, tucking his fingers behind your ear and bringing his hand into your field of vision so that you could see a little flower between his fingers.

You gave a little laugh, taking the flower in your hand. It was soft, light and smelled wonderful.

"A Peter magician?" you pouted, shaking your head, "that's progress."

Miguel was going over the formalities of multidimensional cells when his gaze inevitably drifted to you. But he froze, tensing up as his eyes took in the little scene unfolding nearby.

You, against a wall, an ordinary Peter caressing your ear to perform a crummy magic trick and make a flower come out of it. Too close... he thought, he was too close to you. He didn't appreciate the proximity with which he approached you. Of course, the other team-mates in his squad could allow themselves to be close to you, whether you were in their arms or whatever, but for one of the countless Peters here to allow himself to be at your level? That he could not condone.

He saw a small smile forming on your face, his blood boiling. Wasn't he good enough for you? Was it because he didn't give you enough affection that you let any spider approach you? Or was it that he didn't do you enough favours, like performing magic tricks?

But Miguel was so good to you, it was almost impossible to get out of his arms when he hugged you. He gave you everything he could give you, even loving you to the point of giving you the last empanada left in the cafeteria if there was only one left, no matter how much he wanted it, and that's how passionate he was about you.

So maybe... you didn't realise that Peter was flirting with you?

Ah, maybe that was it, maybe you were just oblivious to what the nerd was trying to do?

And the Peter took another step.

That one step was too much.

"Well, you've got most of the information. We're going to cut this meeting short, you can all go." he warned, teeth clenched.

The elite team itself looked surprised as all the other Spiderpersons scattered to leave the room.

"Miguel? Is there something wrong ?" asked Peter B, concerned that perhaps the reason everyone had just been dismissed was because of something he had received from Lyla that was important.

But his eyes were riveted like arrows ready to be shot at the Peter who was still chatting to you.

"I just have to take care of a little problem," his eyebrows were furrowed, jaw tight.

Peter B's eyes drifted back to where his were, letting out a quiet "Oh" before calling the rest of the team and persuading them to come with him to... whatever it was for, as long as the elite were leaving too.

"And so you caught three anomalies in a single mission?" said Peter, absolutely amazed by the feats you were telling him about.

"Yes, it's becoming routine," you confirmed.

You noticed the room beginning to empty, and deduced that the meeting must have ended.

"I'm so happy that there are Spiderwomen around, and as competent as you are," continued Peter, chatting to you, "especially when I see that they're as beautiful as you are."

"That's very kind of you," you say simply, "the meeting's just finished, I think you'd better leave before you get your knuckles rapped."

Advice from someone with a very strict boyfriend on organisation, you thought.

"Could we meet again? How about the cafeteria?" he offered.

"That's very nice of you to suggest, but-" you bit the inside of your cheek as he cut you off.

"Oh, or maybe the park? I hear there's an ice-cream parlour that sells ice-creams in our likeness." he laughed softly.

"Would you look at that."

You swallow, his voice was strained and falsely interested, your eyes landing on Miguel who'd just arrived near you.

It's almost comical how tall Miguel was compared to him, towering over him in both mass and size to the point where he could crush him like a tin can.

"Oh Miguel O'Hara-" greeted Peter as if nothing had happened.

"I've never seen you here before," Miguel remarked, a vicious flash in his eyes.

He intended to take great pleasure in showing how much better he was than Peter, and above all in making sure he understood that you weren't interested in his advances.

"Oh yes sir, I'm Peter," he said.

"How original," said Miguel in a honeyed, falsely curious tone, glancing at you.

"The Peters must be the best for there to be so many of them," laughed Peter, and you felt like pinching the bridge of your nose.

"I see them more as a weed that hangs around," he said, looking into poor Peter's eyes, Miguel looming over him.

"Well, I think you should join the other Spiderpersons," you simply breathed with a polite smile.

"Yeah um," he swallowed, lowering his eyes from Miguel's to meet yours, he was appalled. "I'll see you sometime maybe ?"

"Never," Miguel decided.

Peter took a few steps backwards, unable to say anything else, and headed for the exit.

"You look upset, what's wrong?" you asked as Miguel headed for the control platform.

"I see you made a new friend?" asked Miguel, his eyes locking onto you with a dark gleam as he stepped onto the platform.

"Not really," you replied, your voice a little smaller as you in turn joined him on it, coming to sit on one of the desks.

"What did he want?" he asked, his tone insistent as he looked at you, standing and taking a step forward.

"Nothing special, he wanted to get acquainted," you said softly as he took a step forward, his eyes gleaming strangely.

"Just getting to know each other?" he said, arriving just in front of you and placing his two hands on either side of your thighs, tilting his head to the side, questioningly. "You're naive if you think he just wants to be your friend."

His face was close to yours, his whole body almost covering you, leaving you unable to move or get away. Your eyes locked with his a little more, and you understood, a small smile forming on your lips.

You put your hand on his cheek, and he pressed against your touch.

"Do I detect some jealousy there?"

He sighed, his jaw contracting slightly, his tongue creating a tent in his cheek. You raised an eyebrow - was Miguel jealous?

His hand came to brush against your thigh, his fingers moving up until they settled and gripped you, pulling you towards him with this simple grip until your noses touched.

"I didn't like very much how he was so close to you," he admitted, his lips brushing yours.

He came to kiss you, demanding, his lips pressing almost brutally against yours as his other hand came to rest on the small of your back, the latter pressing to bring you closer to him.

You tried to respond to his kiss, his lips and jaw so strong that you felt he was going to engulf you.

He came and kissed your neck, a small sigh of comfort coming from between your lips, which were puffed out and moistened by his kiss.

"You know," you said softly as your fingers ran through his hair, "he never stood a chance against... you right ?"

The statement made his ego swell, as if a huge weight had just been lifted from his shoulders and he felt so light. His lips tenderly kissed your neck, and you felt it.

He sucked at your skin, marking it delicately. He needed, needed the others to know that you had someone. And although you both wanted what you had to be private, he had a terrible desire for people to know that you belonged to him, and not just anyone. He came back to your lips.

"Say that you're mine."

He had to hear it, from your lips that were full of him. You moistened them with a flick of your tongue, his eyes attentive, dark.

"I'm yours," you affirmed softly.

He came to kiss you again, pulling away from your lips to let his fall on your cheek.

"Make me believe it," he said, drunk on your skin. "Say that again."

His kisses covered your skin, wanting to coat it entirely with his lips so that he didn't miss any part of it.

"I'm yours," you whispered, drowning in his adoration as your fingers caressed his cheek.

"Again," he whispered as his lips kissed your eyelid.

"I'm yours," you whispered, your other hand coming around his chest to bring him closer to you.

"Again..." his voice was barely audible, kissing the tip of your nose.

Of course you were his, everything already belonged to him. Did he want your heart? It was full of him. Did he want your thoughts? He had replaced every one of your ideas. Did he want all of you? He would only have a body and a soul that was already attached to him.

When his lips returned to yours, it was you who kissed him, and he melted under the sensation of your lips on his.

"I'm yours."

Your eyes gazed at each other, each living in the other, and he wrapped his arms around you, pressing you hard against him, closing his eyes to enjoy the moment.

He wouldn't let any weeds near his flower.

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tighnarisfavourite · 2 months ago

Text

⟡ turn me to ashes, ready for another lie ── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

cyno x fem!reader

you’ve been friends with cyno since you were children, but you started to grow distant once the two of you got accepted into the akademiya. but it seems like life had fated for the two of you to meet again under interesting circumstances.

word count : 2230

⟡ You’ve been friends with Cyno for as long as you can remember.

Since you were young children, your families were quite close, and the two of you had gotten along nicely. Spending your time studying to get into the Akademiya, practicing your defense and fighting skills with wooden weapons (you obviously weren’t allowed to carry real, heavy weapons while so young), or let it be just simple chatter.

...The two of you were inseparable, really. Cyno always had this quiet, serious demeanor, even as a child, but he would light up whenever you talked about what you had been researching about, or even if you brought up a random conversation topic with him which would as a result, make Cyno open up about himself.

Whenever he would open up, you would always be there to listen to him attentively. Providing comfort if he needed it. After all, once you got older, he had more expectations laid on his shoulders, which would weigh him down but you were there to listen.

But even moments like those had evolved into more heartfelt ones, where on many nights, you would sneak out of your house in Aaru Village, running to the location where you had agreed to meet up with Cyno.

The nights when the stars hung low in the desert sky and you were lying with him on the sand, where no words would be spoken for a while until one of you broke it with a question or just something that was on your mind at that particular time.

During times like that, you could swear you started feeling deeper emotions rising within you. Deeper emotions for Cyno. Those emotions people would link to the word love. Yes, you had undoubtedly fallen for your childhood friend.

Your heart racing just a bit too quickly if he got close to you or when your fingers lightly brushed against the others. Those small moments messed with your head and heart— and your cheeks would heat up, making it look as if you got a sunburn directly on your face from the harsh desert sun.

But you weren’t the only one feeling like this— Cyno had been too. Sometimes, on days when he would be getting tutored, he’d purposefully make up excuses to leave early and he would go to your house in Aaru Village, throwing rocks at your window to get your attention and to get you to spend time with him.

Sometimes he would even sneak through your window and land face-first onto the floors of your bedroom, coming completely unannounced. You would always rush up to him and help him off the floor before cupping his cheeks and inspecting his face for any scars or bruises.

And Cyno being Cyno, he would crack an unfunny joke every time— and you’d just let out the most fake and exaggerated laugh ever... but sometimes, he did have a funny joke and you would laugh for real! Those were rare cases, though.

Then came the day you both entered the Akademiya, your paths being different— you had set on the path of becoming an Akademiya scholar and hopefully become a sage in the future while Cyno set on the path of being a Matra.

Since your studies were so different, you had grown further and further apart as the years went by. You were always preoccupied with written assignments or on-field ones, while Cyno had to do completely different work— your schedules never aligned or let you have time for each other.

During those years, Cyno had already reached the title of General Mahamatra and you were a proud Kshahrewar scholar that the Akademiya had recognized for your smarts and you had graduated with honors, earning you a guaranteed spot of becoming a sage one day.

But it was unfortunate, how life pulled you in different directions. Sometimes, you’d find yourself lingering in the library late at night, staring out of the high, arched windows, wondering where Cyno was and what he was doing. Was he out on a mission, protecting Sumeru? Bringing people to justice? Inspecting if any researcher had smuggled in something illegal?

The distance grew like a quiet ache, a hollow feeling that crept in during the silence between tasks. You were always hoping that you’d cross paths, maybe bump into each other in the halls of the Akademiya, or catch sight of him on your way to the House of Daena, but those moments became rarer and rarer, almost like they were slipping through your fingers.

In the fleeting times that you had seen him, you’d share a nod, perhaps even a brief word or two, and that was it. But that wasn’t enough to fill in the gap and the feeling of longing you had.

But seems like life had fated for the two of you to meet again... even if it was not in the greatest conditions.

A Kshahrewar student in the Akademiya had asked you for help with their thesis and if you could sign a few documents and being the kind soul that you are, you willingly helped the student, but what you did not know is that the student had a plan that would ruin your future.

Just hours ago, you had been called in by the Akademiya’s administrative council, a grave, severe group of scholars who had looked at you, not with the familiar approval and warmth you’d once known— but with shame and disappointment.

“Smuggling in illegal goods. Deception. Identity theft,” They’d listed, each word like a dagger cutting into you. The words had barely registered in your head, they seemed surreal like they were meant for someone else entirely. Not me, you’d thought. I wouldn’t… I didn’t…

But then they’d shown you the records. Signatures you didn’t remember signing. Documents you’d never seen. Submissions under your name that claimed research and contributions you had no recollection of. A carefully laid trail of deception— all leading back to you.

The student had forged your handwriting, signing your name— using your signature on documents that said you allowed illegal knowledge and banned books to enter the Akademiya, letting Kshahrewar students use the books and help themselves with the knowledge that was strictly forbidden. Even using your signature to sign documents that were for the sages— making it seem as if you were a sage and you allowed this to pass.

Unable to process this— you ran out of the office of the council, your heart skipping beats as your breath becomes nothing more but a sharp inhale. Your mind flashed back to the many nights spent in the dimly lit House of Daena, going over paper after paper, searching through records, deciphering theories... all for the student.

But your kindness was repaid with betrayal.

You ran and ran...

Ran until you had reached the desert, the same one you grew up in before you left it for the Akademiya.

You had long lost your shoes and now you could feel the burning sand under your feet as you started to pant, unable to continue running— especially under this scorching sun. The desert stretched endlessly around you, heat radiating off the dunes and distorting the horizon as if the very world was laughing at you. The Akademiya had been your beacon, a chance at something great, something meaningful. But that had now been shattered by a single, twisted act of betrayal.

You felt dizzy, confused, lost... what were you supposed to do now? You couldn’t run or hide forever, you would get caught and get sent on trial for your supposed crimes, that you didn’t even commit!

And just as you were lost in your thoughts— a figure crept up right behind you, “I suggest you stop running from your crimes.” That voice... was it...

Turning your head around, “Cyno...?” You managed to say— your voice coming out like a gasp, as your eyes locked in with his. And he too, was surprised. The world seemed to blur as you faced Cyno, the General Mahamatra himself.

Of all the people to find you out here, it had to be him—the one person whose duty it was to hunt down criminals and bring them to justice. For a brief moment, you hoped he was simply an illusion, a mirage born of heat and exhaustion.

But Cyno’s eyes, sharp and unyielding, were very real. The same red eyes you have known since you were a child. He swiftly put away his spear, before a deep exhale escaped his lips. “[name]... you’re the one who committed those crimes? Ran away before the council could call for the guards?”

“Cyno— listen to me, please! You have to believe me when I say I didn’t do anything! I was tricked— deceived by a Kshahrewar student! He used me, used my name, my signature to sign all those strange documents!” You blurt out everything, your voice cracking with every word, placing your hand on your heart as you hold back tears— coming face to face with Cyno after so long, and in a situation like this too was not ideal, not in the slightest.

Seeing his expression, he did not seem exactly convinced... after all, you were a scholar who graduated with honors, how could somebody like you get tricked so easily? And by a simple student as well? Something was just not adding up.

“Please... do you really think I would commit such heinous crimes after working so hard to get into the Akademiya? To get where I am today?” You could feel your heart racing faster, a pit forming in your stomach, making it ache. Every word you spoke felt weak. “You know me Cyno... we’ve been friends since forever, you know I wouldn’t do something like this. He manipulated me and now I’m the one paying for it.”

For a long, unbearable moment, he remained silent, unreadable. His gaze swept over you, taking in the desperation carved into every inch of your face. At last, his eyes softened by a little.

The feelings he had for you before had made their way back up to the surface, the feelings he so desperately tried to remain buried all this time so they would not interfere with his work or yours, but alas, seeing you once again made them strike.

But then again... could he really trust your words? And if you were lying... could he really punish his best friend? His crush of many years?

It’s his duty to uphold the rules and punish wrongdoings but oh... he was weak when it came to you and he knew it as well.

He swallowed, his jaw clenching as he spoke up, “I... can’t let personal relationships interfere with my line of work. You know that.”

“I know,” You whispered, your voice unsteady. “And that’s why I need you to believe me. You’ve seen the things I’ve overcome just to be accepted into the Akademiya, and to get this far. You know that better than anyone.”

Cyno looked away, his gaze fixed on the endless desert horizon. For all his training, all his discipline, this was the one battle he hadn’t prepared for... having to weigh his loyalty to the Akademiya against the loyalty he felt to you. He had always thought he’d have the strength to choose justice, but standing here now, he realized just how much that belief wavered when it came to you.

“I can’t ignore this, even if I wanted to,” He admitted, more to himself than to you. “I can’t look the other way.” You nodded to his words, the ache in your stomach growing. “I’m not asking you to look the other way. I would never ask you to betray who you are, Cyno. I just... need you to trust me like you used to. Like back then, when we were kids.”

For a moment, he didn’t speak— letting silence engulf the two of you.

“You think I don’t want to believe you?” He finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I want to believe you more than anything. But if I’m wrong, if I let my guard down for you and it turns out I was blinded by my personal feelings for you, then I’ve failed not only the Akademiya but myself.”

“Then don’t do it for me,” You replied gently, letting a small but fragile smile come up on your lips. “Do it because you believe in the truth. Do it because you know in your heart that I wouldn’t lie to you— not about this.”

Cyno closed his eyes, taking a slow breath. “Alright,” He murmured, his eyes meeting yours. “I’ll look into it, for the sake of the truth. But understand that if I find nothing, I’ll have no choice but to carry out my duty. No matter what.”

“I understand— thank you, Cyno.”

As he turned around and walked away, his figure becoming more and more distant— you felt your hand reaching out to him before it crumbled, and you let it fall to your side. Your eyes falling to the sand beneath you.

You could now only hope that he would find some sort of evidence that led to you not being the one who committed the crimes and that the student who manipulated you would get what he deserved.

part 2 here!

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wyattjohnston · 6 months ago

Text

turbulent - nico hischier

summary: a bumpy flight forces two people closer together.

word count: 2,790

note: this is for @dunnerlars as part of the summer fic exchange 2k24. i really hope you like it ash <3 thanks to @offside-the-lines for putting up with me going through the five stages of grief whilst trying to pull this together!

There was an element of strangeness to working on an NHL charter flight; most perplexing, even still, to Bonnie was the sudden way they all stripped out of their suits the second the seatbelt sign was turned off. She understood that sitting in a suit for six hours wasn’t comfortable, and also understood that the toilets were not big enough for giant men to reasonably change—she chose to spend time in the galley while they were doing it, because it was impossible not to stare inappropriately if she was walking the aisles.

“I thought you were joking,” Alice said, returning to the galley wide eyed and keeping the curtain closed with a hard fist against the cabin wall.

Bonnie hummed without turning around. “Everyone does.”

Short of holding her coworkers hostage in the galley, there wasn’t much Bonnie could do beyond warning them about what they’d see if they wandered the plane before she told them to. So, without fail, they all got caught in the aisles as some twenty odd men stood in unison and started to remove their pants.

“I know athletes have no shame in locker rooms,” Alice whispered aggressively, still with a firm grip on the curtain, “but this is a plane. There are people out there! Journalists!”

“This happens every flight,” Bonnie stressed. “Everyone is used to it. Some of the journalists might even be changing, too.”

Alice’s eyes widened, so big that Bonnie had a mild concern that they would come out of her head, and they only returned to normal when the captain’s voice came over the speaker.

“Hello everyone, sorry to interrupt your flight so early on, we have just been made aware of some unexpected weather on route to Los Angeles. We’ll do our best to make any necessary deviations to avoid patches of turbulence without adding too much extra time to the flight. For your own safety, please keep your seatbelts fastened and only move around the cabin if necessary. Thank you.”

Bonnie sighed, her chin dropping to her chest, at the thought of yet another turbulent flight. Alice groaned. It had been an uncommonly turbulent couple of weeks across both of their flights, even in completely different areas and directions—it was the first thing they’d spoken about when they met before getting on the plane.

“I can’t unsee any of that,” Alice said, finally letting go of the curtain.

“I mean, yeah, but there are worse things to have burnt into your brain.”

Alice readily agreed, even took a moment to subtly peak back into the cabin.

Bonnie still vividly remembered the first time she’d witnessed it. She would never forget the eye contact she’d made with the team’s captain before her eyes were drawn to his bare chest, the tattoo on the inside of his bicep—

“What can I do for you?”

“I’m just here to see Bonnie.”

Said chest and said tattoo blazed in Bonnie’s mind, and then she made eye contact with the team’s captain and sighed softly.

“Hi, Nico,” she greeted. “My captain said you were meant to remain seated with your seatbelt on.”

He smiled knowingly, “Good luck with that.”

Alice disappeared back into the cabin when someone pressed the call button and Nico moved out of her way with a practiced ease, even as Bonnie began to organise the food trolley for the first pass through.

“I just wanted to come check on you; you weren’t on the last few flights.”

“Just a sinus infection,” she said, as if it hadn’t written her off for a week and a half. “Didn’t want my eardrums to explode, you know?”

“You’re okay?” he asked, his hand coming to rest on her forearm. Concern radiated off him.

Bonnie covered his hand with her own, smiling softly and saying reassuringly, “I’m all better.”

Nico stayed while Bonnie finished filling the trolley. The flights were the three after the All-Star Break, so he had plenty of stories to tell to keep her occupied. The Swiss boys had headed to Mexico, of which she was jealous. It hadn’t been too cold in Jersey, but the need for sun had been growing and growing since Christmas, and the longing had only gotten more intense after being cooped up in her own apartment.

“Have you been?” Nico asked.

“No,” Bonnie said with a shake of her head. “One of my college friends had a vacation home in Fort Lauderdale so we did Spring Br—shit.”

The trolley rattled, a few trays coming half out of their places, and Bonnie watched helplessly as the last knife and fork fell off the counter.

“What the fuck is going on today?” Nico asked, causing Bonnie's eyes to snap up. He had a hand on each of the high cabinets either side of the galley.

“You should go back to your seat,” Bonnie said, picking up the lost cutlery and dropping into what would become the dirty dishes container. “I’ll be out in a second. Put your seatbelt on.”

Nico nodded, “Yes ma’am.”

Bonnie was friendly with all the players, staff and media on the flight. Most of them were familiar faces, especially halfway through the season, but anybody she didn’t know was introduced to her with a startling amount of enthusiasm from whichever player had taken it upon themselves to do so—normally it was Luke, being egged on by Nate. She always made sure they had the same energy for whoever had been assigned to work with her, whether or not they had ever met before. Alice looked delighted by the attention; Bonnie hoped it was just the energy being contagious.

If they lingered a little longer next to Nico, who politely ignored Alice’s doe eyes, and Jesper, so that they could get his round up of the All-Star Game, that was purely coincidental.

Back in the galley, Alice was poised to ask many questions. Bonnie could feel the curiosity bursting from her, it only becoming more obvious with every passing minute of silence. Every now and then Bonnie was assigned to work with someone who couldn’t quite handle it. Bonnie would never put in any complaints herself for some lowkey fangirling, but she had had a few coworkers who had been asked to never work a team’s charter flight again.

“Say whatever it is you want to say,” Bonnie said after Alice’s eagerness became too much to bear.

“Did they ask for you to be on all their flights?”

“Uh…” Bonnie hesitated, rolling the question around in her mind. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but it wasn’t that “I don’t think so? I think it’s just easier to have someone who knows all the ins and outs. I didn’t think they could request people.”

“The Rangers do it,” Alice said casually, as she pulled out a new tray of water bottles from the fridge, “but I think that’s because she’s sleeping with one of the players.”

Bonnie was nodding, distracted by someone pressing the call button, and responded mindlessly, “Yeah, that’s pretty norm—Wait, what? I didn’t know anything about that!”

“That’s what I heard,” Alice said, looking and sounding suspiciously like Alexis Rose. “Super juicy. They wouldn’t tell me which player which was upsetting.”

“I wouldn’t want to know anyway,” Bonnie said, largely trying to convince herself because, though she would never admit aloud, she was not immune to gossip. “I couldn’t look them in the face again.”

The plane rumbled.

“Fine, I won’t tell you when I find out, but I also won’t tell anybody you’re sleeping with Nico. Promise.”

Bonnie’s neck snapped as she turned to glare at Alice. “Yeah, you better not because I’m not sleeping with Nico.”

“Oh, really? Damn.” Alice pouted. “You so could be, though. Should be.”

The thing about that was that Bonnie knew she could be. Nico had never made it explicitly clear, but nobody else on the team spent any time in the galley with her during flights. Nobody else ever got up and sought her out when they needed something.

Nobody else touched her so effortlessly, so naturally, when in her space without at all being in the way or a burden.

Nobody else ever looked at her like she was the best thing to happen in their day.

Bonnie tried her hardest to hide the small sigh that escaped her lips. She made direct eye contact with Alice as she moved the conversation along.

“How did you even find out about the Rangers thing? This is your first flight.”

Alice, either oblivious to the redirect or just so interested in the gossip that she didn’t mind, rattled on, “They brought me in for orientation and the woman they left me with is chatty.”

Bonnie knew the exact woman being referred to—in fact, she’d been subtly blacklisted from the Devils’ flights at the beginning of that season for some very inappropriate and entirely unsubtle flirting.

Alice was still talking, even as she left the galley with her tray of water bottles and crossed through the curtain, stopping mid-word to change topics and start a conversation with the person sitting directly on the other side.

A brief jolt came over the plane and Bonnie groaned. It was followed by a considerable rattle.

She was second guessing her career choice as her stomach lurched with the plane when Nico, once again, appeared in the galley. His closed-mouth smile was genuine if not a little cautious and it set Bonnie at ease.

Until she felt more turbulence and was met with Nico’s uncertain head tilt.

“You can stay, but you have to sit there,” Bonnie told him, putting a hand on his shoulder to forcibly turn him around to look at the jump seat she was pointing at. “And put your seatbelt on.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. When he sat down, he only broke eye contact to find the seatbelt. “What did you do while we were on break?”

The shelves were rattling around her.

“Worked other flights like I normally do when you guys are at home for a while,” Bonnie answered. “I don’t just sit at home and wait for the team to go on a road trip, you know.”

“That… that makes a lot of sense,” he admitted, his cheeks turning the slightest bit red. “I don’t know why I thought you only flew with us.”

“Sometimes I fly with the Knicks, sometimes there’s some commercial flights. You boys are my favourites, though.”

Nico’s sweet smile turned just ever so slightly into a smirk. “I knew we would be.”

“You didn’t even know there were others,” Bonnie said, laughing.

“Yeah, but obviously.”

Bonnie’s eye roll was good natured, her laughter continuing as Nico’s smirk morphed back into its purest, most genuine form.

She kept looking back at him as she continued to work, sometimes to show she was listening and other times just to look. He was often looking back.

Their peacefulness was interrupted by the ding of the seatbelt sign being switched on and the plane’s captain making an announcement.

“Everybody, including cabin crew, the seatbelt sign has been turned on. Please make your way back to your seats immediately and put on your seatbelt; we don’t expect that to be the last patch and we apologise for our lack of notice on that one. If you need emergency assistance, please press the call button and someone will be with you as soon as it is safe.”

The inclusion of the cabin crew set Bonnie on edge, and she was halfway to demanding Nico return to his seat and hunting Alice down to drag her back when the plane shook even more violently than it had the entire life.

Bonnie’s feet momentarily left the floor. She could hear some shouting from the cabin. She could hear luggage bouncing in the nearest overhead lockers. She made eye contact with Nico—all colour was drained from his face.

“Where’s Alice?” Bonnie asked, holding desperately onto the galley counter behind her back. “She needs to be sitting down.”

Nico leant as far as he could, peeking down the aisle, before saying firmly, “She’s in my seat. Come here.”

Bonnie didn’t let go of the counter as she walked, her eyes never leaving the seat opposite Nico, and she was confident she was going to make it before the next bump. She looked back into the aisle when she could, instantly looking to Nico’s normal seat to see Alice expertly calming down some very nervous men, and relaxed knowing that she was safe.

Naturally, the plane started to tremble just a bit harder the very second she was feeling comfortable, and the oh shit had barely left her mouth before the plane dropped again. Her mind filled with all the things that could happen, where her head and the plane would meet, all the things that would inevitably fall on her if she was unable to get off the floor. And then—

“Gopf.”

She was hauled by the arm with an abrupt and unexpected force, all momentum she’d gained coming to a crashing halt when she collided with Nico’s chest and was held firmly in place by his arms wrapped around her.

“This is the worst flight I’ve ever been on.”

“Go on a date with me.”

Bonnie froze in Nico’s arms; no thoughts being given to the next bumpy patch and all thoughts being focused on his words and the way his arms squeezed just a little bit together.

“What?” she asked, breathless. “Nico.”

“I kind of feel like we might be about to die,” he said—it wasn’t totally clear if he was being serious or not, but he was sincere in his tone. “I don’t want that to happen without at least asking.”

She sighed wistfully, swooning closer to him in their already intimate position. Nico’s eyes dropped to Bonnie’s mouth, causing her to bite her lip and turn her head.

“I shouldn’t have asked?” Nico asked cautiously, his arms loosening around her waist. “I’m sorry.”

Bonnie shook her head, and said in a whisper, “You should have. I’m just—I’m working. I wish I wasn’t working.”

Out of the corner of her eye she caught Nico’s small, pleased expression, and revelled in the delight in his voice when he said, mostly to himself, “I’ll ask again when we’re off the plane.”

For her own sanity, and to remain professional whilst working, Bonnie took the slight break in turbulence as an opportunity to move to the empty jump seat on the other side of the galley. Nico’s hands lingered on her waist as she left, and his eyes burnt holes in the side of her head. She was determinedly looking down the aisle, carefully not looking at anybody sitting down.

The turbulence continued, the seatbelt sign remained on, but Bonnie and Alice were free to move around the cabin. Nico went back to his seat when Alice returned, the smile he sent Bonnie had Alice turning to her deviously.

“Are you sure you aren’t fucking him?”

“I would remember.”

Alice prattled on about maybe the sex being so good that it was affecting Bonnie’s memory, not letting up even as they prepared the cabin for landing—both of them steering clear of the cabin as the players stripped down to change back into their suits. It was amazing how much work she could get done whilst her mouth was moving a million miles a minute, seemingly every thought coming out in a stream of consciousness. It may have been about Bonnie, but it was still enough for Bonnie to tune out the exact words and just let it become background noise that distracted her from thinking about whether or not Nico was in fact going to find her once the plane had landed.

As always, the players were the first off of the plane, most of them thanking Bonnie and Alice, whilst others looked a bit too green to speak. Nico was the last of the players to disembark, slightly uncommon but not unheard of. Bonnie had to keep her eyes trained on his face because she knew if she even looked at Alice for a moment the endless talking would restart.

“I, uh, don’t actually know if I can miss the team bus from the airport,” he said, his eyebrows knitted tightly together and his voice solemn. “But if I could get your number, we could meet up later? For dinner?”

“Yeah,” Bonnie nodded, blushing. “I’d like that a lot.”

Nico pulled out his phone for Bonnie to enter her number, and, when she was finished, she made accidental eye contact with Alice who had, to Bonnie’s dismay, started to dance in the galley.

#nico hischier fic #nico hischier imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #hockey fic #homemade fic #the summer fic exchange 2k24

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myhandisfatemywordislaw · 1 year ago

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After a while all the Mechanisms forget who they were before. For many of them, all they have left are their songs, and none of them can remember how much is truth and how much is simply a story.

Tim only has the vaguest hints of memories of what it felt like to spend time with Bertie, a gentle hand brushing his hair from his face, a flutter inside his chest, but he can't even remember what Bertie looked like anymore.

Jonny can't remember what his father was like any more, though he is certain he killed him. While he remembers pulling the trigger in a flash of devastated rage, he can't remember where the bullet ended up. Did Jack ever exist? Or was he a representation of multiple people, or was the killing of Jack simply an expression of the themes of the story? Or maybe he can't face the truth of what really happened. Jonny claims One Eyed Jacks tells us how he got his mechanical heart but it doesn't, not really. Maybe there never was anyone else in the room with him and he shot himself, right through the heart, in a fit of maddened guilt and grief.

Brian will never ever forget the endless black and the terrible cold seeping deep into his bones, though he has long since forgotten what his own face used to look like.

Ashes knows their song must be dramatised since the song claims that their skin burned, but only their lungs were mechanised, so they must have died simply of smoke inhalation. They can also no longer remember if they really were a level-headed detective as they were in the song, or if they simply died in an arson attack gone wrong, and destroyed their whole world, along with everyone they ever cared about, over a mistake.

Raphaella has no song to hang onto, no story to tell, and her past is long since forgotten. Though the stench of the city feels far too familiar, and she flinches when the name Icarus is spoken, though she could not tell you why.

#fanfiction #sort of. headcanon #that last one was very much based on an icarus is raph's deadname thing I saw from one of the raphaella blogs #and I think Ive seen something to that effect said about tim #the rest is all mine I think. though all my headcanons are slowly built up incorporating suggestions from others so I couldnt say for sure #the mechanisms #jonny d’ville #gunpowder tim #raphaella la cognizi #ashes o'reilly #drumbot brian #my fanfiction #dragon.txt

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mostbored69 · 2 months ago

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Through Ashes, New Light (Kinich x Reader)

The war against the abyss seemed to have affected every miniscule part of life and land in Natlan. Huge patches of greenery were burned to a crisp by Pyro vision holders fending off the monsters, houses and infrastructure affected by their flames as well, fighting tooth and nail for the survival of innocent bystanders and other warriors alike. The water of the Toyac Springs, after the initial impact, has yet to return to its normal vibrancy of blue, and the remnants of abyssal corrosion is very much still evident even with the help of the Meztli tribe’s manipulation and constant care of the water. Broken Geo structures littered the paths connecting each tribe. Thrown around in defense, perhaps, or simultaneously shattered with whoever’s spine was thrown against the hard rock. The war continued in the scenery. Every corner, inside and out, reeking of death.

Despite the power of elements obvious in each destruction, you only ever saw green. Dendro, vines, foliage, flashing before your eyes until you had stood in a healthily blooming forest surrounded by the screams forever burned into your memory. Your heart had never beaten anywhere this fast before. Like about to give out, or run away, without the rest of your body able to follow suit. Trapped, by the vines. It was all there had been, until nothing remained but a cold breeze where before your family stood.

You’d heard of Kinich before, very few people hadn’t. The Malipo, the hunter, and even fewer people had ever interacted with him personally - you included. It had come as a shock when the debris slowly settled and the vines retracted their grip, a while longer until you had the courage to open your eyes again, to be met with his heaving and bloodied frame. Sweat fell from his forehead, accumulated seemingly before he’d gotten here in the first place. His presence and state was proof enough of an appalling catastrophe developing throughout the nation in the most brutal manner, so seeing him alone drained you of hope faster than the cries of your tribe. People were still dying, right beyond the horizon. It did not end with your family.

Kinich had slowly turned his head towards you, breathing still heavy while the look in his eyes was utterly indecipherable. You wondered now, as you stared at your reflection in the water, if he had been equally puzzled by your expression: if it was just as empty and dazed, and what exactly either of you had witnessed already in this bloodshed. The void clearly present laid your hearts on your sleeves. It did not have to be said out loud, exhibited in any way for you both to understand the cloud of tragedy hovering over this land.

That day, you hadn’t spoken a word to each other. He had left quickly for everything else demanding his attention, the list must've been infinitely long, so the second you had found yourself alone again, the true realization of danger and loss began to sneak up your spinal cord with no care for the wound on your leg. Limping away still meant getting away, as far as possible from the continuing screams, the blood-soaked grass and the rubble of what was once your home. Had he blinded your sight for this reason? The worst thing was somehow gone: the bodies.

After encountering a group of survivors, your body couldn’t take much more in the false safety. The second your shoulders relaxed as you sat down, with someone tending to your leg and your eyes closing automatically, was enough to pass out despite the still lingering danger. Talking to them again days later when the rain had washed away most remnants of blood, you came to understand how they, too, had no hope of getting away. They had huddled together inside a decrepitated hut until… well, you’re not quite sure. Asking around produced contradicting or outright implausible answers, which naturally wasn’t a surprise considering the chaos all around. You had no reason to dig further. All that mattered was gone, and an explanation couldn’t satiate your doom.

Every tribe had since been working hard to rebuild what was lost, but they considered the people most affected by this war to be better off using the time to heal however much was possible. It’s still unclear whether this was a blessing or a curse, since not being distracted by the truckload of work meant sitting alone with memories and the purple water. It reflected your face like a mirror. Many people sat here day in and day out, and none of them would ever make a single sound. You recognized some faces from time to time: a mother without her child you’d seen crying in town, a man who’d walk home with a handful of wildflowers once a month, sometimes twice, for his wife, now not batting an eye at the succulent next to him. Everyone knew the lineup, though no one had the guts to speak. At least without a tone they’d use for a wounded animal.

Movement caught your eyes from across the water, solely a quick glance, a quick flash of color, made your skin crawl. For a couple seconds, your sight is replaced by a grayed memory of Kinich, who struggled to catch his breath and whose tight fingers around his weapon were stained at the tips. The picture faded in and out of focus until both the memory of him and the physical him turned their heads towards you in that blank expression, saying everything and nothing at the same time. You wondered what Huitztlan’s equivalent of sitting by the water was, whether or not he indulged. Whether no one dared to speak to him, either.

You’re first to look away. Back down at the water, there was no reason to hold eye contact. You had wanted to thank him many times, ask him of any details he remembered and if he was willing to share them, though you realized how much you’d hate to be asked that yourself. It seemed like a slap in the face were you to talk of anything other than the victory, and it’s evident he did his share of hard work for it. Even now at your tribe, not at home to bask in the dark under the sun.

Come to think of it, Kinich was really here despite that expression, similar to the husband and the mother and you. Was he indeed so strong to keep going just like that? You’d not heard much news of who exactly the other tribes have lost, though the total was high enough to doubt someone wasn’t impacted in any way. Especially him who traveled across the nation, a witness to the full extent of destruction during the havoc. He’d seen first-hand all the deaths you were now mourning as a people, and still he found the strength to come back in a feat that was unfathomable to you. Perhaps gratitude was appropriate, and he should at least know that much.

Your head shot up, fully expecting to find him waiting in the distance, but truly you had no idea how long you’d been in your thoughts for. He was gone already, and the sky had darkened with rain clouds. Instinctively, your shoulders slumped back down in disappointment, immediately relenting to the passed opportunity until you had enough of the plethora of horrible feelings that had been eating away at you. That much time couldn’t have passed, if you’re fast enough now. So, getting onto your feet swiftly, the chase after Kinich began.

While your legs carried you over the bridge as fast as possible, past the workers and the clerks who were barely evaded, all you could think about was what to say exactly. Thanking him for saving your life in a way it didn’t stress you both out any further seemed to be an impossible task, from words to pick and tone to choose to where to put your hands, there was no time to read up on etiquette as the clouds grew thicker and the path grew slimmer. Finally, up in the distance, there he was. Steady pace, you’d reach him soon, but the words chosen were not perfect yet.

He turned around once he heard you approach. Out of breath, winded, you clutched at your chest as you caught each other’s eyes, for the first time with emotion. Confusion against determination, it said less of your feelings than the blank stares you were used to, while a stone fell from your heart the second you spoke to him for the very first time. “Thank you, Kinich. Thank you so much.”

The rain began falling, first slowly but soon picking up in intensity. The surviving greenery around the path knew to cherish this blessing as nature stilled within the sound of heavier and heavier rain. The oddest thing, however, was that he, too, stilled. Unbearingly so: your fingers fidgeted nervously when silence is all you’re met with. At least his confusion subsided to be replaced with a calmer expression, but you wondered if it could’ve stemmed from the simple realization it was no monster who had run up on him. There went not wanting to stress him out further. Running at him crazed was possibly worse than a slap in the face.

“I’m sorry,” you said, though the sound did not even reach your own ears due to the rain. He titled his head, unclear whether he hadn’t understood you or why you would apologize, and when he turned from the path to slowly trott over to the mountain side, all left for you to do was follow him bewildered from a distance.

Natlan’s terrain presented many hideouts for the rain - in some cases, for danger - within the rock of its mountains. You’d heard stories of traveling merchants stuck in caves until a storm had passed, some trapped until a group of predators decided on a different hunting ground, or simply to cool down after long stretches. It was enclosed enough to feel safe, but remained a good view of the circumstances outside. The rain at the cave entrance flowed like white curtains in the wind. Like snowed in, a particular sense of privacy built itself up when you watched him sit down on the ground, both drenched by this point, without sparing you another look for reassurance, whether you were supposed to follow him in here in the first place.

There were no suitable words left in your arsenal to even spark small-talk, so for the first couple minutes he was plagued by a looming silhouette, standing somewhat awkwardly in the only source of light. Your plan to do this dignifiedly had failed from the very start, although luckily that fact was not apparent to you. It was the first interaction you’ve had in a while. Doing so to begin with was enough to convince of adequacy.

“The rain’s quite heavy, and shouldn't last too long. It’s safer to wait it out than go back.” While it was pouring buckets outside, the echo of his voice in the cave still made him audible enough for you to look up, sounding like a memory rather than the present. Unsure if it needed an answer, you remained silent for a while. “...You ran here. I don’t think that’s smart.”

The statement confused you more than anything, but it soon cleared up when his eyes wandered to your leg and approximated the area where the wound had been: given how it’s now smooth, he held his tongue. Water was a great, natural healer, and the experts in the tribe made quick work of any such trivial injuries once the chaos died down. It was never a reason to worry, and definitely not the cause for your pale complexion that day.

With a sheepish smile still feeling foreign on your lips, you answered him: “It’s taken care of, no fear. Thanks for your concern, but you saved me from any other wounds.” Regarding you for so long it rather pressured you to sit down as well, he eventually looked off to the side and offered some much needed breathing room. The rain’s white noise filled your ears like a daze, mixed together with the dreamy sound of your voices echoing off the hole in the mountain created a serene canvas. Almost scary, living in a memory.

“What’s your name?”

“Y/n.”

“You lived far from the tribe, there weren’t as many monsters and even less people. It wasn’t a hotspot at all, so there was not much for me to do. Should you regard me as some savior I’d advise you not to. There’s little glory in war-”

“They still died, you know? There was not much for you to do but it was enough to kill them - kill me as well, had you not shown up. Please don’t speak in that manner.”

He turned to look at you slightly surprised. Perhaps the first time someone didn’t watch their tone carefully when speaking to him after the tragedy, they’d usually smother people with either admiration or worry once they noticed that empty look, warriors and victims alike, as if it hadn’t come from the same, underlying causes. Both seemed to be the wrong reaction, however, for both reminded of death.

A considerably long pause began to drag before he finally spoke up. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure what you’d like to hear from me, so I went with my perspective.” You tried to force another smile while you leaned back against the cold rock, the drenched fabric of your shirt clinging onto the wall. This time, the smile was a bit easier to bear.

“You’re Malipo, I understand. There isn’t any particular thing I want to hear from you, not anymore at least.” The sight of the rain was captivating enough to steal your scattered attention, being given another small, though needed break in conversation. No longer used to holding one for so long, it took more energy than ever just thinking of words that fit whatever you tried to convey despite there not being much left on the tip of your tongue. It felt somewhat desolate again, in this memory.

“You weren’t supposed to go anywhere. The area was clear, there was no one to tell you where to evacuate, and after all, your leg was wounded. I don’t leave the wounded behind just like that, but when I came back, you had already run off - I hoped you had, but there was only blood. Later, at the stadium, there was no sight of you.”

“...I don’t remember much of it, if I may be honest, although it seems I give you quite the scare. Excuse me.” With much less devoid pupils, the difficulty of understanding one another spiked the more, especially when, after careful consideration, you locked eyes. “In fact, I’d like to forget about it for now.”

The quiet persisted long after the rain stopped. You weren’t sure who left first, from the dazy scene back out into the open, but the sun had already begun setting when someone stirred. Relenting, like the quick shower.

From a tranquil sort of view, the seasons seemed to change overnight. Leafs fell in the softest breeze, and the water lulling in the distance drew autumn in a soothing light. The weather had been working for every tribe’s benefit, not too cool and not too hot, since after all the work was done, it offered an opportunity to enjoy the newly rebuilt infrastructure and bask in the water that had returned to normalcy. The world appeared ready to let go, with news spreading that this upcoming spring should blossom beyond any records for a grim reason somebody’s yet to admit, but they tried their hardest to force the earth back in its usual rotation, ecstatic for ordinary days to return. You were uncomfortable, more and more. They looked too ready and too sure.

One good thing about so much rebuilding having been done was the fact these streets and houses were often vastly different from before. Old and jagged wood had been replaced, stained and sun-bleached tapestries made anew - while the patterns and general shapes stayed the same, the tribes must’ve looked the way they did in the time of the first heroes. So untainted, though now it was a simple illusion. However, the new view made you able to return and live, without horrible daydreams, in your old home. The unfamiliar house had never been so quiet.

A saving grace in terms of somehow integrating back into society was bestowed by an older shopkeeper who had lost the only employee under his wing: his own son. As tragedy often did, the tribe fit back together like a mismatched puzzle. You looked at each other and saw the dead, but no matter how bizarre, it was the only thing remaining to keep some going and fighting against the pressure deep in their stomachs, that, indeed after a closer look at their reluctance to smile as brightly as before, was still present. A zeitgeist ingrained in the whole generation.

Working with the shopkeeper had its advantage far beyond a sense of family. The man was older, his body not cut out anymore to be marching off for goods or lifting them in the first place. Though lovable, even communication was past his time, so it left only you for the task. Each assignment felt like a vacation away from personal tragedy, and correspondence with the Scions of the Canopy offered the rare chance of stumbling upon Kinich every once in a while, both at his tribe and at yours. They said he’d been busy these days, whenever you asked for his whereabouts. You smiled and nodded, smiled and nodded, since a truthful reaction was not appropriate considering you could barely call him a friend.

It had been weeks since you saw him last. The nagging feeling you’d get every time a courier came without having required his help, or walking back after delivering some goods and being let down when there was no glimpse of him, accumulated throughout weeks to the point even starting a new day felt too much of a hassle. Something made your heart throb whenever he’d stop by and politely keep a conversation with the old shopkeeper. You’d stand off to the side, exchanging some words of courtesy and maybe, if you were lucky enough, your eyes would meet and you could give him your best attempt at a smile. Each time it became more genuine. You had hoped he noticed the change, like a child showing off their drawing.

The skill to smile slowly regressed as you made your way back to the People of the Springs, carrying the hefty bag filled with Yumkasaur fur and Koholasaur scales (ethically sourced, as the old man would say). Kinich was still nowhere to be found today, and on top of that the delivery was misscheduled. The merchants for this order weren’t even at the Scions of the Canopy to pick up their stuff, which meant you had to carry it all back due to - not pointing fingers - a particular someone’s bad ears and/or memory.

When you at last returned to his storefront, the sweet old man was sitting with an apologetic smile and a cold cup of soda awaiting you personally. No possible way you could be mad, not after what you’ve done for each other, though the exhaustion and persisting annoyance had you drop the backpack and grab the cup, bowing down to him briefly before turning on your heel and heading back from where you came. Tomorrow it would be all forgotten, but today you were off work. He’d go back home soon as well, the sun slowly setting left no other choice but to call it a day.

Home… or house, although further from the tribe, was no struggle to get back to after having done a thorough job warming up your legs already. The view on the way was as scenic as it got for now, birds chirping, water flowing, no stairs to climb even inside. Before it fell into itself your parents’ home had two floors indeed, whilst during the Great Renovation you had practically begged everyone helping to keep it a small bungalow, a bunker against the empty space that would have otherwise haunted you into insanity, which turned out to be the right thing to do when they had refused your help over and over for the sake of ‘healing’. A bedroom, maybe, and a bathroom, and a kitchen, please. They had made those weirdly spacious, feeling pity.

The goats your family kept used to mow the lawn for free, ethically sourced labor, to quote, though not so much on your part. They required a crazy amount of work and care, things you had barely left for yourself by the end of the day, so the hard decision to give them away into better hands had soon fallen with teary eyes and a snotty nose. It was for the better, you still told yourself, for they were loved and brushed and fed after surviving such disaster, and the lawn was overgrown with wildflowers that popped in color year-round in a strange and ironic tradeoff. You’d never seen him as someone who would keep goats, the husband. Sometimes you braided the grass in between the flowers leading up to the door, perhaps it made her happy, leading up to the one step of the entire house, before the entrance. Occupied now, by Kinich.

His attention was fixed on the dewy grass - the braid had loosened over time - as the sun illuminated tiny water drops on each blade. The light hit his face now almost at eye level, and what a sight that was for sure. You had tried your best to extend every conversation with him, whether about the sweet tea the old man made on especially hot days or a group of saurians behaving strangely near the tribe’s borders, while some of these were even held when you could catch him in private, although since the night of the war, there had yet to be a moment you two were truly alone. Until now at sunset, back where it had begun. With no way to have prepared for this and no manual to follow, the only option was to improvise.

You had spotted Kinich somewhat late, and not expecting him whatsoever made your approach no surprise. Fairly sure he heard the ever-so-soft footsteps in the grass, since sticks and dead leafs betrayed any newcomer to even mild attention for the surroundings, similar to how the deer sounded in the morning whenever you left your window open. He didn’t look up, however, not until you stood before him.

Another inanimate expression that could’ve taken you hours to analyze was met by your confused gaze and tilted head, but, like him, no words. There was no real reason to lock the front door - any potential abyss monster in this area would’ve been strong enough to rip it off its hinges, and anyone picking the lock was an idiot for picking the house with the least appeal -, so you trotted inside after a couple moments.

“You can come in, Kinich, it’ll be dark soon. All the bugs crawl towards the light.” With that, you turned on the lamp in the kitchen, already brighter than the remainder of sunlight and backlit his sitting frame through the open door. He did eventually listen and grabbed a seat by the table, awkward in unfamiliar terrain. Some color returned to his face as you put your belongings on the counter and faced him, shoulders forcefully relaxed and trying out another form of a smile. Drained from the whole day made it a challenging task.

“I haven’t been around for a while and there’s still a lot of work to do, but today I finished a mission and had some freetime.” You could only nod to this. Not on close enough terms where you could expect an explanation for his whereabouts or even reveal what kind of frustration it caused, anything else felt wrong. He leaned back into the chair a bit, keeping his eyes on you. Only after making sure he truly was not getting another response did he continue, but the pause alone was enough to make your fingers fidget. “People said you’ve been asking for me. Is something the matter?”

Even trying your best to keep your tone as casual as possible, it appeared to not have been enough to fly under the radar, and looking back it should’ve been obvious by the way you scanned through the crowds before giving up and asking outright, although for some reason you hadn’t considered the possibility of him finding out and acting on it. In truth, there was no real reason for your curiosity. It wasn’t worry per se. He was a grown man with a huge sword and a vision, but it wasn’t for loneliness either. The sight of him here, in and of itself, was easing to the heart no matter how bashful the confrontation, and before you could begin to stammer over an explanation, he slowly rose from his seat. “Y-yes, I did ask, but nothing’s the matter. You didn’t have to come all the way here or wait for me. I’m sorry.”

Walking into the light calmly, it shone on him from above and drew a soft shadow across his features. He gave a gentle smile that took you by surprise, and you wondered if it was as rare of a sight as you thought it to be. Who had been lucky enough to see?

“Why did you ask for me, then? I’m back on my normal schedule and have time to spare, if there’s anything you need me for, please don’t he-”

“No, no, you’ve done enough for me,” you interrupted, waving your hands in front of your chest and shaking your head. It was more than just the truth, Kinich really had done all he could and the longing for a glimpse of him was not something you were entitled to, but here you stood in front of him, about ready to explode. A soft sigh left your parted lips. With confusing feelings, your shoulders slumped. “I… I think I just missed you. There’s not much to my day but you’re always a great addition, I looked forward to whenever we met. If it comes off as strange, please know it’s not my intention.”

Saying these things out loud made your skin crawl, it didn’t matter if they were the truth or not. All those days were still spent on keeping an eye out for him, if not in your tribes then on the paths between them, and the nights continued in the absence and disappointment that made your body roll into itself on the bed, under the covers, so maybe you did miss him. It only made sense. According to the look on his face, he wasn’t yet convinced either.

Your breathing turned shallow when he stepped a little closer, causing dizziness with every second devoid of a reaction to the point your cheeks slowly reddened and your eye contact began to waver. Even knowing who he was, the presence of a man without anyone else around felt partially imposing and intimidating, more so because you had no real experience. Now struggling to improvise, the ball was in his court.

“You missed me… yes?” He used a tender tone, though it did not help with your burning face and sweaty palms. A hesitant nod was all he got and tilted his head - perhaps he wasn’t all that scary -, causing a strand of hair to fall into his face. Handsome, too, it was a fact you hadn’t really sat down to unpack just yet, but having it now thrown back at you held the potential to make your knees buckle and voice quiver were you to try and speak. Trying to push that thought aside, you had to manually focus on his next words. “So… what can I do? You still called for me, Y/n, is it just to look at me?”

The use of your name, the way he casually let it fall from his lips as if there was never once to wonder whether he’d remembered it in the first place, made your eyes widen ever so slightly and the rest of his sentence fade into oblivion. Unfortunately, that is, since you continued to remain silent and observe him. His skin, that had tanned during whatever mission had kept him occupied and wandering through the land, and the tight muscles under his shirt moving rhythmically with his breathing, the soft strand of hair, the growing smile the longer you thought about this, all in focus.

Meeting his eyes for the first time in a while, they seemed to have undergone drastic change. The rare instances of genuine interest in his demeanor had not prepared you for the warmth that was apparently possible, that drew you in, so without approval from your brain, you took a step forward. Still leaving space that neither were able to close so far.

“There’s nothing I want, just… you.” Attention pulled to his lips when he sighed, you quickly looked away to not give the wrong impression. It wasn't an annoyance in his tone, something else entirely that you could not confidently place, and if you weren’t a deer in the headlights right now you would’ve appreciated the soft care he put into each of his actions. Genuine: you wanted to be the same.

“You didn’t seem to be a clingy girl. It must’ve been frustrating, then, all this time. I apologize.” His words took you aback once more, unsure whether you had to defend yourself or not, but his face revealed not a hint at a joke and begged to wonder what responsibility he thought to have for someone he happened to save one horrible day. You didn’t want him to do more. Not him, not the people of the tribe, not your friends or the old man, they had all done enough. So why was he still looking at you like that? A different kind of pity, without reminding of what you lost.

In the end, it was you who closed the gap. Slowly, at first, but you couldn’t take it anymore. Throwing your arms around his neck, he wrapped his hands around your waist in a tight and surprising embrace. It happened before you could realize, dragging on silently for longer than you could’ve hoped, and the stress of the past weeks visibly diminished into thin air as you fully relaxed against him. It did something to the both of you. The unexpected proximity gave way to a handful of new sensations - your warm body against his, the smell of your sun-soaked hair, standing on tiptoes to bury your face into the crook of his neck, and in turn you got to feel the gentle stroke of his fingers on your back, drawing circles that crawled up your spine.

It was only a matter of time before you pulled away slightly, just enough to look him in the eyes. The air you breathed began to mix, hot, steamy, you had never been this close. As if scripted, both of your gazes were pulled down to each other’s lips, parted and waiting painfully, though it was another gap someone had to find the courage to close. This time, luckily, it was him pulling you back in, not even with enough time to spare for another thought when he saw the way your chest rose up and down, those soda-tinted lips he could taste on your tongue, the sweat, still glistening on your skin. How could he have the heart to deny such delicacy, knowing his presence casted those shy smiles and red cheeks? Precious, he only wished to have known sooner what exactly you needed.

Full version on AO3 (linked). Thank you very much, have a good day and stay safe!

#ao3 #ao3 link #fanfic #fanfiction #oneshot #x reader #smut #genshin impact #kinich #kinich x reader #kinich x you #kinich x y/n #kinich smut #genshin smut #reader insert #female reader #archive of our own

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